If you're like me, you've probably heard the name "Jim Jarmusch" thrown around quite a bit by people who claim to know cinema. I believe that his work, which includes "Mystery Train" and "Down By Law," has been canonized, and he's completed the holy trini ty of writer/director auteurs along with the Coen Brothers and Martin Scorsese. Of course, if you're like me, you probably haven't had a chance to see any of his films. And even if you have, you might not have had the opportunity to catch one on the big s creen. Well, those nice folks down at The Loft have brought Jarmusch's new western, "Dead Man," to town. And, as your friendly neighborhood movie critic, I urge you to mosey on down there to marvel at its greatness.

Don't expect a typical western, though. In many ways, it is an experimental film. And yet it doesn't fall into the pretentious trappings of much of the art cinema foisted upon audiences in these strange and restless times. "Dead Man" plays with the advanc ed visual sensibilities of the post-MTV viewer, rather than stealing the conventions outright like "The Crow."

"Dead Man" even functions a little like an extended video, with the soundtrack by Neil Young setting the tone and mood of this black and white journey through Jarmusch's version of the now-familiar Wild West. The languid strains of Young's guitar guide th e audience through a surreal series of episodes: miniature moments in time that show the extended adventures in which William Blake (Johnny Depp), penniless and rejected by the company that brought him to the frontier, finds himself caught up in a love tr iangle, blamed for several murders, and on the run from three professional gunslingers. Fans of the unconventional narrative stylings of Quentin Tarantino's "Pulp Fiction" and the fine-tuned storytelling techniques employed in the Coen brothers' "Fargo" w ill delight in Jarmusch's poetic vision. This is cinema, damn it, and not just some movie that'll play to the unwashed masses down at the Cinemaplex 64.

Hey, I like trash too, but sometimes I have a deep yearning for something more. This sort of "art attack" doesn't strike often, but it always seems to come at the end of a blockbuster summer when too much overt commercialism has finally caused my brain to short circuit. Even the old-movie-watching part of the cerebrum needs a good workout once in a while, and "Dead Man" is just what the doctor ordered.

It's the type of film that profoundly affected me on so many levels that when I left, I felt I was in a dream. Perhaps you've had this same type of experience - the world seems a little too well lit, time moves a little slower, and real-life dialogue with friends seems a little crisper than normal. The rest of you probably think I'm insane, but I think the correct term here is "sensitive artist." The last film to affect me that deeply was Johnny Depp's 1993 project, "Arizona Dream." I take it to be a sign of a truly great piece of cinema - a film that's both accessible (I despise non-narrative film) and at the same time, transcends the pack
¸‡Ê its clever cinematography, quick wit, and well-thought-out story.

"Dead Man" has personality - a rare treat for films these days. All the characters Blake encounters while on the lamb are perverse and odd in some way. Eventually, he befriends an educated Native American who calls himself "Nobody," kills several people ( including Iggy Pop), and learns how to survive in the wilderness, never to return to

Cleveland again. It is, however, Crispin Glover who may be the real star of the film. He appears only for a fleeting moment, this time as an insane railroad coal burner, who warns Blake of his impending doom. With Glover on board, a little dab will do ya.

I really can't say enough good things about "Dead Man." Do yourself a favor and go see it for yourself - you may never have a chance to experience a Jarmusch film on the big screen again.

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