Film #6: Blood Simple

2007 editorial note: I thought I'd include one of my first reviews, written for my college newspaper in 1985, in honor of the Coens finally set, 22 years later, to get the recognition they deserve from Hollywood for No Country for Old Men. By the way, this is largely the way the original story appeared, but I've been unable to resist touching it up. I can't tell if this is a breach of ethics or what, but certainly full disclosure is in order. As you will tell, from the outset, I knew the Coens were going to be forces to contend with, however, I must say I knew not to what high degree. Anyway, here's the short review:

The term “blood simple," as defined in the American Slang Dictionary, is “the state of fear and confusion that follows the commission of murder. Makes the perfect murder almost impossible.”

First-time independent filmmakers Joel and Ethan Coen have appropriated that obscure, Texas-tinged term as the moniker for their first film, a plasma-caked refurbishing of cheap pulp and a morbid, sweat-stained, blacker-than-black comedy. Consider the premise alone and imagine the swarthy laughs that could be mined from the Coens' set-up. While you’re at it, try to think of every plot twist, bizarrely-drawn character, and outrageously gory situation, and then just give it up, 'cause, really, there's no predicting this one. Blood Simple marks the most promising, inventive, ostentatious filmmaking debut in quite some time.

Set in flat, hot Texas, Blood Simple begins with Abby (Frances McDormand), a woman trapped in a nightmare marriage, stealing away from the home she shares with her rotten husband, a Texas saloon owner named Marty (a stressed-out Dan Hedaya). Saying yes to a sex-rich but vapid affair with one of Marty’s bartenders (John Getz--the more levelheaded barkeep is the nevertheless confused Samm-Art Williams), Abby and her new man hit the road, unaware they're being followed by Marty’s go-to private eye, a yellow-suited vulgarian with the snake-like name of Visser.

The introduction of this portly viper, played with supreme charisma by M. Emmett Walsh, turns the already energetic Blood Simple into a rocket ship. Glistening with sweat, he's a straight shooter with a tobacco-caked drawl and the sort of needling good ol’ boy humor that Walsh brought to Blade Runner, Straight Time, What's Up Doc?, Bound for Glory and even The Jerk. His disrespecting jabs at Hedaya, in particular, caused me to cackle loudly (like when he calls Hedaya's recently bandaged hand a "busted flipper"). As fine as the rest of the cast is, Walsh and, to a lesser degree the peripatetic Hedaya, easily walk away with the movie.

Director Joel Coen and producer Ethan Coen share the screenwriting credit for this magnificent tangle of fatal misunderstandings. They also share a stiletto wit, a mastery of suspense-building, and a restless eye to what makes a shot distinctive. Their secret weapon: cinematographer Barry Sonnenfeld’s wild camera roaming over daunting landscapes with impressive precision and often shocking speed.

The Coens also understand tact. They know exactly when to go over the top with their scenario. Hilariously frustrated head-slapping and much squirming in the theater seat are natural responses to this errant comedy-thriller of missed connections and desperate bids for survival. By the time the final, outstandingly wry line of Blood Simple is uttered, with one drop of life yet to go, you will know we have been introduced to two new masters of film craft.