Barton Fink - "I'll Show You the Life of the Mind!"

Barton Fink is a challenging movie in general, but in particular to me in the Coen filmography. Their previous film, Miller’s Crossing, is one of my favorites because it can be analyzed or simply enjoyed. Barton Fink, on the other hand, has to be analyzed. Once you get to the flaming hallway, there’s no way you can say, “I enjoy Barton Fink because I can just turn my brain off and enjoy it.” And that’s fine, but it also makes it one of their least rewatchable movies for me. 

I know Barton Fink is great, but I just don’t enjoy it all that much. Perhaps that’s the point, but I’ve always found the Coen Brothers to be particularly adept at showing awful things while injecting humor into it. There’s a little bit of humor in Fink (the aggressive detectives come to mind as well as Michael Lerner’s insane studio exec), but nowhere near as much as in A Serious Man, another film largely about suffering, but much funnier.

Of course, humor is subjective, so others may find this perfectly enjoyable on a surface level. But I feel the need to develop a theory each time I watch it. I usually land in the “John Goodman is the devil” territory, but I’ve always found that a bit too simplistic and obvious, what with the flames and the Hitler line. Also, the guys on Blank Check with Griffin and David made me feel like a basic bitch for having this theory on their episode about the film. So this time I wanted to hammer down a slightly more specific theory.

The Hotel Earle as a metaphor for hell is obvious, but that doesn’t make it wrong. But I don’t find it to mean literal hell for Barton, and I don’t find it to be purgatory, either. Instead, I see it as a hell of the mind. Dante’s famous line from Paradise Lost encapsulates my thoughts on this film: “The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven.” 

I think that Barton Fink has created this hell of the mind due to his writer’s block and insecurities as a writer and champion of the “common man.” In this self-made hell, the common man, Charlie Meadows, comes across as a jovial friend, but underneath that façade is suffering and violence. Barton, despite his constant claims otherwise, doesn’t know anything about the common man and finds him inferior and an object of pity. Because of this, his subconscious has created Charlie to show how little he truly knows, or perhaps fears he doesn’t know.

This common man that Barton thinks he is championing lives in a hell Barton cannot understand. As Charlie tells him, “”You’re just a tourist with a typewriter.” Barton is no savior for the common man; he’s just using them as exploitation in his writing. This conflict slowly builds up over the course of the film until the true Charlie is unleashed with his fiery vengeance, shouting, “I’ll show you the life of the mind!” It’s a taunting callback to Barton’s earlier tone-deaf complaint about the suffering he withstands exploring the life of the mind. 

It takes multiple murders and literal hellfire for Barton to finally understand that he actually doesn’t understand anything. This revelation isn’t glorious; it’s more simple acceptance. Now that he knows that he’s a bit of a fraud and is trapped in a contract with the studio, he can try to find some kind of peace within the misery, as exemplified in the final shot in which he is now in the picture that previously represented serenity. So he’s not the voice of the people he thought he was and working for the pictures was an artistic mistake (though not a financial one), but he’s no longer in a hell of the mind.

In that way, I don’t find Barton Fink to be about writer’s block (even though it was famously written while the Coens faced writer’s block while writing Miller’s Crossing). It’s about finding peace as an artist in the face of capitalism. Barton taking the job in Hollywood in the first place is accepting defeat, but it took the manic episode in the hotel to come to terms with it. And in the end, he gets to experience a little bit of the life of a common man by doing a job he hates and simply existing, though he’s certainly making a lot more money than the common man. 

In the end, he isn’t in heaven or hell; he’s just a working writer. And perhaps his work won’t ever be important (or even produced, if Michael Lerner can help it), but he’ll get by. It’s a fairly dark message about the creative process in an industry driven by money, but it’s true. You’re not going to change the world by writing wrestling pictures, and no one wants you to, anyway. So pull your head out of your ass and do your job. 

