This is the third in
my bi-monthly 2018 series Re-coen-sidering, in which I’m looking (mostly) at Coen brothers films I didn’t get the
first time, to see if that’s still the case.
This is supposed to be a series in which I give a second
chance to Coen brothers movies others liked, but I did not particularly like.
However, only one of the three films to date actually conforms to that concept.
In February, I started with a movie I love, Miller’s Crossing, just because I could
only find five movies I didn’t particularly care for that I hadn’t already
revisited for some other reason. Essentially, I used this series as an excuse
for a second viewing. In April, I watched a movie that did qualify, as O Brother, Where Art Thou? is one others
like but I don’t (that much).
This month, though, I reverted to an exception to the rule, watching
a movie that pretty much no one likes.
The Ladykillers is
the first of an eventual two remakes in the Coens’ career to date, the other being
True Grit, which is what I’ll be
watching in October according to the current schedule. It’s probably the
least-liked Coens movie overall. It’s only the second lowest on my Coens chart
on Flickchart – we’ll get to the lowest in August – but in the global list on
Flickchart, it’s dead last. Though, I must say, still at a respectable 6718 out
of 68551, putting it in the top ten percent of all movies in the database. That’s
either a recognition of how much people like the Coens in general, or of how
many more bad movies get made than good ones.
My first time seeing The
Ladykillers was under unusual circumstances. It’s the only time I can
remember having a suitcase with me while going to the movies.
It was late March of 2004, and I was on a week’s trip back
to the east coast from Los Angeles. The first weekend featured my friend’s
wedding in New Jersey. The second weekend featured my fantasy baseball draft in
Philadelphia. In between, I’d visit with my parents in the Boston area. I also
took a day in New York to visit some old haunts, as I’d lived there from 1998
to 2001. And apparently, also to see a movie at one of the theaters I used to
frequent. But I believe I was staying with different friends on the Sunday
night and the Monday night, so I dragged my bag with me around the city that
Monday as I stopped in for coffee and meals with people.
It was also a weird time as I was deep in the throes of
trying to get back together with my ex-girlfriend. She had been invited to the
wedding also – something that took me aback, since she only knew the bride and
groom because of me – and I’d tried to rekindle our relationship at the
wedding. It was no go, and I’d say it probably put me in a bit of a funk. (But
did not stop my efforts to get back together with her, which I continued on and
off for the rest of the year until I met the woman I would end up marrying.)
Anyway, I don’t think any of that had anything to do with me
liking or not liking The Ladykillers.
Nothing about the movie had any thematic relationship to my circumstances at
the time. It just wasn’t a very good movie.
However, given those circumstances, I thought there was at
least some possibility I’d feel more favorably toward it this time around.
I got off to a bad start with the movie, though. Right
before inserting the DVD into our player, I noticed the box said it was a full
screen version of the film. You know, otherwise known as “pan and scan.” I
avoid these mangled versions of the director’s vision whenever possible, but
this was a library rental, and I didn’t feel optimistic enough about my chances
of liking The Ladykillers
significantly better to prioritize renting the intended widescreen version from some pay service.
Still, as the Coens are known for their visual compositions, it was not a
promising omen.
I do think I might have like it just a smidgen better than
the first time. Just a smidgen.
I still don’t think this is the right role for Tom Hanks.
The Coens are really self-indulgent with his dialogue, which is literary to the
point of being baroque, and the overwriting very much informs Hanks’
performance. Even though some of his most famous roles, such as Forrest Gump,
involve Hanks playing a character with a capital C, he’s usually better off
playing some variation on his regular persona. The role of Goldthwaite Higginson
Dorr – even the name is ridiculous – would be something more suited to the
proclivities of Johnny Depp than someone like Hanks. He’s probably not the film’s
biggest problem, but he doesn’t help anything either.
I’m also not really sure how well this film fares on racial
issues. Whether it’s the Coens’ direction or Marlon Wayans’ natural tendencies
as an actor, Wayans does a lot of bugging of his eyes that reminds us rather
unfortunately of a history of uncharitable characterizations of
African-Americans in film. There may be a reason the Coens have not had as many
black characters front and center in their films as they do here, which is that
the broadness of their comedic instincts may present surely unintentional but
nonetheless unfortunate reminders of a shucking and jiving history of blacks on
film that we are trying to put behind us. The “lady” of the title, played by
Irma P. Hall, is not quite as broad but I can’t quite tell whether the film
does right by her either. I do love the portrait of her dead husband, though,
the film’s one bit of magical realism. It changes expressions from grumpy to
bemused to alarmed to superior depending on what’s going on in the living room
below.
I also have some complaints about other members of Hanks’
crew of subterraneous thieves, particularly Ryan Hurst as a football player so
dumb that the only conclusion must be that the Coens asked him to play the role
as mentally retarded. Like their approach to the movie in general, it’s too
much.
The thing I liked a little better, though, was the way the
characters are hoisted on their own pitards as they make their march to the
trash barges constantly passing on the river below, one by one. I noticed this
time that each of the thieves dies as some result of a fatal flaw, be it being
slowed by IBS (J.K. Simmons’ character trying to escape with the cash a moment
too late) or being dumb (Hurst’s character shoots himself in the face when he
thinks a gun is not loaded). Like everything else, it’s at the broader end of
the Coen spectrum, but I liked how it came together, mostly.
I do have to ask, though – what city produces so much trash
that it has to send a full trash barge off to a trash island once an hour
throughout the night?
When I watched O
Brother, Where Art Thou? last month, I noticed a number of design details
or other themes that had come up numerous times in the Coens’ work. I noticed
only one this time that I wanted to bring up, but it relates to one of my
favorite Coens movies so I thought it was worth mentioning. A recurring joke in
this movie is how the widow’s cat, Pickles, is always getting out of the house
and climbing up the tree in the yard. I couldn’t help but be reminded of how
Ulysses, the cat in Inside Llewyn Davis,
escapes the Gorfeins’ apartment and becomes symbolic of Llewyn’s Oddyssey-like
journey through New York and Chicago.
There’s also a funny, though slightly gross, epilogue to my
Sunday night viewing.
One thing I always remember about The Ladykillers is that it introduced me to the disorder known as
IBS, Irritable Bowel Syndrome. Although I found it useful to know that this was
an actual medical condition, my main association with it is how it is another
too-broad-by-half element of the movie, especially since it really doesn’t play
as much role in the events as the movie sets it up to play. Specifically broad
is the expression on Simmons’ face as he tries to stifle a sudden onset of
diarrhea before he needs to make a quick change of pants.
Then this morning, when I came to work, I must have eaten
something that mildly disagreed with me in the previous 12 hours, because it
was all I could do to get there and get to the bathroom before I had an accident
myself. Fortunately, that was the only episode of loose stool rather than it
being an all-day thing. But while trying to get to the bathroom that first time, I did have at least three instances where I
focused every fiber of my being on making sure I held in the torrent that
wanted to unleash itself.
I imagine the expression on my face was something like the
one on Simmons’.
Okay, I teased it before, and now here you go: In August I
confront the only Coen brothers movie I can truly say I hated, Burn After Reading. We’ll see how I go.
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