HAIL, CAESAR! And Why There’s No Such Thing As “Lesser” Coen Brothers (Patreon)

I’m old enough to remember people feeling “let down” by The Big Lebowski.

You heard that correct. Because that was absolutely the popular conventional wisdom at the time of the film’s release. You see, the Coen Brothers were seemingly on top of the world. For they had been critical darlings for about a decade now and had finally earned massive mainstream appreciation and a whole slew of Oscar nominations for Fargo. But now it seems they had followed up that masterpiece with a weird offbeat stoner comedy starring Jeff Bridges?!?! Now, you also have to remember that at the time Jeff Bridges was a once leading man heartthrob type and now trying to figure out his middle years and was appearing in modest dramatic fare like Blown Away and White Squall. And when the comedy came out, the Fargo-loving general audience was… perplexed (I certainly remember my dad being underwhelmed). Really, it was widely-panned. But that’s largely because they didn’t really understand what was being served to them. And maybe that’s fair because it’s such an odd-duck, rambling, anti-movie. The kind of circular film where you really aren’t ready to watch it until you’ve already watched it. Even for young me, who liked it a lot in theaters, it really took that second time for everything to click. I remember rabidly showing it to friends and even on that initial watch they were like “whuuut” and then a week later they’d still be quoting it. Then, a few short years later, it was a staple of dorm rooms and soon came Lebowski-fest and now it’s widely recognized as one of the great comedies of all-time. But here’s the whole thing…

I’m also old enough to remember people feeling “let down” by The Hudsucker Proxy. And just old enough to remember my parent’s general reaction to Barton Fink, which was less “let down” and more “what the fuck” (which is a reaction which also played into one of the great Simpson’s jokes). Even later on in the timeline, there were so many people who were similarly let down by Burn After Reading after the climactic success of No Country For Old Men… Yeah, you may be sensing a pattern here. While the Coen Brothers have their films that pop and become undoubted mainstream successes, they also have an equal number of films that often have to go through an arc of appreciation. Upon release there’s always a handful of critics who immediately vibe with the given work and sing its praises. But it usually takes a hot minute for the “oh this is also great,” consensus sets in. And a lot of time, it takes the passion of those who love it.

I would argue that there’s no grand secret as to why this happens. The Coens offbeat filmmakers. They come at storytelling with this odd, often counter-intuitive way. But it just takes a little re-orientating and trust to get on board their wavelength. I know I invoke this saying from time to time, but in the Thai language they don’t say “I don’t like this” when it comes to food. They say “I don’t know how to eat this,” which is the beautiful little change in thinking that opens the consumer up to learning how. And better yet, it implies an implicit worth to eating it. You just have to learn how. And with the Coen Brothers, it ties so much into my usual conversations about dramatic storytelling.

Chiefly, the fact that they’re often doing something that I frequently say not to do (or at least be aware of). Which is constantly putting the audience “on their heels” by having them walk into a scene with very little understanding of why that scene is happening and then revealing things that keep sending things in even weirder directions. They use a lot of “and then” filmmaking, which makes the movies not only feel long, but lacking in the kind of drama that makes for crackling pictures. But the thing that should be understood is that the Coen Brothers also get this so completely. In fact, when they do lean into traditional dramatic tension - like with most of No Country For Old Men - they craft some of the most tense and well-executed cinematic storytelling in the world. Which should highlight how much this is a choice. Because they are interested in something else completely.

Because they not only want to craft a story that can feel like it can go anywhere, but chiefly, they want a sense of distance between you and the main characters. They want you to use your head more than your emotional connection. Moreover, they want you to join them in “looking down” on their characters, but not out of superiority, but more this jet black comedic glee with the miseries we all share. Really. It’s not that they’re without pity. It’s just part of exercising this world view that reflects the way existence itself can be petty, cruel, and sad, but in this way that’s kind of hilarious (there is a Jewish, Kafka-esque “there is hope but not for us” sentiment that runs clear through it). But in the end, they’re after a kind of storytelling that often shows us characters that feel like they’re living in the dark of their own lives. And who is trying to make some kind of deeply uneasy peace with that reality. I get this all makes it seem like it’s the “opposite” of good dramatic cinema, but that’s the whole thing. It’s just another way of coming at a different kind of cinema.

And few films characterize this better than the last great feature-length narrative film the two of them made together. One that is about Hollywood, economics, faith, and maybe even the deep questioning of why they do what they do in the first place. I’m of course talking about…

HAIL, CAESAR!

Which I feel like is a movie I talk about all the time? But I get that it also seems to occupy a weird place in their oeuvre. For one, it’s pretty funny, but not one of their outright comedies. For two, it uses noir plotting, but for oddball, often unsatisfying effects. And three, like many of their period films, it’s full of dated-but-amazing language and can be a little tricky to pick up. Similarly, the pacing is slow and deliberate and like I said, that often puts you on your heels. So, on the whole, I feel like the first watch is chock-full of audience moments where you’re constantly asking, “what am I supposed to be feeling right now?” And often the answer is confused. But that’s okay. Because like all their work, it all comes together to a semiotic feast of insight. ANd remember, this film wasn’t some stain of failure. Even with general audiences, we should remember the movie did well enough (66 million on 23 million budget and much more with ancillary income in the longer term). But outside of those of us who have been going nuts for the movie for the last seven years, there is still that feeling in the air that it’s somehow lesser work. Which just means it's still finding its way through the arc of time. I even recently tweeted about it and got confirmation both pro and against its value. But as always…

The question is how to eat it.

Luckily, one of the ways is practical. Because one of the fun things about Hail, Caesar! is that it is chock full of so many fun allusions to Hollywood history. But even if some feel hyper-specific, they’re not a 1:1 expose of what happened and more a lot of mash-ups. But if you nerd out about this shit, it’s a fun as heck way to engage with what’s happening on screen (and I will go into detail on them below). But it’s also easy to get caught up in the specificity of these references as the end-all-be-all, which they are not. They just play as fun allusions. And the point of separating them from the biopic reality is that you can use them as mere pieces to say something so much, much bigger. And what is that something you may ask? Well, a lot of people seemed to be asking that question because the first google inquiry that comes up in association with the film is, “what is the point of Hail, Caesar!?”

Which is a good question, actually. Because at first it doesn’t seem like it has one. But in reality, it’s about the way these little points fold into the larger existential struggle of “why?” As in, why do we do all this? Why do all these people make movies? And what is the point of any movie, really? And boy does, Hail, Caesar! have a lot to say in this regard. In fact, I took so many notes on the most recent watch that it’s time for a good old fashioned…

SCENE-BY-SCENE BREAKDOWN!

I mean, why not? By Jove, it’s been awhile!

SCENE 1 - A Pious Man

I love that it opens with a grand, choral, chanting music that’s out of The Lord of the Rings or something. It invokes both the epic films of old and the epics of the new. And we start with a man, seeking confession. He’s obscured, head down, bathed in immaculate lighting. We are thus declaring that this is a film that’s actually a lot about religion and faith, but in a very Coen-y way of course. Meaning it’s less about exploring faith literally and more the secular intersections that come with being faithful, along with the specific forms of dogmatic thought that seem to be at odds with such matters of faith. Not to mention larger systems. But either way, we get the picture: here is a pious, god-fearing man.