That’s not to say this film is about how Hollywood is completely devoid of creativity and humanity. It’s just that you shouldn’t expect to change the world, and instead you have to navigate it properly and fight the battles you can win. For a movie that is largely surreal, the message (at least for me) is one of reality: you can make life hell for yourself by fighting against its very nature, or you can accept defeat and just get by, and perhaps find a piece of heaven every now and then, even if you find it while holding a box with a severed head inside. Those wacky Coens…

Random Thoughts / Favorite Quotes

I’m sorry for using “common man” so many times, but so does Fink, so it couldn’t be helped.

By no means do I find my interpretation legitimate or definitive. It’s just how I felt with this recent rewatch. In that way, I’ve learned to enjoy this movie a bit more, but it’s still a bit of work, and my favorite Coen movies can be enjoyed through interpretation or on the surface.

There’s a lot of anti-Semitism and World War II stuff in the film. As far as the inclusion of that stuff in the hotel, I chalk it up to Barton’s subconscious fears. That also explains why the detectives (one Italian named and one German named) are so aggressive. These are base fears manifesting themselves in these characters in the life of the mind.

“Chet!”

On the elevator trip when Barton first arrives, the word “six” is spoken three times. Get it? Get it?!

“A day or a lifetime!”

Getting some strong Lynch vibes. I was not as well-versed the last time I watched this. The sound design, set decoration, the framing, etc. All of it is very Lynchian.

“Sex? He's a man! We wrestled!”

“You're a sick fuck, Fink.”

“You read the Bible, Pete?”

“The Holy Bible?”

“Do you see what happens, Barton Fink, when you won't shut up about the common man?!”

Raising Arizona - "We're Set to Pop Here, Honey."

I’m starting something new with my friend Ben Malcomson this month. On his podcast, Chapters, Ben wanted to start having a movie night once a month or so. He asked me to pick the first movie to discuss, and I went with Raising Arizona. As with the other podcasts I’ve done in the past with Ben and his brother Robie, I’ve written an article as part of my preparation for the show. I’m not sure how much crossover there will be with this and that, so be sure to check out the podcast along with reading my article. And while you’re at it, go ahead and subscribe to Ben’s YouTube channel for the show (I linked to it above, but I’ll also include a link here). That way, you get reminders of all the episodes he does (most of his shows consist of a guest he knows discussing life in general or specific topics like the loss of a loved one). Ben’s podcast is wide-ranging, and you get to hear real stories from real people. And if you subscribe, you’ll also see every time I do a movie episode with him. 

Stupid Smart

Raising Arizona has always stuck with me because of how silly and smart it is at the same time. When I was a kid and watched it, I loved it for the goofy characters, action, accents, and dialogue; it was like a live action cartoon. 

When I watch the film as an adult, I now appreciate all the work the Coen brothers put into the script to make it goofy and profound at the same time. It takes a bit of genius to make something stupid on the surface and brilliant underneath the comedy. They created such an amazing and unique world in their cinematic Arizona that the film can be enjoyed two ways: brain on or off.

My preferred method for watching Raising Arizona is with my brain off. That way, I can just enjoy Nicolas Cage and Holly Hunter going all in with their accents and quirks. An unleashed Cage is always great (though according to some interviews, the Coens had to keep reeling him in), but Holly Hunter gets better every time I watch it. Her bursts of emotion throughout the film (“I love him so much!” and “You son of a bitch!”) are among the funniest moments in the movie.

Then there are the side characters. John Goodman and William Forsythe are the standouts. But Sam McMurray and Frances McDormand are close seconds. And Trey Wilson has some great moments as Nathan Arizona nee Huffheinz. 

Raising Arizona is at its best when you can just sit back and watch all these actors embrace the silliness of the world. But when you turn your brain on, you realize you’re dealing with an actually deep and dark story.

This is a film about a couple that cannot conceive who, in a moment of desperation, decide to kidnap a baby. A bounty hunter called the “lone biker of the apocalypse” shows up to find the baby (for the highest bidder). Hi’s ex-con friends steal the baby and take it with them to a bank robbery, eventually forgetting the child on the roof of the getaway car. And on and on. It takes a very smart script to turn something so dark into a goofy live action cartoon.

