The Ballad of Buster Scruggs (And Other Tales of the Western Frontier)

One Step Forward, Two Steps Back—That's a Western Waltz
or
"Uncertainty. That is appropriate for matters of this world. Only regarding the next are vouchsafed certainty."
or
"Misanthrope? I don't hate my fellow man, even when he's tiresome and surly and tries to cheat at poker. I figure that's just a human material, and him that finds in it cause for anger and dismay is just a fool for expecting better."

There is a sense of nostalgia that prepares you for The Coen Brothers' new Western anthology film The Ballad of Buster Scruggs (which makes its premier on Netflix and is playing a very few theaters in the U.S., presumably for Oscar award consideration). It starts with a nicely-composed shot of a dog-eared book bearing the same title as the film, familiar for the plain dust-jacket (from a time before marketing became the thing to sell the book) that will be recognized to anyone who's had to clear out the bookshelf of a recently-passed relative, or from a Sunday afternoon perambulation through a used book store. You can practically smell the dust and age of the pages, as a hand crawls into frame and gingerly opens the book to the artistically rendered end-papers and then to the "meat" of the book, where the page-turning pauses on the dedication page, which has these words:

To Gaylord Gilpin

Who shared with us these stories,

And many more alike, one night

in camp above the roaring fork

'til approach of morn stained the sky

and our esteem for him stained our trousers.

This Book is Dedicated

There are six stories in the book, the titles giving no clue as to what they might be about. Turn the page and we see a list of the color illustration plates included in the volume. A tissue protects the illustration and we see the first burst of material showing us the contents, a single image and an arbitrary line of prose that only hints at what's inside, creating a mystery and a void to be filled, a goal to move on to. And we begin...with "The Ballad of Buster Scruggs."

1. The Ballad of Buster Scruggs

Buster Scruggs (Tim Blake Nelson) is a singing cowboy riding out of Monument Valley into what passes for civilization in the day and age, his legs wrapped around his horse, his arms wrapped around his guitar and his throat wrapped around the traditional ballad "Cool Water." Buster is a white-hat cowboy, loquacious of song and speech (by which he is constantly addressing the audience as in "Don't let my white duds and pleasant demeanor fool ya. I, too, have been known to violate the statutes of man... and not a few of the laws of the Almighty!"). His story demonstrates his "downright Archimedean" skills with a gun, and his reputation as the "San Saba songbird" as he creates a quick comic elegy for one of miscreants of poor nature who have the fool-hardiness to draw on him.*

One can see why the Coens were tempted to start with this one, as it is the funniest and most arch of the six stories, recalling to mind the Looney-Tunes nature of Raising Arizona, and with a lovely, goony performance by Nelson that endears you to him, even if, occasionally, it creeps one out. It sets up the tone for the entire film, where The West challenges the expert and the novice alike and Death comes in unexpected and inconvenient ways and should also prepare viewers that, as such, they can be surprising and grisly, as well. 

"The Ballad of Buster Scruggs" is a comic primer for the anthology, showing the film's approach to dusty death and the film's larger message of the nature of wilderness, and the efficacy of trying to rise above it.

"You seen 'em, you play 'em" sneered the hard man.

2. Near Algodones

An outlaw (James Franco) decides he's going to knock over the only game in town (except there's no town)—a bank that looks like it fell right out of the sky to land in the middle of the plains. But, it's just not his day. He has to contend with the institution's sole teller (Stephen Root), who's been through the procedure before, and who, in the opinion of the would-be robber, "doesn't fight fair." 

The outlaw will have very good luck today, but not so's you'd notice.

After waking up, he finds his neck in a noose, with a hanging party all ready to carry out its sentence. Fate steps in to get him out of the jam, but also put him deep into another one. He will ultimately learn that there's a good side to everything as long as he has the time to appreciate it.

"Pan-shot!" cried the old man.

3. Meal Ticket

A humble wagon makes its way through the scarce pockets of civilization that mark a mountain landscape. It is a traveling show, featuring a cultured orator, Harrison (Harry Melling), who has the added fascination that he is a quadriplegic. The show is fairly simple—the curtain of a small stage parts to reveal the orator, and after a dramatic pause that allows for gawking, he gives dramatic recitations of the story of Cain and Abel, and other sources as diverse as Shakespeare, Shelley, and Abraham Lincoln, to the spare audiences looking for diversion from the night and the cold. 

