*Spoilers for The Ballad of Buster Scruggs will follow.*
"If there weren't, what are all the songs about?"
As Joel and Ethan Coen's first anthology film, The Ballad of Buster Scruggs presents a unique challenge for any critic trying to tackle a cohesive analysis of these six stories. Should each individual installment be assessed on its own terms? Some (if not all) of these parables stand well on their own, and it may be a disservice to such spectacular short films to simply search for connective tissue to the greater anthology. At the same time, didn't the Coens put these stories together for a reason? There has to be- no, there is- some greater purpose to this collection of Western fables than whatever each individual chapter entails.
The six chapters- "The Ballad of Buster Scruggs," "Near Algodones," "Meal Ticket," "All Gold Canyon," "The Gal Who Got Rattled," and "The Mortal Remains"- naturally feature their own thematic underpinnings and aesthetic approaches, despite fitting snugly within the confines of this bigger story. The first two segments are a meditation on the Western mythology of the outlaw, subverting and twisting it like only the Coen Brothers can; "Buster Scruggs" is brazenly comedic in its sing-songy pleasures, while the deadpan humor of "Algodones" makes even the briefest chapter distinctly memorable. "Meal Ticket" is the most overtly metaphorical work, though everyone will disagree on what it actually means. "Canyon" feels complete and satisfying in a special way, "Gal Who Got Rattled" veers brilliantly from heartfelt to tragic, and "Mortal Remains" ends it all on a wicked, frightening note.
If you wanted to pick one of these stories out of a hat and watch it without touching the rest of the anthology, you certainly could. But when viewed in quick succession of one another, the individual segments of The Ballad of Buster Scruggs are deeply connected in a way that transcends mere visual and genre-based similarities. Of course, there are plenty of thematic strands that can be tracked across a number of the tales, falling short of qualifying as overarching themes. On some implicit level, the middle chunk of the film is about the economic concerns of the Old West, ranging from prospecting to traveling entertainment. The prospector (Tom Waits) of "All Gold Canyon" ravages the wilderness where there's "no sign of man nor the handiwork of man" to find a few nuggets to sell, while a traveling showman (Liam Neeson) makes a brutal decision when his star thespian orator (Harry Melling) stops attracting crowds in "Meal Ticket."
Yet money, just like politics (I'm positive that "Meal Ticket" is a metaphor for where we're at in 2018), is secondary to the core thrust of Buster Scruggs. Through all six stories, two motifs dominate: death and chance. Thematic strangers to the Coen Brothers, these are not. But in the short film format, both the sheer randomness of the violence and the consequences for each character are amplified. In the Old West, you're fated to succeed or you're destined to die trying. But that leaves other questions. Why does the prospector survive being shot in the back? Why does poor Alice Longabaugh (Zoe Kazan) meet her end in the most devastating way possible? Why does the outlaw (James Franco) in "Algodones" survive one hanging only to die minutes later? I dunno. And I doubt the Coens do either. Even in the case of those who survive, it's not impossible to imagine a brutal demise just around the corner.
The frequent visits from the angel of death will likely lead you to believe that this is somehow a sad or depressing picture. Then again, this is the Coen Brothers we're talking about. Random bursts of violence and dark humor are their bread and butter, and Buster Scruggs continues a hot streak of devilishly entertaining pictures, told with the sort of bravado and skill that only master storytellers can sustain. And after the disconnected pleasures of Hollywood pastiche Hail, Caesar!, it's almost obvious that they would opt to make an anthology movie; you can get away with so many wonderful touches when you're working with six small stories instead of one big tale.
You're also able to include an infinite number of top-notch performances. If you asked me to pick the best in show here, it would be a Sophie's choice for the ages. Tim Blake Nelson is the obvious standout as the eponymous outlaw, a singin' cowboy with a quick draw, a great voice, and an enormous ego. Nelson chews the scenery so intensely that nobody in the film can compare; try not to smile as he leads a saloon in song after blowing a man's head off (which is, in and of itself, an all-timer of a visual gag).
But gun-slinging cowboys are only part of the equation- as one would expect, there is more subtle work to be found. I adore "Meal Ticket," and I love the mostly silent work done by Liam Neeson and Harry Melling. When he's not reciting Shelley and Lincoln, the latter especially does so much with just his eyes, conveying everything from contentment to resignation. In what's arguably the most difficult segment, Zoe Kazan is just wonderful- and heartbreaking- as the smartest one (and the only woman) in a weird, lawless world. And of course, Tom Waits pretty much carries "All Gold Canyon" all by his lonesome in what amounts to a note-perfect portrayal of resilience and desperation- and maybe a bit of insanity.