I think it’s rather telling that the Coen brothers frame this man as a Catholic. That is because there is a heavy emphasis on suffering, particularly the idea that suffering is the greatest good. Much like Jesus’s sacrifice, there is a very Catholic thinking that suffering is akin to godliness. Along with a much baked in fear of god and all that goes along with this potential wrath (cue the old idiom, “I don’t believe in god, but i fear him”). And the flip-side of angering god through sin is the catholic act of confession, which is the only path to salvation. This pious man tells us he has “snuck cigarettes” and seems upset by this, as it is a thing he genuinely means to quit per his wife’s request. The man also seems a bit of a square. And in many ways he is, but we’re about to see a very different side of him.

Because next the pious man will wait outside a house in the dead night of morning. Here, we are treated to our first bit of Michael Gambon’s narration and it seems the Pious Man is one Eddie Mannix and he normally “manufactures stories” (a key choice of words), but today his day begins at 5am. We see him enter a household to find a Hollywood actress playing Swiss Maid dress up (and maybe more) for a skeezy photographer. Ah yes, the “hush hush” seedy underbelly of Hollywood. She seems to think it all innocent enough, but immediately Mannix goes in and slaps her in stylized fashion, like right out of a movie from the 1940’s.

Now, a few things, because this is layered with an intended meaning. The first is that it is invoking the exact language not to make light of the slapping, but to invoke the fact that such abuse was commonplace and treated by the cinema as just as commonplace. Secondly, the juxtaposition is meant to put a distance between us and Mannix right up front. This is not a character we are “rooting for” in any real sense. From the very top, we are meant to pull back and see these contradictions of behavior for exactly what they are. Which is why when the cops show up, he offers them a routine bribe “for the pension fund” and then follows it up with, “can I bum a cigarette?” The intention of all this could not be more clear: this will be an exploration of the hypocrisies and vices of this man, along with all the ways they play into Hollywood itself.

SCENE 2 - Ruler Maximus!

We met Eddie understanding he’s a Hollywood “fixer,” but turns out he’s not some simple mop up man. He’s actually the Head of Production, which is a high status job and one that certainly involves more fixing than you can ever imagine. After all, it’s easy to write something in a fancy flit of imagination. But production is about problem solving in the real world of practicality, full of variables, and the endless possibility of chaos and human behavior. It can be artistic changes, clashes in creative, or even dealing with surly teamsters when things get flipped. Which is why it’s no accident that typically, the Heads of Production I’ve met tend to be the most level-headed and upstanding I’ve ever known. But for the sake of this film, it’s worth noting that Eddie Mannix was actually a real not-so-upstanding dude, but this depiction is not interested in any real element of biopic (for that, you can watch Bob Hoskins play him in Hollywoodland which also gets into the much darker elements of his real life story and the death of George Reeves). Wait, if it’s not a biopic, why use his real name? Especially when they play coy with everyone else's? I honestly suspect it’s because Eddie Mannix really just is a great, correct-feeling name for the character. But for our purposes, all we need to know is that their imagined version of the character is a famed fixer and not one to be trifled with. Which makes him an apt vehicle for exploring what the Coen’s want to explore. That being 1) the various scandals going on with several different stars and pictures of the era and 2) the larger ethical machinations of studio filmmaking.

We immediately see Eddie dealing with several problems here at the fictitious “Capitol Pictures” and yes that is a very on the nose name for a studio that is supposed to represent the divine providence of capitalism and the status quo of American Values. To wit, the very first film he’s going over dailies for is called “Hail, Caesar! A Tale of the Christ.” On the reference level, this film is a not so subtle reference to Ben-Hur (whose 1880 novel had the same exact subtitle). These sorts of “Sword and Sandals” epics were popular at the time, but there was genuinely something to them beyond the allure of spectacle. Historically speaking, they (perhaps unwittingly) characterized the post war boom as being akin to the last days of Rome, all before a hippy-like Christ came and ushered in a new age under the one true god of peace and love. But note that this metaphor can cut lots of ways. And yes, the Coens will play with all of them.

The first delightful joke comes when we’re supposed to be cutting to a tasteful depiction of the lord and savior and we get an insert card of “Divine Presence To Be Shot” which is just a funny card if there ever was one. But it’s also playful in a way you’d least expect. Because later on in the film we will hear a Rabbi invoke the jewish belief that any visual depictions of god are forbidden (which is often why you sometimes even see it written G-d and there are similar beliefs regarding depictions of Allah in Islam). I don’t feel like this is born out of any particular piety on the Coen’s part, more a playful wink and something that helps reinforce the overall Jewish viewpoint that will run throughout the entire film.

This is also the first we also see of the film’s star, one Baird Whitlock (George Clooney), who is playing the famous Charlton Heston role. We thus get to see him put up this faux stately bravado, but Clooney isn’t really trying to mine Heston with the overall roll here (and again, the film is very directly invoking Ben-Hur), but instead he’ll soon going full tilt into his Cary Grant side, complete with the kind of goofy face journeys that are right out of Arsenic and Old Lace. And while we’re on the subject of movie stars, there’s another prestige picture that needs Mannix’s attention. It seems they don’t have a star yet and even replacement options are no go (“Jack Hogarth drying out at cedars”). Also keep in mind these are the days when a studio had all their stars on contract, so such things could indeed occur.

But the head of the studio, the unseen and unheard figure (itself a monster joke) named Mr. Skank (an even better joke) suggests pivoting one of their other young heartthrobs into the dramatic film. He’s just normally working on a different kind of picture…

SCENE 3 - The Texas Switch

Enter Hobie Doyle! And hoo boy, was Alden Ehrenreich’s performance here one of the big revelations about the film. It’s just one of those perfect moments where an actor brings a role to life with such specific and delightful verve (and I think a lot of us would have liked to see what he could have done with a not watered down Solo). Here he’s playing a “aww shucks” figure akin to Gene Autry or Roy Rogers, whose playful Singing Cowboy archetypes delighted many an audience across the big wide country.

We also get to see a technique the Coens will use throughout the film, where they show us the “movie scene” the character is in, but without actually switching to old-timey film grain aesthetics or something. Yes, it’s using all the language and framing of those exact films. But in terms of colorization and “reality,” it’s presented as being no different from the movie itself. This is a fascinating choice. Because it helps the film ride this perfect line of letting Hail, Caesar! itself meld into the cinema of the past, while simultaneously making this old stuff feel part of the current eye. The entire purpose is to blend the two seamlessly (also, both Coens and Deakins seem to be having a blast with the recreations). We see Hobie shooting his glorified cap guns and swinging about on tree branches. I particularly love the way they use an old school Texas Switch (that’s when an actor ducks in and there’s a live switch with a stunt double or other way around). Plus, Hobie is so folksy and unassuming, with lines like “if that’s lunch, I’m gonna grab me a plate of beans.” But little does Hobie know he’s gonna be having his own switch to a very different kind of picture…

SCENE 4 - Extra, Extra!

