Barton Fink
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Movie Reviews of Barton Fink
Movie Review: I've been waiting YEARS for this DVD...
Summary: 5 Stars
For a long time, the absurdist masterpiece Barton Fink was only available in a dingy VHS release. It was better than nothing, but this film deserved better. Thankfully, it's here - in all its stupefying glory.I won't recount the story. Plenty of other reviews do that. Not long ago I was tempted to interpret it. That still seems a valid course, as there is a genuine sense that, beneath its comic, surreal surface, Barton Fink is trying to tell us something urgent and important. Perhaps, but the primal forces in a writer's mind as s/he shapes a great story do that, anyway - often without the writer's specific knowledge.
Rather than a simple allegory, Barton Fink is a collection of surfaces, styles, textures, and mannerisms. That they seem to add up to more than the sum of their parts is the great trick, akin to the way a painter can suggest the dappled depths of a forest with a few deft pats of a fan brush. Which isn't to say the film is shallow. No; there is a lot going on here. But to suggest that this film has a specific meaning is also to suggest it has an answer. Only mediocre films (by the likes of, say, Stanley Kramer or Oliver Stone) provide answers in a attempt to make themselves more important. The Coens (writer Ethan, director Joel), like most of us, haven't a clue about the Mysteries of Life. So they don't try to "...tell us something about all of us, something beautiful..." as Fink himself professes. Instead, they enjoy "...making things up...", like the other writer in the film, the Faulkneresque W.P. Mayhew (played to perfection by John Mahoney).
Somewhere in here, though, the sleight-of-hand, the postmodern flourishes (wherein genres clash and surfaces spill over one another in unexpected ways), cracks appear. Through them we glimpse something else...something truly terrifying.
Barton Fink's resonances with the Holocaust are well-known (the sinister and Fascistic German and Italian cops, the Jewish Fink, the burning hallway, the story's year - 1941, the nice guy next door - also with a German name - who turns out to be a madman; on and on). These touches cannot be accidental. Yet, the Coens seem to have deliberately avoided any obvious throughline, any markers which would provide for a clear interpretation.
Perhaps this is the point - that there is no way to make sense of the madness. Barton Fink, the character, is a writer who tries to celebrate the "common man" - to write about "real life". Yet, real life is incomprehensible to him. Nice Guy Charlie Meadows (the excellent John Goodman) is a twisted murderer. His idol is a raving drunk. His muse is a purveyor of formula hackery. The authorities are openly anti-semitic. And his bosses - Lipnick (Michael Lerner) and Geisler (Tony Shalhoub) - are utterly indifferent to his craft. The events that unfold around him are too horrifying and strange to make sense of. Simply put, they cannot be explained by any rational interpretation. Which, if this film is really a parable of the Holocaust, is as it should be, since there is no rationale in genocide.
When it comes to "making things up", no one does it better than the Coens. Their skill in marshalling symbols is sublime: Mayhew's latest book is called "Nebuchadnezzar"; Lipnick, like king Nebuchadnezzar, has a dream he wants Fink to interpret (the wrestling film he's writing for Wallace Beery). At a critical point in the film, a dazed, sleepless Fink opens the Gideon bible to the page where Nebuchadnezzar threatens to reduce the Chaldeans' tents to a dung-heap if someone cannot interpret his dream. He flips to Genesis, and there, on the page, is the opening of his screenplay - the only part of it he's been able to write. It's a brilliant sequence, that truly adds up. Lipnick is Nebuchadnezzar; Fink is trying to be Daniel. There is (literally) Hell to pay if he cannot do the job.
Beyond a few moments like these, though, trying to impose a specific meaning on Barton Fink is folly - like trying to impose a specific meaning on any of Luis Bunuel's better films. There is something about it that, like Lynch's best work, goes right past the rational self and nestles more deeply in the unconscious. I get something from every viewing of this film, and part of its beauty is that I cannot articulate exactly what that is.
This DVD is nicely produced, with Roger Deakins' glowing cinematography looking better than ever, and Dolby Surround sound track well reproduced. A 5.1 re-mix would have been welcome, as would a serious commentary track, should the Coens ever be able to bring themselves around to doing one that doesn't poke fun of commentary tracks.
John Turturro is excellent as the title character. Judy Davis acquits herself nicely as Mayhew's secretary/lover/ghost-writer.
This is one of those films that's worth really thinking about, and watching again and again. Don't expect answers; expect an experience - and a powerful one at that.
Movie Review: Ever get the feeling you're being watched?
