Cinema Travelogue

Despite its pastiche of the old Hollywood noirs, the themes of The Man Who Wasn’t There is in the vicinity with the middle-life crisis films prominent during the late 90s to early 00s. I was reminded a lot of American Beauty through the premise of a middle-aged man longing for new meanings within a suburban setting.

Considering this is the Coens, I suspect this is a jab at those kinds of movies as this film never indulges in the main character’s isolated headspace – always uses dark, twisted humour and irony to deftly satirize the situation and outlines the ridiculousness of its narrative. It even gives a wry twist on the Lolita tropes we often see in these types of films. Nonetheless, the film is packed with tenderness that prevents it from being cruel to its characters. It paints a greater picture of the absurd and unfair American system where everyone is talking non-stop but saying nothing or knows anything.

The opening shot of a barber pole perfectly encompasses the entire film. You try so hard to see what is inside, but the harder you try, the less you understand – a statement applicable to Ed throughout the film. The German-expressionistic cinematography and production design, highly reminiscent of Charles Laughton’s The Night of the Hunter (there’s was even a shot that pays direct tribute), signifies the unrecognizable state of how he views everything around him like something’s always off. The narration that takes a greater purpose later in the film suggests a sense of removal from every aspect of this world.

Billy Bob Thornton is excellent at capturing the withdrawal, a painful dullness tinged with helpless dry humour that he tries to mitigate but never recovers from. The rest of the cast are excellent frequents in Coen’s filmography. Each of them operates on similar comedic and emotional wavelengths with identifiable characteristics. The one tainted aspect of the film is the writing of Ed’s wife Doris, played by Frances McDormand, who carries more emotional responsibility for the narrative but does not have enough well-defined character traits that separate her from the remaining cast. Perhaps the choice to confine the film within Ed’s insular perspective makes this flaw intentional, but it would be great if she is portrayed with more empathy.

The Man Who Wasn’t There is ultimately a dramedy about trying to make sense of the world. Despite its viscous noir polishings, its narrative essence rejects such genre tropes; it offers the direct opposite of an unknown mystery thriller – the audiences always know way more before the characters. The shadows within its frames often insinuate murder and pleasurable violence, yet its incredible restraint always turns to corners that its audiences least expect. The grounded emotional core makes the character’s loneliness even more relatable. Carrying a grounded and relatable core of loneliness, it ultimately pleads a very earnest case that maybe, just maybe, somewhere out there is some relief – making this one of the Coen’s’ more emotionally resonant and best films.