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CAPSULE: THE MAN WHO WASN’T THERE (2001)

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DIRECTED BY: Joel Coen, Ethan Coen

FEATURING: , , , , , Tony Shalhoub

PLOT: A stoical barber develops a plan to blackmail his wife’s employer, which spirals out of control.

Still from the Man Who Wasn't There (2001)

COMMENTS: The Coen Brothers began their career in film noir with Blood Simple (1984), and much of their subsequent work has either referenced or revolved around noirish themes. Blood Simple, alongside Fargo (1996) and No Country for Old Men (2007), are classic neo-noirs in rural settings. Non-noir offerings like Miller’s Crossing (1990) and Barton Fink (1991) still feature doomed, alienated heroes and challenging ethical dilemmas, and even The Big Lebowski (1998) flirts with noir themes with its complicated crime caper in an LA setting. But The Man Who Wasn’t There is their one take on the classic formula: post-war period setting, chiaroscuro cinematography, carefully-planned crime that goes horribly wrong, moral corruption, and a flawed protagonist increasingly resigned to his dim fate. Who wouldn’t want to see the brothers give their straightforward take on film noir, with all the moralistic nihilism that implies?

The plot is a classic noir knot: a “simple” act of blackmail leads to a pair of unintended murders, which leads to the wrong person being put on trial, which, in a roundabout way, eventually leads to misplaced but ironically appropriate justice. Our antihero, Ed Crane, is a disaffected barber who is only slightly more engaged with the world than Mersault. He tolerates his job; he likes his wife and their passionless life together well-enough, even though he suspects she may be cheating on him. His descent into crime happens on a whim, to garner investment funds after hearing a pitch by a dry-cleaning entrepreneur. He’s a man of few words, except when it comes time to deliver expository voiceovers.

In some sense, there isn’t a lot there in The Man That Wasn’t There. Although there are twists, the plot often drags, like Ed Crane’s own mundane suburban life. But for a single bad decision, Ed would not have left much of a mark on the world: he would have glided through life silently cutting hair and smoking cigarettes, dispassionate and content to watch life slip by. He’s a barber by profession, but it’s just something he drifted into; really, “that'”barber” is too much of an identity for him. As he says, he “just cuts the hair.” In the course of the film, he develops exactly two passions: once, his brief interest in dry-cleaning, and a more substantial interest in the teenage daughter of a drunken customer (it’s not what your dirty mind is thinking; he’s charmed by her faltering rendition of a Beethoven piano sonata). Both times, his sudden engagement with the world leads him to unwitting tragedy.

The Man Who Wasn’t There is, mostly, a solid, authentic rendition of the classical noir style. It only departs from the 40s formula in a few particulars. Homosexuality is acknowledged and plays a role in the plot; Ed’s slightly inappropriate fixation on Birdy also crosses a line that would have barely been hinted at by the previous cinematic generation. Further, the film is more obviously and artily existential than its forebears. The Coens humorously reference Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle (absurdly, Ed’s trial lawyer wants to make it the centerpiece of his defense), which presages their more thorough exploration of the enigma of Schrödinger’s famous feline in A Serious Man. Finally, the movie’s weirdest element (perhaps its only weird element) is the mysterious usage of UFOs as a metaphor for…. something (modern man’s futile search for meaning in the universe?) But these eccentricities hardly depart much from the source homage, making The Man Who Wasn’t There a satisfying throwback to a simpler age, when people were more complex.

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

“…a curious mix of tragedy and humor filmed in stark black and white… succeeds in establishing a mood of existential absurdity..”–Robert Roten, Laramie Movie Scope (contemporaneous)

(This movie was nominated for review by Lee Taylor. Suggest a weird movie of your own here.)

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The Man Who Wasn't There (Criterion Collection)

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    366 Underground

    366 UNDERGROUND: CUDDLY TOYS (2022)

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    DIRECTED BY: Kansas Bowling

    FEATURING: Kansas Bowling

    PLOT: Professor Kansas Bowling, with a degree in “Teen Age,” draws on myriad examples of girls’ ruined childhoods to explore the dangers of impressionability and sexual predation.

