By: Gabby Blanchard
Throughout their filmography, the Coen brothers have garnered a reputation for their skill in subverting genre tropes, the strength of their style, and their repetition of lesser-known character actors in multiple films. However, a significant aspect of their presence as auteurs that is frequently overlooked is the prevalence of themes of death, fruitless endeavors, and failing relationships which all contribute to the pervasive hopelessness of the Coens’ worldview. This sense of impending doom and the elegiac introspection of one’s self and one’s role can be explored most thoroughly through their films A Serious Man (2009) and Inside Llewyn Davis (2013). These themes, while not unique to the Coens, pervade much of their oeuvre and convey the Coen’s view of the complexity of the world: while it may seem austere and unforgiving, the world is what the individual makes it to be, and in Larry Gopnik and Llewyn Davis’s case, through inaction and an unwillingness to evolve, they make their world inhospitable.
To the casual viewer, this inherent bleakness may lead to a frustrating and thoroughly unenjoyable experience with the film. However, analysis of their oeuvre reveals that the Coens expertly amalgamate elements of philosophy, drama, comedy, and horror into a cohesive, artistic work. This unconventional blend of genres is intrinsic to the Coens’ work, debuting in their earliest film Blood Simple and gradually evolving to its more nuanced form in their contemporary films. Furthermore, another hallmark of the Coen brothers’ style is their implementation of the score, both diegetic and non-diegetic; from the upbeat gospel tunes of O Brother Where Art Thou to the soulful wails of Llewyn Davis’s folk music, the Coens weave the soundtrack deep into the setting, emotions, and characterization of their films. The technique of having a character express his despondency exclusively through dialogue is derivative and indicative of a less nuanced film, but the Coens flatter their audience’s intelligence by indirectly characterizing him through the score, cinematography, and costuming as well as through direct factors such as his plot-driving decisions and interactions with other characters. As a culmination of their masterful implementation of mise-en-scene and score, the Coens create complex characters who act irrationally and who are not always likable– characters whom an audience of flawed individuals can relate to and learn from.
A Serious Man is a film that follows the daily life of a devout Jewish man written by two brothers who, over the course of their lives, have come to doubt aspects of Judaism, yet remain well-informed about the major tenets of the religion. As can be observed in their other films such as O Brother Where Art Thou– a recontextualized retelling of the Odyssey– and True Grit–based on the nominative novel– the Coens have an aptitude for transforming well-known tales within their filmography and adapting them to impart wisdom and ideology implicit to their shared perspective. Concerning this authorial perspective, film critic Roger Ebert draws a parallel between the collapse of Larry Gopnik’s comfortable middle-class life to the Judeo-Christian parable of Job, labeling him accurately as “full of trouble” (Ebert). Additionally, he highlights how, much like the eponymous biblical character, Gopnik is haunted by the uncertainty of why his world is crumbling around him (Ebert). While the outline of A Serious Man’s plot may tell a fairly cut-and-dry tale of a man losing everything in the face of wrathful (or perhaps non-existent) Hashem, the Coens utilize point of view in order to portray Gopnik as a complex character whose imperfect humanity lays the groundwork for a fulfilling tale. Gopnik is a man of logic, pictured at his most confident–demonstrated by his gentle smile and elevated tone–when lecturing his physics class on Schröndinger’s principle of uncertainty at the beginning of the film. Yet despite his apparent knowledge of unpredictability, uncertainty is his downfall. His paradoxical pitfall is best illustrated in the scene where Rabbi Nachtner tells him the parable about the goy’s teeth. Gopnik cannot accept the simple truth that some things are unknowable, peppering the rabbi with questions such as “Who put it [the message in the goy’s teeth] there?” and “Was it for him, Sussman, or whoever found it…?” instead of internalizing the lesson the rabbi was attempting to convey (A Serious Man). The mise-en-scene itself asserts that Gopnik’s fear is irrational: the music overlaying the rabbi’s story is lighthearted and playful and Nachter himself is a pillar of confidence. His authoritative black suit and stable posture exude a quiet confidence that juxtaposes Gopnik’s hunched form and rumpled shirt, a visualization of his desperation. Even the cinematography throughout the duration of Rabbi