I dunno if this is some kinda allegory about writer’s block or some shit. Battle in the soul of a creative person? That’s being generous. We only see the aftermath of a brief moment of popularity of a playwright, then the immediate forsaking of integrity and the purgatory that follows. This movie is kinda fucked up.
New York 1941, budding playwright has a successful show. The newspapers rave about it. Before he knows it, he’s being propositioned by the big Hollywood studios. Or maybe just a Hollywood studio. And maybe not so big? But the offer is taken, and whisked away from his life in NYC to...a shithole hotel/motel/transient hotbox. Because, you know, staying with the working class only seems right or somesuch. And guess what? Can’t write a word to save his life. A wrestling picture. Is it for a Dame or an Orphan? Not too many other story arcs there, apparently.
There’s a few interesting enough things going on that it’s not a completely lame film. After all, it is a Coen brothers movie so the smattering of characters throughout do provide a lot of amusing moments and keep the film moving along. Steve Buscemi as the bellhop, Tony Shalhoub does a great stint, and John Goodman is once again a key character that nails it.
I guess it’s more of a look at how these aspiring writers hit the West Coast and think they're the shit, then they’re given shit to work on, and it goes poorly, and still be fucked by their studio contract. Sucks to be them. If you’re really feeling like a sadomasochist, this can be paired with Naked Lunch, which also stars Judy Davis as the female love interest working with a writer who has writer’s block, release just the year prior. Weird. This is a hard movie to write an amusing review for. Or at least somewhat entertaining review. So today, you’s screwed with a non-entertaining review. Them’s the ropes, pal.
