THE BALLAD OF BUSTER SCRUGGS (Coen, 2018)
Netflix, Release Date Nov 16, 2018
Review by Christopher S. Long
The singing cowboy Buster Scruggs (Tim
Blake Nelson) has numerous “nicknames, handles, appellations, and
cognomens.” Some folks call him “The Harbinger of Death.” His
own wanted poster dubs him “The Misanthrope” which Buster deems
unfair; he greatly prefers to be known as “The San Saba Songbird”
or, in a pinch, “The West Texas Tit.”
Buster, a murderous Looney Tunes
character made flesh, is a crack shot, but there's reason to question
his judgment in other matters, despite his sunny disposition and his
impeccable white clothes. After he has disposed of the gambler Surly
Joe (Clancy Brown) by “downright Archimedean” means, Buster
entertains the entire saloon by celebrating Joe's death with a song
and dance routine. Shortly after Buster belts out the prediction that
his latest victim “won't be missed by anyone,” Surly Joe's
brother (Danny McCarthy) appears on the scene to prove otherwise,
cradling the corpse and sobbing “We've lost him!” Unmoved by this
sincere display of grief, the crowd continues to hoot and holler at
Buster's show-stopping number which, to be fair, is truly
sensational.
Buster's faulty assessment plays to me
like an oblique response to General William Westmoreland's infamous
claim during the Vietnam War that “The Oriental doesn't put the
same high price on life as a Westerner.” I'm not claiming that the
Coens intended that, though I've heard tell that some critics have
already interpreted Buster as a symbol of American military
intervention.
I'd rather let the movie sit for a few
months before making any similar claims, but what's clear is that the
West depicted in the movie is no place for the sensitive or the
vulnerable, for anyone who does put a high price on life. Surly Joe's
brother, for example, doesn't last long after his genuine expression
of sorrow, courtesy of Buster who dispatches him swiftly, though not
painlessly. And Buster's the white-clad singing cowboy hero.
Structured as six short films (if you
love Buster, better enjoy him before he's gone) with no direct
narrative connection, “The Ballad of Buster Scruggs” frequently
underscores the plight of those who simply “don't belong” in this
hardscrabble frontier. In “The Gal Who Got Rattled” segment, a
single woman (Zoe Kazan, absolutely flawless) heading west with a wagon train must rely on
the kindness of strangers for her very survival. Said kindness turns
out to be surprisingly abundant and yet may still not be sufficient,
not for someone who just shouldn't there in the first place.
A more haunting example of this theme
manifests in “The Meal Ticket” segment. A gruff impresario (Liam
Neeson) barnstorms tiny frontier towns with his star attraction, a
quadruple amputee Artist (Harry Melling, delicate and ethereal, like
an ancestor of Edward Scissorhands). Belted into a makeshift chair on
a tiny portable stage, The Artist entertains crowds by reciting great
speeches and poems: “I met a traveler from an antique land...”
Crowds? Well, at first maybe, but Old West America is about as
interested in culture as is 21st century America. Once the
new “freak” show loses his shock appeal, Neeson's businessman
must decide how to best invest his money and time to adapt to fickle
public tastes. The Artist, of course, will not be asked for his
input.
An excessive focus on the commonalities
risks ignoring the distinct pleasures of each stand-alone story. And
there is perhaps no greater pleasure in the movie than watching Tom
Waits embody the ultimate grizzled prospector, a near-solo
performance of stubborn digging and cantankerous muttering, his eyes
ever on the golden prize he calls Mr. Pocket. I've always loved Waits
as an actor from his work with Jim Jarmusch, but he outdoes himself,
and just about everyone else this year, in a virtuoso physical
performance.
If forced to select the weakest of the
stories, I'd probably choose the one in which James Franco plays a
hapless bank robber. But this segment still offers some of the
movie's best moments, including an eccentric turn by Stephen Root as
a tough bank teller and perhaps the film's funniest line, when
Franco, sent to the gallows for a second time (long story), turns to
a fellow condemned prisoner about to get the noose, and, with a
friendly smile, asks “First time?”
The Coens are, of course, masters of
the medium by now, and “Buster Scruggs” showcases all of their
usual strengths. Always adept at idiosyncratic dialogue and
long-winded speeches, they are at complete ease with the quirky argot
of the Old West. We witnessed that in “True Grit,” of course, but
if you thought they were coasting on Charles Portis's words, well,
they weren't.
The impeccably-cast film features great
performances from top line names to veteran character actors: in the
film's final and most mythic segment, Chelcie Ross may deliver the
best monologue of all as an uncouth trapper sharing his life's
philosophy (“People are like ferrets...”) In the space of six
stories, “Buster Scruggs”covers the gamut from cartoon hilarity
to classic tragedy, from quiet stretches to serial verbosity, from
the wide open plains to the cramped quarters of a passenger carriage
racing through the mist-shrouded night with a coachman who never
stops before his destination.
“The Ballad of Buster Scruggs” is
currently available on Netflix, and is playing in select theaters.
Here's hoping Netflix will see fit to give the movie a proper Blu-ray
release.
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