Harrison is under the care of his manager (Liam Neeson), who drives the wagon, posts the bills, prepares the stage, does Harrison's make-up, and provides sound effects for the parts in which God appears and needs accompaniment. He also collects the spare change that the audience provides for their night's entertainment, enough to provide a hot meal cooked over a campfire. The manager does that, too, and feeds Harrison by hand. Lodgings would be too expensive and the audiences are noticeably dwindling the farther they head through the mountains.

The two are tied together in partnership, but the days are long and the rewards are meager. 

"Meal Ticket" is a story of entrepreneurship, reduced in all its hard-scrabble desperation, and the eye toward improving business at all costs with little regard to anything but the sound of coins in pockets, and it resonates as timely as the day's financial headlines that emphasize the bottom line at the cost of human dignity...and life.

"The quality of mercy is not strained, it droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven."

All Gold Canyon

Based on a Jack London story, "All Golden Canyon" tells the story of a grizzled prospector (Tom Waits), who enters a pristine valley with the intention of culling the riches hidden within it, without regard to the wonders that surround him.

He sets up an elaborate system, digging through the dirt, and noting the glittering specks of gold that he is able to pan out of it, to find the vein of gold that he knows must be there, the source of which he calls "Mr. Pocket," that will allow him to leave the valley a very rich man—if he can survive long enough to hit pay dirt.

And in all that mighty sweep of earth, he did not see a sign of man nor the handiwork of man.

The Gal Who Got Rattled

A mail-order bride, Alice Longabaugh (Zoe Kazan) travels with her brother by wagon train to meet her intended husband. But the journey is long and accompanied by cholera, natives, and her brother's dog, named Benjamin Pierce, whose instinct, owing to its city nature, is to bark at anything wild, upsetting the prickly members of the wagon train, already impatient by the deprivations of the long journey.

When her brother dies, Alice is left alone, on her own, with no experience, few prospects, and a singular disposition towards fretting, which endears her to the ramrod of the train, Billy Knapp (Bill Heck), who takes it upon himself to solve her cares and problems, much to the mute consternation of the train boss, Mr. Arthur (Grainger Hines), who has other considerations than those of a worrisome girl, out of her depth, and out in the wilderness.

The longest and most intricate of the stories, "The Gal Who Got Rattled" is based on a story by Stewart Edward White, and one could comment, here, on the top-tier performances and the exquisite photography (shot digitally, a Coen first) by Bruno Delbonnel, who's been doing a lot of work with the Coens, Jean-Pierre Jeunet, Tim Burton and Joe Wright, but that praise can be said for the entire anthology, no matter the conditions or weather they were recorded in. The film is beautiful to look at, frequently threatening to overwhelm the stories, but never quite doing that, becoming an intricate part of the story-telling fabric, the wide expanses of prairie and horizon looming and often overpowering the melancholy insignificances of the tiny figures making their ways through them.

Mr. Arthur had no idea what he would say to Billy Knapp.

The Mortal Remains

Five passengers (played by Saul Rubinek, Tyne Daly, Chelcie Ross and Jonjo O'Neill and Brendan Gleeson) on board a stage-coach as they make their way from a sunset prairie to the enfolding night on their way to Fort Morgan. 

The five could not be less compatible as they hold conversations as to the nature of man and the nature of love on the one side of the stage, while on the other the two partners, Thigpen and Clarence reveal themselves to be "reapers"—bounty hunters, who on this very ride are carrying their latest victim (on the roof of the cabin) to be dispatched at Fort Morgan...but is that the only one designated by the gentlemen who clearly revel in their work? 

Unlike the other segments, "The Mortal Remains" is shot entirely on a sound-stage, even the fronts of the fort's houses are decidedly two-dimensional, but it ends the film on a decidedly creepy, if  ambivalent note, the kind of campfire story best saved for when the last embers glow out and leave only wraiths of smoke.