Nachter’s parable mocks Gopnik with the peace he could achieve. The shot of Sussman, awake and toiling over the message he discovered in the goy’s teeth, parallels exactly a shot of Gopnik earlier in the film, sleepless and tormented by uncertainty while his brother snoozes carelessly beside him. However, instead of achieving the same peace as Sussman by accepting that not all things are meant to be known, Gopnik entirely misses the point of the Rabbi’s tale, dooming himself to be trapped within a cycle of doubt. Throughout the film, Gopnik is developed as a man of logic – through instances such as his assertion that the examples he gives in class are just stories and that understanding the math is the only way to pass, his lecture to Clive that actions have consequences “not just in physics, but morally”, and his suggestion that it would be more logical for his wife to move in with Sy Ableman than for him to move into a motel room despite the religious implications (A Serious Man). The Coens utilize these instances to clearly convey to the audience the idiosyncrasies and intricacies of his personality. However, with the audience being so deeply entrenched in Gopnik’s perspective, it can be very easy to fall into the trap of implicitly trusting the reliability of his narration. Every man is the hero of the story in his own eyes, and such is the case with Larry Gopnik. He is blind to his own faults, blaming Hashem for his failing marriage, his tenuous teaching position, and his unappreciative children. Instead of admitting that his fear of acting unless he can predict the outcome is the catalyst for his failures, he searches for an easy answer that will reverse the entropy of his comfortable, suburban life.
A Serious Man, one of the Coens’ most philosophical and least transparent films, has often confounded or frustrated film critics who are unaccustomed to the Coens’ subversive method of storytelling. Although the brothers encourage differing interpretations of their films, multiple prevalent film analyses simply miss the point of the Coens’ unusual characterization. One such critic, David Denby, refers to A Serious Man as the brothers’ “bleak, black, belittling mode, and… hell to sit through” (Denby). He is trapped by Gopnik’s biased perspective, viewing the character as “a sweet guy and a serious man” while begrudging the figures in Gopnik’s life that are causing his downfall (Denby). While this viewpoint of the film is valid, it blatantly ignores the techniques employed by the directors. A poignant sequence that illustrates Gopnik’s tendencies to assess blame and view himself as the victim of an unfair world occurs when he causes a car accident by shouting at Clive through his window. The accident is portrayed through alternating close-up shots between Gopnik and Sy Ableman, the man Gopnik’s wife is divorcing him to pursue. The opera music playing presumably over both of their car radios creates a calm, sleepy atmosphere for Ableman and a sense of stress and exhaustion for Gopnik by comparison–added to by the camera’s focus on his dissatisfied frown and glazed-over, unfocused eyes. Although the music is the same for both characters, it highlights the different reasons each man gets in his perspective wreck, Ableman’s being a fatal collision. While Ableman’s wreck was simply bad luck with a side of inattentiveness, Gopnik’s accident is his fault exclusively, a point the Coens emphasize in the subsequent scene. Yet, in his conversation over the phone with Dick Dutton of the Columbia Record Club, he represents it as a tragic event that occurred to him. The central irony of this sequence is that Gopnik, despite his dramatic yarn, emerged unscathed from his self-imposed accident whereas Sy Ableman lost his life in a truly tragic event. While Gopnik meekly argues on the phone, the camera meanders aimlessly around him, visually paralleling how Gopnik lacks direction and control in his life. Its spiraling path comments both on how Gopnik is spiraling into despair and how his indecisive nature creates a cycle of atrophy in his life and marriage. Eventually, the camera comes to a sudden halt on an extreme close-up, trapping Gopnik in a frame that is uncomfortably small and tight both for him and the viewer. At that moment, he reaches his emotional breaking point and shouts at the innocent man over the phone. Over the course of the call, the thesis of the film is subtly referenced: Gopnik is charged for the Record Club despite not signing up, serving as a biting critique of his inaction. No one signs up for the difficult parts of life; they occur without consent and last until decisive action is taken to negate them, action that Gopnik lacks the initiative to take. Furthermore, in the conversation over the phone, he is dominated by the caller until he hangs up, once again neglecting to take the necessary action to improve his life.
