Joel and Ethan Coen’s 2009 release, A Serious Man, is the epitome of a film more valuable for its sub-text than for its entertainment value. In many ways, the film is difficult to watch, but oddly compelling. It is engrossing in its themes of struggle, inaction, and masculinity.
As the suburban Gopnik family approaches their son’s bar mitzvah, both father (Larry) and son (Danny) engage in intense struggles within their respective worlds. Their hardships are appropriately told within the context of the Jewish community, a people known throughout history to have experienced their share of suffering and conflict.
The film seems to make two substantial claims about life’s struggles, from daily irritations to more seasonal storms. First, life’s struggles amount to nothing, because we will all most certainly die in the end. Second, none of life’s struggles will be solved by an adherence to religion, though the traditions and social norms associated with religious expression will carry considerable weight in moving one through a personal crisis. Though the film does not seem to discount the personal value of religion, it does challenge the validity of religion beyond tradition alone. The traditions associated with religion may help one through a crisis, but the institute itself may prove inadequate.
The Coen brothers give special attention to the role of religious leaders and their perceived ability to provide grounding and calm within life’s storms. Throughout the film, three rabbis (Scott, Nachter, and Marshak) are called upon to offer guidance and counseling. Within the community, the eldest rabbi is held in high esteem, the middle-aged rabbi’s opinion is given moderate weight, and the youngest is merely viewed as an office holder with very little credibility–after all, what life experiences has he to share?
Interestingly, the young rabbi Scott, discounted by the community and culture as naive, offers the most honest and insightful view into Larry Gopnik’s turmoil. Against any expectations, and overlooked by Gopnik, Scott’s response is honest and clear. Nachter, the second eldest rabbi, regales Gopnik with stories and anecdotes, but offers nothing substantial. Marshak, the eldest, and viewed as the wisest spiritual leader, is completely inaccessible to Larry, but meets with the younger Gopnik after his bar mitzvah ceremony. It is during this exchange that we realize the elusive and highly regarded eldest rabbi is merely a purveyor of reconstituted pop culture.
He is an empty office holder, and has his community fooled to believe he is wise. Marshak tells Danny, "go, be a good boy," and quotes from Jefferson Airplane. But is he the only religious leader to be credited with great wisdom, perhaps more wisdom than is due?
A friend recently shared an experience in his congregation, where a part time minister joined his congregation on an interim basis. Among stories of past adventures, personal anecdotes, and irrelevant political musings shared from the pulpit, this part timer had gained a loyal and revered following; reportedly the most powerful speaker many in the congregation had heard in years. My friend didn’t agree, and critically wondered about the role professional religious leaders played in the lives of his surrounding congregants. When the professional’s paycheck stemmed from the congregants, what is the responsibility to the congregants? Is it to entertain and make them feel good, or to interpret their spiritual doctrines in a manner consistent with the traditions of their faith?
From their earliest directorial and screen writing work in the mid 80's until today, Joel and Ethan Coen have represented storytelling in an entertaining, often unsettling, yet thoughtful manner. A Serious Man continues this creative run of films, posing thoughtful observations on those who are professionally called to be spiritual guides. Among other things, the film challenges us to look closely at those hired to be our "spiritual guides." We are cautioned not to look at age, or life experience, or the ability to offer the answer we’re secretly hoping to find. In Jewish tradition, the Old Testament king Solomon says, "with much wisdom comes much sorrow; the more knowledge, the more grief." We may find that understanding their truest intentions may cause us to be serious, indeed.
As the suburban Gopnik family approaches their son’s bar mitzvah, both father (Larry) and son (Danny) engage in intense struggles within their respective worlds. Their hardships are appropriately told within the context of the Jewish community, a people known throughout history to have experienced their share of suffering and conflict.
The film seems to make two substantial claims about life’s struggles, from daily irritations to more seasonal storms. First, life’s struggles amount to nothing, because we will all most certainly die in the end. Second, none of life’s struggles will be solved by an adherence to religion, though the traditions and social norms associated with religious expression will carry considerable weight in moving one through a personal crisis. Though the film does not seem to discount the personal value of religion, it does challenge the validity of religion beyond tradition alone. The traditions associated with religion may help one through a crisis, but the institute itself may prove inadequate.
The Coen brothers give special attention to the role of religious leaders and their perceived ability to provide grounding and calm within life’s storms. Throughout the film, three rabbis (Scott, Nachter, and Marshak) are called upon to offer guidance and counseling. Within the community, the eldest rabbi is held in high esteem, the middle-aged rabbi’s opinion is given moderate weight, and the youngest is merely viewed as an office holder with very little credibility–after all, what life experiences has he to share?
Interestingly, the young rabbi Scott, discounted by the community and culture as naive, offers the most honest and insightful view into Larry Gopnik’s turmoil. Against any expectations, and overlooked by Gopnik, Scott’s response is honest and clear. Nachter, the second eldest rabbi, regales Gopnik with stories and anecdotes, but offers nothing substantial. Marshak, the eldest, and viewed as the wisest spiritual leader, is completely inaccessible to Larry, but meets with the younger Gopnik after his bar mitzvah ceremony. It is during this exchange that we realize the elusive and highly regarded eldest rabbi is merely a purveyor of reconstituted pop culture.
He is an empty office holder, and has his community fooled to believe he is wise. Marshak tells Danny, "go, be a good boy," and quotes from Jefferson Airplane. But is he the only religious leader to be credited with great wisdom, perhaps more wisdom than is due?
A friend recently shared an experience in his congregation, where a part time minister joined his congregation on an interim basis. Among stories of past adventures, personal anecdotes, and irrelevant political musings shared from the pulpit, this part timer had gained a loyal and revered following; reportedly the most powerful speaker many in the congregation had heard in years. My friend didn’t agree, and critically wondered about the role professional religious leaders played in the lives of his surrounding congregants. When the professional’s paycheck stemmed from the congregants, what is the responsibility to the congregants? Is it to entertain and make them feel good, or to interpret their spiritual doctrines in a manner consistent with the traditions of their faith?
From their earliest directorial and screen writing work in the mid 80's until today, Joel and Ethan Coen have represented storytelling in an entertaining, often unsettling, yet thoughtful manner. A Serious Man continues this creative run of films, posing thoughtful observations on those who are professionally called to be spiritual guides. Among other things, the film challenges us to look closely at those hired to be our "spiritual guides." We are cautioned not to look at age, or life experience, or the ability to offer the answer we’re secretly hoping to find. In Jewish tradition, the Old Testament king Solomon says, "with much wisdom comes much sorrow; the more knowledge, the more grief." We may find that understanding their truest intentions may cause us to be serious, indeed.
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