Review: The Man Who Wasn't There (2001)

The Coen Brothers, eclectic as always, take on film noir in this hyper subdued, intentionally self serious yet absurd deconstruction of the film noir genre, where, in playing the standard tropes and motifs of the genre dead straight, stretching them to the point where they snap back on themselves. It's a dense, cerebral film, and one that, while lacking the gonzo charms of, say, O Brother, Where Art Thou? or The Hudsucker Proxy, still manages to be a fascinating work of art, and a vital stepping stone in their filmography.

Here, the Coen's once more show why they are masters of the subliminally stylish. Filmed with a clinical, coldly observational eye, the Coen's film the strange and deliberately esoteric tale of a loquacious yet emotionless barber (Billy Bob Thornton), who, after discovering his wife (Frances McDormand) and her boss (James Gandolfini) are having an affair, decides to try to blackmail them for $10,000 to start a venture capitalist dry cleaning business. And, in true Coen fashion, our protagonist's plans quickly go asunder. And throughout, the Coen's film the entire affair with steadfast seriousness, from filming the mundane task of a hair cut with loving detail, to saturating everything in dazzlingly stark black and white cinematography, thanks to longtime cinematographer Roger Deakins. In filming the strangely mundane yet absurd series of events with the utmost seriousness, the Coen's hang a lampshade on a genre notorious for it's labyrinthine plot-lines, morally corrupt protagonists, and stark downer endings.

In a typical noir, one could argue that much of the sorrow that comes upon the protagonists comes from forces they cannot control, and how the universe itself seems to be dead set against destroying everything the hero struggles to preserve. Here, the Coen's subvert that. Here, our protagonist's prime defining trait is that he is completely passive, simply allowing his life to steadily slip away, swept up in a swirl of clipped hair and church bingo games, with even the suspicion of his wife having an affair provoking only a mild sense of fatalistic acceptance.

Only when the promise of something better, namely the potential gains to be had in the infant dry cleaning market, does he actively begin to act. And with that act, so beings the dissolving of his world. Yet, even when he attempts to be proactive, and change something in his life, he does so in a passive, non confrontational way. Truly, asides from manufacturing the blackmail note, his only other true proactive acts are the self-defense killing of his boss after his boss discovers the truth, and attempting to help foster the piano playing career of a local girl with whom he sees a hope for some sort of future, even if it is just as her manager. In both instances, he's royally screwed over, as the murder of his boss ends up falling onto his wife's lap (prompting her to commit suicide in jail), and his trip out of town to send the girl to a piano teacher happens to coincide with him being blamed for the murder of the dry cleaning man. Through all of this, he simply takes a drag from his omnipresent cigarette, and gazes out at the world with a sense of detached apathy, as exhibited by his flowery, loquacious narration, filled with droll, increasingly esoteric observations on human nature, in yet another layer of straight laced riffing on noir tropes.

The performances are, as standard for the Coen's, prime and exact. Billy Bob Thornton plays our barber protagonist perfectly, exhibiting the perfect aura of melancholic apathy, disconnected from the consequences or emotions of the real world, and instead trapped in his own head. Frances McDormand delivers a pitch-perfect performance as the barber's two-timing wife, a self absorbed department store book-keeper who seems to have only the vaguest of affections for our protagonist. James Gandolfini plays his burly, faux war hero department store manager perfectly, subverting his own macho-man image by playing as just an overcompensating blustery mask to cover for a man who obviously feels inadequate. Tony Shalhoub perfectly embodies the selfish, amoral attorney that our barber hires for increasingly obscene fees, a fast talking, slimy weasel of a man who will gleefully exploit the legal loop holes to make himself look good. The rest of the cast, such as Jon Polito (as the transparent-closet gay dry cleaning pitchman), Richard Jenkins (local lawyer who spends his time reading up on genealogies), and Michael Badalucco (as our protagonist's brother-in-law and fellow barber who never seems to shut up), all turn in top notch performances. The only weak spot I could find was Scarlett Johansson as the young girl whom Thornton attempts to mentor. While far from terrible, Johansson feels a tad stiff, although that may be intentional, given the deliberately hyper understated tone of the film. She plays almost as a subversion of the girl next door archetype, as her personality is decidedly introverted and stand-offish, which makes the audience ponder why Thornton sees anything in her besides her mechanical piano playing.

Speaking of music, the soundtrack helps further the aura of deliberate exaggerated seriousness, being made almost entirely of somber, elegiac Beethoven, interspersed with music by long time musical collaborator Carter Burwell.

So, in the end, The Man Who Wasn't There is a dense, insular film, and a slow burning, yet ultimately rewarding experience. In taking itself entirely seriously, it manages to highlight the absurdities and mysteries of life in a unique, memorable way, and coupled with Deakins' astoundingly beautiful cinematography, is a wonder to look at. In many ways, it feels like a long-lost film from the prime noir years.

5 out of 5 stars.