If you're a cinephile, you've probably noticed a number of startling trends in recent years. The rise of streaming and prolific sequels have left many moviegoers dismayed, but few developments have been quite as disturbing as the messy divorce of the Coen Brothers. Yes, the once unbeatable duo have split with Joel now doing streaming fare while Ethan makes middling crime films.
Of course, I'm joking. The Coens have not fallen out, as they have simply chosen to pursue different creative projects since the pandemic. Their solo output isn't extensive, but it's been fine for the most part.
Still, there's a lingering feeling, for me at least, that wants to see more Coen Brothers' films. While their filmography is already stacked with cult classics and Oscar winners, their unique zest for storytelling is something you never really get enough of.
Unsurprisingly, the legendary duo excel at nearly every aspect of filmmaking. Their famous dialogue pushes with a dry wit, while also hinting at the deeper truths of human nature. In addition, their filmography and musical selections often illuminate their stories, cementing their style and penchant for creativity.
However, what's never really appreciated about the Coens' work is how adept they are at utilizing their settings. I know it's cliche to suggest that the setting is its own "agent" or "active force," but a great film capitalizes on its setting. This is exactly how the Coen Brothers tell stories.
In every one of their films, the setting matters, not just to the characters, but to the audience. Whether it's classic Hollywood or the Texas frontiers, you immediately know where you are in a Coens film. Even more, the setting slowly pulls you into the story until it nearly becomes inseparable.
I could talk about nearly every Coen Brothers film, as they all make the most of the cities, states, and areas they inhabit. However, I've selected four of their films that really demonstrate their talents, starting with their early breakthrough Raising Arizona (1987).
As the title implies, Raising Arizona takes place in Arizona, which features a desert environment the Coens would often revisit. The title also has a double meaning, as lowly main characters Hi (Nicolas Cage) and Ed (Holly Hunter) try to raise a stolen celebrity baby named Arizona. This pair of wacky rejects struggle to raise Arizona as their criminal past continuously entices them to perform the wackiest of crimes.
While the story seems straightforward, the setting adds another layer of depth to Hi and Ed's humble attempts at parenting. Although they have the best intentions, Hi and Ed are lowered by their environment. They live in a poor town, sharing a trailer and little else. Both want a brighter future, but the desert offers little room for growth.
In addition, Hi and Ed desperately desire to complete their family, but Ed is infertile and Hi's criminal prevents them from adopting. Although they're trying to turn the page, Hi's past is inescapable. The desert then consumes the couple, as its all encompassing barren grasps prove impossible to shake.
As such, the couple ultimately steal the titular baby, and soon delve deeper into their criminal repertoire to provide for him. They're not bad guys like Hi's jailbird friends, but they're shaken by the desert around them, which is all they've ever known.
Ultimately, the Coens portray their protagonists as two castaways in love, looking for a way out of a desert that seems inescapable. Eventually, they do right their mistakes, leaving hope for a future that might take them outside of Arizona.
Next, the Coens swap the desert for a much more frigid environment, the icy lands of Fargo, Minnesota. Again, the Coens acknowledge the setting before their films even begins, placing the quaint Minnesota town as the defining aspect of Fargo (1996).
Visually, the Coens never let you forget where you for even one frame. The snow has blanketed the land in an endless way looking both whimsical and overbearing. They use this to their advantage, giving us picturesque shots that show the beauty of a world engulfed by the massive winter.
Then, of course, there's those accents. Perhaps best known for its association with this movie, the heavy Midwestern accent is both iconic and divisive. Characters such as Marge Gunderson (Frances McDormand) and Jerry Lundegaard (William H. Macy) wouldn't be the same without their innocently cheerful way of talking. It's grating to some, but when given consistently great dialogue, their exchanges become oddly hilarious.
However, the Coens also capture how Fargo isn't for everyone. The only two characters who lack accents, Carl (Steve Buscemi) and Gaear (Peter Stormare), stick out like sore thumbs from the get go. It's no surprise that they prove to be far more violent than the citizens of Fargo as their depravity simply doesn't fit in.
Lastly, there's Jerry, the sappy husband who pays two strangers to kidnap his wife so he can erase some bad debt. For him, Fargo is a prison. Much like the desert in Raising Arizona, the endless tundra traps Jerry into his mundane life. Sure, the snow will someday melt, but his debt and inadequate feelings will never fade. It's exactly what drives him to enact his schemes, which eventually dismantle his life.
But that's not Fargo to everyone, especially not for Marge Gunderson. While she's not rich by any means, she enjoys a simple life. The Coens make her normal routine of daily coffee and a husband who loves ducks seem like a cozy dream. It's not glamorous or rich, but Marge has made the most of Fargo, which vastly contrasts with Jerry's pitiful life.
While the desert works as an exhaustive prison, Fargo's icy blankets work as an open canvas. Marge and Jerry make what they will out of it, but the Midwestern forces of nature certainly send these characters on different paths.
Of course, sometimes the setting is just a relentless entity actively working against the protagonists. That's exactly the case for the Coens' seminal hit, O Brother, Where Art Thou? (2000), a retelling of Homer's Odyssey.
