I finally got to watch Burn After Reading. One of the reasons why I hate Twilight so much is that I suspect BAR was shown for only a week in the theatres to make way for it, aside of course from the fact that its cheesy drivel, and probably pales in comparison to Frank Langela’s original Dracula from waaay back. But then again I haven’t watched it so I know not from where I speak. I doubt I ever will however, as the mere need to compare the two does not weigh enough on me to subject myself to what, from all angles, looks like idiocy.
At any rate back to BAR. Here we have the Coen brothers doing what they do best. Investigating the downward spiral of seemingly ridiculous yet absolutely real characters some of which, as in the case of Frances McDormand‘s Linda Litzke, reminds me terribly of someone I know. A woman so blinded by a perceived notion of what she should be and the kind of lifestyle she should have that she neglects the here and now. The result is an emotional wreck and what appears as the start of a bigger one, pending planned cosmetic surgery she feels will solve her problems.
McDormand is a brilliant character actress, but her police character in Fargo is a little more interesting to me, probably because of that Canadian accent she used, and partly because this movie had so many other subplots.
There’s George Clooney‘s borderline paranoid character, there’s John Malkovich‘s alcoholic denial loser, a two timing hard ass Tilda Swinton character, a dim witted Brad Pitt, all of whom are great actors and can take over the whole movie by themselves. Even Richard Jenkins character, as the gym manager boss, a decent guy pining for Linda’s affections but is sadly overlooked, is an interesting study, and he’s just a side character.
At the end of it all, the same case could be said for any of these actors as I did about McDormand in Fargo. Any of them can pull out a Coenesque
‘downward spiral of a negative asshole disilluionsed / disenchanted / disconnected with real life‘.
Clooney and Swinton did, brilliantly so, in Michael Clayton. John Malkovich did in Being John Malkovich. And Tilda Swinton did it again in the best example of all, Adaptation, where Meryl Streep, Nicholas Cage and Chris Cooper let out a truly sad, powerful tale. The originality and impact of that one still gets me up to now and I’m glad I watched it in the theatres unlike how I ended up watching BAR on my computer screen no thanks to idiot vampire movies.
Ok as I was saying: But together? All of them in one movie?
I ended up thinking it was cut short at the end, with none of the intertwining stories ever reaching a climax. Pitt’s character (the one with the best lines, ie. “We have your shit.”), is dead. Clooney flies to Venezuela, McDormand gets her surgery, Malkovich is dead, Richard Jenkins is dead, Swinton is.. I dunno. David Rasche is strangely, needlessly apologetic. And that’s it.
In Adaptation, Cage’s character drives away and you’re left with a thousand different thoughts in your head. It’s enough to redeem him for a thousand Con Airs and a National Treasures. Well.. ok, maybe a hundred. Fifty each. But you get the point.
The idea behind these types of movies is some level of redemption at the end which I didn’t get. All of them were jerks and assholes to the very end. They got what they deserved for sure, but the romantic in me wants to see some level of resuscitation of the good that, occasionally, appears. I know it’s a little Catcher In The Rye – ish, but it works for me. This movie was fun in bits and pieces, but underwhelming as a whole.