Coen Country: The Films of Joel and Ethan Coen

O Brother, Where Art Thou? (2000)
by Brian

Ethan and Joel Coen teamed up with Homer to create 2000’s O Brother, Where Art Thou, the loose adaptation of the epic poem “The Odyssey,” moved from ancient Greece to the 1930s Deep South. Ulysses is replaced by a trio of escaped convicts, gang head Everett (George Clooney), the stubborn, easily angered Pete (Coen regular John Turturro) and the dimwitted but lovable Delmar (Tim Blake Nelson). The group break free from a chain gang in the opening scenes, out to seek a hidden loot which is days from being flushed away by the creation of a new damn. Encountering blind men, sirens, a cyclops, the KKK and becoming the hot new thing on the music charts, the boys have quite a journey to go through.

Upon its release, O Brother, Where Art Thou was one of the Coens biggest hits, remaining so to this day. The movie’s blend of comedy, religion, unforgettable music and old Hollywood charm make it a staple of Saturday afternoons on TNT, TBS, USA or whoever happens to have its rights currently. Although O Brother shares a number of similarities to the brothers earlier work Raising Arizona, in both cast and tone, the movie often feels as if it would have fit perfectly with that of its timeline, the 1930s. The tongue-tying dialogue, the acting style and the emotional content resembles works of the era, especially Preston Sturges. In fact, O Brother’s title come from Sturges’ 1941 classic Sullivan’s Travels, which also contains odd car chases, trains, chain gangs and down on their luck men.

O Brother’s atmosphere is a laid back, jovial one, as warm as the golden fields Roger Deakins shoots. A key to this is the incredible cast. George Clooney, in the first comedic performance to really show off his chops, is the standard Coen idiot genius. A man who usually ends up in the right spot, if by luck or chance, acting as if all the problems along the way were by design. Clooney’s big smile, chipper attitude and constant optimism is a perfect vehicle for the Coen dialect. Take for example when the boys meet up with guitarist Tommy Johnson, who has sold his soul the previous night to the devil for the ability to play the guitar. Clooney’s Everett takes the situation in and says, “Well ain’t it a small world, spiritually speaking. Pete and Delmar just been baptized and saved. I guess I’m the only one that remains unaffiliated.” The playfulness and glee Clooney has with the line is infectious. Coen regulars Holly Hunter, Turturro and John Goodman each have their moments to shine as well, ripping out laughs with ease. However, it is Tim Blake Nelson’s Delmar who is my personal favorite character.

Sweet and slow, Delmar just wants to please everyone else. As the group begins its trip to the treasure, there is a dispute over who gets to be in charge. Pete and Everett both proclaim their votes for “yours truly,” Delmar looks at them almost bewildered and nods, “Okay...I’m with you fellas.” Largely unknown before O Brother, Nelson steals each scene he is in, insistent on his desire to offer Everett some cooked gopher on a stick or in shock over Pete’s “transformation” by the sirens into a toad. I have watched this movie with my nephew a number of times, and each second Delmar is on screen, he smiles and laughs. For weeks he would go up to somebody and whispering into their ears, in a dead on Delmar impersonation, “I thought...they turned you into...a toad.”

Of course, it would be foolish to discuss O Brother’s greatness without delving further into its soundtrack, one that won Best Album of the Year at the Grammys no less. Infectious is the word to use here. From the goofy Soggy Bottom Boys rendition of “In the Jailhouse Now” to the somber renditon of “The Lonesome Valley” by the Fairfield Four, each musical interlude is pitch perfect in timing and mood. Listening to the songs separately invoke clear images from the film, blending Deakins’ lush, vivid visuals with relentlessly toe-tapping tunes forever. By the final rendition of “I Am A Man Of Constant Sorrow” at the town hall, I can not help but get up and dance along to the movie, whether home alone or embarrassing myself in front of strangers.

The Man Who Wasn't There (2001)
by Ari

Francis McDormand says it best on the dvd for The Man Who Wasn’t There:

“This movie HAS to be black-and-white. It wouldn’t exist otherwise”.

It’s true; the peculiar, underrated 2001 noir/comedy by the Coen Brothers has a mellow, washed-out, distant quality because of Roger Deakins' haunting cinematography. There’s a deliberately slow rhythm to the story of Ed Crane (Billy Bob Thornton), a quiet, introspective but dull barber who decides to blackmail his wife’s boss (James Gandolfini) because they’re having an affair. But based on the way Crane emotes, the affair itself isn’t exactly what one would describe as a tragic development, but rather an opportunity to invest in the dry cleaning business pitched to him by Creighton Tolliver (Coen regular Jon Polito). As the Coens joke on the dvd commentary, the pitch for a film about a barber who wants to become a dry cleaner was their first high concept story.

