Half a century ago, this would have been radical. Today, it’s banal. The slick postwar aesthetic is emblematic of a male filmmaker’s understanding of women that exists only through dated stereotypes.
A delightfully engaging, convention-busting slice of of-the-moment America that is far from the typical culture-clash romantic dramedy.
It’s as if Jane Austen and Monty Python collaborated on an episode of *The West Wing*…
I think maybe I’ve figured out how Joel and Ethan Coen do it. How they move so effortlessly from comedy to drama, from fluffy to forceful, from silly to solemn. It’s that they don’t think about tone or genre, at least not at the beginning: they just think about a character, and let him have his lead, and see where he takes them.
Too soon too soon too soon. How can I bear to watch this? I don’t even know which 9/11 conspiracy theory to believe yet. Or maybe not too soon. How can I bear not to watch?
It’s easy to forget today how close global nuclear annihilation genuinely seemed in the 1980s.