    Still from Cuddly Toys (2022)

    COMMENTS: There’s a human skeleton arranged on a string, a red backdrop, an old slide projector, and a strange figure: a professor, she tells us, with her field of study situated on the grim intersection of the evil and the mundane. Shattered futures, injured esteem and injured bodies, dogged sunniness, doom, defiance, death, and rape: all these elements, across numerous (“There are 100 actresses in this film”) testimonials, flesh out this frightful and compelling, sometimes experimental and sometimes verité, mockumentary dissecting the teenage girlhood experience in all its harrowing possibility.

    These girls’ lives unfold in a murky ’70s-to-’90s era, with postcards sent from the road, nary a portable phone to be seen, and the recurring Scott Walker tune, “It’s Raining Today,” lashing ominously as crooned counterpoint to the poppy Nilsson/Monkees title track. After a brief introduction from the professor, Cuddly Toys dives right into its deadpan-dreadful proceedings with a “Miss Pre-Teen” beauty pageant, setting the tone: we’re in for a nasty ride, made just barely tolerable by the clinical absurdism of our guide and the improbable perkiness of (some of) the girls and women onscreen.

    But discomfort—to put it mildly—weighs on the viewer, and appropriately so. As a general rule, I am not prone to guilt by association, but by the film’s end I was truly appalled by the evil potential, and the evil realized by, my fellow men. I had no objections to Bowling depicting this, however. There’s far too great a streak of nastiness in the world, which menaces one sex exponentially more than the other. That said, Professor Bowling slips in a trenchant observation in her closing remarks—one which raises the question as to which sex is actually considered more disposable.

    Cuddly Toys is a mind-blowing journey into the casual cruelty found in our culture, weaving harrowing nightmares from grubby dreams. The victims are clear, and the perpetrators—though predominately male—seem to be just about everyone; there is more than enough blame to go around.

    WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

    “I definitely wouldn’t shade you if this was not your cup o ‘tea, it’s weird. Part shockumentary, part arthouse fever dream, it’s an astutely delivered, if a bit meandering, pitch black mondo-comedy.”–McBastard 2000, Rock! Shock! Pop! (Blu-ray)

    Cuddly Toys [Blu-ray]

    Cuddly Toys [Blu-ray]

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    It Came from the Reader-Suggested Queue

    IT CAME FROM THE READER-SUGGESTED QUEUE: THREE… EXTREMES (2004)

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    DIRECTED BY: ,,

    FEATURING: , , , Im Won-hee, Kyôko Hasegawa,

    PLOT: A woman resorts to extreme measures to regain her youth, an intruder torments a film director and his wife, a young girl is haunted by a traumatic past.

    Still from Three... Extremes (2004)

    COMMENTS:  Three… Extremes started as a franchise of pan-Asian horror anthologies with 2002’s Three. A collection of short films from Peter Ho-Sun Chan, Kim Jee-woon, and , Three offered a panorama of horror from China, South Korea and Thailand. It never reached the popularity of its sequel, however, remaining obscure while the second and final installment, widely known as Three… Extremes, attained a cult status, largely thanks to a selection of contributors that included a couple of major names in  contemporary  cinema.

    Hong Kong’s Fruit Chan offers the first dish, Dumplings. It is perhaps the most infamous of the trilogy, and Chan quickly adapted it into a feature film. The plot revolves around a rich middle-aged woman attempting to regain her youth ( and her husband’s love)  by eating special dumplings that promise to rejuvenate her skin, provided by an unconventional chef. Ethical issues come to the forefront as the stuffing’s origin is revealed. Our heroine’s disgust and second thoughts give easily their way to self-destructive obsession, however. “Dumplings” is a Faustian morality play about the price of narcissism. Like Elizabeth Báthory, the countess who bathed in the blood of virgin women to remain young, our protagonist engages in grotesque acts for selfish reasons. An industrial soundscape enhances the sense of something ominous and disturbing lurking in the background.

    After the appetizer, South Korean visionary Park-Chan Wook  presents “Cut.” His story focuses on a successful film director and his wife on the night that an intruder captures them and proceeds with a series of mental and physical tortures. There is no moral justification here; this is no Saw. Instead, the explanation given is brutally honest, making the events following even more shocking. This is a revenge tale, albeit one with elements of social commentary. If you love contemporary socially-conscious genre cinema from South Korea, like Bong Joon Ho‘s Oscar-nominated Parasite (2019), this will be right up your alley (as long as you have a strong stomach for gore). At the same time, the narrative plays masterfully with the nature of reality, blurring the lines between the authentic and the staged, culminating in a series of over-the-top twists and reveals.

