Paterson

Paterson is writing a love poem for his wife, Laura. He says that if she ever left him, he would rip his heart out and not put it back. He ends it with: "How embarrassing." She has spent the week preparing to bake cupcakes for the farmer's market. He tells Doc, the man who owns the bar that he frequents nightly, about it. Doc is busy. He can't come. That's okay. On Saturday morning, he awakes to Laura leaning over him, her fingers lightly tracing the profile of his face, long large nose like a plague doctor's, two small moles on the right jaw under his ear. "The farmer's market is today, remember?" she says. "I do now," he replies.

I worry for Paterson. I'm worried his wife doesn't know how much he loves her. When she speaks to him, he replies in mono- or di(?)syllables, phrases that sound placating and insincere. "That's fine." "Sure." "Wow, that's great." "Okay." But many of the poems he writes that week are about how much he adores her. And when he smiles at her, it tugs at the corners of your own mouth because it's so intoxicatingly contagious, because it's obvious he sees little else in the world but her. But does she know? I guess she knows. She knows he is a private person, that he is bursting with feelings but does not feel the need to express them. She knows he is kind. She knows he is thoughtful. In a scene, she kneels on the floor, her arms wrapped around his shin and her head leaning against his lap. It is not sexual in any way. It is a gesture full of tenderness. As if she was made to exist in that very moment, in that very shape, just for him. And he, her.

Paterson is a quiet, excruciatingly gentle story about contentment. Paterson is a bus driver. Laura doesn't work.* Every day is the same. Others would see it as monotonous, but they are satisfied. Paterson's boss Donny has a problem every day. His daughter's violin practicing gets on his nerves. His wife wants to go on holiday to Florida. His niece in India is getting married and he needs to contribute some money. If such things happened to Paterson, I'm sure they'd wash over him peacefully like the cascading waterfall –– his favorite spot in all of Paterson, New Jersey. He'd find the joy in those so-called troubles. Whenever he's asked about his day, he just says "I'm okay." And it's true. He doesn't ask for anything else. He doesn't seek fame for his poetry. And although Laura imagines herself becoming a cupcake billionaire one day, and a country singer the next, these "lifelong dreams" of hers are only potential additions to an already wonderful life. If she does not achieve them, it doesn't matter. She never really cared that much anyway. It was more about the excitement, the honing of skill. All is fine. She has him. He has her.

Moments fade into each other. Some of these fades are long. It takes a minute to realise that you are staring at a different shot. It has changed right in front of your eyes. Slowly. Time flows slowly, although the days are sped through. Like Jarmusch's previous Only Lovers Left Alive, it leaves you with a feeling that you have all the time in the world. But Paterson is better. It doesn't leave you yearning for a relationship like Paterson's. You know it's too perfect to be true. But it makes you appreciate the beauty in it. It isn't a passionate, intense love, nor an unrequited obsession like Everett to Marie or Petrarch to Laura, but a slow, steady one, equally strong but animated by soft kisses and subtle gestures. This is how it feels to come home every day to someone that you love with every fibre of your being. A love that lasts a lifetime.

But it does not last a lifetime. It is important to note that this is only a film, and these characters are fictional. Their lives do not extend past this one week. On the second Monday, the shot showing Paterson waking up seems to be the exact same shot as in the beginning of the movie**. It is a loop. Circles. His wife loves circles. She paints them on every surface. She paints every surface. They represent infinity. Them. Their life. They live only this one week, over and over again. They are contained within this microcosm, like a snowglobe. One week basked in the orange glow of spring sunshine. The air is crisp and fresh. His uniform is clean and comfortable. He drives the same route, over and over again, every single day –– but slightly different each time because of the people and their conversations, snatches of private worlds, lenses into small dramas.

On Monday, Laura tells him she dreamt they had twins. "That'd be nice," he mumbles. "Twins." Throughout the week, they appear to him everywhere, dotting the film like sighing commas in a poem. Old men in overalls. Two little black girls crossing the street with patterns on their pink shirts. Sam and Dave. A poet with long hair and her sister. Motifs return. Only in poetry. When the bus breaks down, three people ask if it could have exploded into a fireball. Nobody is cynical. They are all full of childlike wonder. Even Donny, who is permanently unhappy, knows through Paterson's silent mannerisms that life can be beautiful. In that way, the film is –– and allow me to coin a neologism –– Saint-Exupérien. There is no evil.*** In a marvellously surreal moment, some delinquent-looking men stop by in their convertible at night to ask about Paterson's dog and to warn him against "dog-jacking". Then they drive away, hip hop music booming. The Japanese man who appears at the end of the film seems to have been sent by God Himself to restore order to Paterson's life. He has a new notebook now. The week loops over. There is only the world and the people inside it, and the little moments of wonder. On ne voit bien qu'avec le coeur. L'essentiel est invisible aux yeux.

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*How do they afford to maintain a house with two floors and a basement, an expensive bulldog, a nice car, and all of Laura's fancies?

**Only edited slightly differently. It's the long take without cuts to his watch, or to the pictures on the bedside table.

***Nobody seems to notice that Paterson is the only white face in the bar every night. There is no comment on Paterson and Laura's interracial marriage. Date night isn't ruined by references to how racist the old scary movie they saw was.