“It’s never new but it never gets old — it’s a folk song.”
Inside Llewyn Davis has a lot in common with the folk music genre: It’s endearing and beautiful at times but slow and sorrowful at others. In the spirit of folk music, we’ve decided to harmonize on this review — two voices in unison. We’ll be passing around the hat afterward.
Rob: The film depicts the Greenwich Village folk scene in the pre-Dylan era, a time when the movement had lost much of its cohesiveness and was struggling to stay relevant as pop music dominated the charts. Writer/directors Joel and Ethan Coen present 1961 as a dark time for “serious” folk artists who were determined to keep their craft from falling by the wayside. And apparently, some of them coped with this new reality by becoming straight-up jerks.
Eric: The only thing worse than an asshole who has convinced himself he's an artist is an asshole who actually is an artist. It’s shame to see talent wasted on someone who’s such a miserable human being. That’s Llewyn Davis, a guy who shows more emotion to a stray cat than the people who (somehow) love him. Singing is the only way Llewyn can really reach out to other humans, and it pays the bills, which are pretty much nonexistent since he's homeless and lives on a diet of bummed cigarettes.
Rob: Llewyn has problems taking responsibility for pretty much anything. He drifts around New York, crashing on one friend’s couch after another. He neglects his family. He writes checks to pay for one-night stands’ abortions and just walks away without a second thought. He’s a total deadbeat, even if he sometimes means well.
Eric: We follow scumbag Llewyn around for a week of public transportation, dingy clubs, and run-down apartments. Pretty quickly it starts to seem like a male-centric Girls set in the ‘60s — not only because the lead character is young, self-important egomaniac who treats his friends like garbage and has convinced himself anyone not doing what he’s doing has sold out and those who are doing it aren’t doing it right (“What do you think of these guys?” a club owner asks Llewlyn of an a capella quartet. “I like their sweaters.”) but because two of the three gents from Girls (Adam Driver and Alex Karpovsky) show up in the first 30 minutes of the film. The supporting cast here is fantastic, and in typical Coen fashion, the kooky characters we meet for just one scene are as fascinating as the lead.
Rob: Let’s not forget Carey Mulligan, who turns in an enjoyable Holly Hunter-esque performance as one of Llewyn’s aforementioned one-night stands. (If there’s one thing the Coens have perfected over the course of their canon, it’s their trope of hilariously exasperated female characters who are fed up with the stupid men in their lives. God, there are a lot of dumb men in Coen movies.)
But unfortunately the Coen personality shines through only occasionally in Inside Llewyn Davis, in a few great moments that spotlight those oddball characters. In my favorite scene of the film, Llewyn sits in on a recording session with fellow folksters played by Driver and Justin Timberlake, jamming out on a gimmicky pop song about JFK and the space race.
Eric: That was whole bit was hilarious. It’s a shame all these colorful characters but get so little screen time — it’s all about Llewyn (which, I suppose makes sense given the title of the film). But, I would have been happy to see some more from Driver and Timberlake’s characters and Stark Sands, who plays Llewyn’s exact opposite: a painfully optimistic young soldier with a potentially promising folk career ahead of him.
We do, however, get a hefty dose of John Goodman as surly old jazz man named Roland and his silent, chain-smoking valet Johnny Five, played perfectly by Garrett Hedlund (the lead from Tron: Legacy). Their time together gives some hilarious breaks from the heartbreak that surround Llewyn and his self-inflicted suffering. There’s a perfect blend of sad and funny when Roland and Llewyn talk about the suicide of Llewyn’s performing partner.
Rob: In another of Roland’s (drunken? heroin-fueled?) rants, he points out an interesting contrast between folk singers, whose music he considers lazy and dumbed-down, and jazz musicians who “play all the notes on the scale.”
Eric: Man, I was silently cheering Roland in that scene. I tend to hate folk music — the capos and the boring chords and the uninteresting suburban kids thinking they have something to say. Ugh. But even if the genre doesn’t do much for you because every d-bag you know with an acoustic guitar has turned you off of amateur solo performers, it’s impossible not to get silenced and swept up by Llewyn’s takes on these classic folk songs. The earnest, simple songs are mimicked in the film’s visuals — muted like the calm strum of steel strings. Every frame looks like it could be the cover of a folk album. Like, say, this one from Bob Dylan.
Rob: Dylan’s shadow looms large over the film. We know he’ll soon end up breathing new life into a lot of the old standards Llewyn solemnly performs for half-empty clubs — and he’ll have a lot more fun doing it. Will folk’s looming resurgence save Llewyn from his gloomy mope-fest and break him out of his endless loop of self-destruction? Or will it just be another instance of opportunity passing him by?
Eric: Oh, I know! Or, maybe I don’t — wouldn’t want to spoil the ending. Though I’m not sure I could if I tried. It’s worth mentioning this is character-heavy stuff, so don’t go in expecting oodles of plot. Still, I think if you like the Coen Bros. and the absence of a major story doesn’t completely turn you off, you’ll agree this selection is a fine addition to the Coen’s songbook.
