Review of Barton Fink (1991) by Jonathan C — 29 Nov 2009

Long considered one of the weirdest and most impenetrable of the Coen library, "Barton Fink" is aggressively weird and disorienting, displaying a remarkable peak early on in the career of cinema's most worshipped filmmaking team. It's a hard one to rank in their canon as well; it lacks the humanity of "Fargo," the giggly high of "The Big Lebowski," the icy epic scope of "Miller's Crossing," and the tightness and tension of "No Country for Old Men," to mention other Coen masterpieces. It seems on first viewing to be an ode to David Lynch, from the "Eraserhead"-inspired image of John Turturro's over-the-top hair to the sinister, disturbing vacant hotel setting which hums and groans with hints of unsavory things going on behind all those doors down the long, starkly lit hallway. And by the conclusion, it's clear the Coens are going for something Lynch does regularly in his movies and often more overtly than the Coens; they're making a purely abstract film, something that cannot be seen as literal or absolute. The characters are symbols; their actions resonate not for the story's sake but for the mood and meaning behind everything. The Coens do not allow their film to explain itself or make sense in a generalized interpretation. When somebody asks me what "Barton Fink" is about, I struggle to explain it after the initial set-up. "Well, this screenwriter goes out to Hollywood in the 40s, and he gets writer's block in this hotel, and John Goodman is next door as this weird insurance salesman, and he meets up with his idol who is this drunken, depressed novelist, and there's a murder and a crazy studio exec and a mysterious box that could have a head in it and these mosquito bites...." I get lost just thinking about it.

But "Barton Fink" is as entertaining and compelling as anything the Coens have ever made in spite of its constant ambiguity and symbolism, and often because of it. Their two of the few filmmakers who can get away with going off the deep end and being able to take an audiance with them, and have the entertainment of the piece survive after all is said and done. On a technical level, it's one of their most impressive. Cinematographer Roger Deakins collaborated with them for the first time of many, and his flexible and showy style is in full display in "Fink." The movie, as mentioned before, has a queasy, uncomfortable element to it that leads to a disorienting effect. The way Deakins lights Fink's sweaty forehead; the long shot going through Fink's hotel room and continuing down into the bathroom sink; a USO dance number that turns into a smoothly choreographed fist fight; the fire that pours down the hallway as John Goodman's manic character comes running towards us brandishing a shotgun, screaming madness as we stare back in disbelief. The film is one long creative nightmare, ending in a manic, confused and highly paranoid, unsure state. The Coens crank up the tension until we, the audience, feel like we're sitting right there in Hell with Barton Fink, watching his friendly neighbor spew puss from his ear and ask us, "You think I've made your life HELL? You're just a tourist with a typewriter Barton, I live here.".

I could go into what I think of the undertones in the movie, possibly what I think it all means and what it all stands for. But I would have to have more space and time to explore all of that. "Barton Fink" presents many of the great question marks in cinema, and to explore them is to immerse yourself in the brilliance and complexity of this daunting and challenging piece of work. Is Barton Fink a hero, or a loser? Is he brilliant or a hack (or both)? Is John Goodman the devil? Is Barton in Hell? What's in the box?! Needless to say, this is one of the most insanely perplexing and creative films in the career of its creators, and easily in the history of cinema. At the end of the day, all of Hollywood's glamor and warts come together, and "Barton Fink" finds the nightmarish truth in the insanity of showbusiness.