Summary: 5 Stars
The magic of a Coen Brothers film is that you never know what to expect and you can slowly go insane trying to categorize what exactly their cinematic messages are. Never has this idea been more apparent than in Barton Fink. Throughout this moody homage to 30's and 40's cinema, John Turturro's Fink rants and raves with his pretentious and arrogant speeches while never really allowing himself to soak in the true "everyman quality" that he claims to possess. Fink is left with only questions, not answers.
As rich and wonderful as the script to Barton Fink is, watching it has a truly unique and mysterious effect. We are constantly presented with haunting imagery, ambiguous character developments and riddles galore. As Barton has sex with Audrey, we get treated to a long and painful camera shot that leads us down a sink drain whilst moans and gasp echo from above. This shot shows us in painstaking yet quiet detail Barton's sexual repression and the way he views all other mortals in comparison to himself. The walls in Barton's apartment slowly peel away, oozing with slime and further handicapping his writing efforts. The ominous picture of the lady on the beach that constantly beckons Barton, giving him a painful ache of deja vu. Barton's room is a character in itself and each movement he makes causes a reaction that seems to stem from deep inside his imagination. As always, though, he's too arrogant to understand anyone else around him and the answers that so allude him prove to be right under his nose.
Enter his good natured neighbor Charlie. This relationship is fascinating as with each subsequent visit, Charlie grows deeper into Barton's head. The first meeting, where Barton complains about the noise, is awkward and hard to watch as Barton is so busy pontificating about the good of the common man, that he fails to listen to real trials and tribulations of the common man that stands right before him. As time goes by, though, we begin to sympathize a bit more with Barton, as he actually listens more intently to what Charlie has to say. Of course, this all blows up in Barton's face as we begin to learn that Charlie isn't all he is shaped up to be.
When Charlie offers Barton the mysterious box and later, when we learn that Charlie has an affinity for lopping off heads in his spare time, we begin to suspect what might just be in this box. But clueless Barton still has no idea what could possibly be inside as he continues to struggle with not only his writers block but his overall mental block as well. When the woman on the beach asks him what's in the box, he simply replies, "I don't know." This ending brilliantly summarizes what Barton has been dealt in life and that if we were presented with the contents of the box it would completely diminish all of the fascinating quirks and mysteries laid throughout the film.
Part of the fun of this film is reveling in the conceit that what we see as viewers doesn't necessarily mean that Barton sees it too. One great and perhaps more obvious example is when Barton goes dancing and begins screaming at the sailors, "This is how I serve the common man!", as he points at his head, "This is my uniform!". As hilarious and agonizing as it is to watch, poor Barton just never gets it.
The greatest irony in the movie for Barton is his misunderstanding of what is expected of him from Capitol Pictures. The Coen's couldn't have presented a more "everyman" quality as good old fashioned family fun like going to the movies. Even with such a simple task as writing a B-movie about stout wrestlers, Barton drowns in a river of his own self-importance and all other things that confound his sanity stem from this one basic premise. When looked at this way, the riddles and ambiguities in this film aren't mysteries at all, only devices to further confound Barton and separate any connection that we may begin to feel with the main character.
When the film was released, director Joel Coen said, "Where would it get you if something that's a little bit ambiguous is made clear? It doesn't get you anywhere." Which, in itself, is a riddle of sorts. Barton Fink is a rare exercise in truly alternative film making methods. Nothing is left explained and it's up to the viewer to form their own unique interpretation and unwind the riddles that aren't as difficult as they seem if we just allow ourselves to not enter into Barton Fink's world of pretentious musings and closed-mindedness. As Barton begins to touch down into W.P. Mayhew's and Audrey's world, he asks, "What don't I understand?". In the film Barton Fink, this question is precisely the point.
Movie Review: Burn Hollywood to the ground...
Summary: 5 Stars
I settled down to watch this film the other night because someone told me that it drew a lot of inspiration from `Eraserhead', and since David Lynch's classic rests firmly at the top of my favorite movies ever made I decided that `Barton Fink' was a must see for me. While the film is no where near the brilliance that was `Eraserhead' I must say that the Coen's did not disappoint (yet, with all seriousness; have they ever truly disappointed?). `Barton Fink' is truly a strange and thought provoking film that, like `Eraserhead', may not be fully understood right off the bat, but it sports enough passion and intelligence to warrant a second and third watch through to finally `get' it so-to-speak.
The film revolves around a playwright by the name of Barton Fink. Fink is asked to come to Hollywood and write a wrestling picture for famous working actor Wallace Beery. Sure, he feels that a wrestling picture is far beneath his talent but his desire to become accepted into the world of motion picture moves him to conform to the desires of the studio and settle down in a dusty old hotel to begin his script. And then he pained with writers block, a most savage case at that, and so he begins his long struggle to create a masterpiece.
