There is: They both have the same name. In addition to the digital restoration—making the stark but stately images of one-horse towns, forests, rivers, and empty prairies at night almost transcendent—there are deleted scenes many of which testify to Jarmusch's excellent editorial judgmentcommentaries, and epic footage of Neil Young recording the soundtrack.
Hopefully the growing wreckage of his professional and personal life won't obscure the only important thing about his work: he was, for a time, among the best actors of his generation.
An American without a gun is — literally — a sitting duck. He is dressed in a checked suit that looks as if it had been waiting a long time in the menswear store for a sucker to come along.
The office manager John Hurt explains that the job no longer exists. In typical fashion for both Jarmusch and Young, the soundtrack was and remains divisive: some people don't care for it, and others like this writerbelieve it's not only wonderful, but works nicely as a standalone document.
The gentle and sympathetic portrayal of Native Americans living near whites is great and really helps bolster this one. The former establishes the shambling, present quality of a temporal realism.
The film fades out with beams of sunlight in the clouds still visible, showing Blake is either in the Spirit World or has been reborn again.
In each case, this geometric girding is used as a frame to hang a sugar-clump narrative structure, where incessantly yammering hipster types are both a distraction from the central arc and necessary to color it in.
For several years now the work, and indeed personal life of Johnny Depp has been much maligned. Nobody resolves to escort Blake to the Pacific Ocean to return him to his proper place in the spirit-world.