In 1999, I didn't know a jar from a Jarmusch so when released, Ghostdog meant didly. I am now a Jarmuschaholic, having seen at least a half dozen of his minimalist masterpieces. Point by point: this is a mob movie. So are thousands of others almost all of which are empty clichés. However, Jarmusch's cast of a thousand thugs was fresh and original especially the blind guy with cane and exclamation marks in voice, the brilliant limping cigar smoker and Tony's eyes. I need qualify the next statement. Despite how it may sound, it is an extraordinary compliment. Please do not take out of context. As Ghostdog, Forrest Whitaker is a creep. Our best actors become so-think DeNiro as Jake La Motta--because they creep into the skin and bones of a character so convincingly, we think that that is not an actor but a reality. I kept flashing to the gay character Whitaker portrayed in Pret a Petit (sp?), the Altman flick about the fashion industry. In that role Whitaker was all effeminate smile and tushy swagger. In GHOSTDOG, more than dialog, he reads Samurai scripture superimposed. His inflection is phenomenal. I am a second generation Italian American and if I dind't know better I woulda bet the house, that was an Italian voice behind the text. There was also something he did with his shoulder, subtly. I cannot watch the Academy Awards for reasons as simple as this: Forrest Whitaker did not win one for Ghost Dog. Two characters are counterweights, with Ghostdog as fulcrum and the mob at the other end. The French ice cream guy (wow!) and the girl with books in her lunchbox. She was of another world and I wanna go there. This is the only Jarmusch movie that isn't necessary to brief non-Jarmuschians to appreciate. The score in and of itself is reason to see it. I want to go on public record to THANK the Harrisonburg (Virginia) library for giving me in 2006 (not lending--giving me to keep for myself!!!) the videocassette version of GHOSTDOG. Further gratitude goes to Mr. Jarmusch. I want to eat the crumbs off his plate.
