Category Archives: On A Second Viewing

A Second Viewing, A Second View: Inside Llewyn Davis

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SPOILER ALERT: This review is filled with SPOILERS for “Inside Llewyn Davis.” If you don’t want SPOILERS for “Inside Llewyn Davis,” do not read beyond this point. I put SPOILERS in bold/caps lock because you see, I’m trying to make a point. 

A Coen Brothers film can be great on one viewing, but no Coen Brothers film has been truly watched until it has been seen at least twice.

So far, I have gotten a mixed consensus from the few people I know who have seen “Inside Llewyn Davis.” For every time it topped a bestof list or got an A+, it also got a negative review. But Joel and Ethan Coen never really get full acclaim across the board, except in the cases of “Fargo” and “No Country for Old Men.”

The legacy of “Inside Llewyn Davis” will take time to sort out, but I figured now was an appropriate time to sort out a few things about the film that you and me, but mostly me, might have been having trouble with. Here is my SPOILER heavy rundown of “Inside Llewyn Davis”:

On Llewyn Davis Himself: Llewyn Davis (Oscar Isaac) is, as Jean (Carey Mulligan) so lovingly describes him, an asshole. She sure does like to call him that. Llewyn doesn’t intentionally try and hurt others around him (mostly), but he doesn’t really consider how his actions might hurt others in the future. He is more careless than thoughtless. 
On That Note, Llewyn is Kind of an Idiot: Part of the reason I wanted to see “Llewyn Davis” again was because of the technical difficulties during my first screening. One of them cut out a small but pivotal moment, where Llewyn accepts his money for “Please Mr. Kennedy” upfront, and cheats himself out of royalties. He needs the money right away in order to pay for Jean’s abortion and his manager simply won’t help him here. 

Some have said that Llewyn is plagued by bad luck. More accurately, he creates a lot of his own bad luck by being stubborn and uncooperative. Then again, he is also thrown into a lot of situations like this one, where either choice he makes will be a bad one. 

Llewyn Might Be an Asshole, but it “Takes Two To Tango”: The Coen Brothers don’t like to let anybody off easy. Llewyn is surrounded by a lot of jerks, and a lot of well-intentioned hacks. Jean doesn’t blame herself for the fact that she cheated on her husband and might be carrying Llewyn’s baby. No, it’s all Llewyn’s fault. Every time he brings this up, it is as if she didn’t even hear him. One of the defining traits of a typical Coen Brothers’ character is that they seem to be talking to themselves most of the time. For the most part, Llewyn can try and let his music, rather than his actions, speak for him, it would certainly make him look much better.

That Cat: The multiple cats that stroll in and out of “Inside Llewyn Davis” serve many purposes. I would like to say that they serve as a means of motivation for Llewyn. Whether it is the Gorfeins’ cat or the other cat, they are the one thing on this planet Llewyn has control over, and the one thing he really seems bent on helping. Yet, just like with Jean, he gets no thanks whenever he does provide. Even if cats could talk, they probably wouldn’t thank him. That is how cats operate, you see.

Mainly though, a cat is simply perfect comic relief. Mrs. Gorfein’s very weird relation with Ulysses was more pronounced this time (watch what she does with her tongue at one point). “Where is his scrotum, Llewyn?” has made me laugh way too hard on both occasions. The cut to black immediately after it is also perfect.

Comedy Plus Tragedy Equals…: As usual, Joel and Ethan Coen take tragic situations and fill them with comic characters.

Random Questions: How does Llewyn know the Gorfeins? (Likely Answer: Mike was their son) What did Llewyn hit when he was driving on the highway? (Likely Answer: A random tabby cat, and not a goat as my dad thought)

The Chicago Trip: Some might say that the Chicago detour was too long, or even completely unnecessary. In my humble and possibly incorrect opinion, Llewyn needed that trip as much as the audience needed to see it happen.

In any other film, Llewyn would have knocked Bud Grossman’s (F. Murray Abraham) socks off and gotten the gig. Then on the way home, he would have decided to take that awkward first meeting with his son. Instead, Bud doesn’t see any potential and Llewyn passes the exit to Akron. The rejection shows that even when people are pushed this far, there is the chance that they still won’t make it. Some people just won’t get what you do. While this is sad and cynical, there is something very necessary about understanding the life of a failed artist. One can learn more from failure than success.

