I’ll actually be really interested to see your interpretation of it.

The hallway IS kubrickian, and of course, that’s the point as well … bringing to mind another haunted hotel in another movie where the ghosts are in the mind — perhaps — of the protagonist, life of the mind indeed

I don’t pretend to have it all deciphered, either, but I love the fact that the Coen’s do some things just to mess with us … did you notice that the biblical passage Barton first turns to says it’s Daniel 2:30, but it’s not … it’s 2:5. Why? who knows, except to mess with us. Godard used to do that, he used to do things in films just to irritate us. I like that.

Anyway, I’ll be saying more about Barton Fink in my contribution to this month’s festivities at your site, which I’ll have done Real Soon Now.

To be honest, I can totally see why you would like this film. There is plenty to chew on and mull over. As you said, the cinematography (and art direction) are gorgeous and really set the tone well.

“I don’t know. I can’t explain why I like Barton Fink anymore than I can explain why I like Inland Empire.” That, I think, sums it up perfectly. Similar to Raising Arizona, you get it or you don’t, plain and simple. You get this one. I don’t. ‘Nuff said.

And I have to follow this one. Crap.

It’s curious you reference Kubrick and Lynch in your review. In many respects, I think Barton Fink probably lands somewhere on the furthest edge of the Coens’ filmography in that its narrative is the least literal of any film they’ve made. To me, it broadly apes the more surreal cinema of David Lynch.

The hotel itself starts out as a location but eventually transforms into a metaphor for Barton’s sanity; the odd noises, the peeling wallpaper, that creepy hallway. The longer Barton stays in the hotel, the more nightmarish events there become. And Barton’s real-world encounters become more and more awkward, his focus on his work and his writing less and less tangible to him.

Barton’s sanity is slipping due to the writer’s block, the pressures of the studio, and the lowly task of writing a wrestling picture. To be honest, I’m not even sure if Charlie, Chet!, or the police detectives exist outside of Barton’s subconscious. They may, they may not. I’m not even completely sure the Coens could explain it all to you if they wanted to, and chances are they wouldn’t.

I do love the performances and the visuals of the movie. I think Tuturro and Charlie are both interesting yet flawed characters. I love Shaloub and Lerner in their roles as well as Polito and Mahoney. Davis is good too, although her role isn’t really fleshed-out. I love Deakins’ cinematography and the gorgeous production design.

The script makes short work of the studio mogul and his toady executives. Clearly the Coens have little love for the corporate structure of the studio system, yet it’s ironic they went from this movie to the Hudsucker Proxy, their biggest budget studio film and their biggest box office dud up to that point. It’s almost as though they were preparing for disappointment.

Barton Fink is a pretentious character, but he is like many of the playwrights and writers of his day, who believed themselves able to change the world through the power of their creative voice. A few did, but most simply tabulated what they saw with little consequence beyond literary fame and fortune. Barton is a fool in many respects, but I kind of understand his earnest, left-wing desire to “fix” the world for the “common man.”

He goes to Hollywood thinking it will be easy work, funding his more important projects, only to realize he has no interest or inspiration for the film biz and that he has unwittingly sold his soul and his career to the studio. It’s a tragic story.

I don’t know. I can’t explain why I like Barton Fink anymore than I can explain why I like Inland Empire. I think both are imperfect films that are truly subjective in their charms (or lack thereof).

I can see what you’re saying, how ‘exorcising’ their writer’s block came up with an interesting, bizarre little film. It is, if nothing else, ambitious, and they should be given props for being unafraid to try something new.

I imagine a second viewing would be much more enlightening, but I don’t know if I can muster the energy to see it again.

I’ve always thought of the hotel as representing the inside of Fink’s head. It’s all about the life of the mind and Fink is stuck there, thinking instead of feeling and it’s killing his art.

I’ve given a lot of thought to what’s in the box and if it’s really a head whether it means anything or if it’s just kind of a twisted Coen joke.

In this case, I think the exorcism of writer’s block made a dark, twisted and terrific little film. Sometimes when you’re clogged up, you just have to write without thinking too much about it. Fink never could, but I think the Coens did and that’s how the movie was born.

I’m rambling and talking in circles now.