
The Coen Brothers’ 1991 film Barton Fink has been on my “to-do” list for quite some time, and finally I have gotten the chance to watch it. Famous both for its use of visual metaphor and Biblical and literary allusion, Barton Fink is an excellent, albeit rather unfocused, multi-genre picture.
It is 1942, and Barton Fink (John Turturro) is a newly successful New York playwright who is offered a chance to work for “Capitol Pictures” in Los Angeles, writing movies. At first reluctant, he eventually agrees and travels to L.A., planning to stay in the Hotel Earle, a decrepit and strange old place that he opts for because, as his slick producer instantly sees, it’s “not too Hollywood”. Upon arrival, Barton sets his typewriter on his desk and receives his first assignment, to write a script about wrestling. After sitting down, he hears loud, strange noises coming from the room next door and calls the front desk, and soon receives a knock at his door: Charlie (John Goodman), a large and jolly insurance salesman, apologizes for the disturbance he caused and offers Barton a drink.
As Barton struggles to get his script off the ground, he bumps into a well-known writer named W.P. Mayhew, who he befriends, quickly realizing that he despises him. Barton continues to struggle with his script, as his room is seemingly falling apart and he is plagued by a mosquito that wakes him as it buzzes closer and closer to his ear. Meanwhile, his large and friendly neighbor Charlie barges in and complains of ear infections, requiring a gauze to plug up the puss secreting out of his ear. Part Bates motel, part The Shining (the Coen brothers cited Kubrick’s film as an influence), Barton Fink is mysterious and at times disgusting. Within the confines of his room, all Barton has to look at is a simple painting of a woman lying down and staring at the ocean from the shore.
In keeping with my unspoken refusal to spoil a story, eventually Barton’s private neurosis manifests into a major problem in the reality of the film- a climactic culmination of small, easily unnoticed details that add up to something larger than Barton can imagine. Of course, when things begin to unravel into chaos, Fink is at his most inspired, and with mounting pressure from Jack Lipnick, a rich, robed studio head with a palace, he gets a massive, “big” (not large, but important) script finished.
What struck me about Fink, in keeping with the Coen brothers tradition, is a film with enough ambiguity to intrigue but enough immersive storytelling to engage the audience, rather than the audience attempting to engage the film. A problem I could easily see is someone discussing Barton Fink and the numerous instances of symbolism, metaphor, and allusion that the average moviegoer would never notice- and much of that symbolism is unintentional on the part of the Coens, who are creative and brilliant, but by no means mystical or fanatically dense. It would be a mistake to take this movie for more than what it is- a mystery, a comedy, film noir, and maybe even a wrestling pictcha rolled into one accessible work.







