The Films of The Coen Brothers, Ranked From Worst to Best
The Films of The Coen Brothers, Ranked From Worst to Best
A Coen Brothers
film has a certain singular rhythm, a certain irreverently acute love
for Greek tragedy and Homeric adventures. In "Barton Fink," a Hollywood
producer demands that his film have "that Barton Fink Feeling." The Coen
Brothers’ films all have that Coen Brothers Feeling: the malaise of
modernity, an endless fascination with losers and emasculated men.
To celebrate the legendary filmmaking duo, we ranked all of the
films Joel directed or co-directed with Ethan. And since they’ve never
helmed a bad film, even the bottom-ranking entries are better than most
other filmmakers’ best offerings.
READ MORE: The Films of Alfonso Cuaraon, Ranked From Worst to Best
16. "True Grit" (2010)
The
Coens remain more faithful to the Charles Portis novel than the 1969
Henry Hathway/John Wayne film, but something feels flat and lifeless
here. Jeff Bridges’s grumpy, groggy Rooster Cogburn is a sight to
behold, though one can’t help but see the spectral presence of John
Wayne lingering. Wayne, one of the screen’s great inimitable but
endlessly imitated personas, wasn’t much of an actor, yet his mere
presence was often captivating. That presence, that grand feeling, is
absent here. The Coens, for all their formidable formal maneuvers and
stylistic inclinations, fail to conjure any real mystery or awe.
Regardless, we get a few stunning set pieces, Bridges is obviously a
much better actor than Wayne, and Hailee Steinfeld does an admirable job
as the young girl who hires Cogburn. Not a bad film by any means, but
certainly not up to par with the Coens’ others.15. "Intolerable Cruelty" (2003)
George Clooney and Catherine Zeta-Jones lead a typically stacked
lineup of Coen regulars in this story of divorce attorneys and scheming
women. Clooney has that old school Cary Grant-esque smarmy charm, and
his performance is a slick as his salt-and-pepper hair. Zeta-Jones
matches him beat by seductive beat, but the movie never feels as
significant or daring as the Coens’ better comedies.
14. "The Hudsucker Proxy" (1994)
Tim
Robbins plays an eccentric, jocular man who is appointed president (and
proxy) of a sinking company by its insidious board leader (Paul
Newman), and subsequently invents the hulahoop. I can’t think of a more
Coen Brothers-y a subject for a film. Between this and Altman’s "The
Player," Robbins put in some of his best work in the early-’90s, and the
scene in which he tries to explain the gyrating apparatus to a
befuddled board of geriatric white men ("Does it have rules?" "What if
you get tired?" "Is it a game?" "Will it break?" "It better break
eventually!") is typical Coens: sharp, syncopated dialogue and an almost
existential longing on Robbins’ part (in this scene he never stops
hulahooping). It also has Paul Newman, which automatically makes "The
Hudsucker Proxy" decent at worst, brilliant at best. 13. "The Ladykillers" (2004)
A group of criminal idiots plot to kill an old, church-going
African American lady, played by Irma Hall (I don’t point out her
ethnicity arbitrarily—it plays a significant part in the story) so they
can use her basement to tunnel into a nearby casino. But these are the
most incompetent criminals ever, and their every attempt fails
miserably. The most underappreciated movie of the brothers’ career, this
tar-black remake of a far more affable, less contentious ’50s British
comedy starring Alec Guiness is ruthless in its pursuit of laughs. It’s
so mean and insensitive, a lot of moviegoers dismissed it, and it’s
often regulated to the bottom of the Coens’ filmography. Tom Hanks
throws himself completely into the role of a sinister southern gentleman
with awful facial hair and an even worse laugh; tapping the darkness of
his turn in Sam Mendes’ gorgeous "The Road to Perdition" and the
slapstick insanity of his early career comedies, Hanks gives one of his
best performances. The whole motley crew, which includes J.K. Simmons,
Marlon Wayans, Tzi Ma, and Ryan Hurst, is uproarious.
12. "Blood Simple" (1984)
Joel
and Ethan’s debut feature, a blood-soaked neo-noir on a shoestring
budget, contains many of the visual and thematic motifs that permeate
their lustrous career. With playful trick shots (the camera gliding
along a bar, hoping over a passed-out drunkard on the way to its
eventual destination) and that sharp Coen humor, "Blood Simple"
establishes the ingenuity the filmmakers have continually used to
accentuate the eccentricities of American lowlifes. The story is
familiar: a guy (John Getz) and a girl (Frances McDormand) plan to run
off together; her husband (Dan Hedaya) doesn’t like that, so he hires a
two-timing private eye-cum-killer (E. Emmett Walsh, spectacularly slimy)
to take care of things. A handful of moments imbued with genuine
suspense still rank among the most memorable in the post-noir film
canon, especially those final moments. 11. "Miller’s Crossing" (1990)
People who don’t love the Coens usually love "Miller’s Crossing":
it has a lighter, airier touch than the brothers’ subsequent
gangster-noirs, and flows fluidly and confidently, like an old river,
but doesn’t delve into hysteria like "Raising Arizona" or "The Big
Lebowski." It also lacks that Coen Brothers left turn, as Leonard Maltin
calls it. Gabriel Byrne, doing his best work maybe ever, is a double-,
triple-, quadruple-crossing gangster whose long-time boss, played by the
great Albert Finney, goes to war with his hot-heated Italian rival,
played by Jon Polito, because Polito wants to kill John Turturro’s
shyster Jewish bookie. Marcia Gay Harden, Turturro’s sister, is sleeping
with a few of them, which complicates matters. A transcendent
experience that admittedly hits the occasional snag, this marks the
beginning of the Coens’ insanely impressive ’90s output.