    The third piece, by far the most haunting, comes from Japan. Takashi Miike’s “Box” is a surreal psychosexual narrative following a young woman ridden by guilt and repressed lust. It alternates between present and past; Miike depicts the former in a cold color palette expressing grief, while warmer tones in the present hint at catastrophic passions. The flashbacks have a carnivalesque aesthetic that, along with the taboo subject matter, recalls ‘s Strange Circus (2005). The hints of supernatural horror and the morbid symbolic imagery are guaranteed to make you shudder.

    More often than not, compilation films are uneven. That’s not the case here. A strong thematic link creates coherence, as each tale is a deeply meditative take on human envy. This is thoughtful horror with a psychological aspect, essential viewing for fans of the genre.

    WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

    “…Miike’s ‘Box’ is the best of the bunch – a disturbing, dreamlike tale of a woman novelist haunted by dreams of her twin sister who died long ago…  The film may well live up to its title: it is perhaps too extreme for some viewers, perhaps even in bad taste at times, but you have to give all the episodes credit for being bizarre and effective.”–Steve Biodrowski, Cinefantastique

    Three / Three... Extremes [Limited Edition] [Blu-ray]

    Three / Three… Extremes [Limited Edition] [Blu-ray]

    • Two anthology films, six ghostly tales of terror, acclaimed directors from Hong Kong, Korea, Thailand and Japan. The ultimate omnibus of horror.

    New starting from: 27.55 $

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    Capsules, It Came from the Reader-Suggested Queue

    IT CAME FROM THE READER-SUGGESTED QUEUE: THE HOLE (1998)

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    Dong, aka The Last Dance

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    DIRECTED BY: Tsai Ming-Liang

    FEATURING: ,

    PLOT: In the face of a growing epidemic and environmental calamity, two of the only remaining occupants in an apartment building struggle to maintain their lives and find themselves inexorably drawn to each other through the hole in the ceiling that connects them.

    Still from The Hole (1998)

    COMMENTS: It never stops raining in The Hole’s Taipei. Condensation drips down every surface in the apartment building where we spend the entirety of the film, and its’ so humid that our two lead characters, the Man Upstairs and the Woman Downstairs, strip down to their sweat-soaked undergarments as soon as they get home. Wallpaper peels off the walls like it was held on by a Post-It note. For drinking, though, boiling is an absolute must. The world is becoming unlivable, and yet people still cling to the past. When an older man is unable to find a favorite bean paste, but learns that he can have the exact same product under a different brand name, he responds with devastated silence, unable to even consider a change of such magnitude. Even in the face of complete loss, the commitment to the world we think we know remains strong.

    Created for the French television “2000, Seen By” project, which also counts such films as Don McKellar’s Last Night and Hal Hartley’s The Book of Life among its number, The Hole is a grim preview of the near future, featuring such highlights as environmental catastrophe, massive class inequality, and a rapidly spreading worldwide plague. For us pandemic fans, that last one hits like a prescient ton of bricks, even though though it’s the source of the most science fictional element of the film, as this particular plague curses the afflicted with cockroach-like behavior, crawling about the floor on all fours and retreating to dark, enclosed spaces. Yet despite this outwardly negative view of the new millennium, Tsai infuses The Hole with a hopeful streak, as the residents of this rundown apartment complex defiantly persevere in the face of adversity.

    The titular aperture, which inadvertently connects the Man Upstairs and the Woman Downstairs, is appropriately the most emblematic show of humanity’s persistence. They go to their jobs, stock up on toilet paper, boil their water, and stare longingly at the incessant rain, but the hole forces them to cut through their routine and see each other. Initially a source of conflict, it wrecks their privacy, and they sometimes pick at each other out of humorous spite. It ultimately proves to be a means of connection, however, becoming increasingly important as things fall apart.

    The movie’s most overt sign of optimism, and its most radical element, is the occasional shift into glitzy musical numbers, as Yang gets gussied up and leaves her apartment to dance and lip-sync to the tunes of Chinese chanteuse Grace Chang. In the best tradition of , the tunes are thematically appropriate and graft peppy dance numbers directly onto the dank, crumbling sets. Tsai actually dedicates the film to Chang, saluting her as a source of comfort in dark times, and she ultimately soundtracks the bittersweet coda. The film does not take a clear position on whether this is true cause for hope or bitter irony, but the cheery vocals and Yang’s joyfully amateurish dancing provide a strong endorsement for fiddling while Rome burns, and lift The Hole beyond its compatriots in the sad future brigade.

