BURN AFTER READING: FILM REVIEW

During the ending credits of “Burn After Reading” I first came to the conclusion that I liked the film, secondly the realization that I was the only one in the theater that did, and thirdly that my instinctual response was the incorrect one between us.

To say I am a judgmental and critical person is to put it lightly- my opinions about art and culture, film especially, are more psychologically akin to religious zealotry than what most people would consider your every day “opinion”. My extremist opinions about film make me sound pretentious, which I undoubtedly am, but hopefully the sin of my fanaticism will be forgiven since like a horrible disease it is outside of my control (I relate to Kafka’s obsessive diary entries detailing an elaborate fantasy death of what he considered his insufferable brain and above all else- the imagination- YUP, pretentious). I usually wouldn’t talk about myself so much in a film review, but since it’s my first review and no one will probably read it I’ll give myself that allowance (It's good to give yourself treats once in a while, try rollo bars, theyre delicious!)

But back to the new Coen Brothers film- the fact that it IS the new Coen brothers film, fresh after the most universally acclaimed Coen film to date (No Country for Old Men) is extremely important to note when viewing the film. In many ways, the film is a carefully designed backlash film in response to the Coen’s recent success, which is actually a predictable move for the notoriously perverse filmmakers. The tone of Burn After Reading follows in the footsteps of Artaud’s Theater of Cruelty or the recent group of European film directors who take delight in “punishing” the audience (Lars Von Trier, Michael Haneke, etc). Burn After Reading is therefore created to be instantly disliked by the majority of critics and audience members who perhaps don’t take intellectual and emotional flagellation as kindly as I do. But it’s my guess that although most people will have a visceral reaction of disgust and confusion when watching this film, to their annoyance, the images of this film will haunt them: Frances Mcdormand walking down the green mile of possible madmen or lovers in a Washington park, or most potently Brad Pitt’s demonically idiotic smile right before he is shot through the forehead while hiding in George Clooney’s closet. Personally, a work of art only really intrigues me when I leave it not fully understanding what I just saw. While the clear lesson of “Burn” is to accept that you won’t understand much of what happened during the movie, giving up entirely on understanding the film is just another easy way out. The Coens are naturally mischevious filmmakers who never provide any easy answers, but perhaps what is most notable about this particular work is that it’s their most openly malicious towards the audience. If this is a good or bad artistic move on their part is a matter of taste, but it is clearly a natural move for such a pair of remarkable trickster artists. In conclusion, I recommend you to see this film and then hate it.