The Golden Boys of American Cinema

There are too many reasons to love the Coen brothers. Most importantly: the screenplays are immaculate; the accompanying scores are eclectic but tasteful; the characters are memorable; the camera-work is without an equal in the post-Hitchcock era; and to round it up, reel it in, cap it off and bludgeon it to death with a blunt instrument (whatever 'it' may be) - they spin a rollocking good yarn.

These superficial qualities prepare the films for the broadest appreciation. But the Coens' films stick closely to their audience afterwards. They are resonant - cannot be laid to rest. Anyone with even a snootful of enquiry must be thoroughly absorbed by the idea of America, and chiefly the vernacular mythologies that have vegetated over the few centuries since the European migrations to the States. The Coen brothers excel at picking a state - or, more broadly, a region - and doing it: myth, history, landscape filtered through a tight gauze that extracts the essentials. A few examples (I have not seen nearly enough of their films): Blood Simple = Texas: enduring images of oil-pumps, ceiling fans, neon lights, Stetsons and wide open spaces; The Big Lebowski = LA: beautiful, masterful bowling-alley vistas, wide residential streets, sandals and burger take-aways; Miller's Crossing = Atlantic State (most likely New York): black hats, corrupt policemen, criminal syndicates and Autumnal woods with carpets of auburn leaves; O Brother, Where Art Thou = the deep south: brown rivers, gospel choirs, dusty roads, blues and the diabolical crossroads myth; Fargo does the cold, desolate northern states: snow, isolation, etc. This engrossing manipulation of imagery is one of the hallmarks of a great film - a film that knows its subject intensely. Their imagery is worthy of Melville, and aboard the Post-Newt, there is no finer compliment. Long may they prosper.