The typically inscrutable Coen brothers give us this shaggy dog tale in which the cat wags the tail, little is revealed, and Homer via the Old Testament reigns supreme. Cue the Coen views of heavy deities and wry dry humor.
The content and composition of this story are at curiously wry odds. Although the title suggests we will comprehend the inner workings of said Llewyn Davis, provided insights are peripheral and momentary. It's like Groundhog Day with Homer in charge, many deities behind desks, and portents of gloom.
Sepia tones and winter light inform the journeys depicted over several days in pre-feminist, pre-AIDS, pre Vietnam conflict protests in 1961 NYC. Our hero is quite short of heroic, and nears Job in his troubles, mostly self inflicted. Poor choices by our protaganist abound.
Production design and cinematography are as usual superb. T.Bone Burnett oversees the music with reliable skill.
There are quietly humorous moments: John Goodman as an obese jazz musician with extra chins and a deplorable hair piece gives a deliciously distracting rant. Llewyn's manager and his manager's short elderly secretary have an amusing interchange worthy of Woody Allen. F.Murray Abraham plays folk music impressario Bud Grossman with grave still seriousness. We wait for Dylan to appear on the scene, and he does, briefly, in background visuals and sound. The future obviously does not include Llewyn Davis.
Whatever the pointlessness points to eludes me. Although I left the film dissatisfied, various details and scenes continued to unfurl in my brain.
The cat was very well played.
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