Studying at a university in Rome, my brother took an American History course in which the Italian professor firmly believed in a metaphor of his own invention: that the 1960s were a train conducted by Bob Dylan, forever changing the course of the twentieth century.
While I’m inclined for reasons of humor and musical taste to agree with him, and reasons of academic integrity to deny that I do, one takeaway from this anecdote is that Bob Dylan is and was a devastating worldwide cultural force. Richard Brody explicates this point in his elegant New Yorker analysis of Joel and Ethan Coen’s film Inside Llewyn Davis, which has been effectively shut out of the 2014 Academy Awards.
Speaking of devastating worldwide cultural forces, Best Picture contender 12 Years A Slave is one. But let’s stick with Llewyn and Bob Dylan for a bit.
Last week, The Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences surprised several critics who adored Inside Llewyn Davis. The film about a sad-sack folk singer, played by Oscar Isaac, did receive two nominations, one for sound mixing and another for cinematography.
Inside Llewyn Davis is a quietly brilliant film about the intricate nuances of being a not-quite-brilliant artist. Dylan is not a character in the film, but a looming stormcloud. The film follows Llewyn aimlessly over a short period of time in 1961 as he fails and fails again to try to make it as an utterly unmarketable solo folk act. He crashes on Greenwich Village couches; goes to Chicago for a day; loses a cat; and maybe has to join the Merchant Marine. Every so often, he takes out his guitar and sings a soulful, simple rendition of a song about death or saying goodbye. Reduced to these details, the film is as drab and muted as the neutral colors it was shot in. However, the Coens, who have repeatedly proven themselves great, are at their best with Llewyn – it is darkly funny, finely acted, musically precise, and not lacking in references to James Joyce and obscure Motown ditties. It is stocked with expertly cast appearances from the likes of F. Murray Abraham, Justin Timberlake, Carey Mulligan, and the men of Girls. It is an immensely satisfying work of art that will stay with you days and weeks after seeing it, and that’s presuming you didn’t buy the album — which you absolutely should.
Inside Llewyn Davis won the Grand Prix at Cannes and was nominated for a Best-Picture Golden Globe. Who knows why the Academy didn’t find it good enough to nominate. In some ways, it is a film that begs to be disliked, but I am surprised Hollywood took this bait. Somehow, I don’t see the Coens crying about the snub. At the level of creation they have achieved, criticism, even from such grandiose authorities as the Academy, is just noise that ebbs and flows in volume. Compared to Llewyn, who must (*spoiler alert*) accede his dreams to history as the train driven by Bob Dylan comes to re-wreck his trainwreck of a life, the Coens have it pretty good. They have already won the Oscars for Best Picture (No Country for Old Men) and Best Score (O Brother, Where Art Thou?), as well as Best Director (No Country again) and Best Original Screenplay (Fargo). They’ve been nominated over a dozen times. They will most likely continue to make great films, and hang out with all of their awesome friends.
Solomon Northup was not so lucky. His life story, the story of Twelve Years a Slave, was a tragedy even Shakespeare couldn’t dream up. Northup’s journey from free family man to tortured prisoner can only be described in inadequate hyperbole. Director Steve McQueen takes one man’s journey to the depths of hell and back and recreates it in such a lifelike way you can feel your own skin burning. The acting matches the intensity of the directing: Chiwetel Ejiofor is stoic as Solomon, Michael Fassbender is sadistic as slavemaster Epps, and Lupita Nyong’o is desperate in her need to survive as doomed slave Patsy. It is not a subtle film, but in a story about evil, the gray areas are beside the point.
The British director of Twelve Years a Slave reminds us that slavery is an essential story of America. The story is not humorous and certainly not a fun ride, but one that must be told and retold, and forgotten at our own peril. The story is strong, but the artistry is also strong; some of the most tense and chilling moments in the film are lingering shots of cypress trees and Spanish moss.
Twelve Years a Slave is an important film, and when the awards are announced, I hope it wins Best Picture. It is a cultural tour de force that deserves all the glory that comes along when genius is recognized by the public. And yet, I am still disappointed that a contained, quiet film like Inside Llewyn Davis cannot enjoy the same kind of prominence this year. In fact, the films are more similar than one might think, in the sense that all great works of art simultaneously comment on art and on life. One focuses more on the former and the other focuses more on the latter. Both do a damn good job of encompassing both. Why compare?
Article by Melanie Broder. Follow her on Twitter at @melbroder.
