
-There's much you can say to describe this film. An existential road trip with a refreshingly honest and sensitive portrayal of Native Americans (Nobody is neither Magical nor Savage, and has his own perfectly valid reasons for both helping Blake and insisting that he kill as many White men as possible), a character study on what the Wild West does to a man, a thriller, a ghost story, a love story, a drama, a chase, an LGBT film (Iggy Pop is, indeed, a cross-dressing Bible salesman, but I doubt Association would take too kindly to him, Billy Bob Thornton, and Jared Harris. They do get the best scene, though), a war story, or simply one big metaphor. None would be wrong.
-Crispin Clover is a creepy-ass, coal-covered train boilerman. John Hurt is a rich man's secretary. Robert Mitchum is the rich man. Lance Henriksen is a cannibalistic bounty hunter. Women are limited to Thel, a woman giving a blowjob in an alley, and Nobody's girlfriend, who has a lengthy and probably funny argument with him in either Cree or Blackfoot (I can't tell). Speaking of which, unsubtitled Native American languages. Surely.
-One long death scene.
-My favorite Jim Jarmusch film.
-Blake goes from pussy accountant to badass gunslinger. Johnny Depp, dear, please start doing stuff like this again. I can't take another Tim Burton film.
-Goregously shot.
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