Whether or not he heard, the coachman did not slow.

And there you have it: the cowboy, the outlaw, the entrepreneur, the prospector, the wagon train, the stagecoach—tropes and aspects of the Olde West, but given a determined melancholy twist that has become synonymous with the works of the Coen Brothers. The Ballad of Buster Scruggs is another genre-busting masterpiece that plants a flag in their careers, as they never do less than interesting work, but there are some that clearly stand out more than others.

The Ballad of Buster Scruggs is one of those. Not a "return to form," so much as one of those where everything works and their experimentation reveals the strengths of the inspiration they've decided to sardonically play around with—in this case, the Western's ability to show us that whatever we may gain, we lose something in the transition, making the genre both the perfect home of triumph entangled with tragedy, sometimes inseparably.

It is, indisputably, one of the best films of the year. Ironically, good luck finding it in a theater.

*

Surly Joe, the gambler, he will gamble nevermore,

his days of stud and hold'em they are done.

It was long about last April, he stepped into this saloon,

but he never really took to anyone!

Surly Joe, Surly Joe!

Oh, wherever he's gamblin' now, I don't know!

He was slick but I was slicker,

he was quick, but I was quicker,

and the table stopped his ticker, Surly Joe!

Surly Joe, Surly Joe!

Won't be missed by anyone, will Surly Joe!

Humankind he frowned upon,

but not now, his face is gone!

Guess your frowning days are done, oh Surly Joe!

Surly Joe, Surly Joe!

A cedilla on the "c" of Curly Joe!

He was mean in days of yore,

now they're moppin' up the floor

One more sight to make him sore, oh Surly Joe!

Surly Joe, Surly Joe!

Where the rest his face has got to, we don't know!

He was never any fun, now his grumpy race has run,

kisser blown to kingdom come oh Surly Joe!

Spider-Man: Homecoming

With Great Power Comes Greeeeeat Flakiness
or
"You Say that a Lot. What Are You Sorry For THIS Time? ("...Previously on 'Peter Screws the Pooch'")

At one point in Spider-Man: Homecoming, Peter—Spider-Man—Parker (Tom Holland) says to Tony—Iron Man—Stark (Robert Downey, Jr.) "I wanted to be just like you!" and Stark counters "...and I wanted you to be BETTER."

Precisely my feelings towards the Spider-Man 3.0 reboot, which I found a generally disappointing mess, with some very good things about it that did things differently...and refreshingly.

I like the fact that it doesn't take itself too seriously—the Tobey McGuire and Andrew Garfield versions had their moments of mirth, but got mired down in the soap opera aspects of the character and the weight of the "With Great Power Comes Great Responsibility" philosophy. This Spider-Man entry feels like a hyper-After-School Special that dispenses with the "Life with Archie" aspects of the traditional mythos ("Hmmm: Gwen or Mary Jane?") and features a cast far more diverse than merely blond and brunette. That's good. It plays around with the teen-hero aspect of Spidey—he's supposed to be 15 in the movie and Holland is 21 (McGuire started at age 27 and Garfield at age 29, the latter two abandoning High School for college) and sticks him in the very awkward high-school years of the character's origins in the early days of Spider-Man's history.

I like the fact that we don't have to go through the motions of seeing his origin story—bitten by a radio-active spider and suddenly finding himself with out-sized strength, sticky appendages, and the acrobatic skills and balanced of a headlining Cirque du Soleil performer. Here, Spider-man simply is. Doesn't matter how, and that he's young, eager, and learning is part and parcel of the origin, anyway. So, I'm glad we don't have to watch Krypton explode again...or his parent get shot in an alley...again. Let him be...in media res.

I like the fact that—like the recent Wonder Woman—there is no revenge plot. He's not trying to avenge the murder of his Uncle Ben (portrayed earlier by Cliff Robertson and Martin Sheen) or even girl-friend Gwen Stacy. He wants to be Spider-Man because being Spider-Man is cool! He also wants to be just like his hero Tony Stark—who has provided him with a too-gadgety Spider-Man suit (which gets very tiresome after awhile, more on that later).

