My Momentarily Definitive Coen List: #1

Welcome Little Boy. 

Today is the 65th anniversary of the bombing of Hiroshima.  It is not a particularly pleasant thought to dwell on such a matter, as 'the big one' is such a stupifyingly oxymoronic event on the face of human history.  Perhaps it explains us better than any other marvel.  If you have the will power, look up some of the photos of the burn victims, realize that the far majority of the 70,000 instant fatalities were civilians, and then look at all the happy photos of our troops coming home.  V-Day in the Pacific came because of this awful thing of power (and his li'l brother, Fat Man, unleashed upon Nagasaki three days later).

America showed no mercy
on August 6th.

And again on August 9th.  That was the cost of peace; the release of a monster the likes of which our imaginations have replaced with the likes of Godzilla.  It's the stuff of Lovecraft.  By bringing this to light, I don't intend to cast a shadow on America's actions during the Second Great War.  I only mention it to bring to light the sheer immensity of such an act.

This world can never be defined sufficiently.  Many works of art, rhetoric, or mathematics would have us believe that this world is known, that we can grasp the very essence of what it is we are a part of.  I am of the party that says we cannot do this.

Take God, for example.  He is all-loving, all-righteous, omniscient, omnipresent, omnipotent, and also the very end of righteous wrath and anger.  Psalm 78 consists of a retelling of the history of God and Israel, and notes when God was forsaken by His people,

  ⁵⁸For they (Israel) provoked Him with their high places
  And aroused His jealousy with their graven images.
  ⁵⁹When God heard, He was filled with wrath
  And greatly abhorred Israel;

 

Yet John, the one whom Jesus loved, centuries later, tells us, 

Beloved, let us love one another, for love is from God; 

   and everyone who loves is born of God and knows God.

 The one who does not love does not know God, for God is love. 

1 John 4:7-8

Our God cannot be contained by our words or definitions.  Likewise it would follow that that which this immeasurable God created would follow suit.  And because of this, there will always be more to discover.  More on this later.

The Man Who Wasn't There won't be most folks' favorite Coen flick.  I get that.  It doesn't have the most zany of characters, nor the most preposterous of plots, nor the most suspenseful moments.

Go watch it.  Have you?  Now summarize.  I summary written on imdb.com states it as, "...a tale of suspected adultery, blackmail, foul play, death, Sacramento city slickers, racial slurs, invented war heroics, shaved legs, a gamine piano player, aliens, and Heisenberg's uncertainty principle."  That about covers it.  Hell, I don't even know what 'gamine' means.

The fourth book of the Bible, the Book of Numbers, has a tendency, like a fair portion of the Torah, to be a bit of a boring read.  But somewhere in the middle of its cycle, in chapters 22-24, we get a glimpse of the character Balaam.  Why is he important?  For one, he talks to the Lord.  And he's not an Israelite.  That's a rare commodity in the days before Jesus of Nazareth.  We learn that Balaam is a soothsayer prophet.  He has been asked to curse the Israelites.  He responds to the Moabite King by saying he can only do what the Lord tells him to do.  Three times he asks, and three times God says no.  He comes out of the story as a pretty stand-up Gentile.  Oh yeah, and there's a talking ass.  After the non-cursing incident, Balaam just walks out of the story, Numbers 24:25,

Then Balaam arose and departed and returned to his place...

Six chapters later we get our postscript on Balaam's life.  He is listed amongst the names of the slain among the Midianites that Israel had just wiped out by God's blessing.  

Balaam is one of the select few Old Testament characters who is verified to exist by extra-biblical documents.  He was an important dude.  And he talked to God.  

This passage holds so much intrigue for me because it's a small window into the workings of God outside of the Biblical narrative.  Balaam clearly had a relationship with God, but mostly, that story is excluded.  All that is kept is Balaam's interactions with the (pre)nation of Israel.  This makes sense in that that is what the Torah (the first five books of the Bible) is concerned with; the plight of the Israelites.  There are immeasurable stories of God that we simply are not informed of.  Surely there are.  There is so much.  This, I do believe, is part one of Ed Crane's two-part journey.

 At some point, The Man Who Wasn't There was known simply as The Barber.  Either title works.  Ed Crane, the barber, is caught in a cyclical trap.  Everything is remaining the same while growing more and more distant.  He sees this primarily through his wife's ever blooming relationship with Big Dave, aka Tony Soprano circa 1949.  Mercifully, dry-cleaning comes walloping into Ed Crane's life... that is, dry-cleaning, some abstract thoughts, and Birdy, the pre-Lost in Translation, piano playing, Scarlett Johannson.  All these facets lead Ed towards this truth; the world is convulsing with ideas, and ideas are what pre-empt change.  The hope of change spurs Ed on.  If there can be change, then maybe Ed can get what he really wants. 

