Directed by: Ethan Coen, Joel Coen
Starring: George Clooney, John Malkovich, Frances McDormand, Brad Pitt
Rating: R

Brad Pitt plays personal trainer Chad Feldheimer in Burn After Reading. (Courtesy photo)

Thirteen years ago, the Coen brothers followed up their critically adored Fargo with what appeared to be a complete lark, The Big Lebowski. They’ve followed a similar pattern again, after last year’s No Country for Old Men garnered them the Academy Award for best picture. Perhaps we’ll discover over time that Burn After Reading is slyly mapped as The Big Lebowski, but it’s doubtful. This time it really appears to be merely a lark. Burn After Reading is an enjoyable lark, reveling in casting big names against type. And it almost makes it to the finish line in form, riding the slimmest of commentary and a lot of exuberance on the part of its cast. Then the Coens indulge the same kind of ‘up yours’ approach that left a foul taste in the mouths of many viewers of No Country. Few filmmakers are better at pulling the rug out from under their viewers than the Coen brothers. But why do they feel the need to roll us up in the rug and throw us in a trunk?

John Malkovich is Osborne Cox, a longtime CIA analyst who has just been relieved of his position for unclear reasons. With little support from his cold-blooded wife Katie (Tilda Swinton), Osborne decides to write his memoirs. Somehow his material, along with his financial records, ends up in the hands of Chad (Brad Pitt), an enthusiastic trainer. He brings it to his co-worker Linda Litzke (Frances McDormand), who desperately wants $40,000 to get four different cosmetic surgeries. They decide to blackmail Osborne. Meanwhile, high-strung treasury agent Harry Pfarrar (George Clooney) is simultaneously carrying on an affair with Katie and bedding other random women—which is how he meets Linda. Then it starts to get complicated.

This is not the most pleasant collection of people. We’re clued in by the opening shot, taken from high above the eastern seaboard, that we’re supposed to view the proceedings with a significant level of detachment. The message is that nobody really knows what they’re doing, and the way the attempted blackmail plays out often has a wonderful logic to it. Even when the Coens go for shocking violence, they’ve made sure it isn’t random. It isn’t easy to overcome, however. No matter how unexpected and game-changing, the two violent scenes stick out so much as to blur the movie around them. It’s not that they’re so horrible by today’s standards, but they are jarringly contrary to the movie’s tone. That seems to be the game the Coens like to play these days—make us think we know the rules they’re following, then sucker-punch us.

Linda Litzke would be vehemently disliked by most of the characters Frances McDormand has played. That she manages to pull off such a self-absorbed character is a testament to her skills. This isn’t top-flight McDormand however. All the characters risk becoming cartoonish, but McDormand goes furthest. What’s missing is the honesty at the center. Clooney has some of the same problem. He’s obviously having a grand time playing the herky-jerky Harry. But as dumb as it sounds, he’s too impressive looking to pull off Harry’s middle-aged desperation. You can enjoy his performance; you just may not buy it. Swinton and Malkovich do better, elbowing their way through the farcical moments with very deadly straight faces. But the big winner is Pitt, who gets a terrific character and literally rides off with it. This is some of the same goofball magnetism that shot him to stardom 17 years ago in Thelma and Louise.

When you pack a movie with this many big-name actors, then fill the small supporting roles with familiar faces like Richard Jenkins, JK Simmons, and David Rasche, you sacrifice a level of character anonymity. You can’t forget who these performers are. That’s fine when making Ocean’s Eleven, but not as effective with such detailed character roles. Many people have heard by now how the Coens write in every last “um” and “er.” If you didn’t know, you might start guessing it. Take a cue from the gloriously self-important score by Carter Burwell (I know I’ve said it before, but is anyone better?). It sounds like over-baked music from a big D.C. thriller, like Enemy of the State. But it’s also letting you know you shouldn’t let your guard down. And that’s the only safe way to watch a Coen brothers movie.

Alex Manugian lives in Sherman Oaks, California. He grew up in Groton and has reviewed movies for Harvard residents for many years.