I’m a sucker for this place and time in American music: the Greenwich Village folk scene in the early 60s.  The Coens capture the ambiance, but their protag is such a dick. (I don’t use that term lightly, but the word captures his essence.)  He’s a decent singer but not particularly original. He’s waiting for something to happen while doing almost nothing to =make= it happen. He fobs off his inability to commit as artistic integrity, but we don’t see any integrity of any sort. In the background at the end there’s this young bushy-haired newcomer named Bob onstage for one of his first gigs. I guess I can sum up this ramble with I loved much about the film but wished I could have been rooting for Llewyn. (The FF is low because I was =sure= Llewyn would learn something.  Wrong.  But then, I figure that was the point.)


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