B+ | Six tales of good and bad luck in the old West Directed by Joel and Ethan Coen Starring Tim Blake Nelson, Tom Waits, and Zoe Kazan Initial Review by Jon Kissel |
I picture Joel and Ethan Coen writing their scripts in their office and laughing at each other about how their films will be interpreted. Maybe they think about all the ink that will be spilled by critics and film journalists wondering why the Mike Yanagita scene is in Fargo or what the true role of John Goodman is in Barton Fink, and chuckle that they don’t actually put these mysteries in their films for any purpose other than the mystery itself. Much like several of their films, there is actually no meaning to be discerned. The Coens love coincidence with no rationale behind it and the capriciousness of an impassive and unknowable prime mover, themes that film writers aren’t big fans of because there isn’t much to write about when that is the case. The reviewer looking for answers asks ‘why did that happen’ and the Coens reply ‘why ask why?’ The Ballad of Buster Scruggs appears to be exactly as cosmically retributive as much of the Coens’ earlier work, with that prime mover watching from above and snatching goodness away from the characters’ grasps. Though each of the six stories feature bloody ends, this is actually something of an outlier for the duo, in that it’s obliquely beautiful in its own specific way. Joel and Ethan remain as fatalistic as ever, but nothing is so simple as the point A of birth and the point B of death. There are songs to sung and moments to be shared along the way.
The Coens don’t have it in them to make a straight white-hat Western, as they’re far too cynical and side-eyed to do something that direct. They understand that the mythology of the West is just that, romanticized lies pushed by a censorious Hollywood. They give the viewer the musical opening of a classic Western like Rio Bravo, which was made in direct response to the perceived anti-Americanness of High Noon, except the singer is a bloodthirsty, shoot-first baritone dressed all in white. This man, Tim Blake Nelson’s Buster Scruggs, gives the film its name, and as the introductory short, his story sets the tone. Scruggs directly addresses the audience and rejects the title of misanthrope that one misguided Wanted poster has given him. Even if humanity is deserving of hatred for the terrible things its members do, the bad is inherent to humanity, no more inseparable than well-developed forebrains and walking upright. What Scruggs leaves off is the counterpoint, that the good is also inherent. Scruggs might be a killer who takes people out with an unnerving nonchalance, but he’s also an entertainer who gives a saloon full of people a moment of pure joy.
The good being intertwined with the bad is something each short revisits. James Franco’s bandit gets his one moment of peace before he’s executed. Zoe Kazan’s Alice shares authentic moments of understanding with Bill Heck’s Knapp before she tragically meets her end. The stagecoach passengers are regaled by Brendan Gleeson’s singing before they arrive at what is suggested to be their final destination, and Tom Waits’ good-hearted prospector, despite encountering some loathsome behavior, manages to survive. Even the ugliest story, of Liam Neeson and his actor companion, contains a level of tender charity and literary inspiration, until it no longer engages with either. It’s just too simple to chalk up The Ballad of Buster Scruggs as an exhibit to the worst of the species, because it exists next to some of the best.
While The Ballad of Buster Scruggs is lousy with great scenes and sequences, the choice to make the film as a series of short stories instead of one long one does detract. I’m always going to prefer the latter. These kinds of collections exist (Certain Women, Wild Tales) in small numbers, and my thoughts on the structure tend to stay the same. The Coens venturing into this territory allows them to fill a bingo space on their filmography and return to their pet themes, though this film is a little more optimistic than their usual baseline. Just because most of the segments end in death and murder doesn’t preclude grace. All lives end, and some of the ones that end here get a note of transcendence before the sprouting of wings and the ascent to heaven. B+
The good being intertwined with the bad is something each short revisits. James Franco’s bandit gets his one moment of peace before he’s executed. Zoe Kazan’s Alice shares authentic moments of understanding with Bill Heck’s Knapp before she tragically meets her end. The stagecoach passengers are regaled by Brendan Gleeson’s singing before they arrive at what is suggested to be their final destination, and Tom Waits’ good-hearted prospector, despite encountering some loathsome behavior, manages to survive. Even the ugliest story, of Liam Neeson and his actor companion, contains a level of tender charity and literary inspiration, until it no longer engages with either. It’s just too simple to chalk up The Ballad of Buster Scruggs as an exhibit to the worst of the species, because it exists next to some of the best.
While The Ballad of Buster Scruggs is lousy with great scenes and sequences, the choice to make the film as a series of short stories instead of one long one does detract. I’m always going to prefer the latter. These kinds of collections exist (Certain Women, Wild Tales) in small numbers, and my thoughts on the structure tend to stay the same. The Coens venturing into this territory allows them to fill a bingo space on their filmography and return to their pet themes, though this film is a little more optimistic than their usual baseline. Just because most of the segments end in death and murder doesn’t preclude grace. All lives end, and some of the ones that end here get a note of transcendence before the sprouting of wings and the ascent to heaven. B+
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