There can be majesty to silence, and legendary independent director Jim Jarmusch knows that better than anyone. Sure, his films can explode into cacophonies of sound a fury (“Dead Man” and “Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samurai” being fine examples there) but even in the cases where it does writer-director Jarmusch still punctuates the aggression with moments of sublime tranquility so potent they can rock a viewer to their very core. Granted, this isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, and from “Stranger than Paradise” to “Down by Law” to “Mystery Train” to “Coffee and Cigarettes” the filmmaker’s films are decidedly acquired tastes.

That’s kind of what makes his latest “Broken Flowers” so intriguing. On the surface, this Bill Murray serio-comedy is easily Jarmusch’s most accessible work in ages. Simply, this is story of an aging lothario named Don Johnston (Murray) trekking cross-country to visit five old flames who may-or-may-not be the mother of a son he’s not even sure really exists. Along the way this well off computer engineer learns a life of wine and roses and eternal bachelorhood might not have been the greatest decision after all. It is a movingly funny journey, full of pain and pathos laced with moving observations of life and love so ethereally heartbreaking they almost stop the breath. And yet, it’s so acidic, so pointed, so full of Murray’s trademark wit and whimsy, I couldn’t stop laughing.

It is a movie an audience should eat right up. And, for the most part, they do, getting caught up in Johnston’s winding adventures and laughing right along in all the right places while squirming in their seats every time things got blissfully uncomfortable. But the ending is typically ambiguous for Jarmusch, leaving so many open windows and unanswered questions I heard so many shouts of, “huh,” “what” and “oh come on now” I couldn’t count them all. What none of them got, however, is that this is the story of a man literally at a crossroads, a man coming to the realization that all his many sexual exploits have accomplished is to leave him standing in the road alone with only a handful of broken flowers.

Frankly, the movie is brilliant. “Broken Flowers” is a poetical masterpiece of longing and regret laced with the sharp asides of one of the greatest deadpan comedic hurricanes ever to grace cinema screens. This is a finely layered, intimately detailed mood piece full of crackerjack dialogue and lacerating supporting performances that could rip out the spine if they weren’t so darned funny. Of the women, my favorite bits included a trip to see Sharon Stone’s widowed professional closet organizer and stretch in the manufactured home of former fling Frances Conroy and her aggressively pugnacious husband played amusingly by Christopher McDonald. There’s also a stunningly delicate and turn by Jessica Lange as a lawyer-turned-animal communicator, the whole sequence ending with a thud so deafening only the silent glare of a suspiciously pissed-off Chloë Sevigny could pull it off.

But the movie’s best moments belong to Murray and oft-ignored character actor Jeffrey Wright. Together these two are on fire. Wright is the best comic foil Murray has had in ages, and it’s no surprise the combination of working with the renowned actor and Jarmusch’s deft script allows Wright to bring forth his best theatrical performance in what seems like forever. So often relegated to being just the best part of otherwise rather mediocre Hollywood productions (“Shaft,” “D-Tox,” “The Manchurian Candidate”) the actor comes alive here, ripping the part of Murray’s best friend Winston to shreds with flair and ingenuity. It’s a supporting performance for the ages, easily one of the best I’ve seen this year, and here’s hoping Oscar takes notice.

As for Murray, like past work in “Rushmore,” “The Royal Tennenbaums,” “Lost in Translation” and “The Life Aquatic,” he’s perfect. Unfortunately, he’s also playing a very similar character to those recent pieces and I’m deathly afraid people will just pass off what he does here as just more of the same. It isn’t, not in the slightest bit, Murray going deep into the depths and recesses of a lost man taking a strange journey he knows is only going to lead in the very opposite direction of redemption. It is a brilliant, bravura performance and one of the actor’s very best, and it is only bad timing on his part he’s just happened to give ones so eerily similar these past few years.

I loved “Broken Flowers,” adore it with all my heart walking out of the theater moved beyond any and all points I normally find myself. Jarmusch’s touch is magical; the movie a sublime meditation that left me wanting more which, in this case, is actually a very good thing. Is it up there with the director’s best? I think so and, even if it isn’t, it’s still one of the best things I’m going to see this year. For me, that’s just fine.

Film Rating: êêêê out of 4