There is some nice physical humor as well: Ghost Dog waves his nine millimeter around like a samurai sword; a stooped old man about to be mugged in an alley delivers a couple of swift karate kicks to his attacker's jaw. Even when Ghost Dog opens up on his tormenters, a blazing automatic in each hand, Jarmusch manages to cast a complex comic spell. Simultaneously, we behold violence for its own sake, a comment on the absurdity of violence wrapped in a big, untidy chunk of movie history and the director's sly swipe at the catharsis we feel when the bad guys get their comeuppance. The total effect seems so effortless, Ghost Dog's quest at once so real and so synthetic, we know we must be at the movies. Not only that, we've been nailed to our seats by a player who delights in letting us in on his game.
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