A desk clerk emerges from an elevator, having ascended we assume from the depths of the underworld. A bellhop slowly mutters the words 6......6........6 as the elevator ascends into the abysmal madness of his apartment floor. A man with a machine gun screams at the top of his lungs, lunging down a hallway that is engulfed in flames. Needless to say, the Coens' view of hollywood is...well...not good.
Barton Fink is a character study, a satire, a David Lynch homage, a drama, a mystery, a black comedy, a horror film, a thriller, and (this one makes the most sense) a Coen brothers' movie. The Coens' cleverly imagined script centers around the title character, a left-wing playright (an amazing performance by John Turturro) who decides to sell out to "the pictures" in La La land. Once he moves to LA however, the pressure from the most cynical and greedy hollywood exec. known to man, the constant badgering of his spooky (and always sweaty) neighbor (John Goodman), and a murder mix-up gone wrong, all help fuel Barton's insurmountable writer's block.
The Coens' have made a living going against the system. They are arguably some of the most successful independent filmmakers in history having wirtten, produced, directed, and edited the bulk of their films without the influence of Hollywood. Their own synical and snyde view of tinseltown is comically scripted and sharply realized. Their clear knack for period pieces gracefully accent the whole movie. According to the trailer, Barton Fink was the first film to sweep all of the major awards at Cannes. While there are many great 'Coenesque" scenes in the film i.e. Barton's first encounter with Goodman's character, any of the farcical meetings with Barton and his hollywood boss, waking up to find himself sleeping next to a murdered 'dame', the film is not necessarily high on substance. What it does invoke is a mood, an ambiance if you will, that I found to be more actualized than any of the Coens' work. It's a mood that lends itself to brilliant acting, the ryhtmic timing of the Coens' dialouge, Roger Deakins' hypnotic cinemtagrophy that makes you geniuinely creeped out by Barton's apartment complex of who the lone arbitors seem to be merely Barton and his neighbor. The closest comparison I could make to a director of the same style would be David Lynch. Watch this film after you see David Lynch's Mullohaland Drive, or Eraserhead and you will know what I'm talking about.
4/5
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