Immature Maturity

Focusing on the seriousness of the story of Raising Arizona made me realize just how much this movie is about the two main characters overcoming their immaturity to be able to start a family. It’s a funny film because immature people are funny at times, but that also distracts the viewer from how unfit they are to be parents.

Hi is obviously too immature for a family life. He seems to just be going along with everything to keep Ed happy. When he attempts to steal a baby the first time, it turns into a prolonged skit. It’s funny, but when he reports back to Ed, Hi describes it as “horrifying.” The babies and Glen and Dot’s kids are presented to Hi as complete chaos that he cannot handle. Not to mention he flat out admits he can’t handle it to Glen, and while in prison he tries to argue that being a criminal is a substitute for family life. Speaking of prison, the abduction of the child prompts the “birth” of Gale and Evelle into the situation, further confirming Hi’s inability to live a “normal” life. And then there’s the whole thing of unleashing the lone biker of the apocalypse, but I’ll come back to that in a minute.

Hi is the clearly immature character of the film, but Ed is no more prepared than Hi; she just wants a responsible life more, that doesn’t make her ready for such a life. First off, she married Hi. I’m all about giving people second (or third or fourth or fifth, etc.) chances, but Ed has to know that marrying such a “repeat offender” is a risky bet. And it’s her idea to kidnap a baby. Ed’s no more ready for taking care of the baby than Hi is. Sure, she feeds him a bottle and sings to him a few times, but when Dot shows up asking fairly basic questions about the baby’s shots and future, she’s as clueless as Hi. And she’s partly responsible for unleashing the biker.

The lone biker of the apocalypse is mainly Hi’s demon, since they share a tattoo and Hi envisions unleashing him. But Ed’s decision to steal a baby is the primary factor in unleashing him. There’s also a scene in which Hi seems surprised that Ed can see him, too. I know that the biker actually exists, otherwise the scene between him and Nathan Arizona is impossible. But the world of Raising Arizona is not the real world (just look at how unpopulated the world is during the action sequences, and generally amplified every person seems to be), and I would argue that they literally unleashed the biker into the world with their shared inability to be responsible parents.

Once Hi and Ed defeat the biker, they come to their senses and return the baby. And, taking Nathan’s advice, decide to take a night to decide whether or not they should split up. Based on Hi’s dream, they stay together and end up producing a great family and life together. This is only possible once they’ve both conquered their immaturity. By destroying the biker and Hi making a clear break with Gale and Evelle, they have proven that their past is behind them, and they’re ready to move on and start a family together. 

This is why I love Raising Arizona so much. It’s such a fun, goofy take on the age-old theme of being ready to have kids. As a parent myself, watching this film now adds another level of enjoyment as I realize that, while funny, this film is more about a couple growing past their selfishness so that they can fully commit to taking care of a child.

Why Do I Own This?

I own nearly every Coen Brothers film. They are two of my favorite filmmakers of all time, so of course I own one of their best films.

Random Thoughts / Favorite Quotes

I love nearly every word of dialogue in this film, but writing them does not do it justice. The accents and performances add so much to each line.

I love how Hi pronounces "pennant."

"I tried to stand up and fly straight, but it wasn't easy with that sumbitch Reagan in the White House."

"You ate sand?"

"One day, I decided to make my own crawdad. I threw it in the pot, but without the water. It was just like making popcorn."

"You're not just telling us what we want to hear?"

"No, sir. No way."

"Because we just want to hear the truth."

"Well, then I guess I am telling you what you want to hear."

"Boy, didn't we just tell you not to do that?"

"Yes, sir."

"Okay, then."

"Howdy, Kurt."

Okay, this section is pretty much just going to be every quote in the movie…

"There's this spherical object resting in the highway...and it's not a piece of the car!"

I think The Departed ripped off the beginning of this movie by putting the credits so far into the film.

The sequence with the babies would work just as well as a silent movie.