--Rob Heidrick and Eric Pulsifer
Inside Llewyn Davis has a lot in common with the folk music genre: It’s endearing and beautiful at times but slow and sorrowful at others. In the spirit of folk music, we’ve decided to harmonize on this review — two voices in unison. We’ll be passing around the hat afterward.
Rob: The film depicts the Greenwich Village folk scene in the pre-Dylan era, a time when the movement had lost much of its cohesiveness and was struggling to stay relevant as pop music dominated the charts. Writer/directors Joel and Ethan Coen present 1961 as a dark time for “serious” folk artists who were determined to keep their craft from falling by the wayside. And apparently, some of them coped with this new reality by becoming straight-up jerks.
Eric: The only thing worse than an asshole who has convinced himself he's an artist is an asshole who actually is an artist. It’s shame to see talent wasted on someone who’s such a miserable human being. That’s Llewyn Davis, a guy who shows more emotion to a stray cat than the people who (somehow) love him. Singing is the only way Llewyn can really reach out to other humans, and it pays the bills, which are pretty much nonexistent since he's homeless and lives on a diet of bummed cigarettes.
Rob: Llewyn has problems taking responsibility for pretty much anything. He drifts around New York, crashing on one friend’s couch after another. He neglects his family. He writes checks to pay for one-night stands’ abortions and just walks away without a second thought. He’s a total deadbeat, even if he sometimes means well.
Eric: We follow scumbag Llewyn around for a week of public transportation, dingy clubs, and run-down apartments. Pretty quickly it starts to seem like a male-centric Girls set in the ‘60s — not only because the lead character is young, self-important egomaniac who treats his friends like garbage and has convinced himself anyone not doing what he’s doing has sold out and those who are doing it aren’t doing it right (“What do you think of these guys?” a club owner asks Llewlyn of an a capella quartet. “I like their sweaters.”) but because two of the three gents from Girls (Adam Driver and Alex Karpovsky) show up in the first 30 minutes of the film. The supporting cast here is fantastic, and in typical Coen fashion, the kooky characters we meet for just one scene are as fascinating as the lead.
Rob: Let’s not forget Carey Mulligan, who turns in an enjoyable Holly Hunter-esque performance as one of Llewyn’s aforementioned one-night stands. (If there’s one thing the Coens have perfected over the course of their canon, it’s their trope of hilariously exasperated female characters who are fed up with the stupid men in their lives. God, there are a lot of dumb men in Coen movies.)
But unfortunately the Coen personality shines through only occasionally in Inside Llewyn Davis, in a few great moments that spotlight those oddball characters. In my favorite scene of the film, Llewyn sits in on a recording session with fellow folksters played by Driver and Justin Timberlake, jamming out on a gimmicky pop song about JFK and the space race.
Eric: That was whole bit was hilarious. It’s a shame all these colorful characters but get so little screen time — it’s all about Llewyn (which, I suppose makes sense given the title of the film). But, I would have been happy to see some more from Driver and Timberlake’s characters and Stark Sands, who plays Llewyn’s exact opposite: a painfully optimistic young soldier with a potentially promising folk career ahead of him.
We do, however, get a hefty dose of John Goodman as surly old jazz man named Roland and his silent, chain-smoking valet Johnny Five, played perfectly by Garrett Hedlund (the lead from Tron: Legacy). Their time together gives some hilarious breaks from the heartbreak that surround Llewyn and his self-inflicted suffering. There’s a perfect blend of sad and funny when Roland and Llewyn talk about the suicide of Llewyn’s performing partner.
Rob: In another of Roland’s (drunken? heroin-fueled?) rants, he points out an interesting contrast between folk singers, whose music he considers lazy and dumbed-down, and jazz musicians who “play all the notes on the scale.”
Eric: Man, I was silently cheering Roland in that scene. I tend to hate folk music — the capos and the boring chords and the uninteresting suburban kids thinking they have something to say. Ugh. But even if the genre doesn’t do much for you because every d-bag you know with an acoustic guitar has turned you off of amateur solo performers, it’s impossible not to get silenced and swept up by Llewyn’s takes on these classic folk songs. The earnest, simple songs are mimicked in the film’s visuals — muted like the calm strum of steel strings. Every frame looks like it could be the cover of a folk album. Like, say, this one from Bob Dylan.
Rob: Dylan’s shadow looms large over the film. We know he’ll soon end up breathing new life into a lot of the old standards Llewyn solemnly performs for half-empty clubs — and he’ll have a lot more fun doing it. Will folk’s looming resurgence save Llewyn from his gloomy mope-fest and break him out of his endless loop of self-destruction? Or will it just be another instance of opportunity passing him by?
Eric: Oh, I know! Or, maybe I don’t — wouldn’t want to spoil the ending. Though I’m not sure I could if I tried. It’s worth mentioning this is character-heavy stuff, so don’t go in expecting oodles of plot. Still, I think if you like the Coen Bros. and the absence of a major story doesn’t completely turn you off, you’ll agree this selection is a fine addition to the Coen’s songbook.
--Rob Heidrick and Eric Pulsifer
RSS Feed
