The Ballad of Buster Scruggs – first look review | Little White Lies

Festivals

The Bal­lad of Buster Scrug­gs – first look review

31 Aug 2018

Words by Adam Woodward

Rolling hills covered in golden grass, with a person and dog standing in the foreground overlooking a herd of animals in the distance.
Rolling hills covered in golden grass, with a person and dog standing in the foreground overlooking a herd of animals in the distance.
The Coen broth­ers are up to their old tricks in this colour­ful, dark­ly com­ic anthol­o­gy western.

When Joel and Ethan Coen released a joint state­ment just last month con­firm­ing that their Net­flix-backed anthol­o­gy west­ern was a film and not, as pre­vi­ous­ly report­ed, a series, they spoke of their long-stand­ing fond­ness of, those films made in Italy in the 60s which set side-by-side the work of dif­fer­ent direc­tors on a com­mon theme […] we attempt­ed to do the same, hop­ing to enlist the best direc­tors work­ing today,” before adding with a dash of char­ac­ter­is­tic dry wit, It was our great for­tune that they both agreed to participate.”

Indeed, it’s hard to imag­ine any oth­er con­tem­po­rary filmmaker(s) forg­ing a path through such well-trod­den ter­rain with this much verve and inven­tive­ness – who else but the Coens could so con­fi­dent­ly tip their hat to the past mas­ters of the genre while whistling their own inim­itable tune? This isn’t their first rodeo, of course, but it should be not­ed that The Bal­lad of Buster Scrug­gs is an entire­ly dif­fer­ent propo­si­tion to No Coun­try for Old Men or True Grit. By turns dark­ly com­ic and deeply mov­ing, this is the broth­ers’ per­son­al ode to the Old West and the par­tic­u­lar mode of sto­ry­telling that arose from it.

Split into six chap­ters, the film is a slow-paced, sure-foot­ed amble across the Amer­i­can Fron­tier, through Mon­u­ment Val­ley, the Sacra­men­to Val­ley, the Ore­gon Trail and beyond. Indi­vid­u­al­ly these dis­tinct loca­tions, gor­geous­ly lensed by Inside Llewyn Davis cin­e­matog­ra­ph­er Bruno Del­bon­nel, pro­vide the back­drop to some of the most strik­ing images – a quad­ri­pleg­ic thes­pi­an catch­ing snowflakes on his tongue, a pair of gnarled hands sift­ing for gold in a wind­ing stream – these writer/​director sib­lings have ever con­jured. Col­lec­tive­ly they form a vivid geo­graph­i­cal and cul­tur­al tapes­try of a still untamed wilder­ness occu­pied by out­laws, boun­ty hunters, cat­tle wran­glers, fur trap­pers, saloon keep­ers, whores, hicks and snake oil salesmen.

It begins unas­sum­ing­ly enough with a sooth­ing melody from one-time Sog­gy Bot­tom Boy Tim Blake Nel­son. The tit­u­lar Buster Scrug­gs, aka the San Saba Song­bird, aka the West Texas Tit (or Twit, depend­ing on who you ask), is intro­duced as our mild-man­nered guide to this vast, incred­i­bly vio­lent land of oppor­tu­ni­ty. Yet his pleas­ing bari­tone and crisp white Stet­son belie his true nature. You see, this singing cow­boy is not of the fam­i­ly-friend­ly Gene Autry vari­ety – he’s a dead­ly, albeit smil­ing, assas­sin with a smart mouth and a quick draw. This being an episod­ic pic­ture, he doesn’t stick around for long.

Appear­ances are deceiv­ing in every one of these neat­ly-spun yarns. James Franco’s inept bank rob­ber, Tom Waits’ griz­zled prospec­tor, Zoe Kazan’s epis­co­palian maid­en and the oth­er main char­ac­ters are made to seem the fool of their own sto­ries before even­tu­al­ly being giv­en a shot at redemp­tion, which doesn’t always work out in their favour. If there’s a com­mon idea or theme link­ing the film’s osten­si­bly dis­parate parts – while simul­ta­ne­ous­ly con­nect­ing it to the broth­ers’ wider fil­mog­ra­phy – it’s that moral virtues don’t count for much in Coen country.

At 132 min­utes, The Bal­lad of Buster Scrug­gs is the longest offer­ing to date from these two great Amer­i­can film­mak­ers. It’s tes­ta­ment to their crafts­man­ship and the econ­o­my of their sto­ry­telling that they man­age to squeeze so much good­ness into that run­time, so many motifs and ref­er­ences to their west­ern and com­e­dy heroes, from John Ford and Ser­gio Leone to Buster Keaton and Tex Avery. When was the last time you saw an anthol­o­gy film that didn’t feel over­stuffed, that actu­al­ly left you want­i­ng more, and where not one styl­is­tic or nar­ra­tive ele­ment felt super­flu­ous or out of place?

What the Coens have cap­tured here is not just a series of colour­ful snap­shots of their country’s past, but a per­fect evo­ca­tion of its people’s dreams and iden­ti­ty, of the shared mind­set that was instilled dur­ing those chal­leng­ing yet ulti­mate­ly pros­per­ous post-Civ­il War years. This is a film about Amer­i­ca – its unique charms and con­tra­dic­tions – one filled with scenes of bloody vengeance, reli­gious zealotry, roman­tic ide­al­ism, slick sales­man­ship, inco­her­ent ram­blings and sun­ny opti­mism. It’s absolute­ly glorious.

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