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There are two problems that the Coen Brothers had to overcome in this movie:

(1) In any movie with a "difficult" protagonist, the screenwriters have to figure out some way to make that character sympathetic. For other movies, the way to do that is to convince the audience that the protagonist is a genius. "Sure, he's a jerk, but look at what a great artist/musician/actor he is!" Take, for instance, Renee Zellweger as Judy Garland in."Judy." Sure, she was difficult and moody and unpredictable and thoughtlessly cruel and most of her problems were self-inflicted, but as a viewer you forgave all of that because she was also an undeniably fantastic performer.

Llewyn Davis, on the other hand? Not so much. He's just a mediocre performer living on the edges of the 1960s folk scene. That's not enough to give him carte blanche to act like a dick to everyone around him. Sure, people in the movie say he's a genius, but there's very little actual evidence of that. Which brings us to:

(2) There are lots of movies that revolve around the protagonist being a great genius, but when it comes time to display the protagonist's genius, the actual product falls far short. I think there's only one movie, for example, where the characters are supposed to have written a great song which actually turns out to be a pretty good song ("That Thing You Do").. More often, though, it's like "Punchline," a movie about comedians who we're supposed to think are funny but who aren't.

In this movie, we keep hearing about how talented Llewyn Davis is, but when it comes time for him to demonstrate that talent, we get mediocrity rather than genius. It's like if everyone in the movie spoke glowingly about how tall Llewyn Davis is, and then we find out that he's played by Danny DeVito.

And those are two really big problems, If you can't convince the audience that there's something to admire about the central character, something that redeems him, then all you're left with is a whinging, pathetic man-child who can't get his life together and who blames everyone else for his failures. Why would I want to watch that?

Going into a science fiction film, viewers should expect to suspend a good deal of their disbelief. For instance, if something in the movie defies the laws of physics, we can just assume that, in this particular universe, those laws don't apply. Nevertheless a science fiction film must make sense given its own reality. And that's where "Dark City" falters.

The premise is that a bunch of aliens ("the Strangers") are studying a group of humans so they can ... well, so they can do something, I'm not sure what. The Strangers can "tune," i.e. alter reality at will (I'm not giving anything away here -- that point is mentioned in the opening titles). As it happens, one of the humans in their experiment, John Murdoch, can also "tune." The movie, then, is the story of the Strangers' attempts to capture or kill Murdoch (they're never quite sure what they want to do with him) while trying to complete their experiment so they can ... oh, I don't know, rule the world or something.

Murdoch runs around, attempting to avoid both the Strangers and William Hurt, the accordion-playing detective who thinks Murdoch is a murderer, while simultaneously trying to figure out who he is because he can't remember anything. Fortunately for him, the Strangers sent to capture/kill Murdoch keep trying to stab him or hit him with blunt objects or do something else very conventional, forgetting the simple fact that THEY CAN ALTER REALITY AT WILL! (jeez, didn't they read the opening titles?). Had the Strangers remembered this salient fact, they could have captured Murdoch within the first five minutes of the film (Murdoch only gradually realizes the extent of his "tuning" powers, so he would have been easy to capture/kill/whatever early on).

On its own terms, therefore, "Dark City" doesn't make any sense. After all, the Strangers can make skyscrapers pop out of the ground like dandelions, so why can't they manage to catch a single human? (they also have to rely on some kind of hypodermic injection to alter people's memories -- why don't they just "tune" those as well?) That's just the most annoying unanswered question in the film. Others involve the casting of Kiefer Sutherland (what were the producers thinking?) and the origins of Murdoch (who is this human who can "tune" -- how did that happen?).

Apart from Sutherland, the performances are good, although Jennifer Connelly is woefully underused. The set design is quite good, and the special effects are effective, if not overwhelming. The writing, however, is, at times, laughably bad, even by sci fi film standards. The best line in the film goes to William Hurt, who, referring to his beloved accordion, says: "It was a gift from my mother. She died recently. I keep it with me to remind me of her." Good thing she didn't give you a piano, eh Bill?

