Oh, Brother, Where Art Thou? *****

It seems to me that there is a rule that if you don’t like certain directors, you are considered gauche.

For example, Robert Altman. And let me be blunt here.

I don’t get Robert Altman. I don’t know why everyone loves him. I can’t make it through any of his movies with the exception of M*A*S*H without at least two naps. I was personally offended by the arrogance of his take on Raymond Chandler’s classic, “The Long Goodbye.”

In Altman’s view, Chandler’s private detective, Philip Marlowe was a ridiculous anachronism that deserved to be skewered by a rumbled, clowning Eliot Gould. I don’t get the point. Even Chandler himself has said that the character was an anachronism even back in the ’30s and ‘40s, but was necessary to tell his stories.

You can modernize without belittling. I’m not a big fan of television, but I thought Jim Rockford was a fine update of Marlowe. To do a proper update, there has to be some affection for what you are updating and Altman doesn’t seem to have much affection for anything…maybe his dog.

Now, one of my favorite updates was a modern movie done a few years ago by two of the best filmmakers going today – the Coen brothers.

As a quick aside, there are times when I’m not sure if I’m watching the same movies as some of those film critics down there. I’m not talking about the clowns like Rex Reed, who would write that a movie about two donkeys fornicating is brilliant just to get the quote on the poster. I’m referring to the supposedly legitimate people. It doesn’t matter how many times I see Fargo, it’s just not that good. Maybe I’m just biased against North Dakota or where ever the hell it took place. Why do a movie about a boring place with boring people?

On the other hand, I loved “Oh, Brother, Where Art Thou,” the marvelous modernization of Odysseus, and I seem to be alone.

Roger Ebert, who I consider the one-eyed critic in a world of blind morons, said the story seemed wonderful in segments, but disjointed overall.

Mr. Ebert may need a refresher course on Homer’s classic. Last time I checked, the book was pretty disjointed as well. That was the point. It was the story of some lordly hero from the Trojan War who is desperately trying to find his way home, but the god Poseidon decides to try and stop him at every turn.

Now how do you update something like this from ancient Greece to the South in the Depression? Who would be the American version of Odysseus? Why a hustling con man who just broke out of jail just to keep his wife from marrying again of course. This is brilliant because it doesn’t make fun of the story. It makes fun of us. Odysseus is the best the Greeks can do. Ulysses Everett McGill and his lifetime supply of Dapper Dan pomade is the best we can do.

The best Poseidon can do is two monsters side by side and a Cyclops. The best we can do is a lynch mob and a one-eyed Bible selling Klansman. Plus, where Odysseus consistently succeeds, McGill constantly fails, but somehow survives.

(One of my favorite scenes is the one with the lynch mob impersonating the two monsters. How do I know they were impersonating the two monsters? While they were planning their escape, McGill kept saying over and over again, “We’re in a tight spot. We’re really in a tight spot.” Just great.)

On top of the insane characters and witty dialogue, the visuals are remarkable. The Coens absolutely capture the sandy, grayish, windswept South of the Depression. The way they film each character is also captivating, emphasizing each disability. The Klansman’s eye patch seems to take up his whole face and the entire screen as well. Doing this stays with the theme of our pock-marked culture as compared to the pristine ancient Greeks.

The best part of all of this symbolism is that it’s there – if you want it. If you don’t, it’s still a funny and captivating movie. It’s not only an interesting story, but its beautiful filmmaking as well.

Basically, what the Coens did is combine the avant-garde techniques of the pompous French New Wave with the story telling of Hawks.

See, Francois, I told you it could be done.