Rating:
by Derek Smith 6/13/09

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There is a certain segment of the critical masses that finds it necessary to harp on, with each new release from the Coen Brothers, the general disdain with which they treat their characters and their lack of empathy and pathos.  Every year or two, the same tired argument is regurgitated instinctively, like as mother bird feeding her chicks who can’t seem to comprehend the point of a film where identification with the characters is not of chief importance.  The Coens’ films have always been about surfaces – and by that I don’t mean shallow, but rather that they are hyper-aware of audience expectations and genre and cinematic conventions and use this awareness in a extremely playful ways to manipulate the audience us in very blatant yet confoundingly complex ways through visual and narrative strategies.  What appears to some as callous indifference to humanity or cruel, megalomaniacal relationship between the artists and their creations is all part of the brothers’ end game.  Through taut narratives and an expansive yet efficiently controlled cinematic vocabulary, the Coens are perhaps the greatest American magicians working in movies today, for few directors remain as carefully balanced on the edge between sincerity and utter mockery and so constantly make their presence felt within a film without breaking stride.  They are the invisible manipulators who so often frustrate yet never come out from behind the curtain to take their bow.  Are they genuine or is it all just a big trick?  Well, some people don’t like leaving the theater with that question lodged in their brain, so it’s easier to say they hate their characters - those mean, nasty men.

I’ve never understood the notion that directors have any responsibility to treat their characters with the utmost care, as if they are literal rather than fictional beings.  The Coens’ characters are often cardboard cutouts, a fact that ultimately will dissuade some altogether.  What is so fascinating is usually not the depth of characterization, but the worlds they inhabit and the way the Coens are able to weave them into their complex narratives.  The dissonance between these two-dimensional characters and a fully realized world is never greater than in Raising Arizona.  These small town folk sure do take a beating, but this is a world of Looney Tunes references seen through fish-bowl lenses – a plastic world that is stretched in every direction as if the brothers smushed a ball of silly putty on a desert town and spent the next 95 minutes playing with it.  I could care less whether the Coens really do hold these kinds of people in contempt because Raising Arizona uses the foolish, exaggerated behavior on hand for a higher purpose than simple mockery.

H.I. (remember when Nicholas Cage could be so good, he’s good?), the convenient store robber who struggles with his seemingly innate desire for criminal misdeeds and the worldly pressures to conform to social norms (create and maintain the family unit, turn to the right!) is thrust into Reagan’s America and into the hunt for an American Dream he never even wanted.  The Coens are normally classified as apolitical, but the central conflict of the film (the Arizonas have more than they can handle, so Ed and H.I. have the right to their piece of the pie) is clearly an allusion to the political environment of the time and interestingly enough, the McDunnoughs come to the conclusion that they have no right to that which is not theirs.  Are the Coens closet Republicans?  Of course not, as the “warthog from Hell,” the enforcer of market principles is the photonegative of H.I. – working within the constructs of unbridled capitalism without a trace of compassion for others, yet unwilling to take what is not his without supplying what the market needs.

H.I.’s destruction of this alter-ego (the matching tattoos and his whispering “I’m sorry” before blowing him to bits seal the deal regarding that symbolism) along with the tonally unsettling and bizarre dream ending leave nothing but questions.  Is H.I.’s dream an achievable reality or is it as much of a perpetuated myth as “trickle down” economics? Are the Coens giving them a happy ending or merely pointing out the absurdity of confusing cinematic realities with the real world?  And then there’s the marriage of Nathan Arizona and his wife which seems cold and loveless as all of Nathan’s energy is put into promoting Unpainted Arizona. And yet, in the end, his final gesture towards her when imagining if she left him (“I do love her so.” *cue music*) is presented with stone-faced earnestness despite all evidence beforehand making such a sentiment seem impossible.  One might say the Coens are having their cake and eating it too, being both sincere and insincere, mocking and loving, but their knack at hiding which one they are at any given time renders such a complaint moot.  What is even more incredible about Raising Arizona is that none of these questions need be asked, pondered or answered to enjoy the film.  It is one of the rare comedies that not only becomes funnier each time I see it, but also provides a richer experience with jokes and vexing contradictions that pop up so quick, they’re easy to miss.  It’s undoubtedly a bit rough around the edges, but this only adds to its charm and humor and it’s hard to fault a film that leaves me laughing ‘til my stomach hurts while still revealing new layers whenever I return to it.