If these things worked out for the better, this would be a different film. It would be okay, albeit cheesy, and probably directed by Adam Shankman.

Oscar Isaac: I don’t know if he will win, but I am rooting for him to take home the Academy Award for Best Actor.

John Goodman: Somebody with movie power please get an Oscar campaign started for him.

What the Film Lacks in Character Development, it Makes Up for in Back Story: “Inside Llewyn Davis” is the first film of its kind that I would actually watch a prequel to.

The Chicago detour ultimately means less time spent with the characters introduced during the first act. Unlike most writer/directors, the Coen Brothers work best with flimsy characters that border on being one-dimensional. Llewyn is a fairly selfish man, and all that matters about the other characters is how they have somehow factored into Llewyn’s life. Through this, we learn a lot about their past, and that tells us a lot about who they are today. Most of these characters are not meeting for the first time. We are barging in at a very random moment in their lives, so now we have to adapt. We are insignificant in the grand scheme of things. This applies to the audience watching as well as to the characters on screen.


That Moment: When Llewyn looks at a poster for “The Incredible Journey,” and you realize that “Homeward Bound” is a remake. 
That Ending: “Inside Llewyn Davis” starts and ends in the same place. The same event is shown twice and on both occasions it carries two different meanings.

Basically, Llewyn performs at The Gaslight. He is called outside to meet a “friend.” A shady man proceeds to beat him up. The first time we see it, we know basically nothing about it. It is a confounding event. The second time we see it, there is much more context. Llewyn made fun of the man’s wife. He has once again failed to connect with people. This time, it is very tragic.

Before he gets punched in the face, it almost looks like “Inside Llewyn Davis” is about to end happily, even though we know what is actually going to happen. Llewyn has his most successful performance in the entire whole film. For the first time, he really seems to connect with an audience. After a spectacular rendition of “Hang Me, Oh Hang Me,” Llewyn belts out “Fare Thee Well.” Remember, “Fare Thee Well” was a song he would duet with Mike. Earlier in the film, listening to Mrs. Gorfein chime in with Mike’s verse was painful for Llewyn. He could not even finish the song (also for reasons of selfish pride, but let’s not get into that now). The second time, Llewyn gets through the entire song without a hitch. This is like his moment of redemption. But when you’re a character in “Inside Llewyn Davis,” unlike other films, you will actually have to face the consequences of your actions. Then the punch came.

As Llewyn leaves the bar, unaware of what is about to happen, he happens upon the now familiar sight and voice of Bob Dylan. Dylan is not what Bud Grossman would call a moneymaker, but the fact that Dylan’s insane lyrics and scratchy voice connected so much is almost a miracle.

As Llewyn gets beaten up, you can still hear Dylan singing “Farewell” inside The Gaslight. Yet, Llewyn sits outside in an alley. He is cold, bloody, and defeated. No matter how close he gets to great success, something will bring him down unexpectedly. He is doomed to be a perpetual outsider.

Llewyn Davis strikes me as one of those artists who won’t become famous until long after he is gone. “Inside Llewyn Davis” is a sad yet beautiful portrayal of potential both squandered and fully realized. Some people make it, and some people do not. When you don’t make it, sometimes it is your fault, and sometimes you can’t avoid it. There are some people who will get so close to being Bob Dylan, but instead end up lying in an alley with no house, jacket, or furry animal to return to.

Some people thrive on this chaos, and some people, well, they are Llewyn Davis, and they cannot be described in so few words.


On A Second Viewing: Moonrise Kingdom

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One viewing of a Wes Anderson film simply isn’t enough. His films are like the aftertaste of a good meal that won’t go away, and you never want them to go away. Or, a painting where you notice more going on in the background with a more watchful eye. Or, an even more apt comparison here, like a symphony that sounds even better when broken down into smaller pieces.

In “Moonrise Kingdom,” young heroine Suzy Bishop (Kara Hayward) looks at everything through binoculars. She says that it makes things look closer, even when they aren’t very far away. She also believes it is her super power. I like to imagine that Wes Anderson looks at every film he makes through a pair of binoculars, and that he shares this super power with Suzy: he can see every minuscule detail of life up close in the most vivid of ways.

