Au revoir.

Rating: 8/10 (13 January 2016)

Llewyn Davis is nothing short of an asshole. Carey's Mulligan's profane-ridden rant on his due irresponsibilities immediately paints us a not so pretty picture. He makes several choices in favour of his pathetic little career, and they are selfish ones; taking off in search of representation instead of a lost cat, and leaving a sick man in a car in the middle of nowhere. He does not compromise, and that results in a wonderful scene where a goofy upbeat rendition of Please Mr Kennedy tells us so much about the three performers. Adam Driver's dopey, novelty interjections steal the scene; he is so committed to the bit with his big ears and cowboy hat, even as his side career is stagnant. Timberlake's Jim takes no embarrassment from using the gig to make ends meet, and even seems to enjoy himself (he wrote it, after all). And poor, tortured Llewyn Davis, is forced into spitting out his lyrics and muddling up the chorus. Clearly, only one person here is concerned with artistic integrity. And in a cruel twist, this turns out to be his most famous contribution, and he quickly signs away royalties.
Detractors have said that there is no plot, that the story is pointless. This is not true; the unveiling of the fate of his former partner is an act in itself. It is not until almost halfway through the film that we finally discover what happened, and from then on, all instances of Mike being piercing and painful. We begin to perceive, just as Llewyn does, a irreverence of talking of Mike and his fate. A harmony that should be long gone creeps up on him and he finally explodes. The cruellest blow comes after an achingly heartfelt audition for Bud Grossman, which is received with a painfully realistic damnation. In a double blow, he suggests that he reform with his deceased partner, as if the music is not good enough. But what exactly causes Llewyn to concede reality in the car with a loud and demeaning John Goodman? There's a sort of communal acceptance within the music community. They crash on each other couches. They ride together to far away cities, hoping to catch that big break. When Llewyn heckles that poor old lady near the end, he shatters this and is ejected. But what is even more amazing is that he is performing there the very next night. That's all he's got, but it's plenty to go around.
He floats from place to place - existing, he calls it. It must be with total and utter defeat that he resigns to once again ship out with the merchant marine. Some have suggested the cat as a device to mimic his endless wandering; as the poster states, to travels hundreds of miles, but to end up where he most belongs. One of the most heartbreaking moments is his realisation that a former girlfriend has taken off with his son and never even told him. Life has not waited for him. Later, he makes the conscious decision against visiting. Isaac internalises this grief, and trudges on through the snow (as a clear path is right next to him). He looks good and honest Jim in the eye, even as he has impregnated his girlfriend. He endures a furious yet pitiful glare from his sister, whom has a family and a life, which means suffocation.
I have 2 minor criticisms. The first is the sort of ghostly, ethereal glow that seems pervasive in every single shot of the film. Delbonnel seems to suggest a glum, crestfallen atmosphere to match Llewyn's, but what it really does is provide a bloom-like effect that softens all the rough edges of these characters and situations. These bars should be musky and grimy and lived in, but what the effect does is romanticise. The second is a problem that would not have existed in O Brother Where Art Thou, because that was a predominately larger than life fantasy, and even the scariest scene had a sort of ridiculousness to the way the Ku Klux Klansman paraded around. Here, the touches of humour need to be deftly placed, because it takes rock bottom for Llewyn to resort to a resigned snark in his dialogue. The problem arises in the editing. The first example is when Llewyn performs for his father, and the lyrics are full of these ideas about death and mortality and growing old, and we get these pensive reaction shots that make it seem like a profound moment. The error is jumping ahead to the humorous reveal, instead of simply lingering and letting Llewyn discover it for himself and subverting a precious moment. The second example, less prominent, is his outburst in the bar where it quickly cuts to him being shoved outside. It seems these edits are afraid to let a scene and its emotions boil over and develop naturally.
The repeated beginning and ending, with the same events, seem to suggest a cyclical nature of Llewyn's life. He is doomed to continually miss his chance, his opportunity, to be overlooked for younger and brighter stars that can connect with the audience unlike him. He spends his company with the same sort of folk, each belting out their tunes to a world that has already moved on. The brief final glimpse of Bob Dylan foreshadows a boom in folk music, but not in the way that would favour Llewyn. But there is change. A bleak, hopeless outlook, but as he sings what once was a duet, emotional catharsis has shaped something new. The music comes out different now.