Review // A SERIOUS MAN - A Serious Comedy

I went into the Coen Brothers newest, A Serious Man, with expectations of a broad, ethnic comedy trimmed with period absurdity and their trademark pitch black wit. This is really the first time the brothers have taken on both their faith and their mid-western background, so I had expectations of a 60's psychedelic culture clash on the plains. And certainly there is that quality to the film. But what I didn't expect was for A Serious Man to also be so somber and spiritually despairing. I should have expected to have my expectations subverted by the Coen Brothers though, as their movies are some of the last original works being created in a Hollywood where business synergy has completely replaced the notion of legacy. And The Brothers have made a career out of subverting expectation and zagging when everyone else zigs. For two men, they have a singular, cohesive voice that they have applied to wildly diverse stories over their three decade career. Whether it's a Texas noir, an art deco screwball comedy homage, or a live-action white trash Looney Toons cartoon--you always know your watching a Coen Brothers movie. They are of the few cinematic visionaries left in the industry and the rare artists that seem unbound by the rules and contrivances of screenwriting and studio filmmaking. The Coen's have enough clout at this point to be left alone to tell any kind of story they want and they rarely, if ever disappoint. At least not me.

It's funny that the Coen's have turned into such oblique, almost philosophical filmmakers with a tendency toward multiplex bafflement, because they started their careers accused by many of being flashy, visual sensationalists--architects of worlds where nothing dwelt beneath the sight gags. I don't think this was actually the case, just that critics weren't quite prepared for their force of vision and unique tilt of perspective. Its taken a collection of films to clearly communicate their intent and define them for audiences, and yet with each new film, the Coen's still manage to shake off viewers who prefer uncomplicated narratives, and hate when anything is left unsaid. I'll never forget the gasps and groans of irritation that erupted from some of the audience members in the final moments of No Country For Old Men--they actually believed the film had no ending and they left the theatre disgruntled.

With no recognizable stars, a story about faith and Jewish identity and a title that denotes, well, seriousness, A Serious Man would've alienated another wave of multiplexers if they had taken any notice of it at all, which judging from its box office numbers, they didn't. But once again, the Coen's have delivered a rich, thoughtful and even disturbing story, staged with their characteristic visual sumptuousness and dark sense of humour.

A Serious Man deals with a storm, both figurative and literal, that encloses the life of mild-mannered physics professor and family man Larry Gopnick, threatening to smite him with an almost divine fury. From the moment we meet him, it's as if ominous clouds of dark portend have begun to form over his head and as the film goes on these clouds churn more violently, building to a lightning strike from the heavens. At work, Larry finds out that his bid for a tenure position at his school may or may not be threatened by anonymous letters disparaging him to the board. A failing student may also be trying to bribe him into receiving a passing grade, leaving an envelope stuffed with cash on his desk. At home, his wife Judith informs him that she requires a ritual divorce, a get, so that she may remarry Sy Abelman, an incredibly smooth, but older, rotund man from their community. Larry is positively blindsided by this revelation from Judith. He's barely able to comprehend her words as she lays it out so abruptly and irritably, as if their marital problems were as obvious to him as they are to her, when clearly they are not.

Larry's complete and utter shock reveals the internal drift that has taken place in his mind, with routine carrying him far away from his family and from his own vitality. Instead of recognizing his wife's displeasure, catching it before it metastasized into a full-blown love affair with Sy, Larry loses himself in life's daily minutia. He frets over the invasion of his invisible property line by his goy neighbour, a man who can barely contain his seething hatred for Larry, and perhaps all Jews. The property line, identifying it and protecting it, becomes a silly obsession for Larry, a way of defending against the encroaching hate of those who would cast a disparaging eye toward his people. Even as his life is crumbing around him, and he becomes pressed in the legal vice of divorce proceedings, he continues to fight this wholly unimportant battle, currying no more favour with the gods who seem insistent on his punishment. In fact, when all else looks bleak, his lawyers inform him that their real estate expert has discovered a breakthrough in his property line dispute, but just before this ancient man can explain it to Larry, he keels over and dies from a heart attack. These are the final exit signs on Larry's destiny road, but he isn't reading them.