Through each one of his works, Anderson is inviting the audience more and more to stare into the binoculars at the idiosyncratic universe he has created. After seeing “Moonrise Kingdom” at Cannes, I immediately knew that one viewing wouldn’t suffice. And while I try my best to go in with little to no expectations, I knew I would like it better the second time around. And that I did. It is not that I didn’t like “Moonrise Kingdom” the first time around, it is just that I liked it for different reasons. The first time, I liked it because the Transitive Property of Wes Anderson* required that I like it. I liked it even more on viewing number two because I saw that once again, Wes Anderson defied his detractors and made yet another film in which the characters were more than just cutouts standing against pretty backdrops.

“Moonrise Kingdom” has had its fair share of detractors. Well, most negative reviews were actually positive, with some critical things to say. Many have complained that Anderson’s style and tropes have become too predictable. It is true that there are certain things you will find in every Wes Anderson film, but that is what makes him such a great filmmaker. He tells the same story only loosely every time he makes a film. Like his past works, “Moonrise Kingdom” is about adults who act like children, and children who think they’re adults.

Like any good director, Anderson is constantly trying to improve on the template he first created. On a second viewing, I realized the opening, is more than just a tour of the Bishop household and all of its members. It serves the same purpose as the opening of “The Royal Tenenbaums.” When looking at it through that lens, it makes it even more impressive: characters, and a story, are introduced without saying a single word. Here, we learn that Mr. and Mrs. Bishop can spend their time close to each other, without saying a single word to the other. Mr. Bishop (Bill Murray) lying in a fetal position shows something of a surrender to misery. Mrs. Bishop’s (Frances McDormand) arduous routine shows a predilection toward self-preservation. And then there’s Suzy, sitting above her brothers almost in a separate sphere, reading one of her many adventure novels. Well, everyone in this family seems to be in  the Bishop household seems to be in their own little sphere, with the exception of the three little boys.

Shortly after, we are introduced to the fourth wall breaking narrator (Bob Balaban). With the narrator, Anderson has to break a few cinematic rules in order to introduce the fictional island of New Penzance to the audience, as well as the future hurricane. At this point, Anderson has earned the right to break those rules, because he does it right. 
With the exception of “Fantastic Mr. Fox,” Anderson’s other films took place in slightly fantasized versions of real places. In “Moonrise Kingdom,” Anderson invented a place that he can call his own. “Moonrise Kingdom” is a fantasy tale about two children trying to live out a fantasy of their own. 
Then, we are introduced to the Khaki Scouts, another thing that doesn’t exist, yet is a variation of something in reality. That is a good way to define much of Anderson’s work. We meet everyone from Scout Master Ward (Edward Norton), who is a Scout Master first and a math teacher on the side, to the boy with the eye patch (we never do find out his real name). That the entire troop of scouts a family, and many other characters can be so well developed in just 90 minutes is a testament to the power of great writing. Usually, an entire TV series would be needed to delve in to this many characters. Anderson has the power to define someone’s entire personality in just one line of dialogue.

Anderson has another power that is known to most, but doesn’t truly come out until a second viewing. I realized this time around that the characters in all of Anderson’s films exist loosely in a similar world that is not quite our own. This is a world where people act pretty terribly toward each other, and have trouble expressing their true feelings through words. So instead, they define themselves through the clothes they wear, the way they decorate their homes, and the culture that they consume. Look closely and you’ll notice a heavy use of the colors yellow and brown throughout “Moonrise Kingdom.” You can see it in the Khaki Scouts, as well as Sam’s (Jared Gilman) foster home, from his foster father’s yellow and brown plaid shirt, to the chocolate cake that his foster mother is covering with yellow icing in the background. Perhaps it represents a world that is ripe on the outside, yet a little dark on the outside, or a cast of characters who are “yellow” (cowardly).

I also found the second time around that the film is much funnier than I first thought it was. Once again, and I cannot say this enough, it is all about the little things. For example, notice how Sam keeps an inventory list of all of Suzy’s things, or the group of kids in the background of one scene trying to play their recorders. Also, I will mention the very hilarious irony of seeing Jason Schwartzman play a preist. And yes, it’s also funny to see that treehouse, and it’s even funnier (and makes total sense) to see a kid carry around $76 in change. Every kid at one point or another had that much change on them for no good reason.

