Minimalist Cinema: The Art of Watching Paint Dry
- Alyaa Zakaria
- Jan 25
- 3 min read
Our Film and TV Writer, Alyaa, takes us into the world of slow film, revealing why some of cinema’s most memorable moments happen when almost nothing happens.
One could argue that every film has a plot. Some may focus on storytelling, while others may shift towards characters or atmosphere. But must a clear storyline exist for a film to be considered a masterpiece? Does it really matter?
So-called plotless films often challenge the assumption that narrative is cinema’s central requirement. Yet what does “plotless” truly mean? Surely, every film tells a story of some kind, and that purpose depends entirely on who receives it. What one audience finds pointless, another may discover as quietly meaningful. In this sense, the experience is the story. The absence of a traditional plot does not imply a lack of intention behind its making. Many directors create films that deliberately slow down time, stripping away narrative progression to shift attention to something else, such as emotions or even silence.
Marguerite Duras’s Nathalie Granger is highly considered a plotless film. The film follows two women aimlessly wandering around the house, performing everyday chores without explanation or urgency. The minimal visuals and elliptical dialogues accompanied by a melancholic piano score do not align with the typical storytelling audiences expect. Many viewers might find the film purposeless because it relies heavily on long takes of ordinary housework, with no apparent plot development.
However, this type of cinema holds a particular appeal for some viewers. Much of that appeal lies in its visual composition, the beauty of simple shots framed with intention. In Nathalie Granger, everyday life is transformed into a series of contemplative images. One might ask: why sit through a film that mirrors our own daily existence? Yet, while many can turn to films as a form of escapism, works that remain close to reality could offer something different: a comforting space to unwind, where viewers can enjoy stillness without expending mental energy to decipher complex messages.
Perhaps there is also a particular pleasure in interpreting such films in a deeply personal way. Plotless cinema does not impose a fixed meaning or provide neat conclusions; instead, it invites viewers to project their own experiences onto the screen. This sense of freedom can feel satisfying, in contrast to plot-driven films that tightly control the viewer’s emotional journey.
Moving from French minimalism to American indie cinema, the works of Jim Jarmusch offer another perspective on the beauty of slow films. Stranger Than Paradise, one of Jarmusch’s signature works, embodies his usual absurdism, long takes, and deadpan humour. The film isn’t strictly character-driven, yet its simplicity is arguably the heart of its charm. There is something undeniably cool about Jarmusch’s minimalism — a style that feels dry yet playful. Part of this ‘coolness’ also stems from collaborators like John Lurie, whose jazz background and quiet magnetism helped shape the early Jarmusch aesthetic. Add to this a fusion of European arthouse elements within an American context, and the result is a tone distinctly his own.
The appeal is even clearer in Coffee and Cigarettes. Divided into 11 segments, the film capture short, intimate conversations about mundane topics over coffee and cigarettes. The script itself is not especially complex or profound, yet the film remains engaging with the support of an incredible cast ensemble: Jack White, Bill Murray, Cate Blanchett, GZA and RZA of the Wu-Tang Clan, and more. The natural charisma of the ensemble elevates everyday conversations into moments of charm and humour.
A similar logic runs through Jarmusch’s other anthology film, Night on Earth, which relies on the easy magnetism of actors like Winona Ryder, Gena Rowlands, and Roberto Benigni. Their natural charisma each enhances the film’s appeal as they collectively draw viewers into carefully observing the film’s unhurried rhythms. Jarmusch’s cinema proves that a film does not need a strong plot or dramatic narrative to leave an impression; mood, tone, and peculiar authenticity can be enough.
The appeal of minimalist cinema lies in its slowness. To some, it may feel like watching paint dry. To others, it offers a rare sense of peace and introspection. These films may not be for everyone, but they persist precisely because they challenge what we expect cinema to be. Sometimes, beauty is not found in the story itself, but in the simple act of watching, listening, and even existing for a while.
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