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Mildly Amusing
The Ladykillers doesn’t knock ‘em dead
by Joe Tarr
The Ladykillers, the Coen brothers’ film released this weekend, debuted at No. 2, bringing in $13 million. It’s the biggest debut of any of their movies, and should maybe signify how far these auteurs have come, how much they’ve established themselves in Hollywood, and at the suburban cineplex.
But I am left with a loss of words for what to say about this latest work. I’m sure this is partly because I’m not much of a film critic.
But the Coen brothers used to be thrilling—in films like Fargo, Blood Simple, Miller’s Crossing and Raising Arizona they offered fresh, weird takes in stale genres.
Today, they have something of their own genre, but the originality is gone.
The Ladykillers is a little by-the-numbers. It’s not a bad movie. Its composition certainly demonstrates Joel and Ethan’s craft in storytelling, and there’s plenty of comedy. But there’s not much in the way of surprises.
The movie is a remake of the 1955 British comedy starring Alec Guinness, Peter Sellers and Katie Johnson. In their version, the Coen brothers set the movie in a small Southern town located near a riverboat casino.
Tom Hanks plays Professor G.H. Dorr, a prim scholar who rents a room in the house of Marva Munson, a slightly eccentric African-American widow played by Irma Hall. Dorr and his makeshift gang then use the widow’s root cellar to tunnel into the vault where proceeds from the casino are stored. They tell Munson they’re using her cellar to practice their Renaissance music ensemble; there are a number of close calls when the gang must quickly shift from moving dirt to hustle into place with their lutes, vials, etc.
Dorr’s gang consists of foul-mouthed wanna-be thug Gawain MacSam (Marlon Wayans); a sinister, Vietnamese immigrant known as the General (Tzi Ma); a television special-effects coordinator Garth Pancake (J.K. Simmons); and an idiot college football player appropriately named Lump (Ryan Hurst).
There are lots of sight gags (bodies being disposed of, Munson’s cat running off with someone’s finger) and a fair amount of body humor (Lump’s idiocy, Pancake’s irritable bowel syndrome). Mostly the humor comes from the caricatures clashing. Pancake (who settled in the South after being a Freedom Rider in the ’60s) and MacSam (who packs heat and mouths off to everyone, including the grandmotherly Munson) share some memorable scenes.
The acting is competent, especially by Wayans and Munson. It’s hard for Hanks to disappear into his oddball role, but also kind of fun watching him be so weird, his hyperventilating snivel of a laugh, his genteel pretensions as he tries to control such a disparate group. But his performance falls well short of ones by Frances McDormand, Jeff Bridges, Holly Hunter and John Goodman in the Coens’ previous work (the filmmakers’ usual cast of characters is noticeably absent from this flick). But Hanks is not particularly apt at taking a role over the top (Forrest Gump is, for me, one of his flatter parts).
The thieves’ plan, of course, goes horribly, comically awry thanks to the oblivious but morally firm Munson.
Much of the Coens’ work examines (often ridiculing) various American cultures—the rugged individualistic Texas in Blood Simple, the mannerly, reserved northern Midwest in Fargo, the Depression-era South in O’ Brother, Where Art Thou. In doing this, they’ve always walked a bit of a fine line. What might be intended as loving insight or gentle ribbing often feels like smug derision.
In The Ladykillers the rural South—in the shadows of Memphis, with its decadent influence of gambling, cursing and hippity-hop music creeping ever closer—is the focus. They present a vivid cultural stew—the lazy sheriff asleep at his desk, sleepy neighborhoods of old Victorian homes, bland suburban shopping plazas with Waffle Huts and donut shops run by Asian immigrants, and the stereotypical black church, with its euphoric gospel and charismatic preacher.
Coens’ admiration for Southern black culture is evident. The elderly black church ladies might be na�ve and clueless, but they’re not to be trifled with.
The Coens have such a masterful understanding of film, of how to lay out a story, of pacing, of how to use music, of symbolism, of how to convey meaning visually. The rapid-fire short sequences in which each of Dorr’s gang is introduced—including a hilarious scene where we see Lump batted around a football field, through his eyes—are captivating.
But none of it adds up to more than a mildly pleasant hour and a half. It leaves you feeling like they’re squandering their talent.
April 1, 2004 • Vol. 14, No. 14
© 2004 Metro Pulse
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