Regal Theatre gave us 14 points yesterday for seeing the Coen Brothers’ latest movie, A Serious Man. I think we deserved more.
Dearly Beloved loves the Coen Brothers. The Big Lebowski? A cult hero to the guys in our family who dudespeak with ease. DB, son, and sons-in-law know–and quote by heart–most of the lines and have given each other Lebowski t-shirts. One has even gone to Big Lebowski conventions for several years. (Yes, they’re real and yes, ”Uncle Dude” attends.)
I would rather pluck nose hairs than watch that movie again.
It isn’t that Coen movies are BAD, it’s that even the funny ones are painful to watch! Just looking at the characters can depress me. They’re too familiar to be funny– people I avoid because I know I’d become a babbling buffoon just trying to get a conversation going. Mending socks would be more stimulating.
So many bad accents…so many stiff hairdos…so much plaid! Just watch the movie trailer!
After the first 20 minutes or so of this one, I tried to send DB to the restaurant next door for a bottle of wine and a straw. Another 20 and I was crawling down the aisle, begging strangers to lend me a pocketknife so I could slit my wrists.
After DB pulled me out from under the seat where I was attempting paper cuts on myself with the popcorn bag, he whispered that he’d make it up to me. In the meantime, he kept grinning at the movie.
I WISHED for someone’s cellphone to ring.
I pulled my sweater up over my eyes. It was a v-neck.
Eventually, having to concentrate on keeping my eyes from crossing or rolling back in my head offered some distraction.
I watched the last half in a fetal position in the aisle, beating my head against the wall.
The story, in case you haven’t heard, loosely retells the story of Job, 50′s America style. JOB, for goodness’ sakes! Think cursed Jewish physics teacher with sullen, bratty teenagers, morose Uncle with sebaceous cyst, and unloving wife with cement hairdo. Happy talk, huh? The Coens did an outstanding job of sharing the pain with their audiences.
The women in the audience had a reaction similar to mine and totally different from the men’s. At least I didn’t talk back to the screen like some of them did. No!!!… Yes, she did!…Don’t do it!…Oh gawd, no… !
In Lebowski-speak, the dudettes were not abiding. I could feel the vibes of at least 20 women wanting to cause bodily harm. One woman was beating her husband with a hairbrush. Several were bleeding from the eyes.
DB gave it a B. He may have rated it even higher if he had not had to keep taking sharp objects away from me. The NYTimes gave it a noteworthy review and said, “You don’t have to be Jewish to like this movie, but it will hurt more if you are.”
Really? It hurt plenty. Maybe I should give lox and bagels another try.
