Watching Jim Jarmusch’s film made me fall in love with New Orleans, again.
His notes on the film read like poetry themselves:
I intend the film to evoke without directly employing . the smoldering Louisianna sun, run-down hotels and bordellos, the Zydeco blues of Clifton Chenier, etc., landscapes punctuated by the sad shapes of cypress trees dripping with Spanish moss, chain gangs, swampland, Cajun French, the wrong-iron balconies of New Orleans, etc.
The sad shapes of cypress trees dripping with Spanish moss. Brilliant and so true.