4.5 stars out of 5
I am such a dork, and was so wrapped up in the song performance that opens Inside Llewyn Davis, I nearly applauded at its conclusion. But such is the outstanding reality of the movie. It’s not your standard period piece, with actors playing dress-up and practically winking at the camera as if to say “This is a different era!” This is life, brother.
And life ain’t always sunshine and lollipops. Inside Llewyn Davis is Bleak with a capital B, oh boy is it, and that may certainly put off some viewers. Not me. I loved it.
The movie is all muted colors, perfectly matching the mood. Each frame looks like the cover of The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan, and not just as a goof like in Vanilla Sky. This is the world the Coen brothers have meticulously recreated: the Greenwich Village folk scene of the early 1960s.
Oscar Isaac is superb as the titular Mr. Davis. Who is Oscar Isaac? I don’t know, but it’s extremely fitting to have an unknown playing a character who can’t quite seem to get noticed, and has basically grown tired of even trying. Llewyn Davis isn’t the most likable person you’ll ever meet, but the frustration has really worn him down. Still, there’s genuine heart just under his surface, a capacity to care that he struggles to express.
In a small role, Justin Timberlake is once again excellent, this time as an upstanding, well-meaning folkie. His versatility is mind-boggling. Carey Mulligan is great as JT’s wife/singing partner but Davis’s true confidante. She is sick of his inaction and loves him enough to be honest with him. She knows he can be a better man.
John Goodman nearly steals the movie as a blustery backseat road-trip companion. Except the movie can’t be stolen. The truth is, not a whole lot happens, nothing to write home about anyway. As downbeat as the movie is, it is also completely hilarious. And yet the Coens have toned down their trademark quirkiness just a bit, another testament to the film’s hyper-reality.
And as the day-to-day occurrences of the film sink further and further in, you realize this isn’t just a tone poem. There is an awful lot going on here: Loss and love. Giving up and hanging on. Art versus commerce, and music’s ability to take us to a higher place. The redundancy of existence. The redemptive power of caring for some one, or some thing. The missed and squandered opportunities that haunt us all, wondering how things might’ve played out, if only.
To summon a classic that Inside Llewyn Davis tips its hat to: It may be a wonderful life, but angels aren’t always around when we need them. Still, as long as somebody somewhere is looking out for us, we’ll probably just get by.
Jack Silbert, curator