Sometimes you can tell a lot from a movie simply by looking at the release date. When you see July 4th, you know that it's going to be a box office bonanza and huge populist entertainment. When you see Christmas, you know the film will have a high pedigree and a slew of critical praise and awards heat in lieu of actual financial success. And when you see early September, well, you know deep down that the studio didn't think the movie was strong enough to play with the big boys in October and November. Burn After Reading, the latest Coen Brothers movie, is a perfect September release. It's got the high class sheen and cast of a strong fall release, but without any of the actual quality that usual comes along with those dates.The short review of the film is that I thought it was "fine." At no point was I disgusted and angered by what was happening on screen. The quality of the filmmaking is too strong to write off completely and the film looks lush and beautiful--the Coens used Children of Men's Emmanuel Lubezki to shoot this film, eschewing long time collaborator Roger Deakins, and the results are wonderful. But walking out, I felt the same way that I did after seeing the Judd Apatow/David Gordon Green misfire Pineapple Express. While there are surely some great elements throughout, the entire movie felt awkwardly paced and misbegotten--a shaggy dog in need of some trimming. Burn After Reading clocks in a just over 90 minutes, but it feels like a 2-hour excursion that goes nowhere instead of the brisk comedic romp that it tries so desperately to be.
I won't bother going into the plot, other than to say that it basically takes its cues from Syriana, The Big Lebowski and Fargo, which sounds a lot better than it actually is. Suffice to say, Brad Pitt, George Clooney and John Malkovich play three men caught in a game of espionage that isn't nearly as nefarious as they think. The three performances are fun and light, even if they are totally one-note and gimmicky. Brad Pitt, with a towering hairdo and ridiculous wardrobe is game and has a great time playing a rube in way over his head. The film really pops whenever he's on screen. In the lexicon of George Clooney, Burn After Reading is a minor work, but Mr. Clooney as usual, makes it all work because of his never ending supply of charm. John Malkovich is the best of the three, at once incredibly angry, bitter and hilarious. One thing is certain: Mr. Malkovich needs to work more.
It's the female performances and roles that are severely lacking, which is actually being kind. Egads! If I didn't know that Frances McDormand was married to Joel Coen, I would assume the Brothers had a vendetta out against her. They seem to want to punish her: between her awful haircut, contrived character and horrible dialogue, Ms. McDormand is a complete disaster from beginning to end. Tilda Swinton doesn't fare much better. She showed more humanity wiping the sweat from her armpits in the opening scene of Michael Clayton than she does in twenty minutes of screen time here.
I get what the Coen Brothers were trying to do. This is their version of Syriana in the same the way The Big Lebowski is their version of Dashiell Hammett and Raymond Chandler. But there is just too much here and none of it is focused. It seems like the Coens had enough ideas to fill three movies (among them: internet dating, gym culture, the U.S. Health Care system, sex addiction, U.S. espionage and intelligence, female body image and dealing with aging, etc.) and by deciding to jam them all into one movie, lost the thread somewhere along the way. The movie should have been funnier, snappier and paced better. Instead, it all just felt so... whatever.
Burn After Reading ends with the criminally under-used J.K. Simmons, who gives the best performance in the whole piece, saying "let's remember to never do this again... whatever this was." It's one of those nyuck-nyuck elbow nudging jokes from the Coens, but I sat there and found myself nodding along with him in agreement. That's not a good thing.
I won't bother going into the plot, other than to say that it basically takes its cues from Syriana, The Big Lebowski and Fargo, which sounds a lot better than it actually is. Suffice to say, Brad Pitt, George Clooney and John Malkovich play three men caught in a game of espionage that isn't nearly as nefarious as they think. The three performances are fun and light, even if they are totally one-note and gimmicky. Brad Pitt, with a towering hairdo and ridiculous wardrobe is game and has a great time playing a rube in way over his head. The film really pops whenever he's on screen. In the lexicon of George Clooney, Burn After Reading is a minor work, but Mr. Clooney as usual, makes it all work because of his never ending supply of charm. John Malkovich is the best of the three, at once incredibly angry, bitter and hilarious. One thing is certain: Mr. Malkovich needs to work more.
It's the female performances and roles that are severely lacking, which is actually being kind. Egads! If I didn't know that Frances McDormand was married to Joel Coen, I would assume the Brothers had a vendetta out against her. They seem to want to punish her: between her awful haircut, contrived character and horrible dialogue, Ms. McDormand is a complete disaster from beginning to end. Tilda Swinton doesn't fare much better. She showed more humanity wiping the sweat from her armpits in the opening scene of Michael Clayton than she does in twenty minutes of screen time here.
I get what the Coen Brothers were trying to do. This is their version of Syriana in the same the way The Big Lebowski is their version of Dashiell Hammett and Raymond Chandler. But there is just too much here and none of it is focused. It seems like the Coens had enough ideas to fill three movies (among them: internet dating, gym culture, the U.S. Health Care system, sex addiction, U.S. espionage and intelligence, female body image and dealing with aging, etc.) and by deciding to jam them all into one movie, lost the thread somewhere along the way. The movie should have been funnier, snappier and paced better. Instead, it all just felt so... whatever.
Burn After Reading ends with the criminally under-used J.K. Simmons, who gives the best performance in the whole piece, saying "let's remember to never do this again... whatever this was." It's one of those nyuck-nyuck elbow nudging jokes from the Coens, but I sat there and found myself nodding along with him in agreement. That's not a good thing.
I too shrugged. When the credits came up, I felt almost cheated---like wanting to get a bmx bike on christmas but instead a wal-mart brand bike was under the tree. Oh wait, I don't even celebrate xmas. That's how I felt.
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