Crane is one of the most aloof characters in the Coen canon, a man so disinterested in other people (as he says, “I don’t talk much”), that he barely organizes a plan for blackmail and too easily puts trust in others based on promise. He observes his immediate surroundings, smokes a lot of cigarettes and cuts hair. That’s about all he does. That’s about all he knows. He hesitates for a moment when he gives Tolliver the stolen $10,000, but is then quickly convinced he's doing the right thing.It’s quite the opposite, of course, and when Crane’s new business partner splits with the dough, everything goes sour for everyone involved.

As with all classic noir, the first twist of events is followed by a spiral descent into hell, taking all the characters, Crane most of all, to that inevitable place of darkness and despair. For Crane, it seems like anything he attempts that deviates from his ordinary, daily routine will result in eventual disaster. He sleepwalks through his work, his marriage, his interaction with anything that has a pulse. He’s a bizarre character, not necessarily tormented by anything specific other than his mundane existence. Crane's sudden criminal interest is merely an excuse to take advantage of an opportunity. Anything with money seems like a good idea. At the film's conclusion, Crane mentions from a prison cell that he’s getting paid for writing his tragic story.

I’m not sure if his feelings are suppressed or just non-existent. The one person he shows affection for is a young girl (Scarlett Johansson) not half his age, a situation that naturally becomes a wreck (intended). After Crane’s blackmailing antics, it’s easy for his target, Big Dave (Gandolfini) to unscramble the mystery. Since we're dealing with the realm of film noir, bad only leads to worse. Crane kills his wife’s lover in self-defense (sort of), but the crime is placed on his wife, Doris (Francis McDormand). A fast-talking attorney (Tony Shalhoub) is hired for the case, alien conspiracies are introduced by paranoid women and, in the end, the bored, flawed barber pays for his crimes.

Some critics have accused the film for its slow pace and long runtime, but this deliberate progression is essential for the character at hand. The stylistic choices in The Man Who Wasn’t There give you an accurate picture of how Crane operates on a day-to-day basis; his mind-set, his pace, his world. I suppose if the character bores you, then the film will obviously leave you cold. But like many great film noir before it, it’s not necessary for me to identify with the characters so much as it’s important to understand them. By the end of the film you get a pretty clear idea of how bleak this guy really is, in all his subtle, quiet and lonely ways.

Intolerable Cruelty (2003)
by Ari

The problem with Intolerable Cruelty begins with the muddled screenplay revised and polished by Joel and Ethan Coen from an original draft by Robert Ramsey, Matthew Stone and John Romano. A series of unfortunate circumstances lead to this particular studio job, including the shutdown of an ambitious production for an adaptation of To The White Sea. Intolerable Cruelty was their first attempt at mainstream accessibility and success, but, as Joel Coen stated in a recent interview, “it’s not really within our capability”. The clash between generic Hollywood comedy and Coen quirkiness is abundantly clear throughout Intolerable Cruelty’s nearly intolerable runtime, a shame and disappointment considering the opportunity the story provides.

The film is clearly designed as a classical, rapid-fire Sturges/Lubitsch throwback, something the Coens could surely succeed with considering their gift for sharp dialogue, comedic timing and oddball brilliance (see Hudsucker Proxy). It seems well-cast on paper too, with classy, attractive stars George Clooney and Catherine Zeta Jones heating up the screen in a hate-to-love-you (or love-to-hate) relationship between a successful divorce attorney (Clooney) and a selfish opportunist who uses men for money (Zeta Jones). It’s something you could easily see Henry Fonda and Barbara Stanwyck, or Cary Grant and Rosalind Russell, starring in back in the old days of studio-system Hollywood, but, like the rest of the movie, the chemistry is surprisingly flat, the laughs surprisingly infrequent. The sexual tension between the characters never reaches that quintessential screwball feeling where everything becomes effortlessly funny, awkward, sweet and, most importantly, romantic.

Some bizarre Coen touches are sprinkled here and there (the highlights of the film, no question), but the whole enterprise lacks the special punch that made those great studio era comedies so unique and memorable, not to mention what makes the Coens' work so singular and vital. The direction is lifeless, the aesthetic presentation is bland and lazy, and the story quickly dissolves into irritation and, ultimately, boredom. The impeccable craftsmanship of 10 previous features is absent in Intolerable Cruelty, the obvious indication that their hearts weren’t quite there for this production. Perhaps it’s a tad unfair to always expect sheer brilliance from straight Coen comedy, but when you consider Intolerable Cruelty alongside Raising Arizona, The Hudsucker Proxy, The Big Lebowski and O Brother Where Art Thou?, it simply pales in comparison.

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