I've seen a few movies lately that tackle the darker side of Hollywood, and while `Barton Fink' is not the best (that spot securely belongs to `8 ½') it is certainly up there. As Fink tries aimlessly to write something with meaning and significance he gradually drifts into a madness that I can imagine plagues many writers working in Hollywood today. Everyone wants to be known for something important and meaningful, but the sad reality is that meaningful rarely sells, and so they are pressured to create something mediocre that will fill seats.
Case-in-point...how many of you have ever really heard of `Barton Fink'?
Now, how many of you have heard of `I Now Pronounce You Chuck & Larry'?
My point exactly.
The film is elevated by some intelligent and memorable performances, especially in the supporting category. Judy Davis is stunning as Audrey Taylor, the lovely secretary who steals a little part of Fink's soul. Michael Lerner (who garnered an Oscar nomination for his performance) is extremely memorable as Jack Lipnick, the studio head entrusting Fink with the script. I personally loved John Mahoney's portrayal of desperate alcoholic writer W.P. Mayhew, especially his off screen yammering about honey. Tony Shalhoub (what an accent) and Jon Polito are also noteworthy; even Steve Buscemi in his one scene is spot on with the mood and air of the film.
This movie though belongs to the two Johns; Turturro and Goodman. As Fink, Turturro brilliantly captures the desperation that is slowly unraveling within his soul. We can see the outward symptoms of his madness, but it is always glossed over somewhat. It is the eyes that really drag us in to what is happening inside his mind. Goodman delivers what may be his finest performance ever, and one of my personal favorite supporting performances ever. As Charlie Meadows, Goodman instantly draws in the audience. He seems nice enough, normal enough, simple enough; and then he smiles up at Fink and you know that there is something more there, more than meets the eye and much more that Fink would give him credit for. It was in those minor details that Meadows became the most interesting character in `Barton Fink' and honestly the most real. Charlie Meadows is probably the best way to understand the title character, but I really can't explain my reasons for saying this without giving away too much of the film. Just watch closely and listen intently ("you don't LISTEN") and you will understand the significance that Meadows has in the bigger picture.
There is no denying that the Coen brothers know how to make a film, and they know how to create something fresh and original while never conforming to create something overtly commercial. Just take a look at even their biggest successes. `Fargo', `O Brother, Where Art Thou?' and their latest Oscar winning `No Country for Old Men' can join `Barton Fink' as thought provoking cinema that maintains a vision and delivers triumphantly.
Movie Review: The jewel in the Coen's crown...
Summary: 5 Stars
"Barton Fink" represented something of a departure for the Coen brothers. They had always reveled in absurdism, but here they went for full-on surrealism. This style was also evident in the later "The Man Who Wasn't There," and even "O Brother, Where Art Thou" to a certain extent, but "Fink" remains unequaled for its sheer strangeness. There are moments here that rival even David Lynch in cinema as out-of-body-experience, but the Coens always stay in firm control of their universe (this is not a knock on Lynch; his pictures are all about the surrender of control to inexplicable events).
The film begins in a relatively realistic, even subdued manner. We witness the ending of playwright Barton Fink's (John Turturro in a somewhat Eraserhead-esque coif) latest creation, an allegedly social-realist drama about working-class Jews on the lower east side of Manhattan. Since the play (and of course the movie) takes place just before the U.S. would enter WWII, this would lead some to draw a comparison to Clifford Odets, an actual playwright of the era, but the connection I think is meant to be facile, like the "real" characters that would pop up in "O Brother." Fink is no mere Odets-manque, but a conflation of all artists whose reach exceeds their grasp. In short order, Fink learns he is to be summoned to Hollywood, the least social-realist place on earth, where he is given an assignment to write, of all things, a Wallace Beery wrestling picture, a subject which Fink, needless to say, knows nothing about. The performance of Michael Lerner, as studio cheif Jack Lipnick, is a force of nature, rivaled only by John Goodman as Fink's seemingly ordinary next door neighbor Charlie Meadows, who agrees to help Fink with the severe writer's block he has developed.
The hotel where Fink and Charlie live should be considered the real star turn in a movie with nothing but great performances. An art deco nightmare with perpetually peeling wallpaper and endless hallways, it could be an even more garish cousin to Kubrick's Overlook hotel from "The Shining." This place, however, is haunted only by its residents, one of whom is trapped in his own head. That would be Barton, who is almost completely unable to relate to others because of constant self absorbtion. His quest to tell the story of "the common man" is seen as pathetic throughout the movie, but as it goes on, it reaches dangerous levels. Soon enough, reality itself starts to bend and distort, until...well, you'll just have to see for yourself. Trust me, you will never predict what happens.