We then cut to Newman from Seinfeld!??! Yes, that’s the great Wayne Knight along with character actor Jeff Lewis (from The Guild) and we see them as a couple of shifty-looking extras. This scene is a great example of how the Coens will just throw you into a scene with absolutely no exposition. But soon we realize that they’re poisoning or drugging a goblet that will be used by Baird Whitlock himself! Oh no! But as Baird does the scene, note that the Coens never waste an opportunity to throw in a little reflexive commentary. In character, this Roman soldier is harping on the land in question and says, “Palestine! That backwater! I’ll be throwing the sixth legion to that godforsaken patch of desert!” Which, of course, plays multiple ways. In the film’s era it’s bemoaning the occupation by Rome, but it could just as easily apply to the endless crusades bent on re-taking the Holy Land, along with the very same military occupation of modern Palestine. But this is often the way the Coens work with theme. There’s always a comment that feels both laser-aimed in its specificity, yet can refract into several different meanings. Anyway, the drugging leads to the kidnapping of the big star! Dun Dun Dun! Though I should say, it’s not being framed as some dramatic affair, but a comic falling flat into their arms.

SCENE 5 - A Rabbi, a Priest, and a Clergyman Walk Into A Focus Group…

This is widely regarded as one of the best scenes in the film and rightfully so, but it’s likely because it’s a purely comedic one. Eddie Mannix has brought together four heads of faith: a rabbi, a catholic priest, a protestant clergyman, and an Eastern Orthodox clergymen (which many people seem to forget is the second most popular form of christianity, so hey, good job). The whole idea of this focus group is for Mannix to get the seal of approval and any notes on the religious elements of the script for Hail, Caesar! All so they can avoid any controversies. He sells them on the film as best he can, invoking the idea that ordinary people “go to the pictures for information and upliftin'! And yes, for entertainment!” And that most people even get most of the understanding of religion from these pictures. Which happens to be true, by the way. Movies are powerful artifacts and all the Biblical epics of the era really did color a lot of people’s understanding of those stories (for better and mostly worse). But the thing I like about Brolin’s performance is that he’s not just a salesman. You get these little glints in his eye as he talks about “this swell fella from the east” and you get the idea he really believes in what he’s selling here. But like most things in Catholicism, it’s half belief that’s part of a larger system. And like most attempts at focus grouping, it quickly goes off the rails.

Instead of glowing approval, the clergymen all give errant notes about logic and seeming plot holes. Per, the Coen’s own sensibility, the most verbose one is, of course, the Rabbi and you can sense their own puckish sense of humor come out through him. He’s arguing every point, seemingly into a set of contradictions. Like the fact you can’t show god, but hey, they don’t believe Jesus is the son of g-d, so what’s it matter. But as he adamantly puts it, “g-d doesn’t have children. He’s a bachelor. And very angry!” (I don’t know why calling god a bachelor makes me laugh so hard, but it does). As everything cascades into more argumentation Mannix finally gets to the matter of whether the picture has anything that won’t offend “a reasonable man” complete with a thinly veiled sneer at the Rabbi. And thus Mannix gets the sign off from the clergy he needs: “I’ve seen worse.” And after all the hubbub, it lands with that mic drop from the Rabbi, “Eh, I have no opinion.” The moment plays funny, but it’s actually a huge key to understanding the approach of the movie. And we’ll come back to it later!

SCENE 6 - Mermaid Schmermaid

And now, for something completely different! Once again, we cut in media res to them doing a fun old timey movie sequence and this time it’s Scarlet Johansson as DeeAnna Moran, which is invoking the mermaid swimming musical films of Esther Williams (who I always accidentally call Ethyl Merman all the time for obvious mer-reasons). But she’s having a little trouble fitting into the big green tail because she’s pregnant and - cue scandal - it’s the 1950’s and the father is out of the picture. As far as the real-life parallel, it seems to be invoking the Clark Gable / Loretta Young scandal, but honestly there were a whole lot of these kinds of things (and this is the advantage of mixing and matching your references). Anyway, it’s so much fun to see ScarJo go from the plastic smile to speaking surly Brooklynese, but her defensiveness of her exes leads to one of my fave jokes. Mannix: “One was to a minor mobster-” DeeAnna: “Vince was not minor!” A baby out of wedlock is a no go for the studio, but she doesn’t need another louse for a husband, so they gotta find a solution. But I love how Eddie directly speaks to the real issue at the heart and why she needs to play ball, “the pictures do well for all of us,” and the wheels of the big studio money-making are something that can’t be stopped. But as that problem starts, another continues to brew…

SCENE 7 - “Would That It Were So Simple…”

Arguably the best scene in the film, Hobie tries to make a go of it on the high-society set of his new prestige picture. But perhaps the success of this scene is not a surprise because the Coens  have always been the absolute masters of the juxtaposition of high and low (think H.I.’s soulful inner monologues in Raising Arizona, among a million other things). We also get to meet Ralph Fiennes as Laurence Laurentz. He’s an ode to a very specific kind of filmmaker like George Cukor. The kind of filmmaker that specialized in transatlantic accents in the lilts of witty repartee. Between him and Hobie, the two of them merely occupying the same frame is instantly funny and I love the way Fiennes plays Laurentz as gentle, yet forceful. Because Hobie’s gonna have to try and fit in, including wearing his incredibly tight bowtie (“no, no looks a marvel, just takes a little getting used to”). From here the audience eats up the interactions about the “mirthless chuckle” and the now infamous “would that it were so simple” exchange, which is one of the most lovely run ons the (normally brief) Coens have ever allowed. I remember the audience having absolutely fits over it. But there’s also an observation that might get lost in the shuffle: as much as the movie thinks Laurentz is hilariously posh, it’s also showing us earlier on that he’s a really good director (that is before the slapping) and saying things that get to the essence of the character. He’s earnestly trying to find a way to somehow make it work with this absurd scenario.

Afterward there’s a few quick scene transitions where Eddie learns about Baird’s disappearance and Laurentz bursts in saying he needs a real actor for the role and “not a ROD-AY-O clown.” But since the order comes from Skank, Eddie has to convince Laurentz he CAN get it out of him. And thankfully, he’s gotta run because he’s got a lunch!

But before Eddie gets to that lunch we see Baird is in a mysterious nice house as another lunch is being prepared by Coen-regular Fred Malamed (“SY ABLEMAN!?!:) and a mysterious cabal of shlubs. What the heck is happening!? This is one of those second watch things where you get perfect set-up of the finger sandwiches for who these people are and what they want - but right now? It just seems bizarre.

SCENE 8 - Apocalypse Soon?

