There have only been a handful of films in cinematic history that are crafted with such subtle nuance and yet still unashamedly devastating. Think Yasujiro Ozu's sentiment in simplicity, Robert Bresson's philosophies of transcendentalism, Edward Yang's everyday life beauty, and Andrei Tarkovsky's poetry on screen. While Joel and Ethan Coen's 2013 feature Inside Llewlyn Davis may not be as minimalistic as the aforementioned, the film echoes some of the poignant and sublime themes found in its predecessors.
A complete cynical outlook on life and human nature has been present practically throughout all of the Coen Brothers' works; they have even stated in multiple interviews they do not plan to ever make a film displaying the good qualities of humankind, which are, from their point of view, nonexistent in the face of all the bad qualities. In Inside Llewlyn Davis, they have pushed their beliefs to the extremes.
Llewlyn Davis, our struggling musician/protagonist, criticizes his Jean for being a careerist, yet still refuses to play a song for the Gorfeins because it's just his job.He lies to them about having their cat, breaks promises about staying at Jim and Jean's for the last time, leaves a cat to die in a car, leaves another animal to die out in the woods, and heckles a woman on stage.
Such is the hypocritical nature of the artist.
Yet we still empathize with him. We start to realize his disastrous fortune; his close friend recently commited suicide, the woman he loves is pregnant with another man, his ex-lover lied to him about getting an abortion, the one song he declines royalties for is an implied massive success, and he drives all the way to Chicago only to be told he doesn't have the talent to make it. Considering how the beginning is identical to the ending, the circular narrative suggests this struggle will only continue, and perhaps worsen. The viewer's strong connection with Davis's loss and pain drives our desire for him to succeed, even when we knew his hopeless situation was doomed from the start. This is the depressing nature of Inside Llewyn Davis- and life, cynics would add.
Like the cat, Davis is lost. He doesn't have a home, much like how the cat wanders the streets of New York City for almost the entirety of the runtime. Though at the end, the cat does find its way back home, offering a glimmer of hope to our protagonist and viewer. The Coens, it seems, are not always so nihilistic.
Behind the forlorn and vengeful Davis is Oscar Issac, a rising actor perhaps better known by his roles in the Star Wars franchise, Ex Machina (2015), and Annihilation (2016). His performance in Inside Llewyn Davis not only showcases his talent as a lead actor, but is more ambitious than the rest of his filmography combined. Take a look at his posture and expression when it is revealed his ex-girlfriend, Diane, didn't go through with the abortion. We see the betrayal and helplessness straight through his heartbroken eyes, and we feel even more for him when he tries to hide it, saying, "No, no, I knew she was going to Akron, she's from Akron... her parents are in Akron."
Arguably even more outstanding is the dialogue during this series of revelations; writers often struggle with dramatic exposition, but the Coens seemed to have mastered the craft. For example, "Her parents are in Akron," implies she left him because she didn't think he could provide adequate financial support for the three of them, while her parents can. "The kid would be about two now...?" reveals the vast amount of time that has past since her departure, also indicating that Davis's financial and emotional hardships have been transpiring since who knows when. Finally, the doctor first states that Davis does not need to pay, granting the protagonist and the audience a slight relief (a win for the protagonist always means a win for the audience), only to hit us with the devastating truth. This push-pull effect is just the cherry on top for a barely two minute scene, which itself carries more tear-jerking weight than your typical two-and-a-half hour Hollywood blockbuster. Lastly, the scene fits perfectly in the context of the story, leading into his explosion at the Gorfeins.
In other aspects of filmmaking, Director of Photography Bruno Debonnel, known for his work in Amélie (2001) and Darkest Hour (2017), has rightfully prioritized elevating the story over gorgeous, eye-catching images. Notice how in Amélie he has painted the screen with saturated reds and greens to emphasize the protagonist's playful and naive personality, while in Inside Llewyn Davis, we see the complete opposite- a color palette limited to only blue, green, and brown, narrow hallways that symbolize Davis's trapped state, and low light throughout to accentuate the character's hopelessness. A second time around analyzing the film, I found that each scene becomes successively less illuminated; it was at this point I declared this film a masterpiece.