The Coens’ later film, Inside Llewyn Davis,features a protagonist who serves a similar role to Gopnik, yet unlike Gopnik’s oppressive uncertainty, Davis’ action is halted by his refusal to move on from a loss and his strict adherence to the aesthetic of the starving artist. Llewyn Davis remains in a perpetual limbo, living the cripplingly dismal existence of a folk hero without any of the glory. He spends his time drifting aimlessly between houses, parasitically relying on people whose love and care he makes no effort to reciprocate. This phenomenon is demonstrated symbolically by Llewyn losing the Gorfeins’– a wealthy couple allowing him to live with them– cat due to his negligence. Like the cat, Davis drives the people he cares about away because he prioritizes the tragedy of his life above all, making his interactions emotionally draining for his loved ones. All the while, he wallows in self-pity, cursing a world that seems intent on keeping him miserable.
Much like in A Serious Man, the audience of Inside Llewyn Davis must parse through a singular, implicitly biased point of view to decode the truth of Davis’s experience. The audience’s disambiguation of Davis’s farcical worldview is assisted by his friend and ex-lover Jean’s response to his pointed accusation that she is “trying to blueprint a future” (Inside Llewyn Davis). She challenges his woeful view of the world impeding his success by telling him that he is not getting anywhere because he chooses not to. Her statement is supported by the cyclical nature of Llewyn’s actions: he receives an opportunity, he self-sabotages, and he wallows in his own misery. The Coens intentionally write in a multitude of methods by which Davis could escape this cycle in order to disprove his assertion that he is a victim of circumstance, yet his constant inaction earns him the title of a “self-defeating Sisyphus” by film critic Glenn Kenny and the building frustration of the viewers. After Llewyn’s final ploy for success– getting signed on with Bud Grossman– falls through due to Llewyn’s inability to forge an identity as a soloist, he has no hope remaining for his future. On the drive back to New York where he has no home, no friends, and no prospects, he passes Akron, the town where his ex-girlfriend lives with his baby whom he learned about mere days before. Despite the scene entirely lacking dialogue, the Coens make Davis’s internal struggle explicit to the audience through cinematography, score, and setting. The camera lingers on Davis’s face in a close-up shot, capturing the exhaustion and dejection weighing upon his features. The nighttime gloom of the outside world bleeds into the car, devouring everything within its interior except for Davis’ visage and the occasional icy crystal of snow whipping past. Even the dull lighting illuminating his features is devoid of any semblance of warmth. The bleak, isolating coldness mimics his emotional state. Upon seeing the street sign for Akron glowing fervently in an otherwise hazy world, he furrows his brow and his microexpressions convey shock, confliction, and surprisingly, hope as he realizes that he could reunite with his estranged girlfriend, become a present father for his child, and live a fulfilling– albeit unexpected– life. The scene cuts to a shot of the city, glowing brightly with a warm yellow light that beckons Davis in, promising comfort and a new start. While a better life is not guaranteed for Davis in Akron, the possibility exists. Yet, he keeps driving. He knows that leaving Akron will continue his cycle, but facing the certainty of his existential purgatory is less frightening than moving on and accepting an uncertain future. On the drive, his attention slips, and he hits and presumably kills an orange cat. The death of the cat serves as a consequence of his choice and a harrowing reminder that his pattern of self-sabotage will only lead to more tragedy, and thus his sad cycle continues.
