Moods
and themes drive this brooding, almost meditative story of a modern hit
man who lives by ancient Samurai code. Forrest Whittaker plays the title
role of Ghost Dog with a phlegmatic and ironic perfection. He plies his
deadly trade for a "master" who once saved his life. As with
all Jim Jarmusch films, Ghost Dog plays with cinematic
conventions and our expectations. The "master" is an aging
Italian mob underling in a down and out New York "family". No
fancy suits and fine living here. These guys hang out in a run down
Chinese restaurant. The master, Louie (John Tormey), seems hardly able
to hold the huge pistols he uses. He and his cronies wheeze and hack as
they wag their double chins and waddle up stairs.
Ghost Dog lives in a shack on top of an
abandoned building and leads a simple life with his carrier pigeons. He
wears a bright symbol of the Samurai on a thick chain and sports a
briefcase filled with ancient weapons, pistols with silencers, and high
tech gadgets. In another sharp contrast to the expectations for a hit
man, Ghost Dog wanders the night and sleeps in a dark, formless
sweatshirt and pants. His unkempt hair and placid but soulful expression
connote both seeming inappropriateness and a strange ascetic distance
from his trade. In an almost sweet touch, Ghost Dog communicates with
his "master" exclusively via carrier pigeon. He is not averse
to technology when it serves his mission. He hand solders amazing
devices that open and start an array of beautiful autos he purloins to
complete his missions.
Ghost Dog
begins with no dialogue. Other characters speak, but Ghost Dog remains
silent. We gain his perspective because his voice reads lines from his
cherished translation of the Samurai code. His first words are too a
young black girl who totes her favorite books in a pink plastic lunch
pail. His best friend is a French ice cream truck vendor. Neither can
speak in each other’s language, but they have a bond fraught with
hilarity as the subtitles indicate that they are often saying the same
thing. We are in on jokes that they don’t get.
Frankly, the plot complication that
propels the mob into a search to hunt down and kill Ghost Dog never
seems believable to us, but maybe with the many bizarre aspects of this
movie, it is not so important that the plot points make sense.
This story has moments of violence and
death, some sentimentally touching. One obvious message of the film
indicates that, even when lived by strict codes of the Samurai and the
mob, the manly propensity toward violence is ultimately tragic. The
confrontation scene of the master and the Samurai at the end was
cleverly executed and deeply moving. The gender of the two who would
succeed the men also makes for an intriguing speculation.
Jarmusch
uses every element to good effect. The voice over reading of Samurai
code at first appears disengaging, but it proves to be the mesmerizing
core of Ghost Dog’s character and the glue of the story. The universal
but abstract truths of the code find an immediate application in Ghost
Dog’s actions. Even though he is a hit man, Ghost Dog’s honor is
intact, which makes him not only sympathetic, but also undefeatable. The
dialogue is another ingeniously molded element and a classic example of Jarmusch’s
unexpected humor. Ultimately, the most intriguing juxtaposition is the
use of rap tunes as counterpoint to the action sequences and Ghost Dog’s
contemplation. This is the first time we’ve witnessed a film that uses
hard-core rap in a way that enhances the film as well as the lyrics.
Ghost Dog
is in many ways a haunting and mesmerizing film.