A wry, lovingly detailed character piece with very little in the way of story. Still, the movie has its own circular shape and (as far as I can tell) a real feel for Greenwich Village, 1961. The “Inside” part of the title is a bit of a joke, as deadpan as anything the Coens have wrought. Llewyn (Oscar Isaac), a somewhat unremarkable folk musician and a cock, is his own worst enemy, doomed to a solo course in a circle of hell he might grasp, let alone flee. As a junkie jazzbo, John Goodman steals the show. Of added interest: an elusive tabby cat, the perfect metaphor for Llewyn’s lonely gambol through space and time — and who, as a running gag, allows the Coens to beat the recent spate of save-the-cat screenwriters at their own game.
Joe Keaton
Weird tales for the late crowd. And riffs on pop culture.