Something I never noticed until I had kids was how ridiculously huge babies are in movies. These kids are supposed to just home from the hospital, and they're crawling around and everything. I suppose some time may have passed, but the movie makes it seem like Cage kidnaps the kid the day after he reads about them coming home.

Holly Hunter's hysterical "I love him so much" and Cage's response still crack me up.

Who better than John Goodman and William Forsythe to play two metaphorical babies being born in the mud?

"I thought you said your folks was DEAD, H.I."

"We thought Junior should see their final resting place."

"They were jammies. They had Yodas and shit on 'em!"

Nathan Arizona's talk about "leads" reminds me of the cop talking about the Dude's stolen car in The Big Lebowski.

"Awful good cereal flakes, Ms. McDunnough."

"We went to adopt on account that something went wrong with my semen."

"Say, that reminds me."

If you weren't convinced this movie was a live action cartoon already, then you get the bonkers chase sequence out of nowhere, which includes a cop leaning out of a car shooting erratically in a neighborhood.

"Son, you got a panty on your head."

They're argument after Cage robs the convenience store is fucking fantastic. Hunter's line reading of "things have got to chaaaaaaange!" and Cage blaming his criminal nature on coming from a long line of frontiersmen and outdoor types.

"Nathan Junior accepts me for who I am, and I think you better had, too."

"You're young, and you got your health. What do you want with a job?"

Glen has a "Caution: I drive naked" sticker on his car.

Cage scraping his knuckles on the popcorn ceiling during the fight is great.

I'll take this trailer fight over the one in Kill Bill Vol. 2 any day.

The store clerk in this movie is amazing.

"Unless round is funny."

"Well, which is it, young feller? You want I should freeze or drop to the ground?"

The ending reminds me of No Country. It’s a description of a dream (though this one is shown) followed by a mundane line, in this case: “I don’t know. Maybe it was Utah.”

There’s a YouTube video about Hi’s tattoo signifying that he’s part of a white supremacist prison gang called the Woodpeckers. I don’t buy it, mainly because the woodpecker he has tattooed on his arm is the logo called Mr. Horsepower for Clay Smith Cams. The video argues that Hi doesn’t seem to care too much about cars because his own car is so plain. But trust me, there are plenty of poor ass dudes driving shitboxes that are still into cars. I just think retroactively outing characters as racists is the new thing to do (kind of like in the 1990s when it was cool to look back through history and claim every significant figure was secretly gay). The dude in the video makes a decent argument, but I can’t imagine that the Coen brothers had such an intention with the tattoo. I think it was just something they thought a guy like Hi would have, and it worked as a visual signifier that Leonard Smalls (who has the same tattoo) was the human representation of Hi’s unreadiness for “adult” life.

"Inside Llewyn Davis" - King Midas's Idiot Brother

*SPOILERS ahead.

After watching over twelves hours of Bob Dylan related movies this month (Rolling Thunder Revue, Factory Girl, I’m Not There, No Direction Home), it seemed only logical that I finally take the plastic off (more on that later) of my copy of Inside Llewyn Davis, a movie that doesn’t glorify the folk scene of 1961 but rather casts a shadow (almost literally considering the color palette of the film) over the era. This is the folk scene right before Bob Dylan showed up (as he appears in the background in the film’s final moments), and for some people, Llewyn Davis specifically, a career in folk music is an eternal struggle. That’s what drew me to this film after all the Dylan stuff. After watching so much film about or inspired by this artist, it was nice to see a story from the same era but about someone who didn’t become an icon. Plus, it’s a Coen Brothers movie, and everything they make should be watched twice, at least.

“[T]he same shit’s going to keep happening to you, because you want it to.” 

Inside Llewyn Davis is a bit of a head-scratcher after the first viewing (at least it was for me). The film seems to end where it begins, so it appears that Llewyn is in some kind of loop, especially once you find out the cat’s name is Ulysses because it makes it seem like he’s on some seemingly endless journey a la Odysseus. But that’s not exactly the case. 

