Osborne Cox (John Malcovich) has been a CIA analyst for forever, however, it appears as though the people at his work aren't appreciating him as much anymore due to his "drinking problem." So Osborne flies the coop and begins to write his memoirs with all the dirty secrets of his job intact. So where's the snag? His wife (Tilda Swinton) is in the midst of some intensive research to prepare for a divorce so she can be with her lover (George Clooney). Hangup after that? It appears Cox's wife, Katie, picked an attorney with a clumsy secretary, and Katie's research, including Osborne's memoirs, gets left behind in a gym. A gym, I might add, which is host to a gang of bumbling idiots (Brad Pitt and Frances McDormand) who stumble onto said research and then attempt to blackmail Osborne. Still with me? Okay. That's the gist, there's some more interconnectedness, but I'll spare you the spoilers of who ends up having sex with whom and who ends up dying.
This is the Coen Brothers first offering since their Oscar-winning No Country for Old Men. It's hard to say it's not good, because the film is enjoyable and should keep you laughing for its brisk 93 minute run time, but it just isn't all the Coen's are capable of doing. The direction is solid, the dialogue wacky, and the cast of characters are everything you'd expect from a Coen comedy, however, it just didn't add up to anything truly special. Sometimes the dark comedy gets a little too dark while still attempting to maintain the humor, and that's when things feel slightly off and clunky.
Although, Brad Pitt makes a hilarious turn as Chad Feldheimer, the dimwitted personal trainer who finds the information and attempts to extort money for its safe return. Clooney also takes a page out of his funny book and delivers a memorable performance as a sex-addicted Marshall's Office employee who is convinced he is being followed by the CIA. Malkovich also proves to have some comedy chops and I'm sure will be remember for his repetition of the line "What the fuck?" throughout the entire film.
And perhaps that's best how to sum up the film, what the fuck? It's a film about idiots and nothingness and that's the point. The Coens didn't fail by any means, and when things end up in a neat bundle by the end of the film, you're left strangely unsatisfied. It's one of their lesser works, but not one of their lesser lesser works. (I'm talking to you, Ladykillers) Intelligence is relative and this could be one of the more intelligent films about unintelligent people made by intelligent people in an attempt to show the world its reflection and ask, what the fuck?
Review by: Greg MacLennan
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