10. "The Man Who Wasn’t There" (2001)
It
seems a bit odd that it took the Coens almost 20 years before they
experimented with black-and-white photography, since their films
exclusively exist in the gray synapse between the bright light and pitch
darkness. Filmed in color and converted post-production, "The Man Who
Wasn’t There" is one of their most visually eloquent productions. Billy
Bob Thornton, who chewed into his villainous role on FX’s fantastic
"Fargo" with relish, is the title character, a fleshy shell of a man.
Expunged of life, he’s a barber with a monotone voice in a monochrome
world. His wife (Frances McDormand) and her boss (James Gandolfini,
still in the beginning of "The Sopranos" when he filmed this) are
sneaking around not-so-subtly behind his back, while a young Scarlett
Johansson looks to him as a fatherly sage, and maybe more. A serene
jaunt into sin, this has long been a favorite of the Coens’ devout
followers. Whereas most neo-noirs are overly concerned with emulating
the remorseless violence of noir, "The Man Who Wasn’t There" is
concerned with consequences. It feels like a relic from the vault of
Robert Aldrich.9. "Burn After Reading" (2008)
The Coens create a reality inhabited exclusively by self-centered,
paranoid ingrates, all of whom are deeply afflicted with the most
vainglorious kind of ineptitude. Idiocy is a plague, according to John
Malkovich, clearly having sardonic fun as the henpecked husband who gets
fired from his CIA job because he had a drinking problem. George
Clooney, Brad Pitt, and Frances McDormand are all at their funniest, but
J.K. Simmons as a CIA administrator steals both of his brief scenes,
and really the whole film, the kicker of the whole flick being that the
CIA can’t even make sense of the rampant stupidity of the world, nor do
they seem to care. Plus, dildo rocking chair.
8. "O Brother, Where Art Thou?" (2000)
Channeling
Homer as well as "Sullivan’s Travels," this musical/crime capper/road
picture/fairy tale hodgepodge is the Coens at their most scattershot, as
well as their most adventurous. George Clooney, John Turturro, and Tim
Blake Nelson are three chain gang escapees who serendipitously encounter
various people of varying fictitiousness, from Baby Face Nelson to a
black man who sold his soul to Old Scratch in order to play the guitar,
on their way to finding hidden treasure (but really to stop Clooney’s
ex-wife from getting remarried). Imbued with sepia-toned folk
magnificence and rooted in magical realism, the film wrangles together
virtually every possible genre known to man; if the results are messy,
that’s fine, since it’s such a delightful, life-affirming mess. 7. "A Serious Man" (2009)
Michael Stuhlbarg is Larry Gopnik, a sometimes-physics professor
and full-time Jew having a life crisis. His wife wants a get (Jewish
divorce) so she can marry another guy, and Larry finds himself slipping
deeper into desolation. The Coens’ most Jewish movie (Larry has more
than a bit of Job in him), "A Serious Man" tackles issues afflicting the
Jewish Diaspora, but without ostracizing non-Jewish viewers. The
opening, with the wicked-good character actor Fyvush Finkel, has nothing
to do with the rest of the movie and almost feels like a Mario Bava
short, but it’s nonetheless enthralling; and that ending shot…
6. "Raising Arizona" (1987)
Nicolas Cage has rarely been so lovable as the a wild-haired
small-time criminal with a big heart and modest ambitions. Stare in
bewilderment as Cage taps into that affable sort of crazy that he still
occasionally conjures when he’s not scrounging for money at the bottom
of a third-tier action flick. Marvelously paired with Holly Hunter, Cage
plays the role with innocent, rambunctious charm, in a sweaty Hawaiian
shirt. The hellish biker scenes in particular are outstanding fun.
5. "Barton Fink" (1991)
Penned while the brothers were struggling with "Miller’s Crossing,"
this seething, surreal indictment of artists (something they’d revisit
with "Inside Llewyn Davis") spews venom at Hollywood sell-outs as well
as self-important writers. (Faulkner gets an especially lacerating
depiction, masterfully performed by John Mahoney.) John Turturro plays
the title character, a left-wing playwright who claims to be a champion
of the people but who never seems to actually give a shit about the
people. John Goodman, that big ol- cuddly, sweaty bear in suspenders,
plays his neighbor, Charlie, a door-to-door salesman who has some
stories to tell, if Barton ever listens. The hotel in which Barton and
Charlie live is as much a character as either of those men, with its
oozing, secreting walls and long, ominous halls. One of the more
polarizing Coen flicks, "Barton Fink" doesn’t pretend to peddle in
bankability, as it revels in literary allusions and abrupt changes in
tone and timbre. It’s also notable for being the first Coen film shot by
God—er, I mean Roger Deakins — as well as being responsible for Cannes
changing its rules to limit films to one major award, as "Barton Fink"
nabbed Best Picture, Actor, and Director unanimously.