First of all, it’s not a time loop as there are quite a few differences. Llewyn sings another song and is followed by Bob Dylan at the end of the film. Plus, he keeps Ulysses from leaving the apartment with him this time. A lot of similar things happen to Llewyn, but the point of it isn’t that he’s in some purgatory or mythical allegory. He’s just in a rut as a person and an artist that he may or may not want out of.

The easy version of this movie is that Llewyn wants to find success as an artist and reaches some breakthrough at the end. You could argue that he has come to terms with the loss of his bandmate Mike by the end, but he’s still not thriving at the end. What makes it interesting is that it doesn’t seem like he really wants out of the loop. Llewyn Davis is very self-sabotaging, whether he does it consciously or not. For example, he takes a quick check instead of getting royalties for the “Please Mr. Kennedy” recording. He tells his sister to just throw out all of his things without even going through them, not realizing his merchant marine union papers are among them. Why is he like this? That’s where folk music comes into play.

Music, perhaps more than any other artistic expression, glorifies struggle. Success is considered selling out. Folk music in particular embodies this as the songs are typically about struggles among common people, and what’s more common than scraping by? On some level, Llewyn never wants to stop crashing on whatever couch he can find in the Village, because if he somehow makes enough money to get his own place, then he must have sold out to get there. 

This is not necessarily who Llewyn Davis is overall, but it’s certainly who he is throughout the film. He was part of a duo, and his attempt at a solo career is failing. He is trying, but he’s unwilling to admit that he needs someone. Mike’s suicide is still affecting him, and he doesn’t want to find someone new. But trying things on his own has created an endless rut. The end of the film may find him making slight progress (because of his ability to leave the cat in the apartment), but it seems like he may have simply made peace with the rut.

This is best exemplified by his conversations with Jean (Carey Mulligan). In may ways, everything she says to him sums up his character perfectly, even down to calling him “shit.” But it’s her discussion with him about being a “careerist” that is most telling. She talks about how she and Jim want something, and Llewyn is just on the couch, and it’s spot on. But he sees her goal of success as selling out or giving up. To him the struggle is the point, but this is only because he’s miserable. 

Llewyn’s misery isn’t exclusive to music. He has possibly impregnated Jean, who he clearly has feelings for (despite her being with Jim), and he goes on to find out that he has a child living in Akron (the woman he was with decided to keep the baby without telling him). He considers having a family as giving up, as he gives Jean shit for wanting to move out of the city and raise a child, and he is condescending to his sister when discussing her life of “just existing.” Yet when he drives past Akron on his way back from Chicago he stares at it longingly and moments later he hits a cat (most likely the wrong cat he brought with him from New York but abandoned). By passing Akron he is killing his chance at such a life, and perhaps he regrets this a bit. Regardless, he passes it up and head back to his struggle as a folk singer.

Llewyn alienating people around him and showing disdain for people who succeed shows that living as an artist, or at least an artist in Llewyn’s eyes, is a selfish and lonely endeavor. He uses anyone willing to give him a couch, and he doesn’t seem very interested in family ties (family, either his child or his sister and dad, represent a life wasted). Most people seem to hate him or dismiss him (a man seems to stare at him with hate in his eyes on the subway, Roland Turner dislikes him immediately, etc.). It’s a miserable existence, but it seems to be one he wants to live. It’s also a refreshingly realistic cinematic look at a musician, since Llewyn is never going to make it in the traditional sense, just like most people who follow their dreams. Most just keep grinding it out for as long as possible. For every Bob Dylan, there are a thousand Llewyn Davises out in the alley, getting their asses kicked.

The appearance of Bob Dylan at the end while Llewyn goes to the alley to take his beating sums up what his professional life will most likely be. One step away from stardom and success (which he doesn’t actually want, because hey, Dylan ended up betraying his folk beginning anyway when he went electric, right?). One step away from a beating each night. But this is what he wanted, so it’s not really a sad or depressing ending. Llewyn is going to continue to be the artist he wants to be, and the events of the film have helped him come to terms with that. 