Working on a Wes Anderson film must be an actor’s paradise. He gives them so much good dialogue and characterization to work with. He has kick-started the careers of its two incredibly promising leads, Hayward and Gilman, who bring equal amounts of heart and humor to the film. I believe one day the two of them will run off once again to become Margot Tenenbaum and Eli Cash. The boy with the lazy eye will probably become Dudley.

Sam and Suzy also remind me of a younger version of Bonnie and Clyde, minus the bloodlust. The story of “Moonrise Kingdom” also felt a little bit like a twist on Terrence Malick’s “Badlands.” The indelible image of Sam and Suzy dancing on the beach to Francoise Hardy’s “Le Temps de l’Amour,” equal parts cute, creepy, and awkward, felt like the scene where Kit (Martin Sheen) and Holly (Sissy Spacek) dance along to “Love is Strange.” Both scenes contain the childlike wonder for trying something completely new.

Anderson’s films are often criticized for not having enough heart. But “Moonrise Kingdom” is one of those films that I just wanted to give a giant hug too. It is pretty on the inside, and the outside. Its intentionally cheesy special effects never make it seem dated. While some have said this film could have taken place during any year, I believe 1965 is the perfect fit. Seeing characters chart out territory on real maps is way more interesting than someone trying to figure out where they are going on Google Maps. Perhaps New Penzance is trapped in the past, just like all of its characters, while the outside world moves on. And for that, I actually think it is better off.

One more note I believe it is proper to end on: the music. It is true that “Moonrise Kingdom” does not have the most standout soundtrack of all of Wes Anderson’s filmography. British Invasion is replaced with British Classical, and there’s a tinge more French than usual. But maybe these characters aren’t ready for The Kinks yet, at least not until they figure out how to put Benjamin Britten’s orchestra together.

How I Rank Wes Anderson’s Films:
1. The Royal Tenenbaums
2. Rushmore
3. Fantastic Mr. Fox
4. Moonrise Kingdom
5. The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou
6. Bottle Rocket
7. The Darjeeling Limited

*If it includes elaborate sets and anything vintage, then it must be Wes Anderson, and it must almost always be good.