Despite their disapproval of Davis’s lifestyle–represented in how they punish his poor decisions with immediate consequences or rejection– the Coen brothers recognize that there is a legitimacy to his pain. Despite his suffering being largely self-inflicted, plenty of moments in Davis’s life are genuinely tragic; his dream was cruelly cut short by the suicide of Mike, his musical partner and close friend. Thus, Davis is plagued by a cloying bout of depression that he can seemingly never assuage. Additionally, the guilt of living on and pursuing a shared dream on his own holds him back. His pain causes him to lash out and hurt the ones he loves because his persistent depression leaves him exhausted and snappy. Yet, he feels genuine remorse for his selfish actions, expressed through his guilt over losing the cat and the way he allows Jean to continuously berate him for relying on her and interfering with her love life and getting her pregnant in the past. While it may seem odd that the Coens would ascribe such complexity to a character who never learns and grows from his mistakes, they do so intentionally to convey a caveat to the audience.
Larry Gopnik and Llewyn Davis both suffer the same fate of death; literally in Gopnik’s case and metaphorically for Davis. In their exploration of existentialism, rather than celebrating free will and the ability to define one’s own place within the universe, the Coens provide cautionary tales of fear, indecisiveness, and inaction. As flawed and unlikable as the two protagonists may be, the audience cannot fully resent them as everyone has the potential to become them. Fear of the unknown and loss of loved ones are universal experiences, and the stagnation these experiences cause is all too familiar. With A Serious Man and Inside Llewyn Davis, the Coens delve deep into the unconscious impulses of Davis’s and Gopnik’s psyches in order to understand the futility of a purposeless lifestyle and to assert that there is no preordained plan for the individual being.
Although this mindset may appear bleak in relation to the two films discussed, the Coens imbue a subtle sense of hopefulness within their writing. While Davis never does achieve his goal to be a successful folk singer, his final performance shows him finally beginning to evolve. The song he sings about hanging oneself represents the death of his old way of life, which is supported by the visuals of the scene. The warm light he rejected at Akron returns to bathe him as he sings, and the camera is focused on his face in a close-up shot that catches the brief hint of a smile at the end of the song. The internal peace he has achieved allows him to break his cycle and to begin healing from Mike’s death, finally performing their song. Titled “Fare Thee Well,” this song solidifies Davis’s metamorphosis, serving as a final goodbye both to his partner and to his old lifestyle. While he has finally begun his ascent from his pit of despondency, his actions, as stated by Gopnik in A Serious Man, have consequences. Davis has hurt countless people in his grief, most recently a female performer he harassed on stage. The Coens hold Davis accountable for these malfeasances, denying him the trope of achieving all of his dreams and being universally loved as similar films are oft to do. Such an ending would be blasphemous to the themes the Coens seek to impart to the audience: that the individual’s actions and perception mold the world around them. Thus, the Coens do not produce these dismal movies in order to dampen the spirits of the audience but rather to encourage them to take control of their lives and to consider alternative perspectives about both themselves and the world around them.
Works Cited
A Serious Man. Directed by Ethan Coen and Joel Coen, Focus Features, 2009.
Denby, David. “Gods and Victims.” The New Yorker, 28 Sept. 2009, www.newyorker.com/magazine/2009/10/05/gods-and-victims.
Ebert, Roger. “A Serious Man Movie Review & Film Summary (2009) | Roger Ebert.” Https://Www.rogerebert.com/, Ebert Digital LLC, 7 Oct. 2009, www.rogerebert.com/reviews/a-serious-man-2009.
Inside Llewyn Davis. Directed by Ethan Coen and Joel Coen, CBS Films, 2013.
Kenny, Glenn. “Inside Llewyn Davis Movie Review (2013) | Roger Ebert.” Rogerebert.com, Ebert Digital LLC, 6 Dec. 2013, www.rogerebert.com/reviews/inside-llewyn-davis-2013.