There is a shot in the opening prologue-scene in A Serious Man where a husband and wife in 19th century Poland, while debating the origin of a visitor to their home, stand next to each other and look through the camera, out into the audience. It is an interesting perspective, as the two of them stand side-to-side and represent polar opposites of a a disagreement. The wife is convinced that their visitor is a "dybbuk", a malicious possessing spirit, believed in the Jewish faith to be the dislocated soul of a dead person. The husband is sure the visitor is merely an old man who is need of some warmth and soup. The end of the scene provides no definitive answer to the dispute. The tale is allegorical, meant to show that the mere perception of impending evil can in itself create a kind of curse. Or, perhaps, it shows that Larry Gopnik (Michael Stuhlbarg), a modern-day descendant of the couple and "hero" of A Serious Man, was cursed long ago by a demon. The perspective of the film has been set to be viewed in two disparate ways. The couple stares out at the audience and we are left to choose.
The Coen Brothers pick up with Larry and his family in 1967. Larry is a physics professor who is married, with two young children: whiny adolescent daughter Sarah (Jessica McManus) and her younger brother Danny (Aaron Wolff), who is about to celebrate his bar mitzvah, the Jewish ritual of transition to manhood for 13-year-old boys of the faith. From the beginning of our acquaintance with Larry, it's clear that he does not have a solid command of his domain. His wife, Judith (Sari Lennick) has taken up with another man, his son seems only to care whether F-Troop will come in clearly on their television, his neighbor is intimidating, and he is a victim of an attempted bribe by a student who is looking for a better grade. His brother Arthur has come to live with the family in their drab suburban home, and he spends much of his time in the bathroom, draining a persistent sebacious cyst. Judith asks Larry for a divorce.
This is Coen Brothers country, and as usual it is populated by ugly, desperate people. Larry attempts to make sense of his world and control it as best he can, but finds himself floundering amid the forces of an oppressive community and the various twists and turns of a dull existence. Larry is dumbfounded by the confluence of negative events that come his way all at once, and is completely incapable of extricating himself from the jaws of the monster that is slowly devouring him and his sense of fairness and nobility. He attempts to seek the advice of several rabbis. He smokes a little weed. He tries to do what's right.
The film is an excruciating discovery of the helplessness of a man who simply is not equipped to surmount his many perils. Larry Gopnik is the anti-Odysseus, as he stays in one place and repeatedly fails God's trials, never finding his way to the home he imagines with a loving wife and children. With fairness. With hope. With triumph.
The Coen Brothers have crafted another eviscerating examination of humanity, this time via the prism of the Jewish religion and community. It's not hard to imagine that they themselves likely grew up in a similar world as the one the viewer sees on the screen. Or, perhaps, it is merely their perception that makes the world look as stark and bleak as it is for the fictional Larry Gopnik. Either way, if the view and presentation of the Coen Brothers can be trusted and perhaps they have earned that by now then their unflinching willingness to show Jewish stereotypes that they are clearly well-acquainted with is in itself shocking.
The most gorgeously grotesque scene in the film takes place at young Danny's Bar Mitzvah ceremony. He has gotten high in the bathroom with his buddies and must then walk to the stage, stand at the bema (altar), and perform his end of the ritual davening (singing prayer) for all the members of the congregation. As riveting and convoluted as any scene the Coen Brothers have ever crafted, this scene allows the audience to see through the eyes of a freaked-out young man as he peers at all the attendees in the Temple. Some are bored. Some are happy. Some are scared. They all are the denizens of Danny's fears and nightmares. There is levity, terror, ugliness. There is comedy.
Near the end of the film, Larry's brother Arthur (the sublime Richard Kind) tells Larry that Larry has received great gifts from God, while Arthur has received no such gifts for himself. From Arthur's point-of-view, that may be true. From the audience's point-of-view, things don't look great for either of them. Larry is perhaps even worse off than Arthur (who is also having legal trouble stemming from his sexual appetites), but Larry seems utterly incapable of turning his ship away from the coming storm. He is too afraid of changing course. This fear has festered and enveloped him, and by the end of the film, Larry has no choice. No way out. He is ultimately a victim of the defenses that he and his community have erected. He is his own hostage.
