hangover

an aftertaste of cheap alcohol mixed with anything that appears unidentifiable, the characteristic morning sounds of feet dragging, the pervading smell of human innards lying all over the floor which had rebelled against the persistent chemical warfare of the previous night, deciding that enough's enough and rushing out of their hopeless bodily cages to plunge to their death rather than undergo the torture. That tender little pulp of tissue and nerves, something more valuable and smarter than any of our gadgets can ever be, those we protect with our dear lives even in somnolence; that tender mass; it deserts all its tenderness to hammer on till we aver that we would never again let it get molested like this.

coffee

Jim Jarmusch’s Coffee and cigarettes is not conventional cinema, it doesn’t have a script, doesn’t have central characters, doesn’t have a beginning or an end, doesn’t have good vs. evil, doesn’t have love, lust, stunts, or, for that matter, actors. There are no performances; the film is just a compilation of some apparently banal conversations over a cup of coffee accompanied by a cigarette.

Now, what’s so special about it, its impossible to describe, just watch it, the only selling point would be that the conversationalists are some of the most brilliant minds in the worldwide film industry; go ahead, take a cup of coffee, take a drag and let your thoughts wander freely, the talks will never end, you’ll want to watch it over and over again.