From my perspective, the film wears it colors on its sleeve when we get a look into Ed's mind.  As he passes out amidst a car crash, he remembers.  He remembers his wife, and through memory, we are given a slice of her character that draws him to her.  She is wholly other.  This is the hope, that he can again marry his form to hers.  That he can love this different thing, and that she'll love him in return.

Ed's journey is one of revelation followed by resolution.  The revelation is that the world is vast and unknowable in its immensity.  The resolution is that because of the openness of existence, he may yet find a way to articulate his love for his wife.  

When we face the vastness of all creation, let us smile and seek a way to articulate our love for that which we are privileged to play a part in.  Let's sign our names to this place.  Nuclear bombs and all.

Ed Crane: It’s like pulling away from the maze, while you’re in the maze you go through willy-nilly, turning where you think you have to turn, banging into the dead ends, one thing after another, but you get some distance on it, and all those twists and turns, why, they’re the shape of your life, it’s hard to explain, but seeing it whole gives you some peace.

My Momentarily Definitive Coen List: #4

 Shtetl Husband: What a marvel... what a marvel.

In the wake of my first experience with “A Serious Man”, I was possessed with such a rapturous yearning to assess the essence of the Coen mantra that I began this list.  What resulted was a half-assed countdown that devolved into oblivion with much haste.  And so I never came to contemplate in writing this bizarre melo-dramatic-dark-comedy-mystery.  But the day has come, my friends, for I have now revisited this super serious enigma.  

Dr. Larry Gopnik is a fine fellow, a physicist seeking tenure with two (mostly petulant) children, a wife, a neck-pussing live-in brother, and a mysteriously attractive neighbor who has a tendency towards smoking pot and sunbathing topless.  For obvious reasons, Larry's world is knowable, and therefore pleasant.  

Then bad things happen to Larry.  Bad things.  For starters, Larry's wife leaves him for a stooge.  Later the stooge dies.  Other things happen too.  But none of this is very important.

What is important, is that you, "Let it breathe."  After all, "...this is an incredible bottle. This is not Mogen David. This is... a wine, Larry. A Bordeaux."  Do you yet understand? 

Larry wants to know why.  Why are these things happening?  Perhaps Larry's Korean student, Clive, has the most accurate answer for him.  Unfortunately Larry doesn't hear it, or at very most, Larry doesn't intake it.  When told that actions have consequences, the frustrated student responds, "Yes, often."

If our work only often has direct responses, then Newton's laws of thermodynamics are not laws at all; they are only tendencies.  Every action often has an equal and opposite reaction.

The opening lines of the film are the words, "A marvel, a marvel."  Why do the Coen Brothers begin their film with such a situation?   I would venture to guess that these words are part one of a two part answer.

The resolution of the film occurs as Larry's son gets a visit with the wise old Rabbi, the very man that Larry has hopelessly pursued the council of.  With this old man lies all the hope that we can summon.  When he finally does speak, what at first sounds like rubbish is indeed intoxicated with an aura of understanding.  The rabbi quotes a rock band that the young son has been listening to -- furthermore, he gives the boy back his confiscated walkman, and leaves him only with the happy slogan, "Be a good boy."

The world is a marvel and our response to its perplexity should simply be to be good.  That's it.  That is all that Larry should worry his little head about --- and perhaps he should consider the parking lot too, if he wishes (but even that too, is really just an illustration of how the world is a marvel).

Sister Aloysius: You just want things to be resolved so you can have simplicity back.

At the end of the day, I think the embrace and intention of "A Serious Man" is humble.  Though its title mocks the concept of a far reaching ideology, its framework (Judaism) rectifies the arm's length.  Larry Gopnik thinks he needs to understand the full character of God to understand what should become of his life, but his encounters with rabbis and townspeople slowly emphasize the truth that he need not understand really any of the big 'T' truth in order to live well.  In fact he is taught that the less you deal, the happier you can be.  After all, sometimes actions have no consequences at all.  

We could end our discussion now.  We could call it quits.   