If you know the work of the Coen Brothers, you know none of these themes represent new ground for them. But in what is perhaps their most introspective and controversial film to date, they have afforded us all a unique perspective. Go to the doctor. Kiss your children. Receive tenure. Keep your chin up. Life is beautiful.
The Coen Brothers pick up with Larry and his family in 1967. Larry is a physics professor who is married, with two young children: whiny adolescent daughter Sarah (Jessica McManus) and her younger brother Danny (Aaron Wolff), who is about to celebrate his bar mitzvah, the Jewish ritual of transition to manhood for 13-year-old boys of the faith. From the beginning of our acquaintance with Larry, it's clear that he does not have a solid command of his domain. His wife, Judith (Sari Lennick) has taken up with another man, his son seems only to care whether F-Troop will come in clearly on their television, his neighbor is intimidating, and he is a victim of an attempted bribe by a student who is looking for a better grade. His brother Arthur has come to live with the family in their drab suburban home, and he spends much of his time in the bathroom, draining a persistent sebacious cyst. Judith asks Larry for a divorce.
This is Coen Brothers country, and as usual it is populated by ugly, desperate people. Larry attempts to make sense of his world and control it as best he can, but finds himself floundering amid the forces of an oppressive community and the various twists and turns of a dull existence. Larry is dumbfounded by the confluence of negative events that come his way all at once, and is completely incapable of extricating himself from the jaws of the monster that is slowly devouring him and his sense of fairness and nobility. He attempts to seek the advice of several rabbis. He smokes a little weed. He tries to do what's right.
The film is an excruciating discovery of the helplessness of a man who simply is not equipped to surmount his many perils. Larry Gopnik is the anti-Odysseus, as he stays in one place and repeatedly fails God's trials, never finding his way to the home he imagines with a loving wife and children. With fairness. With hope. With triumph.
The Coen Brothers have crafted another eviscerating examination of humanity, this time via the prism of the Jewish religion and community. It's not hard to imagine that they themselves likely grew up in a similar world as the one the viewer sees on the screen. Or, perhaps, it is merely their perception that makes the world look as stark and bleak as it is for the fictional Larry Gopnik. Either way, if the view and presentation of the Coen Brothers can be trusted and perhaps they have earned that by now then their unflinching willingness to show Jewish stereotypes that they are clearly well-acquainted with is in itself shocking.
The most gorgeously grotesque scene in the film takes place at young Danny's Bar Mitzvah ceremony. He has gotten high in the bathroom with his buddies and must then walk to the stage, stand at the bema (altar), and perform his end of the ritual davening (singing prayer) for all the members of the congregation. As riveting and convoluted as any scene the Coen Brothers have ever crafted, this scene allows the audience to see through the eyes of a freaked-out young man as he peers at all the attendees in the Temple. Some are bored. Some are happy. Some are scared. They all are the denizens of Danny's fears and nightmares. There is levity, terror, ugliness. There is comedy.
Near the end of the film, Larry's brother Arthur (the sublime Richard Kind) tells Larry that Larry has received great gifts from God, while Arthur has received no such gifts for himself. From Arthur's point-of-view, that may be true. From the audience's point-of-view, things don't look great for either of them. Larry is perhaps even worse off than Arthur (who is also having legal trouble stemming from his sexual appetites), but Larry seems utterly incapable of turning his ship away from the coming storm. He is too afraid of changing course. This fear has festered and enveloped him, and by the end of the film, Larry has no choice. No way out. He is ultimately a victim of the defenses that he and his community have erected. He is his own hostage.
If you know the work of the Coen Brothers, you know none of these themes represent new ground for them. But in what is perhaps their most introspective and controversial film to date, they have afforded us all a unique perspective. Go to the doctor. Kiss your children. Receive tenure. Keep your chin up. Life is beautiful.