The Man Who Wasn't There (2001)

The Coen Formula Applied to Noir

Here is the latest from the Coen Bros., whose movies often concentrate on style, characterizations, and plot, in that order. Their specialty is taking an old movie genre and recreating it, paying attention to minute details, creating beautiful self-contained worlds, and adding their own quirky touches. They populate these worlds with distinct, flawed characters who are amusing to watch in pressing situations. These situations occur thanks to a botched crime. And the many episodes that play out are often more individually interesting than what happens from beginning to end. All of this describes The Man Who Wasn't There well.

However, this formula has left me unsatisfied in the past, and this movie is no different. It's another example of a well-crafted journey that sputters to a close, as if the brothers didn't know where and when to stop. And unlike previous efforts such as The Big Lebowski and O Brother, Where Art Thou?, the enjoyment of the journey doesn't outweigh the lackluster finish. This is because The Man Who Wasn't There is given a slow, meandering pace and a preference toward extremely subtle humor. The movie is a more outwardly dramatic offering than what we're used to seeing from the brothers, and, without the usual doses of droll comedy to keep the story moving, the weakness of a petering final act feels magnified.

It's too bad, because every filmmaker should make movies with the amount of care and enthusiasm that the Coens make their movies with. Make no mistake, The Man Who Wasn't There is gorgeous. It is a black-and-white noir piece, and every shot feels meticulously composed, from the lighting to the set props. No man walks the streets without a hat, and there is cigarette smoke filling every scene. The Coens' regular cinematographer, Roger Deakins, deserves kudos once again for his work; anyone who complains about watching films in black-and-white should see this movie and realize how beautiful it can be. The haunting soundtrack uses Beethoven piano sonatas to continually underscore the mood.

Every filmmaker should also be priveleged enough to attract great actors like the Coen Bros. do. Frances McDormand, wife of credited director Joel Coen, is on hand for another great performance, giving a well-rounded portrayal of a sad soul in the space of very little screen time. Tony Shalhoub stands out as a bombastic lawyer in the movie's most energetic performance. And the star of the movie, Billy Bob Thornton, plays the protagonist to laconic perfection. His character is a quiet, unassuming barber who seems complacent on the outside but harbors a longing for a more meaningful life on the inside. It takes great skill to play a character who doesn't seem to require much acting, and Thornton displays this skill.

It is a shame that these ingredients weren't employed in the service of a more cohesive story. Yes, the brothers are trying to make a statement about the futility of the average joe's attempts at bettering his existence, but the story that makes this statement feels aimless. It starts out promisingly as a blackmail scam gone wrong, but that avenue is cut short in favor of what appears to be the set-up for a courtroom drama. Soon, that plot development aborts itself as well, eventually leading to an anti-climactic episode involving a young piano student before topping that with one final anti-climax.

There is no doubt that this film will win over the Coens' loyal fans, who will see it as another strong artistic piece. For my money, however, many of the brothers' movies are underwhelming, serving up promising premises that don't deliver in the end. The Man Who Wasn't There is just another example that I can add to that list of promising premises.

Rating: 6/10

©Jeffrey Chen, Dec. 3, 2001

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