There are other signs Larry hasn't been paying attention to either. He stands idly by, watching his older brother Arthur slip into an abyss of mathematical obsession and isolation, failing to see his mental illnesses and even his homosexuality. His teenaged children become so accustomed to their fathers distance that they barely notice or care when he moves out of the house and into a Jolly Roger down the road. Almost every aspect of Larry's life has been allowed to sour or or slip through his fingers. Fate, or destiny, or god himself seems to be conspiring to grind him into a fine dust with cruel circumstance. And when the storm clouds of Larry's mind manifest themselves as a terrifying cyclone sweeping across the flat plain toward destruction, its clear that his loved ones, his family line, will also be paying his divine tab.

A Serious Man re-frames the age-old question of why do bad things happen to good people, instead asking how do good people remain good when so much bad befalls them? The Coens don't exactly answer either question, but for a time Larry fights admirably against the misfortune that seems to shadow his every step. He tries to keep up the pretense of a scholar, a family man and a member of the community. But you get the feeling that these are merely ideas Larry clings to while getting swept down river, before he hits the real white water and they no longer keep him aloft. Near the end, when Larry gets a bill for 3,000 dollars from his lawyer--this after his wife cleans out their joint account leaving him broke--he finally dips into the envelope of bribe money that has been sitting in his desk. In his ledger, Larry erases his students F grade and replaces it with a C-.

What's so rewarding about A Serious Man is the way that the Coens engage the viewer, making Larry's descent into misfortune and ruin an exercise in personal reflection and philosophical puzzling. Watching Larry get put through wringer is likely to raise questions about your own journey through life, and whether the path your on is the right one, or whether you even chose a path to begin with. I am continually haunted by the scene where Larry confronts his F student over the bribe, pounding his desk angrily insisting that every action has a consequence. Does that mean that Larry has invited trouble into his life? Is he the engineer of his own downfall? Has he angered the gods? Or do bad things just happen to good people?

A major clue to puzzle over is the opening prologue of the film, which is a made-up Jewish folktale set in what looks to be the 1800's. A man returns home during a snowstorm, informing his wife that an acquaintance of hers just helped him during a spot of trouble and that he has invited him over for soup. The wife insists that the man her husband speaks of died three years ago and that he has invited a ghost over for dinner, a spirit that has escaped from hell and that will now attach itself to them. When the man arrives he is pleasant and doesn't present any outwards signs of being a ghost, laughing off the wife's theory. But the wife is so sure that she proves her point by stabbing him in the heart. With the tool sticking out of his chest, the man gets up slowly and walks back out into the snow storm, leaving the question of his being a mystery. The husband cries, "we're ruined".

I am not entirely sure what bearing this opening has on Larry's story, but the initial meaning I took from it is that these are Larry's ancestors, and they have taken on a curse that will reverberate through the ages. That seems a little obvious and simplistic though. It may also be that these people, who lived in slower, more simple times, were tuned into both their spirituality and superstition, and were able to contextualize their misfortune and appropriately brace for impact. But we no longer have such clarity or conviction. Our culture and pace of living have made us passive viewers instead of participants in our own lives. The difference between the driver choosing the route and the passenger watching the scenery blur together out the window. The price of inaction can be high, as is the case with the husband who watches while his wife stabs their guest, and as is the case with Larry Gopnick.

Another rich moment that left me questioning and puzzling is a funny exchange between Larry and a Columbia House record club representative who is continually pestering him over the phone. The representative explains that after receiving his initial 12 free records, he was then sent his first monthly selection, which became his to purchase when he did nothing. The record is Abaraxas by Santana. Larry is baffled. What Santana Abraxas record? Who joined Columbia House records club (his son Danny of course)? The disembodied voice over the phone keeps insisting that he received the Santana Abraxas record because he did nothing and a confused Larry keeps yelling into the phone, "But I did nothing! I didn't do anything!" Larry's inaction is precisely his problem and after looking up the meaning of Abaraxas it turns out this record was not simply chosen by the Coen's as a knowing period detail. "Abaraxas" is an ancient Greek word for divine emanation. Larry did nothing and received a divine emanation. And not the kind of divine emanation you want.

A Serious Man, like almost all of the Coen's movies, bears re-watching. There is so much detail to process, both visual and thematic, that I can hardly say that I have a complete handle on it or that I know with certainty what's it actually trying to say. Some have described it as a mean, manipulative, joyless descent into hell, but I think the film has far more feeling and humanity than the Coen's ever get credit for. It's rare that I think about a movie afterward as much as I've been thinking about A Serious Man. But I love that it has provoked so much thought and introspection. I think it's a great film that will only get better.