Descent into the Pit:

Jim Jarmusch looks like Max Headroom. He is not the image of the indie film demigod that he has been for the past 15 years, making movies as diverse as his half dozen short films all entitled "Coffee and Cigarettes" or Johnny Depp's neo-Western "Dead Man" or his most recent film, currently in theaters, "Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samurai" (perhaps the most creative title of the movie season).

Jarmusch is friends with people like Iggy Pop and Tom Waits, and he has worked with Rza of the WuTang Clan. He peppers his speech with references to sources as disparate as Zen philosophers and William Blake, not to mention hip-hop lyrics.

On March 27, Jarmusch spoke to a capacity crowd at James Stewart '34 Theater at 185 Nassau Street in the annual John Sacret Young film lecture that brings a working filmmaker to Princeton every year. Jarmusch's mix of wry wit and academic and artistic accuity gave all present a taste of the bizarre mind behind off-beat works such as "Mystery Train" and "Night On Earth."

Jarmusch himself is not afraid to admit his penchant for marching to his own drummer. In fact, what he admires most in other filmmakers is the ability to hold onto "their own vision . . . and an original voice . . . not guided by demographic marketing research." Jarmusch has certainly maintained his own distinctive voice, rejecting conventions in both scripting and shooting. As he puts it, "I try to avoid using conventions . . . like trying to teach you by the story."

As a result, Jarmusch's films are anything but didactic and many times are even puzzling in their narrative continuity, jumping in "Dead Man" from a peyote trip to a subsequent scene of cannibalism. Jarmusch does not approach his work with specific morals in mind.

Despite the repeated attempts of his audience to get him to define his work, Jarmusch typically responded to thematic questions with an enigmatic smile or a wry "smart-ass" — his words — response.

He often answers journalists who ask him where he gets his ideas, "I buy them down at the bodega . . . by my house." In an answer to one carefully constructed audience query about the cosmic significance of one of his works, Jarmusch joked: "Wow. Can you ask a more broad question?"

Jarmusch's tendency to embrace the obscure over the obvious has led him to reject concrete plotlines in favor of character development, shot lists in favor of cinematic improvisation and even barren settings in favor of dramatic vistas. As a matter of fact, when scouting locations for "Dead Man," Jarmusch would find "picture postcard" settings and turn his back on them, selecting whatever scene faced them instead.

Despite this seeming capriciousness, Jarmusch is very deliberate in his process and has great respect for both his cinematographer and actors. As he explained: "I never start discussing the look of the film [with the director of photography] until . . . [I've] discussed what it's about." He also prides himself on taking into account the individuality of personality and style in all his actors: "You have to find the way to work with each one. They're all different."

Jarmusch took himself very lightly to the great amusement of his audience, cracking self-deprecating jokes like: "I've never, never given a lecture before, and I'm sure after tonight, my record will be unchanged . . . I also have some books in case we get really bored." Still, his erudition and commitment to the work of filmmaking comes through strongly in his speech.

While studying at Columbia University, Jarmusch spent a semester abroad in Paris and came home with all incompletes because he spent every day watching movies from all over the world. His cosmopolitan and international approach to filmmaking comes across in his work.

He uses stars ranging from Hollywood's Winona Ryder to Italy's Roberto Begnini, locations extending from Los Angeles to Helsinki, and he is fascinated with Japanese culture, an interest that comes out strongly in his latest work, "Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samurai," which documents the career of a hitman (Forest Whitaker) who considers himself a modern samurai warrior and tries to model his life on the samurai code.

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Jarmusch is unafraid of combining influences from various countries and cultures. "I've been moved by a lot of cultures, and the things that speak to me I try to hold onto," he said. He also tampers with the boundaries between high and low culture, trying not to "differentiate between the philosophical and the mundane."

In his film "Mystery Train," for example, references to Elvis Presley pervade the script, a script whose characters include Japanese tourists and an Italian widow, not to mention an African-American man named Will Robinson, in a deliberate reference to the television series "Lost In Space."

Jarmusch's personal anecdotes are as varied as the scope of his films. In his lecture, he regaled his audience with explanations of religion and the afterlife — such as "I do find it strange that the symbol of [Christianity] . . . is a torture device," and "[Eternal punishment] sounds to me like a bad TV game show. Behind door number three is hell . . ." He spoke of his adventures in the Amazon, telling of a German man who, brushing his teeth in the jungle, was shot by natives who thought he was foaming at the mouth. He also offered enthusiastic endorsements of his favorite cartoons. "I'm a big fan of animation and cartoons . . . I wish there was just a whole [Simpsons] show of Itchy and Scratchy," he said.

Behind this manic love of life, philosophy and the movies lies an insightful auteur and a tremendous wit, whose confidence in his own work and creativity is matched by an ability to look at the world through slightly amused and ironic eyes.

When one student asked, "If I wanted to act in one of your movies, what would I have to do?" Jarmusch answered in pure deadpan: "I have this pit, this fire, four maniacs and there are snakes and rats . . ."