Eddie’s lunch is at a restaurant (which seems to be shot at Good Luck Bar, RIP) and it seems he’s being pursued by none other than Lockheed Martin. No, not a rival studio, but the rocketry and weapons manufacturer. They know he’s great at his job and they want him. But this sets up what is perhaps the most important framework of the film. Because Eddie is in danger of being lured away by “real” business, but note the way such designations seem to hit a nerve when the Lockheed hiring guy says “it’s pretty… frivolous isn’t it? Aviation is serious.” The man then invokes all the doomsday prognostications about the future of the film industry “what happens when everyone owns a television set, will they still be going to the pictures every week?” And you might as well have someone in the modern age talking about TikTok. But instead, he offers Eddie something “real,” which is working for the world’s first hydrogen bomb. He thinks this will be alluring to Eddie, of course. He literally calls it “armageddon” like it’s a fun romp.

The Coen’s are painting things pretty clearly here. Not just what they think about the weapons builders who carelessly “invent” armageddon like it’s a fun bit of exploration. But they’re characterizing how much going into a pure business venture is nothing but destruction to Eddie, an emotional armageddon in turn. As much as he is a fixer, we sense there is a deeper thing that cares about the act of creation, however hypocritical he may be in that pursuit. The film is asking a direct ethical question: does Eddie actually care about what he’s doing? And why? Or is it just…

SCENE 9 - A Pure Instrument of Capitalism

Here, we finally come to understand what’s happening with our kidnapping. Baird awakes in the nice Malibu home (and we’re starting to see his Cary Grant affectations spill out fast) and then discovers a bunch of intellectuals (many of who are coded as Jewish and / or played by Jewish actors) who are participating in a “study group.” They slowly begin reeling him in as they talk about economic theories and yes, they are communists. Naturally, they are arguing (“the boss is parasite!”) as they try to get to “the essence of the dialectic.” After all that, it seems the entire point of this kidnapping was trying to carefully court Baird for the cause. And the essential argument is whether or not what he does as a movie star is a pure instrument of capitalism, except he hopes it doesn't have to be. Baird goes folksy and hopes all of it “can be made to help the little guy, right?” I find the scene fascinating. For one, it basically amounts to several minutes of dry argumentation over the various tenets of socialism as great actors do weird things with the delivery. But, like so much the Coens do, they seem both achingly behind the gist of it and yet positively tickled by the hypocrisies on display from those involved (specifically, the ones from this curious, hapless movie star himself). Among those hypocrisies, it seems this kidnapping has a ransom, after all. They’ve sent word to Eddie and they want 100,000 dollars for Baird and proclaim: “we are the future”

SCENE 10 - Thora & Thessaly

Without much of a second thought, Eddie begins obtaining said money from the “petty cash” department (hahahaha), but he then encounters two more obstacles in the courtyard. Obstacles in the form of Tilda Swinton, playing two twin sister entertainment journalists (“don’t call it a gossip column!” even though it largely is) named Thora Thacker and Thessaly Thacker. The dual role is, in fact, a pointed observation of the two leading gossip columnists of the era, Louella Parsons and Hedda Hopper, who were bitter rivals and, of course, achingly similar to one another (there’s a truly great “You Must Remember This” season on them). Eddie has to play farcical games between the two as it seems one is ready to pump an old story about Baird and some nefarious scandal from On Wings As Eagles (caaaaawww) and the other has the most recent story of his disappearance. Eddie of course denies, denies, denies the stories (“people don’t want the facts, they want to believe!”) and does his fixer dance to try to throw them both off the hunt and swap for stories they may want instead.

SCENE 11 - Hobie On The Literal Case

Afterwards, Eddie comes back to his office with a jam-packed briefcase and finds an exasperated Hobie waiting for him. I love how much we see Mannix playing therapist / life coach to thes movie stars, even as he is doing something unseemly. I also love how much see Hobie is trying to make the best of it even though all this brand of acting is rather new to him (“talkin’ with the camera lookin’ at me, but heck I enjoy it”). We also get to see another bit of hypocrisy from Mannix in this scene. Because He can’t be vulnerable and say “I love you” with confidence to his wife on the phone, at least not in front of Hobie. But at the same exact time, he’s immediately quick to trust Hobie with the information that there’s 100k in the briefcase in front of them and that Baird has been kidnapped. But Hobie knows the score immediately: “this is bad… bad for movie stars everywhere.” Which helps get at what I love about the character. As much as he’s naive folksy cowpoke, there’s a keen understanding at play. Like how he immediately senses it’s the extras you can’t trust because they “come in and out” and the crew are often people you know, like “there’s Gus setting up the 5k” (I love how it shows he’s the kind of star who knows everybody’s names on set). With that bit of insight, it’s time for case delivery.

SCENE 12 - Anchors Away!

Once again, we have yet another sequence where the entire movie just stops to recreate an old timey golden age of Hollywood sequence and we are all the better for it. This time it’s a dance scene in “Anchor’s Away!” which is most reminiscent of On The Town, the Frank Sinatra musical about sailors having a good time before they ship out (and perhaps most famous for the song “New York, New York”). Here we meet the film’s star Burt Gurney (Channing Tatum) who is more a Gene Kelly type (though Kelly is so singular, it feels more like its own invention). Moreover, it seems a great excuse to show off what Tatum can do with some tap shoes. Getting to watch this sequence as if it was all one big take is a real incredible joy (along with monster gay subtext jokes like them musing about the lack of dames and yet he turns around with the guy between his legs). What does Burt have to do with any of this? We’ll know soon enough.

For now, we instead go down another quick rabbit hole with the second part of the scene where we meet our Eastern European director Arne Seslum (Christopher Lambert!!!) who is meant to invoke any of the German expressionist filmmakers, but most likely Otto Preminger, Fritz Lang, and / or Michael Curtiz. Mannix’s queries mostly get cast aside, but he has a talk with Seslum about an unsaid issue likely involving him dating someone too young. But it soon snowballs into him realizing that Seslum is actually married and has kids back in Europe. As Mannix weighs this concern, Seslum is more interested in showing pictures of him skiing and asks “do you enjoy physical culture?” I find it all incredibly funny, but it’s also more serving as red-herring as he’s dropped off the briefcase. And speaking of writing tropes…

SCENE 13 - Screenwriters

We now peel back another layer of the onion. The “study group” is not just a collection of politically-interested communists, but, of course, spurned screenwriters. I cackled at this reveal the first time. It’s not just the historical fact that so many of the Hollywood communists who were blacklisted WERE writers, but how this hits the exact intersection of power dynamics within the studio. Because compared to so many other art forms, writers of Hollywood are more part of the factory line. And easily disposable parts at that, as the studio has to be far more coddling to the power of the director and especially the stars (as Baird admits, “the studio takes pretty good care of me”). But the writers are not taken care of. And as socialism tells us, the workers must be involved in the ownership of the work itself. As the lead communist says, “we all assume our own economic interest, we are not above the laws of history.”

Like the scene before, the Coen’s are towing that comedic line perfectly. They are saying real and true things about the point of art and economics and yet poking fun at the way human beings talk about them. Like the way there’s his desperate form of pride in the one writer as he tells us how he snuck socialist metaphor into one of his pictures: “I like to think we’ve changed a few minds.” And awwwwww, probably not really. But at the same time, yeah kind of? Again, there’s this perfect way the Coens know how to ride that line. It’s never really about complete dismissal, but poking and prodding the comic hypocrisies of our own behaviors and beliefs. Which is why the scene ends with gems like, “we’re not even talking about money, we’re talking about economics!” aAd “you can hardly share in your own ransom, it would be unethical!”

