Burn After Reading

Copyright 2008, Focus Features

Oh, Joel and Ethan Coen. Oh, you crazy men. I wish I had the same amount of power they do. They don't make movies that make 100 million dollars, but they get respect and praise. They get big stars, they get small actors. They get Oscars. Moreover, they get the opportunity to do whatever the fuck they want. You want a follow-up to Fargo, one of the best films of the 1990s? How about a stoner comedy set during the Gulf War? You want a follow-up to No Country For Old Men, one of the best films of this decade? How about a CIA satire, in that all of the people in the movie are blithering idiots?

I saw Burn After Reading when it came out and again recently, and I'm glad I did. No, I didn't change my mind too much in terms of where I stand on the film, but I'd been hearing some people say that, like 1998's The Big Lebowski, here is a movie that is being misunderstood. No one loved the 1998 film when it came out, true, and it's certainly become a stronger film, hitting cult status (and it is a very funny movie, too). So why can't Burn After Reading be this decade's Big Lebowski? Well, for one, it's not nearly as visually appealing or interesting, or as funny, or as well-acted.

To be fair, this movie isn't meant to have anywhere close to the same visual appeal of the Jeff Bridges comedy. The cinematography by Emmanuel Lubezki is flat and colorless, uninterested in pushing us anywhere near visual nirvana with the blues and grays of Washington, D.C. However, the lack of funny and strong performances can't be forgiven. The picture above is from right after the best scene in the movie, featuring Brad Pitt and John Malkovich in a car, shouting at each other. Frankly, all of the scenes with Malkovich are great, and Pitt's no slouch. With the exception of one truly outrageous (if only because it's unexpected) joke halfway through the movie and the random cameo of Dermot Mulroney (not Mulrooney), Burn After Reading is the slightest film the Coens have ever done.

The plot is complicated and simple at the same time: Malkovich's Osborne Cox is a recently fired CIA analyst writing an autobiography he believes will unearth shocking secrets. The bio is put on a CD found by Pitt's Chad and Frances McDormand's Linda Litzke, two idiot trainers at a local gym. They mistakenly presume the CD is worth lots of dough and try to scam the Russian embassy. Meanwhile, George Clooney's Harry Pfarrer is a philandering Treasury Department employee who sleeps with Cox's wife, Tilda Swinton, and Litzke, while falling under the spell of hopeless paranoia. Wackiness should ensue.

It's too bad, then, that the wackiness is forced. Clooney and McDormand have the hardest go of it, acting crazy even when they don't need to. They'll do better soon, but it's hard to watch them cavort around the screen without actually doing anything worth laughing about. Again, Pitt and Malkovich, both crazy but able to tone it down when necessary, are the best in the bunch, though Richard Jenkins and J.K. Simmons, as the two sanest people in the movie, come close.

The Coens have more great films in them, I know this much. I also know that they'll make more movies like Burn After Reading, movies that won't be remembered by many, and justly so. The way I see it: if they have to make movies like this to get to the greats, give these two as much money as they like. Having one great film per decade (and the Coens have a better track record than that) is a good enough batting average for me.

Two stars out of four