The
Man Who Wasn't There (2001)
Art
films. They call them art films because they elevate
the motion picture medium to an artform. I don't think
anyone will ever to be able to find a better example
of this than the Coen brothers' masterful "The Man Who
Wasn't There."
Film Noir. A term that came into use in the 40's to
describe a sort of artful black and white film, one
that uses shadows and light to contrast the differences
between good and evil. Film Noirs often had shady characters,
criminals and underworld figures at their center. "The
Man Who Wasn't There" is, again, a perfect example of
an homage to this film genre.
This is perhaps the most beautiful black and white film
to be made in English since "The
Elephant Man" or "Raging Bull." But unlike those
films, this one has a quite lyrical quality that makes
it sway with sorrow and disappointment. It's as if everything
here was going to gently cave in upon itself at any
minute.
There is tension and drama yet for such a slowly paced
film, there is neither boredom nor ennui. The film is
drench in misunderstanding and seeming missed opportunities,
yet it is an interesting and engrossing story. In a
way, it is quite unlike anything we've seen before yet,
again, it has this Noir quality making it also seem
familiar.
But the theme here is massive. Existence and the nature
of it are what's at play. The Coens bring forth an antihero,
a silent, unassuming man and then give him the opportunity
for evil. Encased in nearly silent dissonance, he seems
a ghost, barely existing at all. And as he commits evil
and finds it spiraling out of his control, a thread
pulled which unravels a garment, he also finds that
he is unnoticed as the culprit.
As is the case in many other Coens' films, the beauty
of the images here is matched with the beauty of a script
filled with wonderful plot twist and stylized dialogue.
Like "Miller's Crossing," this film has a real knack
of making 40's era dialogue come to life. It is far
less quirky here than in the previous film; yet, while
it seems much more realistic, it is also much more poetic
as well.
As much as the Coen brothers and cinematographer Roger
Deakins brings to the film, it is Billy Bob Thornton
in the lead role who really makes the film cohesive.
Thornton gives his best performance ever as Ed Crane,
a quiet and emotionless barber who finds his world unraveling
after he engages in blackmail.
Thornton gives a subtle and static performance here
that is as deep and nuanced as any which has ever won
accolades. If he is not nominated for an Academy Award
for this performance, it will only serve to point out
the enormous inadequacies in the system. Thornton creates
a character so complex and so varnished, that it is
often impossible to understand exactly what he represents.
There is much in this film to keep us involved and intrigued.
For a quiet, black and white, Noir film, the piece is
engrossing as hell. Blackmail and a marriage in flux
or only two of the elements at work here. The Coens
pack the film with intriguing characters and situations.
And trying to guess what will happen next is nearly
impossible. Coupling their flair for dialogue and expert
artistic eyes, the Coens create a world that is a toned
down version of their own "Miller's Crossing" and "Fargo"
as well as a logical descendant to "Barton Fink."
Thornton engages in narration here, something that normally
turns me off. But in this film it is so wonderful and
so much an accent to the story that it becomes an integral
part of the film. The Coens even justify this narration
in the final reel.
A wonderful moment in the film comes when Thornton's
Crane begins to tell a story in voiveover and is interrupted
by a phone call. From the call, a scene evolves and,
after its conclusion, when Thornton returns to his earlier
setting, he finishes the story he has begun to tell
earlier, again returning to narration.
The Coens also continue their cinematic love affair
with overweight men by including not one, not two, but
three big actors in the film. Most of them are regulars
in the Coen's arsenal of thespians. Jon Polito, Michael
Badalucco, and James Gandolfini all have pivotal roles
in the film. Also, like "Miller's Crossing," there is
a subtle gay subtext here. But this time it is even
more non-offensive and handled perfectly. The Coens
are some of the coolest quirky filmmakers on the scene.
The inclusion of gay minor characters has often flavored
their films with a sort of negative homophobic stereotype.
Here, it is a simple fact of a character, a simple sideline
moment that gives the film color and interest. "The
Man Who Wasn't There" is chock-full of such moments.
The best part of "The Man Who Wasn't There," after Thornton,
is Tony Shaloub and the wonderful dialogue the brothers
write for his character. Shaloub is almost unrecognizable
as a fast-talking lawyer who tries to help Crane and
his wife, played by Mrs. Joel Coen, Frances McDormand.
Shaloub's verbose shyster is a direct opposite to Thornton's
nearly silent barber. And in juxtaposing the two, especially
their circumstances and relationship, the brothers make
pointed statements about language, hucksters, the American
legal system as well as manual labor and America itself.
Again, here, the very nature of existence itself is
at play. Is Shaloub's lawyer more alive, more noteworthy
because he is grandiose, verbose and eats exotic foods?
This film questions a society (and human nature) based
on logistics and prolixity.
There is also a moment with Thornton where he questions
his work as a barber. His existence is humdrum and complacent.
It is repetitious. "We cut hair and sweep it up with
common household dust," he proclaims questioning not
only the devaluation of humanity but the repetition
of existence and man's seeming inability to question
this redundancy, let alone rage against it.
In questioning our existence in a world that continually
turns, continually rotates at exactly the same speed,
year after year, day after day, "The Man Who Wasn't
There" presents a protagonist who, likewise, continually,
in his quiet, passive way, butts his head against the
dying of the light only to find disappointment. There
is no escape. And in the end only death's release holds
a glimmer of hope that a place exists where words are
not necessary, where happiness isn't seemingly connected
to the playing of a game.
"The
Man Who Wasn't There" is, without a doubt, a modern
American film masterpiece.
Note:
Also with Scarlett Johansson, Brian Haley, and Christopher
McDonald
Score by Carter Burwell. Some music by Beethoven is
used as well.
The film was shot on color stock and then developed
as black and white, which gives it a crisp, beautiful,
linear look.
Joel won Best Director at Cannes for the film. (He actually
tied with David
Lynch).
During production this film was known as "The Barber
Movie" and the "Barber Noir Movie."
This
is the 3rd movie since 1983 to have the title "The Man
Who Wasn't There."
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