Meanwhile, Eddie’s juggling problems and he goes to the lawyers with the bright idea that DeeAnna could adopt her own child if it was legally permissible and it’s so fun to see the lawyer get quietly excited about doing something so weird. And in terms of characterization so far, I love that Eddie never really thinks one problem is more pressing than the other. They’re all a list of equal tasks (this is what good organized people do, apparently). And now that he’s finally got a potential solution for DeeAnna, he has to see how Hobie’s doing in the Laurentz picture…

SCENE 14 - Editors

Cue perfect cameo! Frances McDormand playing the editor!! Again, this is one of those Hollywood history things because editing was largely a female-led position before men decided it had “artistic cache” after all. And behold they started elbowing into the position (there’s lots of things like this, including the history of computing and math). But this is actually one of my favorite scenes in the film. Eddie’s there to watch the footage and as he begins watching the opening credits for “Merrily We Dance” you see this inescapable smile come over his face. This moment is so, so important. For all his no nonsense and hard-lined edge… he loves movies. Even this fancy pants drama that starts with a perfect tete-e-tete scene in the car (alongwith cameos by Jack Houston and Agyness Deyn!). Then, after one brief comic beat where Frances almost dies by scarf (and there’s another meta joke because smoking around film is incredibly dangerous too), we then see Eddie get to the “would that it were so simple,” scene. We see Hobie walk in steadily, if a little stilted. Deliver a good pout and then say: “… it’s complicated”

We laugh because we know he never got the line right. But I also want to point out how crazy smart this is. When you remember that line “he will not quit on a take until it has quality,” you can see that, however truncated, Laurentz GETS a performance that works on some level. This speaks to all these fascinating things about how movies work. Like, someone could go see Merrily We Dance and if Hobie’s smoldering, terse performance plays, they’d never know how truly in over his head he was. This is far more common in Hollywood than you may think. Like, you have no idea how many dysfunctional performances were left on the cutting room floor. But that’s the whole point of reshaping in the edit, right? No one ever has to see the takes that didn’t work. We only see the bright, smooth final product.

And at the of the scene someone comments that they’re “running a business, not a circus,” but try as he might, there seems to be an element of Eddie that loves the circus.

SCENE 15 - Hobie’s Date

Here we get yet another scene where the movie just stops to have fun, only it’s not a movie. Instead, we see Hobie waiting by his limo and having fun doing lasso tricks, implying, yup, this is who this guy is all the time. Not just on set. And we finally see that, per the studio’s arrangement, he’s going out for an arranged date with Carlotta Valdez (Veronica Osorio) to the premier, who is invoking the legendary Carmen Miranda. There’s something so arresting about this scene. We see how much they both feel like aww shucks kids, who both up to their knees in the luck of stardom. They’re also both happily doing their movie “tricks,” which is the work of craft, for each other’s amusement (that delivery of “is it hard to dance with all them bernaners on your head?” is something else). I think there is something to their innocence here. Because there’s something the Coens find absolutely delightful about their plucky and lucky ways. However much they both could seem pigeonholed by their respective star personas, there’s no pretension or ego, nor any seeming malice. We, like the Coens, like them instantly.

SCENE 16 - Father Knows Best

And here we have the lone scene of Eddie Mannix at home. He’s feeling guilty about being late for dinner / kids already in bed, but note the way he’s so hopelessly distracted. Like how he was going to “handle” his son’s baseball position with the coach, but got caught up with work. This seems to be the one “task” that doesn’t qualify as equal importance (I wonder why?). He can only remark “that’s great, it took care of itself.” All of this is pointed, of course. He’s the kind of workaholic that’s so busy that family seems like a momentary distraction. And there’s a reason the kids are never seen. Just as there’s a reason Eddie never makes eye contact with his wife the entire scene. Everything feels like this arrangement of duty. And when he announces he’s going out again tonight for more work, Alison Pill gives us this brief, but perfect little eye flutter and offers an empathetic “gee, another late night?”

Instinctively, you know there’s this brutal push / pull underneath it all. Especially as they “discuss” his taking the Lockheed job, she knows she must offer genial platitudes like “it’s nice to be wanted” and dare even suggest the one hopeful declaration of “I like the shorter hours”  before quickly doubling back on her own wants and saying “but what do you think honey, you know best.” No, the Coens are not hanging a hat on her misery or anything so obvious. They find much more meaning in dramatizing her input as calculated, careful, and oddly cheerful in an actorly way. We’re all playing our roles in the stage of life so the status quo of life (and the family unit) can go on. But as an audience, we understand: the “father knows best” adage is irrelevant, he’s going to do what he wants. The problem is Eddie just isn’t quite sure what he wants. Or, more specifically, if he should trust what he wants.

SCENE 17 - The New Man, The Old Man, and The Reliable Man

This sequence is really three short scenes mushed together. We see the communists are now all buddy buddy with impressionable ole’ Baird, but there’s this great little detail where we see a few of the writers doing a puzzle and they’re trying to put the last piece in… but it doesn’t fit. Like, it’s literally the wrong shape, but since every other piece is right, this is impossible, no? This is such a good metaphor for, well, everything the Coen Brothers like to examine. But for now it’s one the human limitations of communism (or really any ism) and the practicality of application to the life sitting in front of you. There is always going to be some key piece you are missing (and it’s foreboding of their fate, too). The other big idea the scene is trying to put forward is the idea of “the new man,” which bleeds into a lot of archetypes about the new myth, or positive changes in cycles, or Renaissance history, or lots of things really. Again, it’s a laser-focused idea with multiple applications. We just sense the idea that within this story, we will perhaps start a new cycle and maybe, somehow learn from all this chaos.

Back in the theater, we get to see more of the date and Hobie’s film: Lazy Ol’ Moon. Chiefly, we get to see the singing part from this Singing Cowboy and it’s delightful. You might realize how much the film’s iconography invokes Woody from Toy Story, which is not an accident because they’re referencing the same films. Doubling down on this idea is Curly, the other old man in the picture, who is directly invoking Gabby Hayes (who was a co-star in so many Roy Rogers films). Note how much he is also the prospector figure in Toy Story 2. And while so much reference in Hollywood is just about the fun of pastiche, I think these things are fun because they’re all part of a big cycle we’re all kind of familiar with.

And in the last little scene of the sequence, Eddie and DeeAnn go to meet their patsy who will temporarily adopt her child. It’s Joe Silverman (Jonah Hill, in a lovely almost silent performance) AKA the man who “fits the legal standard of personhood.” And he will do whatever they ask and get paid for it, whether it’s go to jail or adopt her baby. But after a string of louses, ScarJo (looking at her most Bacall) suddenly seems interested in this reliable fellow.