"Barton Fink" makes many references to heads and their respective contents, and who has possession of them at various times. The hotel itself is a kind of gigantic head, but what is it thinking about? By the movies end, we get an idea of what it's dreaming about, and it's summed up when one character, running down an infinite hallway and holding a shotgun in each hand, screams "I'LL SHOW YOU THE LIFE OF THE MIND! I'LL SHOW YOU THE LIFE OF THE MIND!" Or, to quote Sartre, "hell is other people." Hell, indeed.
I suppose one could also read "Barton Fink" as an allegory about Jews in America. Not from a religious viewpoint, although one highly surreal scene involving the Old Testament could be cited, but more culturally. In the early part of the twentieth cen-
tury, the Jews were strangers in a strange land, who found a way to become part of the culture by inventing it, in plays and movies. There were of course many who said they were just "out of touch" with the American people, an accusation cultural conservatives use to this day, even as actual "Jewish influence" on the culture seems to be waning.
To this day , I don't think the Coens have produced a more personal statement, although they continue to make great films (okay, maybe not "Intolerable Cruely"). Even though the current DVD edition is somewhat bare-bones, "Barton Fink" remains an essential item for a thoughtful movie fan.
Movie Review: The life of the mind.
Summary: 5 Stars
*Barton Fink* remains the Coen Brothers' most unapproachable movie for the casual viewer. The subject matter isn't designed to pack 'em in the multiplex: it's about an Odettsian playwright named Barton Fink (John Turturro, in his star-making role), who, fresh from a pretentious triumph in New York, is invited to go west to Hollywood and make some easy money by writing schlocky screenplays. His immediate assignment is the scripting of a wresting picture for Wallace Beery. Barton, fresh from his heroic left-wing fishmongers on the New York stage, gets instantly shut down by writer's block. His environs don't help matters. Once arrived in L.A., he's put up in the dismal Hotel Earle, the set design of which has a forceful personality all its own: the wallpaper in Barton's room keeps peeling off in the heat, oozing viscous glue; the low-lit corridors are extravagantly long, as if they're an illusion created by mirrors (and, of course, they are); the air in the lobby is speckled with dust motes. We never see any activity in the hotel, apart from the Stygian elevator operator and the desk clerk (Steve Buscemi as "Chet!"), who we meet as he emerges from the basement under the lobby, doing god-knows what. The only other person we meet in the hotel is Barton's next-door neighbor, Charlie (John Goodman in his greatest role). Charlie somewhat shores up our freaked-out hero with a good dose of neighborly normalcy ("Howya doing, friend?", and so on), but don't expect this to last: everything in the world of *Barton Fink* is, or turns out to be, rather horribly awry. The Coens rightly employ a hyper-realism to delineate their tale, in much the same way that Wilder used it for his *Sunset Boulevard*. Hollywood, the Dream Factory, is best served by exaggeration and an overall sense of insanity whenever it's the subject of a movie. I suppose the movie is ultimately about the degradation of selling out, or of just selling, period. (It's no accident that Goodman's Charlie is a traveling salesman.) But the Coens understand that Hollywood is not the only place where artistic souls go to die: the "successful" Barton is an insufferable, pretentious twit who had already sold himself out to the idealistic cause of writing drama for the nonexistent "Common Man". Another character in the film, a Faulknerian writer, has had his secretary and mistress "help out" with the writing of his recent novels long before he was assigned to write screenplays for B-pictures. The movie is too profound to be just another anti-Hollywood screed. It's more about an artist's relationship to his craft, and the age-old conflict between smelly, bourgeois money and the aesthetic "ideal": can the latter exist without the former? Who knows, but the cinephile will love the aesthetic pleasures abundantly on display in *Barton Fink*. It's all the more miraculous when one considers that the screenplay for this movie was conceived and written during a period of, you guessed it, writer's block: the filmmakers had been stumped by their own Byzantine plotting of the preceding *Miller's Crossing*, and, taking a break from that, came up with this -- a movie about writer's block. Call it a gift from the Divine Muse. [DVD note: If you've never seen the movie before, do NOT -- I repeat, do NOT -- watch the MENU on the DVD as it's bringing up the menu options. Some [individual] over at Fox thought it'd be a funny idea to put a BIG-TIME SPOILER in a place where it would be impossible to avoid. Put this disc in, CLOSE YOUR EYES, and wait for the menu music to start repeating itself -- then open your peepers and press "play". Needless to say, one shouldn't have to be giving such advice, but the Coen Brothers continue to be treated shabbily on DVD.]