Despite being a relatively late adopter of love for the Coen brothers’ filmography, there is now no other film writers whose dialogue is nearly as intoxicating; Tarantino comes close, though. There are certainly parallels between the styles of these directors, as both demonstrate the inseparability of their writing with their direction—their words in another director’s hands lose just a little of their magic. It also makes sense that the Coens seem to have an abundant love of music in their movies, as their scripts have a unique rhythm and musical quality to them, a weird kind of poetry that is obnoxious to describe as such but nonetheless appropriate.
Visually, the Coens have formed a team with legendary cinematographer Roger Deakins for over 20 years. This time, however, their director of photography is Bruno Delbonnel, a relative rising star who gained attention for work on such films as Amelie and Across the Universe, as well as being Tim Burton’s new go-to guy. So the look of Llewyn Davis appears less crystal clear compared to Deakins’ stuff, but the hazy glow of 1960s New York gives it a fresh feel for a Coen film. Freshness is becoming a signature for them these past few years, as if they get bored by repeating themselves. Another reason to dig them.
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