On A Second Viewing: A Serious Man

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Warning: May contain some brief, spoiler-ish details. Proceed with caution.
After I first saw “A Serious Man,” I knew I liked it. I mean, how could I not like a film by the Coen Brothers?
However, there were a few things still bothering me. Well, mainly, it was that ending. Abrupt endings can be annoying, but I never hate them. All they involve is mulling over, and extra viewings. This was the case for “A History of Violence” and “No Country for Old Men.” It was also the case for “A Serious Man.”
But let me backtrack, so you can see the ending for yourself. I’m going to backtrack all the way to the beginning, to the mystery of the dybbuk. The Coen Brothers have repeatedly said that this story has no meaning, but I believe that there is something in there. There are three possible theories to this scene:
1) The couple were Larry’s ancestors. Stabbing the dybbuk unleashed a centuries long family curse.
2) The man was not really a dybbuk. His unfortunate death mirrors Larry’s struggle of how bad things always seem to happen to those who just try and commit mitzvahs.
3) It’s both. Or neither.
It could be any of those answers. But the more I think about it, the more I believe it is the last one. That’s the one that breaks the lock, and provides that any answer be correct. In the end, the dybbuk walks out into the snow. The Coen Brothers never show us whether or not he died or just kept on into the night, getting ready to haunt more unsuspecting citizens. What this scene truly does is act as a mini movie in preparing us on what is to come. “A Serious Man” will not be like the typical film that provides you with answers. Here’s one where you’ll have to come up with the answers on your own. And it won’t be easy.
A technique the Coen Brothers use constantly throughout their films is repetition. One line repeated in this film is Larry’s insistence, “I haven’t done anything!” And this here, is the point of the film. Why is Larry suffering? True, he hasn’t done anything wrong, but he hasn’t done anything right.
One of the many things I got out of the film a second time around is just how deeply funny it is. The humor doesn’t always lie in one-liners, it lies mainly within the situations. There are many instances where you shouldn’t be laughing, but you do anyways. Will you feel bad for laughing at some of Larry’s ridiculous misfortunes? Then again, the film does tell us in the very first shot to take every minute with “utmost simplicity.”
In my first review, I gave praise to the film’s three leading men, Michael Stuhlbarg, Richard Kind, and Fred Melamed, but not as much praise as they deserve. While Kind was cast as the annoying relative he always plays, he manages to still make him as atypical as possible. Meanwhile, Melamed seems like a lock for best supporting actor as Sy Ableman. He is (if I’m reading the film right) the serious man of the title. And he plays Sy that way, portraying him with utmost scrutiny. He commands every shot he is in, taking it over, moving around characters by his own wishes and just carrying this feeling that he knows everything.
Then of course, there’s the other Oscar lock, of Stuhlbarg as Larry Gopnick. This is Stuhlbarg’s first big leading role, but he takes it like a pro. In the scene where Larry’s wife discusses a divorce, his pitch goes up to a high, whiny voice; giving Larry an almost lovable childlike ignorance.
The Coen Brothers are famous for emphasizing their characters’ quirks. Stuhlbarg basically does that for them, as he gives Larry a sort of chicken walk, especially in the scene where he waddles across his look, getting a peak at the forbidden temptation that lies just over a small white picket fence.
While that serious man in the title could refer to either Sy or Larry, there is yet another important (soon to be) man in the mix: Danny Gopnick (Aaron Wolff). He lives a life opposite of his father, only caring about smoking joints and watching “F-Troop” rather than trying to be a mature, serious man. However, he, like every character, eventually faces just consequences for their poor actions.
A large controversy I’ve discussed with many people about this film is what kind of audience it was meant for. The idea that only a Jew could appreciate it is one I am beginning to find quite unfair. Just because I wasn’t raised Catholic, does that mean I can’t be stunned by the christening scene in “The Godfather?” Just because I’m not Italian, does that not mean I can’t be entertained by the wedding in “Goodfellas?” While maybe only those who were born Jewish will understand the anxiety of preparing to have a Bar Mitzvah, the Coen Brothers opened up a door to the Jewish culture. They are inviting you to stay and look around.
Now, there’s one point from my last review I’d like to correct. In my previous review, I seemed to stick to the theory that Larry’s story was a reflection of the story of Job. Well, it’s only half that. The other half is the possibility that Larry’s story reflects existentialism, rather than the existence of God. Larry’s miseries could be a test from God. Or they could just simply be life’s plan for him, and there’s nothing he can do about it (this scene reflects this idea).
Also in the mix, you could see Larry as a 1960s Jewish version of Hamlet; a man spending too much time overthinking life and trying to avoid a situation that simply cannot be avoided. He could even be a figure straight out of a Kafka* story: a good man who is so overburdened by a world that demands too much responsibility out of him.
It’s simply possible that “A Serious Man” is every single one of these ideas. Or none of them. This makes the film a sort of “choose your own adventure” like story but this time, you have to choose your own theme. The Coen Brothers have thus constructed the rare film that’s a totally different experience to each and every member. Yep, the way a film should be.
But maybe the Coen Brothers, who are the absolute masters of trickery, are just leading us into a giant trap. They awaited as critics and audience members alike overanalyzed every aspect of the film to death when they were missing the film’s real point: the danger of overanalysis. In the film, we learn in the end that the mystery of the goy’s teeth is solved once the dentist forgets about it. Perhaps Larry’s problems would have been nothing to him if he just, took a deep breath and forgot about them for a while.
So for now, I’m not going to fall for the trick. I leave the rest of the interpretations up to you.
*Tip for Aspiring Writers: A Kafka namedrop always makes you look smarter.
For further reference, here are a few great articles about the film:
I know I’ve written a lot here, but I still didn’t even get to touch on Larry’s neighbors, physics, respecting privacy, the wisdom of youth, and the film’s representation of connections within the Jewish community. Oh well, it doesn’t look like this is the last time you’ll be hearing about “A Serious Man.” Until then, I want you all to take a few minutes and enjoy one of the most meaningful parts of the film: the power of “Somebody to Love”: