This Coen brothers take on the legendary US folk scene in the early 60s, through a down on his luck protagonist, gives nice touch of Greenwich village atmosphere and struggles of an aspiring musician. The musician, based on some of the later famous folk personalities whose music was used, is talented, not mediocre or anything like that, though he has had a tough moment in his life, losing his singing partner to suicide, due to cruelties that he is also exposed to. He struggles without money, and amused Coens take a dark look at the heroic battles of an aspiring artist, who finds little understanding and all the condemnation in his surroundings. Judging by the many condemning comments on this site, subtleties have been lost on the masses. It is a cruel society that equates success with moral virtue, and considers poverty as a moral sin. The artist due to his integrity refuses some chances for commercial success, but even that is construed as his failing by some of the comments, and therefore much of vulhgar mob. Thus, the joke is again turned on the shallow members of the public, who celebrate reality stars while condemn a clearly virtuous, but struggling actor, just because he lacks success. In the end, we get a glimpse of Bob Dylan, who had a powerful gift that was ultimately not possible to deny, but only after he was discovered by some wise people, and who famously snubbed the booing mob and the shallow journalists and could afford to follow his own path. Instead of celebrating the success, Coens shed light on the struggle, and provide an opportunity for the unsophisticated non-creative consumer mob to demonstrate their monstrosities and in some case appallingly complete lack of empathy and absolute inability to distinguish poverty from lack of virtue, bad luck from lack of talent, terrible circumstances from moral deficits. The conclusion is again, that people who do get, through the sheer combination of power of their talent, personality and good luck, to the top, have every reason to shun the shallow hating mob that would, no doubt, shred them to pieces with gusto if they had fallen to bad luck.
Review of Inside Llewyn Davis
