![]() Caught infernally within the Life of the Mind, Barton is doomed to stare, mouth agape, at everything that happens around him. Charlie appreciates this and promises stories about his experiences, but all Barton does is spin his own perspective. All Barton can do in Charlie’s presence is proselytise about the Common Man. The brute, corporeal presence confronting the nebulous realm of thinking. Puss oozes from his ear, the result of a chronic infection. ![]() He is also a noticeably physical presence. Charlie is broadly crass, is always drinking, and wears the likeness of a pin-up girl on the underside of his tie. He and Barton quickly strike up a friendship, despite their fundamental differences. As he puts it, the head of his operation is in New York, but he maintains a room in Hollywood. A travelling insurance salesman, he straddles the line between transience and residence. Barton, on the other hand, wants to revolutionise theatre for the Common Man, but when he actually meets one, in the form of Charlie Meadows (John Goodman), all he can do is speak over him.Ĭharlie is Barton’s neighbour at the Hotel Earle. The writer is seemingly beset on all sides by thoughtless rubes, fawning over reviews and material success. The producer’s entourage Barton meets after the show are caricatures of East Coast pomposity. This artifice extends beyond the theatre, as well. An artificial space, bustling with the artifice of simulated life. The first images are of the backstage of a theatre. The atmosphere is phoney right from the start. These echoes are as shallow as the world Barton inhabits, to say nothing of the man himself. Don’t let that distract you, as the Coens have no interest in historical reconstruction. He superficially resembles Clifford Odetts, another Leftist playwright who worked in Hollywood. In New York, he wrote about the Common Man. Barton was hired on at Capitol Pictures after the roaring success of his stage play. It’s this work, and Barton’s inability to do it, that drives the film forward. After all, he has very important work to do. Whoever might be staying here is of no concern to Barton. ![]() That we see nobody and hear possibly only two others, is immaterial. We see shoes lined up in the corridor of the sixth floor, suggesting other occupants. Moreover, the Hotel Earle, where most of the action takes place, is seemingly barren, with the notable exception of the bellhop, Chet (Steve Buscemi). Even some of the exteriors appear to be covered by a grey vaulted ceiling. Most of the film is constrained within four walls. One key element of this indeterminacy is the reliance on interior spaces. All this before he even comes face to face with the fascist madman next door. His inability to make distinctions – if he’s even listening – will give the naïve playwright no shortage of trouble. Barton, to put it in the film’s terms, couldn’t tell his head from his mind. Has it been 8 days or 9? Is he a transient or a resident? This indeterminacy is all over the film. Later in the film, when Barton (John Turturro) is pressed about how long he’s been at the hotel, he’ll only be able to give an uncertain answer. The header on the stationary at the Hotel Earle reads: “A Day or a Lifetime.” And with that comes the key to entering the strange world constructed by Joel and Ethan Coen.
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