But, the best part about it has little to do with Spider-Man or the new guy who's portraying him—it's the "villain." The best part of Spider-Man: Homecoming is Michael Keaton (former Bat-man, former "Bird-Man"). His Adrian Toomes aka "The Vulture" starts out as a blue-collar guy (actually he remains a blue-collar guy although he starts sporting a full collar later on—a neat touch) who's salvage company is in charge of cleaning up Stark Tower after the big dust-up The Avengers had with the Chitauri in downtown New York. "The world had changed," he opines to one of his grunts as they pick through the rubble, finding all sorts of neat other-worldly tech.

While he's ruminating on that and instructing his crew how they should use the alien gadgets to take other alien gadgets apart, they are interrupted by a police-escorted group from Stark Industries (including Tyne Daly!) telling them to cease and desist. Stark Industries has used their political clout to take over the salvage operation—Toomes and his crew are out of a job. "Times are changing," says Toomes as he pockets a couple items in secret. "We need to change, too."

It's curious. The focus of the Spider-Man movies should be Peter Parker, but here, with the puerile adventures of kid Parker and his High School buddies not providing anything of depth and his general dorkiness, you gravitate to Toomes, whose character is at least competent. He's not unbalanced, he's opportunistic, entrepreneurial, and he's got a well thought-out defense for doing everything he's doing. Yes, his "crew" is selling alien and extra-dimensional tech to criminals, but to hear Toomes tell it (to Parker), he's no different than Parker's hero, Tony Stark, who started out—and, for all intents and purposes, still is—an arms-dealer. But, Toomes sees a difference: "People like Stark—they're not like us—you and me. We build their roads, fight their wars, eat their table-scraps..." He thinks he's doing what he has to do to survive and to keep his family afloat and solvent. He's seen people go off the path and do well, and, for his family...why not?

Keaton is at the top of his game here. Laconic, thoughtful, dangerous, he has a lot of every-man bonhomie and you're drawn to him. But, the best scene in the film (which would be a crime if I spoiled by revealing it in any way) is his. And, it is played mostly silently with looks and deflecting casual dialog. Then, he delivers terms of engagement and he threatens our hero, his eyebrows arched, a smile on his face. What Keaton is doing is a bit reminiscent of what his co-star Jack Nicholson did playing The Joker opposite his Batman—there is a theatricality to it, but tamped down, malevolent but smoldering, and stated not as threat, but as fact. It's no wonder Tom Holland looks scared shit-less during the scene—Keaton is the villain and has stolen his movie.

So, that's the good parts: some good casting, some clever dialog here and there. Peter has an interesting story-arc—he begins wanting to be an Avenger like he was in Captain America: Civil War (Peter has done a selfie-video of his adventure in the other movie—from another studio) and realizes, eventually through the course of the movie, that he shouldn't be an Avenger, but can do the most good just by being "your friendly, neighborhood Spider-Man" (as the saying goes). And to have that arc, Spidey 3.0 has inserted itself into the tangled web of the Marvel Cinematic Universe, so, yes, there's a lot of the MCU poster-boy, Tony Stark—some of which is necessary (Toomes' motivation is squarely on the shoulders of Stark), but a lot of which is Robert Downey, Jr. collecting a pay-check. Chris Evans shows up in a running gag as Captain America keeps turning up in Public Service Announcements "for the kids"*

Here's the issue—it's all for a gag—it's tied to the Marvel movies, sure, but it also undercuts one of its major characters, doesn't respect him. I'm not sure what the internal logic of having Captain America be a role-model/spokes-hero "for the kids," since, after Civil War he's now considered an "outlaw" in the Marvel movies. But, hey, it's for a gag and another tie-in to the popular movies, right, so what's the harm? That it makes no sense probably shouldn't matter, as it's a "Spider-Man" movie, which should be it's own "thing," a Universe in a bottle...but for marketing purposes—to make sure there aren't any entries like the third Tobey McGuire and the second Andrew Garfield movies that have a slight down-tick in revenues to make studio executives nervous—they bring in popular characters from other Marvel movies...and...diminish them. Curious strategy, that.

