OH BROTHER, WHERE ART THOU' review

OH BROTHER, WHERE ART THOU?

I awoke at the asscrack of dawn to spend time with this movie… 10,800 seconds of rest was needed before laying siege to the Metropolitan with my fellow peekers.

This ITN Documentary crew greets me as I step out of my front door. I’ve spent about 7 days with them already… Everytime I step out the front door… they are there… Sometimes I awake, and they are there. It is as if my life has become like that of Truman’s… only with the cameras out in the open. The lovely cyclops pops into the back seat to monitor Father Geek and I as we drive to the furthest reaches of our asphalt tree branch. The whole time.. my eyes are shut… feeling the ever present eye of the unblinking solo cornea baring DV gal…

What magic does she gain? Me telling Dad, "Slow down. Hurry Up. No, the highway is faster. Watch it." And the classic, "Are we there yet Daddy?"

Oh yes, she got her score of tape’s worth.

Upon arrival to the theater, Dad and I are officially tired of the Cyclops… Who agreed to this? Why on earth anyone would ever willingly be subjected to this unblinking staring contest is utterly beyond me… and neither Father or I can remember ever giving it our blessing.

Soon the other critics arrive from about central Texas. We decide to dive into their ranks… Try to hide amongst the branches of the forest. It’s a fox hunt, but we evade well, and soon the hounds are a good length away. I take off the wire they had me wearing, return it to them, and say… "Not during the movie."

We herd into the theater… I had called an extensive gaggle of folk to help capture the memory of this film, so we all huddled together.

The film begins and… Ahhhhh….

Roger Deacons and the Coen Brothers are the most luscious duet to waltz across multiplex screens since… gosh, since Multiplexes have existed.

Their use of color, specifically yellow and the blacks and whites of the world seem to create an astoundingly sepiatone canvas with richer tones than any I have seen on screen before.

Each shot blissful, the tone of the film?

It is a SCREWBALL COMEDY about the retelling of the fantastical story by Homer as told through the fine down home biscuits and gravy, greasy plate of early country swing and the exploits of a trio of befuddled escapees from the clutches of the evil law enforcement crews of this sovereign state.

George Clooney will never ever be this cool again. It is literally hopeless for him now. As I quite sincerely doubt he will ever come across dialogue or a pair of mad chucklers to direct his intonations in quite the manic joy as he has been conducted to deliver here. He is a smooth talking pontificator of testicular guessitude and bullshititis. The leader of fools and the stumbling Barnum of fortunes yet to be had. There is always a bag of gold, a can of pomade and a pie upon a window sill on the other side of the ridge. And, he is right in that effect, but you have to wonder if the journey to that can of pomade was really worth it.

His pardners, are the goofiest types you ever would come across… John Turturro is an absolute wonder. Imagine Nicholson after the electroshock in ONE FLEW OVER THE CUCKOO’S NEST, now pop him up on sugar and beans and give him a tongue to waggle… and you’ve just about got this fella to a T. He’s ignorant bumpkin, misplaced family loyalties, drooling slobberer at the mere thought of a lovely lass or a score of loot… He is the would be Fletcher Christian of this ignorant lot.

Next up is that other guy… as I am sitting in an airport terminal awaiting my escape to the land down under, and I’m watching the taxi-ing of the death chariots embarking on their leaps into the ether… I am without benefits of the wondrous, IMDB.COM which would surely allow me the knowledge of the name of this heartfelt Bert Lahr of the crew. He ain’t never had the pleasures of a woman, on account of his rugged re-aquirement of the family farm, what has been stolen from he and his family by the dastardly bastards of his home savings and loan… The foul foreclosurers of dreams and rightful property to boot. His fortune is to be the spit in the eye of these bastards when he buys back what is rightfully his.

Together, this trio forms what I can only say is the most delightful trio I’ve seen this year, with the possible exception of the magic of Diaz’s swirling ass… but then the dialogue was lacking there, but then again… the poetry was in the motion of clefted clothed fleshy knoll.

As is always the case in the land of the Coens, you will find many characters that delight and thrill… OH BROTHER, WHERE ART THOU? Is no different. But for them, you will have to commence your own march to the theater of discovery. Going to watch the Coens at play upon the screen is often times like attending the most delightful and whimsical lesson of cinema itself. The construction of the shots, characters, scenes and the whole… a blissful work of pointillism in emulsion.

Now we have only a year till the next one… a black and white film noir about a tough as nails barber, what don’t take the doo from nobody. Till then they have me again.