But is it fair to leave the Coen's off the hook?  It is so easy to say that life is 'a marvel', and that nothing really can be made of it beside black-and-white morality and aesthetically pleasing parking lots.  But if all things are in a state of flux, and every action doesn't have an equal and opposite reaction, then one cannot know anything.  The cat is indeed both dead and alive.  And if this is so, can you really persecute the man who killed the cat?  He may have killed the cat, but it's still purring underneath that box.  

These issues of uncertainty are at the core of the film "Doubt".  This is why the 'Sisters of Charity' at the film's inner-city school can't sleep at night.  They are plagued by the ravages of uncertainty, as they try to be 'good girls'.

"A Serious Man" is seriously unfair.  It tells me to be good in an entirely ambiguous world.  How?  Tell me how.  Do I stab the dybbuk, or leave him be?  

I can't be a good boy.  It's impossible under this lens.  All I can do is marvel.  Marvel all day.  But that's just boring and dumb.  I'd rather not be able to sleep at night.

Larry Gopnik: The Uncertainty Principle. It proves we can't ever really know... what's going on. So it shouldn't bother you. Not being able to figure anything out. Although you will be responsible for this on the mid-term. 

My Momentarily Definitive Coen List: #9

I think I would perceive"O Brother, Where Art Thou" as something quite distasteful if it weren't so darn watchable.
Who would have ever guessed that a depression era soundtrack would be the beez-kneez?  

Not I... not I.

Take Homer's Odyssey.  

Did you grab it?  

You got it?  

Is it in your hands? 

Can we check that? 

Check?

Good.

Now,
remove the myriad of soap opera-esque gods
of the seas, lands, and skies.  

Leave their spots vacant for a moment. 

Picture Odysseus 

roaming around the Greecian seas without that pesky polytheistic vibe causing mayhem
in the form of
seven headed monsters, 

one-eyed giants, 

and those deadly
singing sirens. 

Odysseus, just by the sheer fact that his opponents are now only the natural world and the limits of his own intellect, himself falls to earth.  He becomes a plebian figure.  In other words, 

he becomes George Clooney.
 

Now, hopefully you didn't you condense your now-godless edition of 

"The Odyssey" down to mere paragraphs just yet.  

You didn't, right?  

Good.  

Because we've got some substitutes.  

In lieu of our polytheistic universe, we are supplanting in its stead, 

the dualistic Christian worldview.  

So you've got 

the devil's minions running about,

a litany of salvific followers of the big God fella, 

and two arch-rivals, 

Satan and God, 

pawning around with the 

chessboard of the human race 

amongst a dust bowl south.  

Happy times, no?  

(I never really understood why the Big Baddie was represented by the Eyeless Boss from "Cool Hand Luke".  But that fella is effective, I reckon.) 

Personally, the ending of this one strikes me as a bit monotone.  Why would a smart schmuck like Everett Ulysses care to stay with such a demanding wife?  It almost has a sprinkling of Voltaire's "Candide" in there, but yet, Everett seems content enough by story's end.  It just feels like there's nothing left to do.  I want to play with the God's some more, not settle down to quiet life with an arsenal of singing children.  I don't want to cultivate my garden.  I want to fight.  And I want Ulysses to fight by my side.  

Oh well, I'll just start the movie over again, and begin the journey anew.  It's so darn watchable, after all.

My Momentarily Definitive Coen List: #10

Why so serious?

Once upon a time I discretely overheard bad whisperings regarding the romantic comedy Intolerable Cruelty, and henceforth, never figured myself to be one who would enjoy that specific time witnessing that story. Oy Vay! How wrong the whispers of times gone by were!

Oh, you. You just couldn't let me go, could you? This is what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object. You are truly incorruptible, aren't you? Huh? You won't kill me out of some misplaced sense of self-righteousness. And I won't kill you because you're just too much fun. I think you and I are destined to do this forever.

These words could be the brooding philosophical debate of the Batman and the Joker, or it could be the evocative flirtation of two supreme forces in world of pityless inconsequenciality.

Our protagonists are two perfectly opposing forces; a divorce lawyer and a gold-digger. Plot the two in the real world and you've got the recipe for 90 minutes of vomitting up chunks of narcissistic puss-covered twinkies. But the Coen Brothers are masterful puppet masters. They pluck up our morally deficient specimens, and plop them smack dab into a world of relativistic nominalism. Nothing really matters.  

You'll hunt me. You'll condemn me. Set the dogs on me. Because that's what needs to happen.