Much like the ancient epic it was based on, O Brother depicts a ferocious terrain that consistently prevents our heroes from getting home. However, the Coens forgo a mythologized Greece for a somewhat enchanted 1930's Mississippi. They also replace the noble warriors with three slapstickish jailbirds, Everett (George Clooney), Pete (John Turturro), and Delmar (Tim Blake Nelson), who are in search of a legendary buried treasure.
After the trio break out of jail, they encounter a number of obstacles in the Southern terrain that prove both mysterious and hazardous. They face a one-eyed Bible salesman, several siren like women, a racist mob, and are routinely chased by the police. While not exactly mythological, the South proves to have its own magical obstacles for our trio to navigate.
Like the other films on this list, O Brother succeeds off of the Coens' cosntant reminders that you're in this strange Southern world. Nearly every frame is lit perfectly, encapsulating a golden hue that feels visually comforting yet incessantly hot. The makeup attests to this too, showing the grime and sweat that the trio has accumulated in this dirty, sweltering heat. In fact, the cinematography is some of the most beautiful in any Coen film, rendering this Mississippi as an otherworldly beauty locked away by the gates of time.
If those visuals aren't enough for you though, the Coens also offer a soundtrack that transports you directly into the rural South. Indeed, you are not just gazing into this Southern world, but hearing it sing back to you. The soundtrack features an array of era specific folk, including numerous songs that are sung by actors in the film. These tracks are brimming with soul, desire, and faith, capturing an unbridled spirit specific to this exact setting. Sure, folk music has existed since and before, but it's the bread and butter of this world that our characters survive off of when they have little else.
The Coens don't necessarily give us an accurate South, but their version teeters into the supernatural realm just to the believable limit. The beautiful sights and angelic sounds foster a magnificent world, one that has more than enough obstacles, but an array of magnificence as well. Afterall, the mysterious flood that saves them in the end acts as a final wave of benevolence for our flawed heroes, perhaps indicating that Mississippi has accepted the Soggy Bottom Boys.
Already delivering a desert prison, a snowy canvas, and a treacherously mystic South, the Coens have proven themselves capable of utilizing their setting as much as the story needs it to. But perhaps their finest employment of setting is their take on 1980's Texas in No Country for Old Men (2007).
Once again, the Coens place the setting right at the forefront of their title. Sure, it's based on the novel of the same name, but the setting is still the first thing acknowledged. Instead of a state or city name though, we get a brief description of a hostile land that hints at impending trouble.
As the film starts, we're introduced to a Texan desert that reeks with an eerie beauty. It's serene, but the calm feels like a reprieve from an imminent storm. It doesn't take long before we get to that storm that comes in the form of Anton Chigurh (Javier Bardem), confirming the brutality of this landscape.
For the most part, this version of Texas seems pretty normal. While it's the same setting of numerous Hollywood Westerns, it's clearly become dilapidated with time. From the seedy motels to the trailer parks, this country has not appreciated. Still, there's a normalcy present that would never suggest a world of assassins and killers.
Just as in Raising Arizona, the desert feels vast and inescapable. However, in No Country, the Coens also make it feel desolate, as if time is moving with infectious disdain for civilization. It seems like everything is okay, but the violence that bubbles from underneath shows there's an inescapable current that's changing the Western landscape.
Ultimately, the setting becomes crucial to the story, as the Coens upend every expectation we could have for a Western. It's not a landscape for violence, but rather a violent force that engulfs protagonist Llewelyn Moss (Josh Brolin) and Sherriff Tom Bell (Tommy Lee Jones). Even the unstoppable Chigurh takes a random hit at the end, showing that the land's brutality is cruelly indifferent.
By giving us a consistently brutal West, the Coens reaffirm that the golden days of cowboys and hero sheriffs are over. A setting that was once known for freedom and opportunity is now distinguished by chaos and greed. It truly is no country for old men, or any men for that matter, as the Coens bring the post modern sensibilities to a Western setting that is too far gone to save.
Simply put, the setting of a Coen Brothers film is one of the most prominent features. The setting informs character decisions, reflects the story's themes, and provides visual aesthetics that are stunningly unique. Of course, the Coens will always command excellent dialogue and character development, but the settings they render are just as crucial.
As I remarked earlier, great films often use settings as their own agent or force. Many times, that's how it feels in a Coen Brothers film, especially when the Southern world sweeps our heroes away or a wayward car is hurled at an assassin for seemingly no reason.
However, I'm not necessarily sure that agency is the best description of a Coens setting. Instead, I believe their settings are inextricably part of their stories. If you set Raising Arizona or Fargo in another state, neither would be the same. Every snow covered bank, railway car, and tractor trailer are placed exactly where they need to be to matter to our characters and prompt them on their journeys.
While I don't believe the Coens are the only directors to give this much thought to their settings, they surely have mastered the art of the setting. The Coen Brothers films bloom from their settings with deep roots that thrive off the culture, weather, and inherent values of the states and cities they inhabit. As such, they are truly one of a kind stories, tied down to the weirdest of places that you never would've known were prime for the silver screen.