SCENE 18 - A CAPITOL Production

Once again, I love how much we see Eddie doing the actual filmmaking-centric components of his job. It’s more dailies and we get a whole bunch of comic outtakes of Baird trying to act against nothing, while being told to “squint against the grandeur!” Once again, the metaphors are just everywhere. Because all “acting” is trying to conjure an emotion against something that isn’t real, which is sort of the magic of movies. They “manufacture” it. The other great little detail in this scene is noting how everyone talks about how many hours Mannix works, but note that his assistant is there the whole time, too. But no one ever talks about that part, nor questions it. But, of course, the Coens see it for exactly what it is. The “you have no life, work more hours, and get paid 1/10th (or less) what your boss does” is inherent to Hollywood assistant gigs. But again, I love how much this movie just seems to be aware of the fabric of everything. Because in the end, for Capitol pictures, it’s a portrait of a corrupt economic system. One that is selling us invisible grandeur.

SCENE 19 - Getting Roped In…

Next we see more of Hobie and Carlotta’s charming little premiere date. He’s a genuine goofball doing rope tricks with pasta (“this here’s Italian Oragami”_ and it kind of reminds me of Slim Pickens doing talk shows? Hobie’s even roping her finger with the little lasso. They also get a little into his backstory. Seems he started just riding in pictures on background and then “someone heard me sing and then they made me the guy.” Which is as aw shucks an origin story as it gets, but also probably accurate. Again, there’s no ego. I also like that when Thora and Thessaly show up, they both seem very aware of their public responsibilities to the studio and how to handle their appearance (I’m not saying such devotion is great, I’m saying it’s one of those movie star things). But I also love the way that their whole “fixin to be friendly” way of selling themselves seems based in the fact they genuinely seem to like each other.

Which is why I’m so dismayed when Hobie gets distracted! Because he sees that it is none other than Burt Gurney (Tatum) who has the suitcase and thus he must recuse himself to follow. And thus, he gets roped into the mystery. But the tragedy is I want to watch their date forever.

SCENE 20 - Worried Sick

We are then treated to a brief montage of two things: We see Hobie following Burt. We see Mannix praying as a catholic man, wondering what he must do as he experiences this dark night of the soul. But there’s something sneaky hilarious about him doing this as he goes up to the fake crucifixion on the film set (again, everything here is reflexive). I mean, how sincere is all this, really? Is he even capable of something so sincere? Is there a difference between a cross that exists on set and that which exists in a church? Meanwhile, Hobie arrives at a certain Malibu home we’ve been seeing (which we now realize is Burt’s) and sees that Baird is completely fine, if a little confused: “Hobie Doyle, you’re a communist too? He can only respond that it’s time to go because Baird’s “got Mr Mannix worried sick.”

Granted, on first watch the way all this wraps up so low-energy-like feels a bit of a let down. I really do get this. But the noir plotting with non-noir resolution is kind of the point (for reasons we’ll get to soon). It’s just so uninterested in the dramatic confrontation. Instead, it has more thematic things on its mind. Like…

SCENE 21 - Gurney Crossing The Malibu

Finally, things get truly absurd. We see Burt standing on the rowboat, posed like Washington crossing the Delaware, cute dog in hand, and his team of communist writers rowing in tow. He carefully lines up the boat with some rock (which is one of those little detail things the two rocks were set up earlier) and here we learn Gurney is defecting to Russia! The whole thing feels so much bigger than everything we’ve seen and we think: wait, is there a real life parable of this? I mean, not that we know (even if big stars like Bogart and Cagney were once named as communist sympathizers). But the point is not to be accurate, but to be theatrical. Gurney’s defection is the idealistic fever dream that one such star might imagine in their glorious display of their political allegiance! It’s why we see so many moments of theatrics from him, as he hops on this sub with his familiar dance move. It’s also why he’s seemingly so out of place and barely even interacting with the writers who literally row his boat. Movie star politics, y’all!

And yeah, he probably doesn’t realize that in defecting to Russia he will experience a very different reality than he expects, but that’s part of it. Again, the Coens are after the funny juxtapositions and hypocrisies more than anything. Which is why there’s that great gag where, after all that hubbub, the writers offer up their 100k to the Russians and say “the money should go to the cause, not servants of the cause” (which is actually debatable), but then the dog runs back to him and the money falls into the ocean. It is so, so funny to see the way their hearts sink. Given their lack of appreciation, it was SUCH a big deal to them to give up this 100k (which obviously almost nothing to the Russian Government) and it gets at the uneasy nature of them realizing whatever it is that they may really be wanting in all this. Again, that exact conflict space is where the Coens want the movie to live.

On the way back, Baird and Hobie see police cars going in the opposite direction toward the house. Baird has the curious “huh” of a movie star who doesn’t quite get it. The writers are gonna get in trouble big time. It’s all part of the blacklist / red scare and all the terrible things we know too well. Again, note the way it’s kept off screen. They Coens are rarely interested in the big dramatic flare or rubbing our face in the arrest. They just make it clear that the ugly truth exists in the cracks. Because 1) they know we as an audience can put two and two together and 2) because the idea itself is scary enough.

SCENE 22 - Are You A Principle?

The next morning begins with a very small, but critical scene. We see the legs of the actor playing Jesus on the cross and once again, they’re staying true to that belief that you can’t actually show the representation of g-d. Which, again, they don't believe he’s the son of g-d, but again, we’re after playfulness here. Which is exactly why the AD department comes around asking if he wants the hot or boxed breakfast, which is a darkly comic image that I find funnier than anything in the world? But it also leads to the hilarious question of which breakfast he qualifies for, specifically whether Jesus is a principle or an extra. “I think I’m a principle?” He answers.

Again, this is one of those things loaded with a million meanings. For starters, yes, I too think that’s Michael Cera’s voice, which just plays wonderfully into the idea of meekness. But it also gets at all the exact notion of hypocrisy surrounding the telling of this story. We see all this notion of the grandeur and power of this godly story. It’s a literal “tale of the christ!” But in the end, does anyone really care about the figure at the center of this? As anyone really acting in his image? Is he even getting a meal? What is “god's” role in their story? And in the larger sense, do these values of meekness have any place in “capitol” pictures? And boy howdy, does the film charge into those very questions with the next few scenes…

SCENE 23 - Be A Star!

Baird has an early morning meeting with Mannix, who seems ready to forgive his whole kidnapping affair, but then Baird starts talking about communism: “It’s all in a book called Kapital, with a K!” which again, could not be more pointed as the inverse of Capitol pictures. He begins regurgitating all the true things that are, you know, true. Like the fact that the studio is indeed an instrument of capitalism. And that they’re all just serving the system and the status quo. They even pretend all these pictures have artistic value - or spiritual dimension, but very quickly, Mannix has had enough. Because that’s the ultimate thing: Mannix is not just an agent of capitalism, he BELIEVES in the status quo. This is HIS system. It is HIS real religion beyond his personal required religion. And even Mr. Skank, the unseen god on the phone, is above reproach. He thus goes full anger mode and slaps Baird (god, Clooney is so funny when he’s scared). And Eddie’s reply says so much of the theme itself:

“You’re going to give that speech to the penitent thief and you’re going to believe every word you say. You’re going to do it because you’re an actor and that’s what you do. Just like the director does what he does. And the writer, and the script girl, and the guy who claps the slate. You’re going to do it because the picture has worth. And you have worth if you serve the picture and you’re never going to forget that again!” Baird, sheepishly makes his way to the door, having been rattled and humbled. But not before Eddie can issue one last piece of positive reinforcement: “go out there and be a star!”

