"Coffee and Cigarettes" has an excess of both, but this is by no stretch for lack of ideas. If you think that eleven vignettes about people meeting over the titular intoxicants is a thin premise, then perhaps this movie isn't for you. But if so, then chances are you yourself haven't enjoyed the dual pleasures of depressants working in concert.

The movie doesn't treat the premise as an excuse either to just watch people bonding or arguing or posing. You can see the caffeine in Roberto Benigni's agitato, and there's nothing quite like watching two rock stars sucking down a cancer stick after their pretenses of quitting. Having said that, the movie does go beyond the premise to reveal a cast of characters, some playing themselves, some playing others, and one playing her distant cousin.

"Coffee" is a bit like what Interview magazine (the publication where one interesting celebrity interviews another with the payoff of getting rid of the journalist middleman) might look like if it were a film. Oftentimes, it seems that some spontaneous interview process is exactly what's going on. For example, in the first vignette featuring comedian Steven Wright and Roberto Benigni, Benigni greets Wright saying he was expecting him, but there is no apparent business to talk about, just small talk. The absurdist ending to this meeting of mismatched souls, which I won't divulge, is oddly satisfying like watching some existentialist play.

I don't know Jim Jarmusch's directorial technique, but I'm sure improvisation is a big part of it. In fact, part of Jarmusch's technique shows at times when characters in different stories use the same stock phrases (presumably they work as an improvisational blueprint to keep conversation moving). But Jarmusch's seemingly small indie project is actually the product of almost twenty years of capturing black and white footage of these chance meetings, some of them released earlier as shorts.

At its best, the film can show the relationships between its cast of quirky characters. Perhaps the best vignette is the exchange between Alfred Molina and actor Steve Coogan. Coogan is a confident snobby Brit who is enjoying the success of "24 Hour Party People" whereas Molina is a friendly, if unfashionable (his new part in the second "Spiderman" may prove otherwise), guy excited to tell Coogan a secret. Each moment changes from cordial to awkward to spiteful. Cate Blanchett pulls off a stunning "I didn't know she could that" moment where she plays both herself as a put-together beauty and her Australian cousin as a grungy wench. Jack and Meg White discuss electricity with an energy reminiscent of the "Monty Python and the Holy Grail" sparrow discussion. Bill Murray hangs with Wu-Tang Clan members Gza and Rza. Tom Waits and Iggy Pop gnaw at each other's rock star egos. Steve Buscemi plays a busboy brandishing a ridiculous idea about Elvis' twin brother. The final vignette even ponders bigger questions about life from two men who've lived lots of it.

At its worst, the film is boring and inconsequential. Sometimes there is no arc in character or story (certainly none is promised), and it basically just comes down to how willing you are to sit in a theater and watch quirky people doing quirky things. The hip quotient of the film is off the charts, but perhaps there is a soul who hasn't heard of any of the actors in it or wouldn't care to see them doodle on a celluloid canvas. This isn't a film for everyone, but then again, being cool isn't for everyone either.
-Howard Ho