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I suppose one could read into “Burn After Reading” a commentary on the quality and nature of intelligence gathering in the U.S. “war on terror.” Or, to wax philosophical, one could see in the film a cinematic, almost existential, musing on how humanity is adrift in a universe without any real knowledge or – eek! – truth. But my feeling is that the attempt to extract any kind of metaphysical significance ultimately strains the film to give more than it actually can, and not just because it’s a featherweight in comparison to the Coen Brothers’ previous film, the oppressive and heavy “No Country for Old Men.” There’s simply no real ambiguity, in either the characters or the slightly convoluted plot, on which to hang allegorical interpretations, and the film’s end drives the whole point home bluntly, if it isn’t already obvious beforehand.
To call “Burn After Reading” a featherweight, however, isn’t to cast aspersions. A “light” film from the Coen Brothers still has more bite than a kennel full of pitbulls. “Burn After Reading,” centered on the bumbling attempts of a gym trainer – an adorably goofy Frances McDormand – to sell state secrets accidentally stolen from an uptight CIA analyst with anger management issues (classic Malkovich), is a comedy painted in a vicious shade of black. The high-powered cast members, including a particularly quirky George Clooney and Brad Pitt with yet another kind of deliciously manic performance, live up to their stature with a flawless, un-self-conscious display of comic timing.
Indirect but Effective Communication
While “Burn After Reading” doesn’t have the artsy gorgeousness of “No Country for Old Men” or “Barton Fink” (or “Fargo”), the Coen brothers’ consummate mastery still delivers the goods, even if they are seemingly taking a break. Shots defined by low-level camera shots of people’s legs as they walk down institutional, marble-clad hallways, for example, convey the immense, anonymous bureaucracy of a large intelligence agency with unassuming style. And in a nod to that scene from “No Country for Old Men” in which Josh Brolin sits in his hotel room, camera firmly planted on him, while Javier Bardem busies himself with the hotel reception, we get more examples of the Coens’ ability to convey information to audiences through indirect means.
Giving credence, however slight, to bleak existential interpretations of the film, is the wittily constructed script. The Coens deliver a film in which only the audience has access to the big picture. To horrifyingly comic effect, none of the film’s characters ever has any real inkling as to the consequences of their actions, the relationships they all share, with the net effect that no one knows anything or makes truly informed choices when they do act. Clever. Very clever. Maybe the film is a satire of human hubris, in which the idea that it is ever possible to make an informed choice is a delusion of grandeur. Or maybe it’s just the Coens having fun with an insular world of their own creation. But there I go again, trying to find a greater meaning to a film that works perfectly well as cynical entertainment.
Entertainment Value: ** (out of two)
Technical Quality: ** (out of two)
Focus Features presents a film written and directed by Ethan and Joel Cohen. Starring George Clooney, Brad Pitt, Frances McDormand, John Malkovich, Tilda Swinton, Richard Jenkins, J.K. Simmons and David Rasche. 96 minutes. Rated R (for pervasive language, some sexual content and violence).
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