by Kevin Murphy
Roughly halfway through Joel and Ethan Coen’s 1990 film, Miller’s Crossing, Tom Reagan (Gabrielle Byrne) explains, “There’s nothing more foolish than a man chasing his hat.” But Tom’s fate, along with the other fellas, dames and bosses populating this film, belies such fortitude, as each character is forced to bend over and squabble, hankering for their elusive Fedora, which always remains just a twig out of reach.
While Fedoras ride the wind, Verna (Marcia Gay Harden) tries to soften the grit in Tom’s heart with a couple early morning romps. But then there’s Leo (Albert Finney), the city’s bighearted Boss, standing in the way, and he’s fallen for Verna like a bag of stones. And now her brother Bernie (John Turturro) needs protection from an ambitious Italian, whose bets have been bruised by Bernie’s decision to sell inside information. The Italian’s right-hand man, Eddie The Dane, is a flagitious maniac convinced that Tom is deceptive and Bernie guilty. So the plot thickens, but alas, nothing is exactly clear in this smoky, night-ridden town.
If this sounds confusing, it is. If this sounds intriguing, it is. And, of course, there’s more.
The plot is a rivulet of grimy water undulating the city streets until the sewer swallows it whole. The characters walk the sidewalks at night, the clacking of their heels the force that ushers the water onward. For it’s in their decisions to sell a bet, or double-cross, or sleep with the boss’s girl that gets them so tied up. And in this town, Fate is a tough dame with a pretty face, and only the smartest, the strongest, the most deceptive taste the sweetness of her charms. God knows, everybody wants her, and throughout the film Tom seems to be the best suited, but the night has more darkness, and the sidewalks stretch on forever, and Tom, as everybody, is vulnerable.
The film takes place in the early twentieth century, in a hawkish city alight with Tommy guns and prohibition, gambling and corruption. The men wear suits and drink too much whiskey, the women, or woman, in this case Verna, lurks like a poisonous elixir, tempting Tom and Leo with her softly boiled voice. She is the magnanimous vixen, the Siren in pumps.
Hers, like each apartment depicted here, is long with hardwood floors. Step inside and revel in the high ceilings and wafting white curtains, the cocktail table clinking with glass and ice, the hollow fireplace and scant furniture. These are spaces made for arguments, and for intimacies. Run across the hardwood and hear the patter of bare feet. Fling wide the window and feel the swoosh of wind whip down your neck. Lunge into bed and snap back those suspenders, for the minutes are few in the lives of these cursed angels.
The manipulation of color is also noteworthy in this film. While most of the settings are wide, airy places (apartments, warehouses, giant offices, open woods), each scene is dignified by vibrant, distinct colors. Tom’s robe, when Leo visits early one morning, is the inky hue of the sky before dawn. The yellow and gray striped walls of the abandoned warehouse where Tom gets knocked around suggest a banal existence in which heavy blows and boots to the skull are the inventory of an empty life. Leo’s office, as his empire falls under attack, is amber and yellow. The yellow light rising from the street spreads across the amber walls and furniture, but it does so hesitatingly, as if Leo’s outcome were still undecided. And Miller’s Crossing, the solitary and cold woods where the unfortunates get killed, blurs a silver sky with cloudy dogwoods, dirt-brown leaves and lead-colored coats. The effect is frightening and disorienting, as if bullets of color have emptied the chamber and the entire world gone black.
Enriched by a streak of dark humor and incisive dialogue, the Coen Brothers’ films have their own unique signature. In one scene, a boy and his dog stumble onto a dead body. The camera captures their infatuation, the boy’s gaped captivation and the dog’s head-turning confusion. A moment passes, and then we learn what’s enthralled the boy and his dog is not the ungainly sight of a slumped, bullet-filled dead man, but the crooked state of his inauthentic hair.
Later in the film, Leo, the barrel-chested Irishman, lays in bed listening to Danny Boy. He’s smoking a cigar and decked in silkies, his hair still stiff with tonic. A couple of roughnecks come by, burn down his house and try to kill him, but Leo, with Danny Boy sounding in the background, wipes the melancholy from his eyes and goes on to demonstrate why he can still match body blows with any man in the city.
And for dialogue, imagine discussing the finer points of shaving moments before whacking a guy. And imagine the genuine pleasure of hearing, “Take your flunky and dangle.” Or, “The last time we jawed, you gave me the high hat.” Or, “A wart, on his fanny, and it’s making him squiggle.” Ah yes, it’s all here . . .the film is pulpy with wit, vocabulary, and cadence.
Miller’s Crossing boasts fine acting, taut direction, and a contagious story; the characters in this film and the audience watching it may spend too much time chasing their hats, but that’s the point. In order to keep up, one must stay alert. In order to get ahead, one must take the risk. The Coen Brothers have kept up and taken risks. The result is a film reflective of their wild and dazzling talent.
