'The Limits of Control' (Focus Features)

A man with no name sits down at an outdoor cafe and orders two espressos in separate cups. A flock of birds gently take flight. A helicopter briefly whirls overhead. The man sips espresso. Silence. Calm.

A man with no name sits down at an outdoor cafe and orders two espressos in separate cups. A flock of birds gently take flight. A helicopter briefly whirls overhead. The man sips espresso. Silence. Calm. He is approached by another person, who sits down. The other person says "You don't speak Spanish, right?" The other person says something more, in Spanish or in another language. The man removes a matchbox from his pocket. The other person places a matchbox with the same design, but a different color, on the table. The matchboxes are exchanged. The other person says something more, and leaves. The man opens the newly-exchanged matchbox, takes out a tiny piece of paper, unfolds it, reads the coded, hand-written message on it, puts it in his mouth, and swallows it along with another sip of espresso.

A man with no name sits down at an outdoor cafe ...

So goes Jim Jarmusch's The Limits of Control, the perfect summer movie for people who prefer museums to amusement parks. Wearing a multitude of enigmas on its well-coifed sleeve, the film is cool, dark, mysterious, and altogether refreshing. Isaach De Bankolé plays The Man With No Name (actually identified as "Lone Man" in the credits), and if that moniker calls forth memories of Clint Eastwood in Sergio Leone's Spaghetti Westerns, so much the better, though Lone Man's espressos, matchboxes, and chastity place him firmly within the realm of post-modern masculinity.