This speech is the entire movie, really. The film’s been constantly picking the reasons to undo the system, to question it, to find immorality in it, but ultimately, for Mannix, it’s about upholding the status quo. He too is a kind of “actor” playing a role. The system must go on. And his job, above all else, is to make that so. The show must go on as they say. And there’s that little smile that comes with this reinvigoration of purpose… Now, in reality I have many mixed feelings about this, but so does the movie. In fact, it’s kind of the point. For one, we’ve become well-aware of the many horrific abuses that have been propagated by “the show must go on” mentality around Hollywood and how much that system needs to change. But it also speaks to a much more genial brand of “the show must go on” and that has more to do with the star system of promotion and selling a picture. Because sometimes it’s about more trivial concerns, like how a movie didn’t come out right or two stars didn’t get along or something and I think it was Spielberg who said “sometimes you just have to sell the car.” Meaning sometimes there’s so much money and hundreds and hundreds of people’s work and careers that go into a production and while it may seem like self-interest for a star to shit talk their own bad movie to keep their cool, it really does grind up against 1) the crew and everyone they worked with and 2) the larger engine of “capital” and all those who work behind it. This doesn’t have a simple answer, of course. But there’s a reason why the gossip rags are a critical part of the story of Hail, Caesar! and one that is about to come to a conclusion…

SCENE 24 - Our Friendship

Eddie makes his way through the familiar courtyard and is informed that his other problem has magically worked out (for now), in that DeeAnna just had a quicky marriage to her new Mr. Reliable. So Eddie then meets Thora and it finally gets into the On Wings of Eagles (cawww) scandal. It seems Laurence Laurentz gave a young Baird his start “by engaging in sodomy!” Cue the gay panic, along withthe  hinting at the cycles of Laurentz’s predatory nature. But rather than being part of what comes undone, Eddie’s got nothing but aces up his sleeve. She can’t print it because her source, who he knows is Burt, is now a communist who fled the country.

Once again, I get how this is dramatically unsatisfying. But it’s yet another pointed one. Broadly speaking, of course Burt was the source who spilled all the tea because was the one who wanted to take down the system. And yet, that same wanting to take down the system is the very thing that makes him an undesirable source. Here we are seeing the way various moralities (queerdom, politics, etc) get canceled out when they challenge the status quo of keeping said system alive. Thora is at a loss. But in the end, it’s part of her role in all this, too. Because “the story of her career” could get her both exiled by the studio AND blacklisted. And she too must uphold the system. The uneasy, but “necessary” relationship between the trades and Hollywood is this give and take that goes back a hundred years. So I love the way Eddis says “I do value our friendship,” which hahahahaha talk about an uneasy peace. But it is one that is part of the fabric of the system. And with those taken care of, there are just two more matters at hand…

SCENE 25 - What Manner of Man?

First is the speech that Baird has been instructed to nail. I love the performance here because it’s Clooney doing his best “Baird doing the best he can” and man do I love acting that has layers. But the final speech to “god” is so instrumental in the way it deals with the same system we’re talking about here. To go through it piece by piece:

-Re: Jesus: “What manner of man?” He saw suffering which he sought to ease, he saw sin, he saw love. Saw no shadow of reproach… only light… the light of god. The one god.” So yeah, in this case the light is less Jesus Christ and more the light of cinema. Or I should say big time studio capitalist filmmaking. But I guess there’s nothing that has to be inherently unethical about a product that comes out of that? Honestly, more injustices happen in non-union shoots. And you can make pictures of import. The idea is that for all the people in this movie, the one true god is the movie itself (and its implied needed success). It’s a duality, but it goes on…

-“The god of the far flung tribe. Why shouldn’t god’s anointed appear here, among these strange people to shoulder their sins? Here Graccus, in this sun-drenched land!” There’s so many layers of meta in this, too. The far flung tribe in question is Judaism, along with noting the history of how and why so many end up in the ill-reputable movie business. But it could also double for any of the searching dreams. And the sun-drenched land? Of course, Los Angeles. And if you think I’m stretching this interpretation, look how often they’re showing people in the crew and their rallying sense of pride like they’re be included in his speech.

-“Why should he not take this form? The form of an ordinary man? Bringing us not the old truths, but a new one! A truth beyond a truth that we can see! A truth beyond this world. A truth told not in words but in light!” Again, this is so filmmaking centric. It’s upholding the idea of the everyman! The main character whose story can somehow shape life and meaning and purpose. The one character who can lead to a greater feeling outside yourself!

-“A truth we could see if we had but…. if we had but… line!” Director: “cut! Had but faith!” Once again, we are treated to a hilarious undercutting moment that is also full of meaning. Because what faith are they speaking of? There is this popular notion that your “religion” is the thing you put above yourself. And what Baird is pleading for, is faith in the system of movies. Which given all we’ve seen, obviously cuts two ways. There’s the empty, amoral capital of it all. And there’s also the delights and joys we’ve seen too (specifically, every time the film has stopped to show us a movie scene). But like so much of this film, it understands the duality of both. And so does the man who has to make a decision…

SCENE 26 - A Confession Of Purpose

We find Mannix once again in confession, a mere 27 hours later, which elicits an amazing line from the priest “it’s really too often my son, you’re not that bad.” But to the pious Catholic, guilt is part of the engine of action. And with all the multitude of sins he could offer, Mannix only seems more upset he snuck more cigarettes and the big thing that bothers him most is that he “struck a movie star in anger,” which again is his one potential crime against his system. Notice he doesn’t reference his earlier striking of the actress, another purposeful observation of the ugly patriarchal values that are baked into this system (and again, this is the point of having distance from these characters). But after his absolutely absurd 27 hours of fixing, he asks the essential question of what he knows deep down:

“If there’s something that’s easy… is that wrong? An easy job. It’s not bad (and oh the other job IS bad, it’s H-Bomb building for the literal Apocalypse). But there’s this other job, that’s not so easy. In fact, it’s hard. It’s so hard, father, that I don’t know if I can keep doing it. But it seems right… I don’t know how to explain it.”

Gah, there’s so much catholic specificity because, once again, suffering is godliness. And in this particular “tale of the christ,” Eddie is the man who suffers for the light of “god” which in his case is the propagation of movies. But this also gets at the notion of a really important thing that few people really talk about: executive culture. Because I know people like to criticize executives or the big capitalist office folks who work in film, but there’s this essential question that gets at the heart of it. Because Chris Rock once had this bit about the fact that if ALL that executives cared about was making money, they would go do something else. Seriously, in movies you spend 100 million dollars to make, what, another 100 million if you’re lucky? In other big business you have mark-ups that don’t depend on the insanity of movie making. Another industry will treat them so much better. So maybe, you could argue they do it for esteem?