4. "The Big Lebowski" (1998)
Remember
when this Chandler-esque non-mystery flopped in 1998? No, you were
probably still a child who, like most of its dearly devoted, discovered
"The Big Lebowski" on DVD in the early-aughts. While many of its
fanatics seem to belie the whole post-modern detective farce at the
heart of the film in favor of brandishing its more latent stoner
tendencies, "The Big Lebowski" is nonetheless a masterpiece of
absurdism, that rare entity that, while fervidly beloved by masses
(there’s even a Lebowski shop in New York’s SoHo), still feels fresh and
hip. While not as visually imaginative as their subsequent films (that
musical dream sequence notwithstanding), the tale of The Dude (Jeff
Bridges), his Vietnam Vet chum Walter (John Goodman), and the gregarious
Donny (Steve Buscemi) is dense with layers and entendres. Plus, Philip
Seymour Hoffman has the most awkward laugh this side of Jeff Goldblum.
If you burn too much of the Devil’s lettuce before watching, the myriad
nods to George Bush (the first one) and the Gulf War may go right over
your head, man.3. "Fargo" (1996)
As good as FX’s television reimagining is, the original film is a
certifiable classic. Let’s just name a few of the film’s
accomplishments: Frances McDormand’s pregnant police chief Marge
Grunderson has more humanity and depth than most films manage to convey
with an entire array of characters. William H. Macy’s myriad stutters
and stammers are all scripted, showing the careful consideration the
Coens put into their films. Carter Burwell’s score evokes the despondent
feeling of trying to reach out and grab nebulous whorls of breath in
the frigid Minnesota air. Steve Buscemi and Peter Stormare’s clashing
lowlifes could be comedic relief in a lesser film, but are here equally
essential to the mood and narrative (while still providing some riotous
laughs). And has there been a more wonderful depiction of marriage than
Marge and Norm (Carroll Lynch)? The (not true) story concerns an idiot
trying to coerce money from his stingy father-in-law by having his own
wife kidnapped, which, of course, goes immediately awry. Rarely has
violence been used with such fierce conviction: rather than dwelling on
the bloodshed, the Coens use murder as a means to advance a story. Human
lives matter in "Fargo," and killing only ever creates more problems.
To lift the tagline from another Coens film, "There Are No Clean
Getaways."
2. "Inside Llewyn Davis" (2013)
Imbued
with an all-pervading melancholy, "Inside Llewyn Davis" is a cryptic,
poetic ode to art and the artists that make it. Oscar Isaac is the
titular folk singer, who embarks on an Ouroboros of an adventure,
seemingly designed by Sisyphus himself. Oscar is one of the great film
assholes of recent memory. No other Coens character is so deeply rooted
in, and such an unmistakable product of his world. Oscar’s ashen, icy
New York is a turgid concrete tundra rendered in grayscale. Everything
is the color of stale cigarette smoke. The most important aspect of
Oscar’s plateau-like arc is that Oscar isn’t a genius; if he was, the
movie would be a different kind of tragic, the familiar story of a
brilliant artist whose work goes unappreciated until, suddenly, it
doesn’t. Oscar is good, but so is virtually every other musician we meet
here. The brief digression with John Goodman as a cankerous,
heroin-addled jazz musician may seem arbitrary and pointless, but it
still elicits a singular morose feeling. Most great comedies make you
laugh and then make you cry, and then make you laugh; "Inside Llewyn
Davis" makes you laugh while you’re crying.1. "No Country for Old Men" (2007)
Staying
painstakingly faithful to Cormac McCarthy’s bleak-as-fuck novel, the
Coens crafted one of the most enthralling, elusive works of cinematic
art of the last decade in the guise of a neo-western. With shades of
Howard Hawks, the filmmakers eschew their usual flamboyance and use the
vast beige landscape of southern Texas, its purported normality and
dusty nothingness, as a kind of self-contained purgatory from which the
characters can never escape. The violence hits as hard as in a Peckinpah
film, but without the self-conscious deprivation. Josh Brolin is really
good as the blue collar Vietnam vet who stumbles upon a vast sum of
drug money; Javier Bardem (nabbing Supporting Actor honors) is even
better as the enigmatic killer on his trail, a murderous apparition who
adheres to his own unique code; and Tommy Lee Jones is incredible as the
veteran sheriff chasing after both men. From his opening narration,
delivered in a measured rhythm with subtle inflections and deadpan
irreverence, Jones captivates with his usual sapient demeanor, calm and
considered but still baffled by the ineffable violence erupting around
him. Featuring some of the Coens’ most articulate framing, careful and
calculated camerawork, and lucid photography, "No Country for Old Men"
exists on a plane separate from their other films. It lacks a true
musical score, yet its sparse dialogue, purged of anything even
resembling superfluity, maintains the syncopated rhythm typical of a
Coens’ film. On a technical level, this is as close to perfect as movies
get.
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