Our protagonist friends are set free to be as vile as their putrid little hearts desire. The only rule is to experience as much emotion in any given instant as possible. Try it! It's blissfully intoxicating! As you purview the flick, ask yourself in every scene, 'what's the action that would lead to the most emotional response possible?' More than likely, our silver screen friends will execute your thoughts with sudden executional fortitude!  

They'll lie to each other, steal from each other, try to kill each other, but who cares? Why should those things keep them from a happy ending?  They're beautiful people, so let's see them end blissfully happy in each other's embrace. That's what I want to see.  That's what they want.  Win-Win-Win.  Everyone wins. 

This is a film that never second guesses itself. It knows its place in the world.  It's a comedy. It's a romance. It's a popcorn flick.  It's not reality. It's not a reflection of life. Man alive, this little movie would do well in Socrates book, for what other film 'knows itself' any better?  

Maybe you want to read the instruction manual first. 

P.S. Why waste precious picture space not showing Billy Bob Thornton in a big cowboy hat?  It's a big hat! It's funny.

P.S.S.Bonus: Slingblading Billy Bob for the triple-mega-action win!

My Momentarily Definitive Coen List: #13, 12 & 11

13. The Ladykillers.

   Fellas, a remake, really?  At least they kill off most every character.  Bloodshed makes the film world go round!

12. Blood Simple.

 Well played, sirs.  Using the old, Shakespearean device of bad communication to wreak havoc on the plans of limited protagonists always works to cloud the straight-edged plot arc.

 Apparently "Blood Simple" was coined as a term that refers to "...the addled, fearful mindset people are in after committing murder." (knowledgerush.com).  So, that's pretty neat.


             11.

                    

Good stuff.  Yep.  It was funny.  I laughed.  Hmm... I guess I don't have anything to offer on this one.  Uh, look over here! Quotes!  Everybody loves a good quote-fest!

Biology and the prejudices of others conspired to keep us childless. 

And this here's the TV. Two hours a day, either educational or football, so you don't ruin your appreciation of the finer things.

This whole dream, was it wishful thinking? Was I just fleeing reality like I know I'm liable to do? But me and Ed, we can be good too. And it seemed real. It seemed like us and it seemed like, well, our home. If not Arizona, then a land not too far away. Where all parents are strong and wise and capable and all children are happy and beloved. I don't know. Maybe it was Utah.

My Momentarily Definitive Coen List: #14

The Coen. Brothers need not my praise.  They're minds have brought forth two best picture winners, and a slew of fantastic adventures spanning three decades.  Ranking their films (rather arbitrarily, I might add) simply gives me an excuse to spend some well-valued time inhaling their majesty.

You know, for kids!

No, Norville, I don't know.

I'm not sure who this film is for.  I've been told that The Hudsucker Proxy is chalk full of references to films from the thirties and forties.  Clearly there's some Buster Keaton as well as Modern Times action slipping in there.  The art design is elegant and vast.  Paul Newman is a perfectly sordid villain.  And the cinematography is just sparkling.  But for what?  What's the point here, folks?

In my likely unwelcomed opinion, Proxy fails to be greater than the sum of its parts.  For the pedestrian film, the fun varnish would be enough to satisfy my retinas, but these are Bros!  We're supposed to be able to chew on the films curds for days post-experience.

I'll make an unfair comparison now.  The Hudsucker Proxy reminds me of the lukewarm Christian.  The lukewarm creation bobs around, in and out through various (admittedly amusing) life events, seemingly never fully aware of its being, and ceases to exist one day.  And yet, because of the "Christian" tag, the lukewarm individual is able to splice his life-events with all these spiritual verbiages.  The third act of Proxy suddenly involves a God and Satanesque battle that is never explained or made relevant.  If you're going to go all meta on me, if you're going to tailor yourself a Christian, then go the whole distance.  Buy into the concept.  Why the hell are these spiritual dudes suddenly concerned with the earthly fate of Norville Barnes?

I can say that I just don't get The Hudsucker Proxy.  I could say that, but that wouldn't necessitate its inclusion as my least favorite Coen Brothers' flick.  What does necessitate its existence here is that not only do I not get the film, but I don't even know what I don't get.  It's not an known unknown.  It remains an unknown unknown.

The Coen Brothers, with all the polish their films always have, tend to hold me back at arm's length.  I am interested, intrigued, and envious of these characters in a zoo that they show me, but I rarely actually feel that I myself could walk through the cages and play house with the animals.  The characters and I remain wholly apart.  Proxy is no exception, yet at this zoo the lines I have to wait in to get a decent view of the specimens are just too tedious for me.  There's too much in the way.