There are moments when a thousand words can't convey a single thought, and there are those when a soft, measured breath says more. Paterson is an ode to the banal poetry of everyday existence: the plodding rhythms which give melody its backbone, the mid-staccato cracks where meaning gleams into view. Jim Jarmusch lulls you with a quiet meditation on blue collar America, letting Paterson soak in his simple routine: wake up, start a poem, drive the bus, finish the poem, fix the mailbox, walk the dog, go to the bar, sleep and repeat. He then piles on tiny accents and aberrations -- splashes of contrast creeping through the curtains; bizarre, playlike dialogues caught in the periphery -- and sits back as their weight brings the rhythm to a halt. Like the best films, it's about everything and nothing: the inherent selfishness of creative endeavors, the way people in your life act as flavor and counterweight, the unsung heros who listen more than they speak, the light of a match and the color blue. It's visually striking, whimsically funny, subtly fantastical, and imposes a slowness on the audience that I found absolutely refreshing.

For lowering my blood pressure and renewing my appreciation of William Carlos Williams, Paterson effortlessly jumped to my Top 10 of the 2016 list (coming soon.) I loved this movie so much, and I'm particularly proud of the personal, non-spoilery conversation Chris and I were able to share on this episode of The Spoiler Warning. Listen, watch, and enjoy.