    Look up any discussion of the filmography of Tsai Ming-Liang and you’ll inevitably stumble upon the term “slow cinema.” We’ve seen one of the most extreme examples of that genre on this very site. The Hole is unquestionably deliberately paced, but that is well-suited to a tale where life itself seems to be coming apart in slow motion. The rain is constant, the hole will never be repaired, so when change does come, it’s galvanizing. When we waited through our own pandemic, connection is what we were desperate to get back to at the end. The Hole knew that two decades earlier, and the waiting is what makes the payoff exquisite.

    The Hole is now (if you’re reading this in summer 2026) in theatrical re-release.

    WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

    “The premise is weird enough, but interrupting the metaphorical story with delightfully amateurish song and dance sequences… takes it still further into uncharted territory.”–Geoff Andrews, Time Out 

    (This movie was nominated for review by B. Gibson. Suggest a weird movie of your own here.) 

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      FANTASIA 2026: APOCRYPHA CANDIDATE: ZSAZSA ZATURNNAH (2026)

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      AKA Zsazsa Zaturnnah vs the Amazonistas of Planet X

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      DIRECTED BY: Avid Liongoren

      FEATURING: Voices of Phi Palmos, Adrienne Vergara, Io Balanon, Siglo Pecho, Joelle Yuvienco

      PLOT: Ada, owner of a local hair salon, has a crush on the  grocer across the street and must rise to heights of heroism to defeat murderous aliens from planet Planet X.

      Still from Zsazsa Zsaturnnah (2026)

      WHY IT MIGHT JOIN THE APOCRYPHA: The fact that this is one of the queerest movies I’ve seen, both in the modern sense and the word’s original definition, tips my balance of judgment here. A string of silly, sexualized kaiju encounters (eggplant, anyone?) culminate in a showdown involving a cock-and-balls super weapon, so there’s certainly that, too. Zsazsa might make for a great animated sci-fi queer double feature alongside Strange Frame.

      COMMENTS: Ada enjoys his quiet life, in his quiet town, working at his quiet hair salon. He enjoys, a great deal, innocently ogling Dodong from his viewpoint across the street (often falling into an inadvertent drool as the comic-book visuals morph into Steel-y pastels of hunkitude). He enjoys, somewhat less, the company of Didi, his in-your-face assistant who somehow managed to land devotedly in his employ. He enjoys, not at all, the prospect of devouring a large space rock—emblazoned with the enigmatic word, “ZATURNNAH”—at Didi’s behest; but as Didi quips, Ada has had no difficulty fitting large things into his mouth before. Open wide, gulp, fizz, blast, and behold our superhero: muscle-bound, flowing-haired, curvaceously-carressable Zsazsa!

      Adapated from a comic series, and previously interpreted in live action both on screen and on stage, Zsazsa is wholly unleashed in its animated form. Avid Liongoren pushes the vibrant versatility of the medium to fabulous, fantastical heights as colors grab the eye and zippy lines whoosh us through mighty battles, culminating in a zombie horde ka-powing before the actual final showdown. That battle, against the strange forces behind the series of invasions that plague the small town, squares us off against an odd bit of commentary: a mighty queen from a far off planet who has destroyed all men and believes that Zsazsa is wholly female. There is a smirking tension in Zsazsa between misandry, misogyny, and a nebulous middle thingy. Ada is, quite firmly, a gay man, though with classically feminine tendencies, and the queen of Planet X has no experience with this.

      But I risk taking things too seriously. Zsazsa bursts with Lisa Frank energy from the get-go, and the pep doesn’t let up throughout the movie. In the midst of the endless sight gags, zippy one-liners, and cartoonish combat is a message: strength comes from within, and it has nothing to do with whatever spiky space rock you may have deep-throated into yourself.

      WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

      “… the actual subject of the film perfectly accentuates the strangeness of its animated frames… Fans of campy cinema, drag aesthetics, and comic-book fantasy should have an absolute blast with this wild genre combo.” — Joshua Hayes, Josh at the Movies (festival screening)