When the Coen Brothers’ Fargo won multiple Oscars (missing out for Best Film to–wait for it–Braveheart of all things), they quickly followed it up with one of their "goof off" films, The Big Lebowski. Known for messing with both their audiences and their critics, you could almost hear the Brothers’ cackling as American audiences tried to figure out exactly what the Coens were thinking. Fargo was a bloody and merciless crime story told in one of the nicest places in the world (my home state of Minnesota). And here… here’s the tale of the world’s laziest slacker in the world’s most ambitious town.
Needless to say, The Big Lebowski seemed a world far, far away from Fargo.
Following on the heels of what may be seen as their greatest success (No Country for Old Men), the Cohens have unleashed a movie about incompetant dunderheads in the world’s most… well, Washington DC. A world far, far away from the desolate Texas countryside of their previous film. There are no inhuman, merciless killers with bad haircuts here. Instead, what we have are people pretending to be anything other than what they are in the country’s capital. A "Coen Goof Off Film" to follow up their nearly silent bloodfest. And if you listen closely, you can hear them cackling, as if to say, "Wait ’till they get a hold of this."
Burn After Reading is a typical Coen goof off film, but I don’t want you to be fooled by that word. Typical. This is not your standard Hollywood fare, as demonstrated by the advertising. Hollywood doesn’t know how to sell a Cohen Brothers movie. It isn’t exactly a comedy, it isn’t exactly a drama. It’s the Brothers writing a plot so thick you don’t know to eat it with a spoon or a fork, getting a bunch of their friends together, writing some of the best dialogue in Hollywood today, and ending the movie with a Cohen ending: an anti-climax that makes you laugh your ass off.
In the midst of all this nonsense, most of the attention will be directed at the goofballs. And make no mistake, Brad Pitt, George Clooney and Frances McDormand deserve high praise for their roles. They bring a degree of nonsense that would make Salivore Dali’s head spin. But, as anyone who’s studied comedy knows, you can’t have all ham without some pineapple, and the straight men in this piece deserve equal high praise. John Malkovich, Tilda Swinton and the forelorn Richard Jenkins really make all the madcap down-the-rabbit hole logic work and give real consequences to all the absurdity.
(Malkovich’s anger at a world seemingly populated with idiots is something I’ve felt myself all too often, and I have to say, I realized I sympathized with nearly every action he takes in the film. Something that frightens me much more than any Anton Chigurh.)
If movies like Raising Arizona, Barton Fink and The Big Lebowski aren’t your cup of tea, you should probably avoid this one. A little bitter, a little sweet, add blood to taste. And take care when you drink: it may come right back up your nose.
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