Let each musicologist have a favourite. An academic pet subject that they can champion as the true forbear of a scene, an act so obscure that they alone can lay claim to identifying their genius. Llewyn Davis could be one such walking footnote.
It’s 1961 in Greenwich Village, it’s cold outside and Llewyn Davis (Oscar Isaac) has no winter coat. Hustling couches to sleep on, playing folk gigs at the Gaslight, trying to squeeze some royalties out of his manager, the world is not a forgiving place for a man with talent who won’t suffer fools.
This is not made any easier by the fact that Davis is an asshole, a point regularly and vocally reinforced by his folk-singing (only) friend Jean (Carey Mulligan).
If the premise is a little chilly, the film’s warmth comes from an obvious feel for the era from the Coens, and a sense of the period conjured in a palette of greys, browns and amber by cinematographer Bruno Delbonnel, previously known for his hyper-stylized work in Amélie, Faust, and Dark Shadows.
T-Bone Burnett keeps the soundtrack rolling, with the film treating Davis’ own songs (as co-written with Marcus Mumford) with respect, but not an undue reverence.
Shot-through with Coens’ trademark black humour, and an impeccable supporting cast, Inside Llewyn Davis is an evocative period portrait of a glass-half-empty guy and the travails of paying your dues.