Also, the presence of Stark contributes to something I find just annoying, but it's annoying for a significant amount of running time in the film: Spidey's suit. Looks good, okay. But, over the course of the movie, you find that there are so many goo-gah's and other gizmo's in it that you could imagine that given a good remote control, you don't even need a person in it.** The eye-holes respond to emotions (a trait picked up from Deadpool) and the mask has a "heads-up display" like Iron Man, they can control the types of webs he shoots, and, most egregiously, he has a "Siri" voice in his suit (voiced by Jennifer Connelly), who gives him so much information that there is no need for him to think. But, it does give him plenty of time to talk, which he does incessantly while he's trapped overnight in a weapons warehouse. Guess it beats trying to find an exit somewhere.

Need a lot less of this.

The thing is, it's not the suit that people like—it's the character inside it—although Marvel Studios tried to make him as much like Iron Man as possible, it will all be for naught if audiences don't respond to Holland and the character they've written. The movie makes the point, itself; after a botched confrontation with "The Vulture" on a Staten Island ferry, Stark's Iron Man comes to save the day and dresses Spider-Man down...by taking away his tech-suit. "I'm nothing without the suit," bleats Peter. "If you're nothing without the suit, then you shouldn't have it!" Stark replies. Hopefully, when he gets it back, they'll have dialed down the tech. The character is fun enough when he has to improvise a get-up in the third act. And more competent.

But, the thing that really disappointed me is a problem that past Spider-Man films have had—a needlessly frenetic pace and editing by a cuisinart. It's happened in Spider-Man 3 and The Amazing Spider-Man 2 (the ones fewer people saw and caused the respective re-boots). The timing is off on a few things because there seems to be an attempt to shoe-horn as many bits of business and details as possible, but not to dwell on them (one isn't given enough time to notice them!). Look at that fight gif above. See how things don't seem very smooth and jerk around a bit. That's because the director—or it could be 2nd, even 3rd unit-director—didn't have a basic design strategy that would make the fight work as a whole, followable sequence. They basically took bits and pieces, added some inserts and just thought it would come out looking good in the editing room. It didn't, and it doesn't. 

"See? Superman isn't the only hero who's a Christ-allegory!"

And once we get into the big battle set-pieces, the action (which is now more CGI than practical stage work) just becomes nearly incomprehensible and hard to follow—you can't see who's where and what spatial relationship they have with each other to determine the sequence of danger. It's just individual shots that are supposed to give you a sense of action highlights, but not how they relate to each other. Combine that with the tendency to have the Spider-Man fight sequences run a little too fast, especially in the swooping-and-dodging departments (which I suspect has more to do with trying to make the CGI pass scrutiny than anything else—come to think of it, the worst fight sequences of the previous "Spider-Man" films also occurred at night as this one does), and it makes you wonder if all the various FX houses go into a room to actually coordinate what the sequences will look like, as opposed to individual shots. They might be technically brilliant, but do they share the same framework to make the collection of shots legible? Not very. In fact, the last time, they had really good action sequences was way back in Spider-Man 2 (Series 1.0).

So, there's less doom-and-gloom and Spider-moping in this Spider-Man movie. But, I can't say things have noticeably improved. In fact, the character seems even less important in his own series than when he started to be crowded out by villains. Maybe someday there will be another good one along the lines of Spider-Man 2—still one of the best movies in the super-hero genre—but this one isn't it. This third time has some charm, but it's not enough to keep it off the bargain racks at your friendly neighborhood supermarket.

* The punch-line of which is Cap showing up in the completely superfluous Final Credits Teaser that completely nerd-bashes the idea of sitting through the Credits to watch to the teaser: "Hi, I'm Captain America. Here to talk to you about one of the most valuable traits a student or soldier can have. Patience. Sometimes, patience is the key to victory. Sometimes, it leads to very little, and it seems like it's not worth it, and you wonder why you waited so long for something so disappointing... How many more of these?"

** There's an antecedent in the comics for this: Spider-man has an enemy named "Venom"—he was briefly in Spider-Man 3 (the only #3 there has been), which is essentially a Spider-Man costume that possesses people (yeah, don't even ask, True Believer...)