stranger than paradise

This film, or rather, Ezster--the hot hungarian emigrant who spends 10 days in cousin Eddie's Clinton St. apartment--put a spell on me. Jarmusch's new wave addiction surfaces in a Band of Outsiders bubble up, a Jules et Jim reimagining--with all the sexual tension and none of the sex. Like In the Soup, the black and white photography brings the film an echo of nostalgia prodded by the retro wardrobes of the actors themselves, who play solitaire in suspenders, count their money in dim halls, and tilt their hats when they don't want to be seen. The only technology here--besdies the lonesome, shadow-casting television which broadcasts only "Twilight Zone" reruns--is runaway Eszter's tape player, which plays only "I put a Spell on You," and...does. For she's the Scarlett o'Hara of this hush, whispering roadtrip threesome, the vortex, its center; She's the eye of the storm, she plays the loudest music and goddamn it if she's not the quietest part.