I could very easily go more in depth on Inside Llewyn Davis's soundtrack, ingenious use of dark comedy, and detailed metaphors, but I figured the film is depressing enough on its own.
Fare thee well...
A complete cynical outlook on life and human nature has been present practically throughout all of the Coen Brothers' works; they have even stated in multiple interviews they do not plan to ever make a film displaying the good qualities of humankind, which are, from their point of view, nonexistent in the face of all the bad qualities. In Inside Llewlyn Davis, they have pushed their beliefs to the extremes.
Llewlyn Davis, our struggling musician/protagonist, criticizes his Jean for being a careerist, yet still refuses to play a song for the Gorfeins because it's just his job.He lies to them about having their cat, breaks promises about staying at Jim and Jean's for the last time, leaves a cat to die in a car, leaves another animal to die out in the woods, and heckles a woman on stage.
Such is the hypocritical nature of the artist.
Yet we still empathize with him. We start to realize his disastrous fortune; his close friend recently commited suicide, the woman he loves is pregnant with another man, his ex-lover lied to him about getting an abortion, the one song he declines royalties for is an implied massive success, and he drives all the way to Chicago only to be told he doesn't have the talent to make it. Considering how the beginning is identical to the ending, the circular narrative suggests this struggle will only continue, and perhaps worsen. The viewer's strong connection with Davis's loss and pain drives our desire for him to succeed, even when we knew his hopeless situation was doomed from the start. This is the depressing nature of Inside Llewyn Davis- and life, cynics would add.
Like the cat, Davis is lost. He doesn't have a home, much like how the cat wanders the streets of New York City for almost the entirety of the runtime. Though at the end, the cat does find its way back home, offering a glimmer of hope to our protagonist and viewer. The Coens, it seems, are not always so nihilistic.
Behind the forlorn and vengeful Davis is Oscar Issac, a rising actor perhaps better known by his roles in the Star Wars franchise, Ex Machina (2015), and Annihilation (2016). His performance in Inside Llewyn Davis not only showcases his talent as a lead actor, but is more ambitious than the rest of his filmography combined. Take a look at his posture and expression when it is revealed his ex-girlfriend, Diane, didn't go through with the abortion. We see the betrayal and helplessness straight through his heartbroken eyes, and we feel even more for him when he tries to hide it, saying, "No, no, I knew she was going to Akron, she's from Akron... her parents are in Akron."
Arguably even more outstanding is the dialogue during this series of revelations; writers often struggle with dramatic exposition, but the Coens seemed to have mastered the craft. For example, "Her parents are in Akron," implies she left him because she didn't think he could provide adequate financial support for the three of them, while her parents can. "The kid would be about two now...?" reveals the vast amount of time that has past since her departure, also indicating that Davis's financial and emotional hardships have been transpiring since who knows when. Finally, the doctor first states that Davis does not need to pay, granting the protagonist and the audience a slight relief (a win for the protagonist always means a win for the audience), only to hit us with the devastating truth. This push-pull effect is just the cherry on top for a barely two minute scene, which itself carries more tear-jerking weight than your typical two-and-a-half hour Hollywood blockbuster. Lastly, the scene fits perfectly in the context of the story, leading into his explosion at the Gorfeins.
In other aspects of filmmaking, Director of Photography Bruno Debonnel, known for his work in Amélie (2001) and Darkest Hour (2017), has rightfully prioritized elevating the story over gorgeous, eye-catching images. Notice how in Amélie he has painted the screen with saturated reds and greens to emphasize the protagonist's playful and naive personality, while in Inside Llewyn Davis, we see the complete opposite- a color palette limited to only blue, green, and brown, narrow hallways that symbolize Davis's trapped state, and low light throughout to accentuate the character's hopelessness. A second time around analyzing the film, I found that each scene becomes successively less illuminated; it was at this point I declared this film a masterpiece.
I could very easily go more in depth on Inside Llewyn Davis's soundtrack, ingenious use of dark comedy, and detailed metaphors, but I figured the film is depressing enough on its own.
Fare thee well...