Jim Jarmusch's latest is the conclusion of a project he's been tinkering with since 1986: 11 black-aꦍnd-white shorts, each centred around people meeting up and shooting the bree꧑ze.

Ther♏e's good fun to be had spot𒀰ting the occasional recurring motifs, but the film's real strength lies in the chemistry between the various participants. After all, where else could you see Tom Waits being extremely nasty to a surprisingly sweet Iggy Pop, or RZA from the Wu-Tang Clan persuading Bill Murray to take a swig of oven cleaner?

Despite its long gestation period, none of the segmeꦰnts feel dated: Jarmusch's aesthetic is so distinctive all rac🧸es and nationalities can mingle freely in his warped Americana of the mind. And while some sequences work better than others - the one where Alfred Molina persuades Steve Coogan they're long-lost cousins is a standout - they're all so short that when one disappoints, there's always another along in a minute.