Burn After Reading

After NO COUNTRY FOR OLD MEN, I think we’d all appreciate something lighter from the Coen Brothers. Well, relatively speaking. Putting their darkly comic twist on the paranoid thriller, the Coens give us BURN AFTER READING, a film that raises questions and staunchly refuses to answer them. Featuring spirited performances by an energetic ensembles and flashes of genuine Coen genius, BURN AFTER READING may not be the new American classic, but we’re having too much fun to care.

The whole ordeal begins when CIA analyst Osborne Cox (John Malkovich) is unceremoniously dismissed, with his superiors citing his drinking as the problem. In his malaise he decides to write his memoirs, much to the chagrin of his cold and detached wife Katie (Tilda Swinton). Meanwhile, some of Cox’s personal files end up in the possession of two gym workers. One is the dispirited Linda Litzke (Frances McDormand), who is trying to finance some cosmetic surgeries. The other is bright, chipper and mostly clueless trainer Chad (Brad Pitt) who jumps at the sign of excitement. As they begin their mission to blackmail Cox, Linda becomes involved with womanizer Harry Pfaffer (George Clooney) who is also having an affair with Katie. And if you think this sounds convoluted, you’ve only cracked the surface.

The Coens have set out to create the most ridiculously complex plot they could, and they’ve succeeded with flying colors. Late in the film, when two agents muse how pointlessly confusing the whole thing is the audience is right there with them. The entire film is an hour and a half of pointless confusion, but it couldn’t be more hilarious. When events take the trademark dark Coen Brothers twist, the film becomes even more convoluted. It relentlessly parodies the look-over-your-shoulder paranoid thrillers and the every-word-has-a-hidden-meaning spy films that is purposely loses itself as it winds to a ludicrously messy finale.

Part of the reason the mess never gets tiring is because of its top-notch cast. Each gifted with characters a step above reality, the lead actors take their parts and run. Every performance is crafted to perfection. From Swinton’s icy wife who instantly sees the worst in everybody to Clooney’s ultra-paranoid bumbling fella who’s in over his head. But fine as these two actors are, they can’t compare to the film’s three leads. Coen Brothers vet McDormand puts in another classic performance that is a masterpiece of earnest lunacy. The audience simultaneously feels for Linda as she laments over her body image and roars with laughter as she bursts into each new twist with blind confidence and an apparent determination to mispronounce names. Malkovich is sways wildly from screaming matches to complete despair in the most exaggerated way possible. But the life of the film lies with Brad Pitt. Chad is a jock who forgot that he graduated from high school, more dedicated to his job and his bicycle than seems humanly possible. He completely shreds his cool-guy personality and still manages to be cool. With his almost giggly outbursts and his pumped dances, he may be the coolest idiot around.

Even if it’s relatively free of the visual inventiveness seen in their other films, BURN AFTER READING packs a punch with its smart script and freewheeling performances. Its jokes are sharp enough to forgive INTOLERABLE CRUELTY and reteaming with a few familiar faces has done wonders for the brothers’ sense of humor. It may not be the most thought-provoking film out there and you’d be hard-pressed to justify why it all happened. But when the results are this fun, who cares?

***/****