But usually it’s because there genuinely is some weird nugget deep in the heart of them that loves entertainment. I mean, that’s the thing: most people love entertainment. Whether they ever acknowledge it or not, I always dare tech bros who say it’s non-essential to go a month without a single object of entertainment and you realize how much it is part of the daily engine of our lives. Everyone loves it, really. That’s the whole damn thing. And with Mannix, it’s so important to see the defensiveness crop up when the Lockheed guy called movies frivolous. Just as it’s important to see that little smile as he watches the credits of “Merrily We Dance.” For all the fixing, he wants to be close to the light. To the thing he worships. To the god that’s bigger than him. No, he has no interest in the apocalypse. He wants to do what feels right. And as the priest tells him, “God wants us to do what’s right.”

SCENE 27 - Full Circles

As Eddie walks the lot with new purpose, we get his closing thoughts on today’s problems, along with a great last line of “I don’t know, bounce it off the writers.” Then comes Gambon’s final narration: “The stories end. The stories begin. The story of Eddie Mannix will never end, for his is a tale written in light, everlasting.” We hear this as it pans over a water tower with the word “behold” written on it and then pans up to the literal sun… End movie!

Once again, there’s so many damn layers of this. In one way, it’s acknowledging that the tale is now forever because they made a movie about it AKA “light everlasting.” But it also ties directly into a whole bunch of possible ideas of this story ending and beginning. For one, the ending may seem ironic because the golden age of Hollywood filmmaking was about to end big time. By the late 60’s the artists started taking over and all the studio systems felt at a loss. But on a longer timeline, this was temporary. Because the corporate interests only got triple-fold with the dawn of the blockbuster and so a bunch of corporate mucky mucks came in to run things. Resulting in a system that didn’t require fixers so much and instead an army of lawyers. Which is all to say the “capital” of it all has only become infinitely more pronounced. But Mannix came from the age where all of this system was seemingly created, right? Thus it is all part of the old and the new. All a part of cycles of rebirth. Is the new man just like the old man? Is this ultimately all part of how the ugly / beautiful system keeps propagating itself?

And how are you supposed to feel about this?

The answer is complex. I keep saying this film is noir plot without the noir ending, but that’s because nothing really comes to a head on purpose. It’s a film about everything working out. And instead of a hero being a victim of a corrupt system working out, our “hero” is actually the proponent of the system, but maybe there’s a reason people keep buying in. Meaning it’s both ironic and sincere at the same time, which is probably why it feels so confusing. But perhaps a better question is to ask why the Coens, who are writers and directors, felt compelled to tell this particular story about a fictitious version of the fixer named Eddie Mannix?

For one, they already made their writer-director-centric Hollywood movie with Barton Fink and that’s pretty much the best on that subject. Moreover, I think they’re just not that interested in telling such a big story about themselves anymore (besides, it’s much more fun poke fun and writers and directors in the manner they do here). Moreover, this pious catholic man is absolutely the better vehicle to explore the varying facets of the system, along with the deeper “why” behind the engines of capital. Mannix IS the system incarnate, complete with the hang ups. Make no mistake, this is a film of deep existential wrestling with “why do we participate in all this?” Which is a question that’s perhaps even more interesting now that the Coen seem to have split up as filmmakers (I bet they come back at some point though). But it all comes back to that initial question that plagued google at large…

“What is the point of Hail, Caesar!?”

The genius of the movie is they’re asking the same exact question. They peel back the layers of Hollywood filmmaking with accuracy, insight, aplomb, empathy, and even cackling disdain. But in the end, they’re just as much at a loss. But not in a way that feels vague or unsure, but in a way that feels known, as if a kind of shared commiseration (at least to me). I mean, why do we do anything we do? And when it comes to the manner with which it's told, I’m reminded again of the scene with the Rabbi where I wrote: “And you can sense the Coen’s own puckish sense of humor come out of it. He’s arguing every point, seemingly into a set of contradictions.” Which is really all the movie can do, too. I mean, does it hate Hollywood? Love Hollywood? Find it hilarious? Meaningful? Like the Rabbi, the film itself seems to end with a darkly comic reassurance of “I have no opinion.” But of course they do. We just saw them all. But they, like you, aren’t exactly sure how they should feel about it.

And maybe that’s the exact point.

* * *

(Fun note, I use these * * * markers sometimes to indicate a section break that doesn’t require a full title and heading and complete forgot they were called a dinkus)

Admittedly, emotional contradiction is a tough thing to sell. To wit, Spielberg is the most successful filmmaker of all time precisely because he’s so damn good at making you feel the exact thing he wants you to feel, which is great for a storyteller who often treads in dramatic wonder and awe. But the Coen Brothers? Few filmmakers are better at the endless contradictions that come with navigating life’s cruelties. Which is why their stories feel less like catharsis and more like getting trapped in an Escher painting. But there’s catharsis to that IF you share that feeling with them. And to go back to the Thai language eating analogy, if you can learn to think that a cinematic meal of “well pointed contradictions” is equally delicious, then you can eat it, too. Moreover, all this should come with the acknowledgement that as much as the Coen Brothers seem to be skewering the studio system from a place of questioning their own roles in the system, they’ve almost always stuck to their guns by making films that are genuinely about complex human contradictions. I mean, getting to make a film like Hail, Caesar! is basically highway robbery of said system (or perhaps just tacitly not helping said capital). And for that, among many other reasons, I think it’s one of the best films about filmmaking ever made.

Which is part of how we come back to the “lesser” of it all. I don’t know what to say to anyone who felt let down by it. I can’t take away that experience. I just know that whenever I watch Hail, Caesar! I suddenly think, “is this my favorite Coen Brothers movie?!” But the truth is I think that about whatever is the one I watched. But I suppose it’s funny I got this far into this essay without bringing up the inevitable question of Intolerable Cruelty, which is a film with odd choices I like, but can admit is them playing nice (and proof that they can’t really go halfway). This also comes with the acknowledgement that The Ladykillers is only one that really, truly doesn’t work. On paper, I get that it’s trying to put an absurd “Coen brothers character” into a bunch of other movie archetypes, but hoo boy do those other “archetypes” fall flat on their offensive face. But sandwiched amongst those outliers, along with all their other great films - are the ones that struck some balance between acceptance and dismissal. But they are the ones I would argue are so full and rich and worthy of being cherished as much as any other. Sure, Miller’s Crossing is now part of the canon. But The Man Who Wasn’t There is also an existential, semiotics feast. Burn After Reading is a farcical takedown of the absurd paranoia and self interest that led to the Iraq War (largely allegorical). And A Serious Man is probably one of the most insightful documents on the fragility and panic that comes with staring into the uncaring suburban void.

And then there’s Hail, Caesar! which speaks to all I just said in this essay (and even a lot bit more). It’s a film that I think is important to understand as part of the engine of their impetus. Particularly as people keep questioning whatever’s going on Joel and Ethan Coen and their various separate projects, along with their seeming will to keep going on with storytelling, the film gives us the only real piece of insight we really need…

Sometimes you just love the circus.

<3HULK