Over the course of one night in downtown Memphis, three different parties converge on a ramshackle hotel manned by a red-suited clerk, played by Screamin' Jay Hawkins, and a bellboy played by Cinqué Lee. A young rock ‘n’ roll-obsessed couple, played by Masatoshi Nagase and Youki Kudoh, arrives from Yokohama to explore Graceland, Sun Studios, and other historic music sites. A newly-widowed Italian woman, played by Nicoletta Braschi, is stuck in town due to an airplane delay while she is on the way to return her husband's body to Rome. A rough-and-tumble Englishman, played by Joe Strummer, seeks a place to hide while on the run, but at the risk of dragging his two friends down with him.
The 1989 independent anthology cult film,
Mystery Train, is the fourth feature-length directorial effort from Jim Jarmusch, whose previous laconic low-fi works,
Permanent Vacation (1980),
Stranger Than Paradise (1984), and
Down by Law (1986), set a unique standard for contemporary coolness laced with vintage pop culture. As with the locations in his previous films, the Memphis featured in this narrative of interconnected tales is uncannily devoid of people and, instead, populated by dilapidated structures that each beg to tell their own stories. Cinematographer Robby Müller, who worked with Jarmusch on
Down by Law and who is best known for his remarkable visual styles in
Repo Man and
Paris, Texas, brings a beauty to the decaying squalor, even infusing a majestic presence into an old railroad bridge near the hotel.
We never see Graceland in
Mystery Train, but the spirit of Elvis Presley nonetheless presides over all. In the hotel, paintings of the iconic artist look down on our disparate guests, all of whom mourn the fact that the rooms do not have televisions. A radio disc jockey, voiced by Tom Waits, introduces Presley's “Blue Moon” during the early morning hours as each of our characters face different pivotal events. All the while, the areas of the city that most Graceland visitors prefer not to see are showcased in an oddly wondrous light, including a liquor store, the remains of Stax Records, and a smoky bar.
The story structure here could be viewed almost as a precursor to Quentin Tarantino's
Pulp Fiction. I never want to say goodbye to any of the characters in the three anthology segments, so I love the fact that their presences are brought to light even in the scenes that do not overtly feature them. More than anything, though, I just treasure the mere idea of seeing Joe Strummer of The Clash in the same movie with Screamin' Jay Hawkins, Steve Buscemi, and Tom Waits.
Mystery Train, of course, was not the first time that Jarmusch utilized the presence of Screamin' Jay Hawkins. When the director purchased the rights to a Hawkins song for
Stranger Than Paradise, he was dismayed to find out that all of the money went to the record label instead of going to the musician himself. He introduced himself to Hawkins, who lived in a trailer park at the time, and gave his own money to the artist out of respect. During the years leading to his death, Hawkins kept promising to pay Jarmusch back, but Jarmusch kept insisting that the money was a gift.
This
Criterion Blu-ray sports a beautifully filmic transfer, with an audio presentation that is also practically beyond reproach. A Jarmusch Q&A is a trip, especially because of his open affability combined with a slight disdain for questions that he does not like. A Screamin' Jay Hawkins documentary segment is engaging and fun. A Memphis Tour featurette makes me want to visit the city again as soon as possible, although many of the locations are no longer recognizable.
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