In old movies, Eve Arden often played the kind of jaded best friend who adored you, but could see through your bullshit and tell it to your face in a snarky way, without any repercussions apart from a nod of recognition and a begrudging laugh. This book's author, William Preston Robertson, a friend of the Coen Brothers and sometime film assistant, functions a bit like that here. There is a method to the Coens' madness, and Robertson is intent on sniffing it out; to understand it, in all its contradictions. He works at it like a bulldog investigator; unhappy with half-answers. The processes, both in the Coen's work and in Robertsons post-mortem of it, are equally fascinating, taking something seemingly inscrutable and wispy and laying it bare, nailing it down, and reveling in it.
The first thing I really loved about this gonzo-ish account of the Coen Brothers' making of their classic comedy, The Big Lebowski is Robertson's ability to tell the tale with incredulous humor, setting up his own punchlines as he examines their unique creative universe. In the hands of a lot of authors, this can come off as forced, but not here. I would cite as a model Joe Adamson's old and classic book on The Marx Brothers, Groucho, Harpo, Chico, and Sometimes Zeppo as exemplifying the best way to integrate personal humor and perspective into the subject being examined. This book succeeds similarly. It's refreshing, and something not seen often because too many film writers are simply not up to the task.
Knowing the Coens' tendency to grunt and make half-regurgitated thoughts while completing each others' sentences in their typical tag-team interview set up, Robertson separated them police-interrogation style and tackled them mano a mano. Noting the Coens' tendency to be very quiet and convey their ideas to crew mostly by being mum, listening, or using some form of telepathy, Robertson tries to understand just HOW these crazy ideas get conveyed to collaborators, and yet somehow make it to the screen. We get exchanges like this, between Ethan Coen and Robertson discussing working with cinematographer, Roger Deakins:
Ethan C: "We could work with somebody else and talk volumes and nothing would work."
Robertson: "But WOULD you talk volumes... I mean REALLY?"
Pretty funny.
As it turns out, as Deakins reveals, Joel and Ethan Coen are a two-headed hydra; both heads completely in sync with the other. Ask either head what to do, and whatever answer comes will be amenable to both. Two heads, in this case, ARE better than one, at least from a logistical standpoint.
The Coens' clean working method, rigorously pre-planning and storyboarding everything in advance, keeps the shots efficient, the vision intact and the movies striking in appearance. They have a LOOK, unlike the hackery that marks so much cookie-cutter Hollywood product. The brothers' mastery of economic efficiency turns out to be like an insurance policy of sorts: if you can make weird movies on, or under, budget, you're more likely to be allowed to make more, or, as one of the brothers puts it: "the more you control your budget from the outset, the better tolerated your artistic eccentricity will be." A lesson that too many auteurs, surprisingly, have not deduced.
Robertson's journey of trying to capture the essence of the Coens' art and to hammer out the seeming inconsistencies is a rewarding one. His discussion with the brothers and Deakins over the seemingly contradictory perception effects of wide-angle lenses (so loved by the brothers) of distancing and intimacy, is an interesting one from both a technical and messaging standpoint.
This book was published in 1998, right on the heels of the movie, when there was nothing at all of the cult that would soon arise over it. Considering the tidal wave of books that have been published about the movie and its cultural imprint on the zeitgeist since, it's amazing how essential and illuminating this one still is. I'd recommend hitting this one first to gain a proper sense of grounding, as it captures a moment in time and hits while the iron was hot.
There's much more herein, including choice script excerpts, and ample concept sketches and storyboards. The interviews with the designers and costume artists impart great understanding about the visual aesthetics of the film, especially when the artists expound on how particular scenes were done, and why.
The insights into filmmaking make this one for my "masterclass" shelf.
I have to brag proudly on my hometown, Louisville, Kentucky USA -- a place frequently lauded for its weirdness -- for getting on the Lebowski train early on. In 2002, some enthusiasts of the film founded the first Lebowski Fest, an annual tradition now two decades old that has spread to other cities and events across the country. I'm not a fan to that degree, so have never been to one of these; in some ways the idea of joining mass movements like this undercuts my own relationship to art. I don't want to navel gaze the things I love to death; to putter and sink into pointless minutiae to the peril of the essence of the thing.
But I do adore the film -- it's a self-contained singular triumph, and perhaps the greatest comedy film of the last quarter century -- even though, like many at the outset, I was scratching my head a bit on first viewing. It's a movie that blooms with every new viewing, and that's the sign of a great film. Watching it a few years back with a then-girlfriend while high on weed and laughing our asses off was one of the supreme experiences of life.
What's great about this book is that it makes me see the film in new ways, but also catalyzes my own new observations about it. The Coens achieved the remarkable feat of recapturing Raymond Chandler's noirish and surreal LA in 1990s terms. Now when I watch the opening scene of the shabby, bath-robed Dude sniffing at a milk bottle in the middle of a flourescent-lit all-night grocery, I can't help but see a revisioning of Edward Hooper's classic painting, Nighthawks. But hey, I sees what I sees, and, anyway, yeah, well, that's just, ya know, like my opinion, man.
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kr, eg '19