From a technical perspective, are you surprised that the Coen Brothers made another gorgeous movie? I particulary love the score from Carter Burwell, who delivers some of his strongest work in this collaboration with the Coens. Much like the visual and tonal elements of the film, Burwell's music changes drastically with the mood of the entire piece, encapsulating the atmosphere as it swings from classical whimsy to mournful tragedy. With its rich illustrations and leather-bound book framing device, there's something rustic and perfectly old-fashioned about the whole endeavor. The bodies are piling up, but there are clever moments and warm human touches to be found amidst the madness.
As an overall experience, Buster Scruggs is feverishly fun from start to finish, even if some stories produce stronger results than others. But on a deeper level, I think the film is attempting to reckon with its own violence through a yearning for some greater meaning. In deeply self-aware fashion, we as viewers are frequently put in the same situations as the characters. Through the collision of chance and fate, we're left to decipher the link between seemingly disconnected events, finding meaning and purpose in the randomness. We're convinced there has to be one. Even I was adamant in my opening paragraph. But what if we're wrong?
In practice, this isn't all that different from where many of our characters stand. Which brings us back to the opening quote of this review, a rhetorical inquisition from the first segment about the possibility of the great beyond; heaven, hell, or somewhere in between. I'm not sure every story in the film is this intensely rooted in spiritual thinking, but it's jarring enough to take notice. As Buster Scruggs flies off to cowboy heaven, he quits the dopey murderer shtick and starts ruminating on what lies ahead. If there isn't something on the other side, what's the point of all this? What are all the songs for- or the stories?
It's fitting then that we end with "The Mortal Remains," since we basically see two stand-ins for the Coen Bros. in the form of Jonjo O'Neill and Brendan Gleeson's bounty hunters. Having just collected their latest victim, they sit and watch as three other passengers negotiate the nature of humanity: the Frenchman (Saul Rubinek) believes there are lucky and unlucky people, the woman (Tyne Daly) prefers the categories of sinners and true believers, and the trapper (Chelcie Ross), well, he thinks people are like ferrets. The bounty hunters are silent throughout these rambling exchanges, viewing this sideshow with a raised eyebrow and a sly smile.
When the chattering is done, O'Neill's character changes the tone, discussing how he sees people try to make sense of their lives as they pass from this world to the next. They ramble, they negotiate, they question- much like our characters have been doing for several minutes. Much like we've been doing for the past two hours. We've been witnessing stories of people on a road to death; but are we with the Coens or are we identifying with these helpless characters?
Perplexed by the man's description of this search for understanding and purpose, the woman asks:
"And do they succeed?"
Without missing a beat, the bounty hunter responds:
"How would I know? I'm only watching."
THE FINAL GRADE: A (9.3/10)
Images courtesy of Netflix
"If there weren't, what are all the songs about?"
As Joel and Ethan Coen's first anthology film, The Ballad of Buster Scruggs presents a unique challenge for any critic trying to tackle a cohesive analysis of these six stories. Should each individual installment be assessed on its own terms? Some (if not all) of these parables stand well on their own, and it may be a disservice to such spectacular short films to simply search for connective tissue to the greater anthology. At the same time, didn't the Coens put these stories together for a reason? There has to be- no, there is- some greater purpose to this collection of Western fables than whatever each individual chapter entails.
The six chapters- "The Ballad of Buster Scruggs," "Near Algodones," "Meal Ticket," "All Gold Canyon," "The Gal Who Got Rattled," and "The Mortal Remains"- naturally feature their own thematic underpinnings and aesthetic approaches, despite fitting snugly within the confines of this bigger story. The first two segments are a meditation on the Western mythology of the outlaw, subverting and twisting it like only the Coen Brothers can; "Buster Scruggs" is brazenly comedic in its sing-songy pleasures, while the deadpan humor of "Algodones" makes even the briefest chapter distinctly memorable. "Meal Ticket" is the most overtly metaphorical work, though everyone will disagree on what it actually means. "Canyon" feels complete and satisfying in a special way, "Gal Who Got Rattled" veers brilliantly from heartfelt to tragic, and "Mortal Remains" ends it all on a wicked, frightening note.
If you wanted to pick one of these stories out of a hat and watch it without touching the rest of the anthology, you certainly could. But when viewed in quick succession of one another, the individual segments of The Ballad of Buster Scruggs are deeply connected in a way that transcends mere visual and genre-based similarities. Of course, there are plenty of thematic strands that can be tracked across a number of the tales, falling short of qualifying as overarching themes. On some implicit level, the middle chunk of the film is about the economic concerns of the Old West, ranging from prospecting to traveling entertainment. The prospector (Tom Waits) of "All Gold Canyon" ravages the wilderness where there's "no sign of man nor the handiwork of man" to find a few nuggets to sell, while a traveling showman (Liam Neeson) makes a brutal decision when his star thespian orator (Harry Melling) stops attracting crowds in "Meal Ticket."
