Now & Then -- Dream Lovers: A Straight Story:

For our occasional series, here is the latest from indie legend Jim Jarmusch.  In the coming days, we will go back in time and revisit his early masterpiece "Dead Man." (Previous Now & Then entries are here and here and here and here.)

PATERSON (B) - In which Jim Jarmusch tells a sweet little story, as if the modern indie master had been bought off by Disney and has hypnotized his entire cast to tell the humble tale of an ordinary bus driver who fancies himself a poet.

Jarmusch, the godfather of American second-wave filmmaking dating back to the early '80s, is now, an elder. His last film, "The Only Lovers Left Alive," was a classic quirky Jarmusch ensemble piece, and somewhat of a return to form after a decade wallowing in a bit of a funk (with the likes of 2009's "The Limits of Control"). Here, the clouds part further, and the filmmaker is downright happy-go-lucky as he follows an everyman named Paterson (an understated Adam Driver) who drives a bus in, coincidentally, Paterson, N.J., observes the world at arm's-length, and returns to his simple, charmed life every evening with his adorable wife, Laura (Golshifteh Farahani).

The pace and tone are inoffensive, almost dreamlike (I wondered at the end whether it wasn't "all just a dream") -- I couldn't tell you after watching it why it's rated R (a quick glimpse of rear nudity, one or two bad words, and one potentially violent scene, it turns out). I wouldn't have been surprised if it had been rated G, like David Lynch's "The Straight Story," a good point of comparison. Lynch had an elderly man riding a lawnmower across country; here, young Paterson drives mostly in a circuit, seeing the same faces and places every day, eavesdropping on the most ordinary of conversations. The oaths are mild here: characters are called a dumbbell or a numb-skull.

Adam Driver (HBO's "Girls," Kylo Ren in "Star Wars") is seriously sedated here, often with a wry smile and a far-off look, with that mystical presence that commonly anchors Jarmusch's later films (such as "Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samurai," itself derivative of TV's "Kung Fu"). His poetry spills across the screen -- often in a draft form that gets edited in real time -- as Paterson intones the words. The poetry is rather ordinary. One of the best ideas here is that there is nothing mysterious or particularly literary about putting your thoughts to the page -- there's even the sly hint that the filmmaker might be suggesting that Paterson's poetry is not very good. Farahani is a fine foil, if a bit too cutesy; she brings to mind the French girlfriend of Butch in "Pulp Fiction," played by Maria de Medeiros. ("Zed's dead, baby.")

Cliches and laziness creep in here, though. The couple don't have a child, but rather they engage in baby-talk with one of those ubiquitous snuffling movie bulldogs. There's a generic complaining co-worker to greet Paterson every morning. Laura at times is a trite manic pixie dream girl, complete with folky artistic flair and mad baking skills. (Interestingly, Jarmusch plays a lot with shapes and designs -- concentric circles, stripes, a hypnotizing black-and-white harlequin guitar.) The recurring bit of Paterson having to straighten out his leaning mailbox every day -- only to have it lean back over moments later -- is straight out of a Capra film. There's a wise old bartender named Doc who plays chess against himself. There are odd references to the city of Paterson's pop culture history, as if lifted from Wikipedia. Our couple snuggles in a movie theater to -- nudge-nudge -- "The Island of Lost Souls."

There's no doubt, though, that Jarmusch is making a serious pitch here, even if he's speaking in riddles. There's something to the idea that this might have all been a dream; the movie begins and ends with Paterson waking up. He also could be in purgatory; when he wakes, he reflexively checks his watch, and while it's always a slightly different time, there's an element of "Groundhog Day" to the proceedings. Paterson and his wife are also following their dreams on separate tracks -- poet and country singer, respectively. (Others are chasing dreams, too, including a budding rap star whom Paterson encourages.)

There is an overall vibe of old-fashioned innocence mixed with hipster magical realism. Paterson and Laura are essentially sexless spouses -- what you might expect if Pee-wee Herman married Miranda July. (The cloying comic strip "Love Is ..." comes to mind.) Twins recur throughout the movie, as do waterfalls. Potential conflicts turn anti-climactic -- a bus merely breaks down rather than turning into a fireball; a gun gets pulled in a bar, but reason prevails; thugs cruising in a car seem to menace Paterson by coveting his dog, but nothing comes of the random exchange. It's a cartoon-like world.

This is a movie bathed in earnest innocence, with its heart on its sleeve. Paterson suggests that his love is so deep that, if he were ever to lose Laura, "I'd tear my heart out and never put it back." Paterson and Laura are mirrored by an ill-fated couple who keep showing up at Paterson's local pub (Laura kindly turns a blind eye to Paterson's fiction of walking the dog as an excuse to go drinking). Everett, dumped by Marie, at one point takes a stand and betrays Jarmusch's soft spot.

"Without love," he implores, "what reason is there for anything?"

Has the indie film world's bad boy gone soft?

BONUS TRACK
The soundtrack is full of wistful old country and R&B songs. This is a fine example, Willie West's "I'm Still a Man (Lord Have Mercy)":