The latest film from the Coen brothers is a comedy set during the ‘golden age’ of Hollywood and in some respects it is utterly delicious. George Clooney wears what is effectively a leather miniskirt throughout, which may not be ‘age-appropriate’, as they say, but is wholly pleasing. (I was personally delighted, I must confess.) And Ralph Fiennes finally nails it comedically, which is a relief, as it’s been just so painful watching him try down the years. But the film is also troublesome, just as so many of the Coen films are troublesome. Why? Why this film, and what do they want us to take from it? Is it as inessential as it seems? The Coens always take you on a ride, you’re just never sure if you’re also being taken for a ride. That’s why I’m suspicious, every time.
Set in 1951, and fruitily narrated by Michael Gambon, for some reason (the narration, not Gambon, whose fruitiness is beyond question), the action follows the stress-filled life of Eddie Mannix (Josh Brolin), the fixer at Capitol Studios. Mannix has his work cut out as it’s not like today, where Kate Winslet goes to the shops, or burps, and we all know about it. (If she burps while going to the shops that’s a full page in Heat, right there.) This was back at a time when movie stars had to be kept whiter than white in the general public’s mind while maintaining their mystique. There was, apparently, a real Mannix, who worked for MGM, who sounds like a total thug, but the Coens have chosen to make our Mannix a decent man: a good Catholic who is sensible, wise, cool-headed and paternal as he strides from film set to film set, putting out a fire here, putting out a fire there, and the fires do abound.
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