Yet money, just like politics (I'm positive that "Meal Ticket" is a metaphor for where we're at in 2018), is secondary to the core thrust of Buster Scruggs. Through all six stories, two motifs dominate: death and chance. Thematic strangers to the Coen Brothers, these are not. But in the short film format, both the sheer randomness of the violence and the consequences for each character are amplified. In the Old West, you're fated to succeed or you're destined to die trying. But that leaves other questions. Why does the prospector survive being shot in the back? Why does poor Alice Longabaugh (Zoe Kazan) meet her end in the most devastating way possible? Why does the outlaw (James Franco) in "Algodones" survive one hanging only to die minutes later? I dunno. And I doubt the Coens do either. Even in the case of those who survive, it's not impossible to imagine a brutal demise just around the corner.
The frequent visits from the angel of death will likely lead you to believe that this is somehow a sad or depressing picture. Then again, this is the Coen Brothers we're talking about. Random bursts of violence and dark humor are their bread and butter, and Buster Scruggs continues a hot streak of devilishly entertaining pictures, told with the sort of bravado and skill that only master storytellers can sustain. And after the disconnected pleasures of Hollywood pastiche Hail, Caesar!, it's almost obvious that they would opt to make an anthology movie; you can get away with so many wonderful touches when you're working with six small stories instead of one big tale.
You're also able to include an infinite number of top-notch performances. If you asked me to pick the best in show here, it would be a Sophie's choice for the ages. Tim Blake Nelson is the obvious standout as the eponymous outlaw, a singin' cowboy with a quick draw, a great voice, and an enormous ego. Nelson chews the scenery so intensely that nobody in the film can compare; try not to smile as he leads a saloon in song after blowing a man's head off (which is, in and of itself, an all-timer of a visual gag).
But gun-slinging cowboys are only part of the equation- as one would expect, there is more subtle work to be found. I adore "Meal Ticket," and I love the mostly silent work done by Liam Neeson and Harry Melling. When he's not reciting Shelley and Lincoln, the latter especially does so much with just his eyes, conveying everything from contentment to resignation. In what's arguably the most difficult segment, Zoe Kazan is just wonderful- and heartbreaking- as the smartest one (and the only woman) in a weird, lawless world. And of course, Tom Waits pretty much carries "All Gold Canyon" all by his lonesome in what amounts to a note-perfect portrayal of resilience and desperation- and maybe a bit of insanity.
From a technical perspective, are you surprised that the Coen Brothers made another gorgeous movie? I particulary love the score from Carter Burwell, who delivers some of his strongest work in this collaboration with the Coens. Much like the visual and tonal elements of the film, Burwell's music changes drastically with the mood of the entire piece, encapsulating the atmosphere as it swings from classical whimsy to mournful tragedy. With its rich illustrations and leather-bound book framing device, there's something rustic and perfectly old-fashioned about the whole endeavor. The bodies are piling up, but there are clever moments and warm human touches to be found amidst the madness.
As an overall experience, Buster Scruggs is feverishly fun from start to finish, even if some stories produce stronger results than others. But on a deeper level, I think the film is attempting to reckon with its own violence through a yearning for some greater meaning. In deeply self-aware fashion, we as viewers are frequently put in the same situations as the characters. Through the collision of chance and fate, we're left to decipher the link between seemingly disconnected events, finding meaning and purpose in the randomness. We're convinced there has to be one. Even I was adamant in my opening paragraph. But what if we're wrong?
In practice, this isn't all that different from where many of our characters stand. Which brings us back to the opening quote of this review, a rhetorical inquisition from the first segment about the possibility of the great beyond; heaven, hell, or somewhere in between. I'm not sure every story in the film is this intensely rooted in spiritual thinking, but it's jarring enough to take notice. As Buster Scruggs flies off to cowboy heaven, he quits the dopey murderer shtick and starts ruminating on what lies ahead. If there isn't something on the other side, what's the point of all this? What are all the songs for- or the stories?
It's fitting then that we end with "The Mortal Remains," since we basically see two stand-ins for the Coen Bros. in the form of Jonjo O'Neill and Brendan Gleeson's bounty hunters. Having just collected their latest victim, they sit and watch as three other passengers negotiate the nature of humanity: the Frenchman (Saul Rubinek) believes there are lucky and unlucky people, the woman (Tyne Daly) prefers the categories of sinners and true believers, and the trapper (Chelcie Ross), well, he thinks people are like ferrets. The bounty hunters are silent throughout these rambling exchanges, viewing this sideshow with a raised eyebrow and a sly smile.
When the chattering is done, O'Neill's character changes the tone, discussing how he sees people try to make sense of their lives as they pass from this world to the next. They ramble, they negotiate, they question- much like our characters have been doing for several minutes. Much like we've been doing for the past two hours. We've been witnessing stories of people on a road to death; but are we with the Coens or are we identifying with these helpless characters?
Perplexed by the man's description of this search for understanding and purpose, the woman asks:
"And do they succeed?"
Without missing a beat, the bounty hunter responds:
"How would I know? I'm only watching."
THE FINAL GRADE: A (9.3/10)
Images courtesy of Netflix
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