King Midas’s idiot brother

The first time I watched Inside Llewyn Davis, I wasn’t blown away by it. But it’s not the type of movie to blow you away. It’s a movie to be absorbed after multiple viewings. I didn’t hate the film, and I knew I needed to give it time. The Coens have earned my patience over the years, so any time I watch a film of theirs and don’t seem to get it at first, I’ll give it a few months and watch it again. 

I have come to love it, but I feel the need to address why I didn’t like it at first. To begin with, Llewyn is a dick. I know the movie points this out plenty of times, but that doesn’t make him likable. I’ve come to enjoy him as a character, but he does a few things I consider unforgivable. The main issue I have with him is having sex with Jean while she’s with Jim, and then, the kicker, trying to get money from Jim for Jean’s abortion while knowing that the baby could also be Jim’s. I get the dark humor in such a request, but when you think about Jim, who seems to be the nicest character in the film, unwittingly paying for the abortion of his own child, it becomes fucking evil. But I’ve made my peace with it because it finally occurred to me that I don’t need to like him. 

Having an unlikable protagonist isn’t a new concept to me, but I wanted to like Llewyn, probably because I think Oscar Isaac is a great actor, and he’s especially good in this film. The fact that I have come to kind of like him despite his despicable behavior is a testament to his performance.

I also wasn’t crazy about the possible time look aspect of the film the first time. It made me wonder what I missed, realizing that the fucking cat was very important, especially with a name like Ulysses. The name thing really annoyed me because I thought this was meant to be about The Odyssey again, which I thought was a bit lazy. But looking back, this has very little to do with The Odyssey and is more of a reference to the Joyce novel, mainly because it’s a slightly plotless look at life in a specific world over the course of a short period of time. (I’ve never read Ulysses, though, so perhaps there’s more than that to it.)

I just didn’t feel like trying to figure this movie out the first time I saw it. But I chalk that up to awards season fatigue (I have to watch 60+ movies in the final month of the year for the year-end awards from the critics group I belong to and sometimes a movie gets less attention than it deserves). After giving it a few years (I opened my blu ray copy a few days ago even though I bought it years ago), I was able to give the film another chance. 

This time around, I found myself enjoying the world of the film. Even though I like digging deeper into the film and thinking about theories about the cat and whatnot, I also just enjoy the movie on the surface. It’s sneakily one of the Coen Brothers’ funniest films, and it features a great cast of characters. And I’ve embraced folk music recently, so that aspect, which was a bit lost on me the first go around, is now part that I enjoy very much.

Inside Llewyn Davis is not only a film I have come to love; it’s also an example of my favorite type of movie. It’s a film that can be as deep or shallow as you want it to be. That shouldn’t have surprised me because the Coens excel at that. I’m just glad I gave this movie the time it deserved, because now I consider it top-tier Coen Brothers.

Why Do I Own This?

I’m a Coen Brothers completionist (or I was since I have yet to buy Hail, Caesar! and The Ballad of Buster Scruggs), so I buy this out of instinct. But this one truly needs to be owned because it gets better with each viewing.

Poe Dameron and Kylo Ren as college students before their relationship soured.

Random Thoughts 

I bet Llewyn apologizes about last night every day. 

"Llewyn is the cat."

Troy Nelson announcing, "Well, that was very good," after eating cereal annoys me for some reason. 

"Everything you touch turns to shit! Like King Midas's idiot brother."

"I'm not a fucking cat!"

There's something odd about seeing Adam Driver sing about "Outer...space!" now that he's Kylo Ren. Not to mention he's singing with Poe Dameron. 

I actually really like "Please Mr. Kennedy."

What happened to Garrett Hedlund? I mean, I know he still works with regularity, but I always thought he would be a bigger star.

John Goodman definitely has some of the best lines, or maybe I just enjoy watching him roast Llewyn. 

"Grown man with a cat. Is that part of your ACT?"

"I just didn't know what to do with it."

"Really? So, did you bring your dick along, too?"

Llewyn is such a fuck-up that he can't even give up and become a careerist properly. 

..