Oh, and one more unanswered question: where did all these people come from that inhabit the dark city? Actually, the answer to that one is hinted at in the film: they're all dead. Ooooh, spooky!

While going to film school, writer/director Troy Duffy apparently missed the class where they discussed motivation. Of the four main characters in this film (the MacManus brothers, Smecker, and Rocco), only one (Rocco) has any discernible motivation for what he ends up doing in the movie. It could be argued that the brothers are motivated by the sermon at the very beginning of the movie, where the priest intones against good men who are indifferent to evil (and they only hear the beginning of it). If that's the case, however, the brothers would have killed the Russian mobsters during the bar fight, rather than just setting Ivan's pants on fire. And they didn't kill Ivan and his buddy in the alley because they were out to rid the world of evil, they killed them in self-defense. As for Smecker, god only knows why he ends up wanting to help the brothers and their vigilantism. Bad day at the hairdressers, maybe?

Defoe's performance can only be described in one word: mannered. It is not easy to portray a character whose major personality trait is flamboyance, and Defoe just doesn't convince us that he's doing anything else but playing the role of an eccentric, self-loathing homosexual. At times, he verges on a parody of himself. Flanery and Reedus, for their parts, are about as two-dimensional as their characters.

Duffy not only needs to learn about motivation, he needs help with plotting. For instance, the Russian mob leader tells someone who he thinks is Ivan about the big gangland meeting. The only problem is that Ivan's murder has been in every paper and news program in Boston -- it's the biggest story in town (that's why all those reporters are asking about the case when Smecker is interviewing the brothers). So, what's wrong with this guy? If he's such a great gang leader, why can't he pick up a newspaper? Who does he expect to show up after he invites a dead guy to his meeting? His stunt double? I suppose a couple of meat packers become expert assassins (that's never explained) because they picked up a few lessons from dad, but how do they go from killing nine guys with ten shots to exchanging hundreds of rounds with "il Duce" and missing him entirely? Furthermore, why exactly is "il Duce" such a feared hit-man when he can only wing three guys while unloading six handguns? It looks like he's only a danger to himself. And why is an Irishman (with a Scottish brogue) called "il Duce" anyway? In short, weak characterizations, hammy acting, unbelievable plot holes, a morally indefensible message -- there's a lot not to like about this film. One of the few redeeming features is that Ron Jeremy, for the most part, keeps his pants on throughout the movie.

This movie suffers from two problems: Henry Fonda and the plot. Fonda manages to do some funny pratfalls, but he just isn't very adept at comedy. Gary Cooper and Jimmy Stewart, for instance, could portray earnest-yet-naive characters while still casting a humorous wink at the audience. Fonda, on the other hand, plays an earnest-yet-naive character with grim determination. He's Tom Joad with lots of money and a wacky girlfriend.

The other problem is with the plot. The first half of the movie is, in effect, "Mr. Deeds Goes to Town" on a boat. A bumbling, distracted, rich naif is targeted for romance by a woman with mercenary motives. He falls in love with her, and, despite her best efforts, she falls in love with him. Then, just as she's about to reveal everything, he finds out about her ulterior motives on his own and, in a disillusioned funk, dumps her.

At quayside, however, the plot turns. Instead of taking the Jean Arthur approach (or, indeed, the Barbara Stanwyck approach in "Meet John Doe") and attempting to win back her man, Stanwyck decides to get even with Fonda. This is a refreshing twist on what is basically a Frank Capra plot, but it is at this point that all semblance of character motivation breaks down. We're not quite sure why Stanwyck plots her revenge, we're not quite sure why it works, we're not sure why Stanwyck recants (again!) after exacting her revenge, and we're certainly not sure why, in the end, everything ends up happily.

The supporting cast is uniformly good and there are some humorous moments. As an example of this particular type of genre (savvy dame falls for bookish guy), however, it doesn't rate alongside "Ball of Fire" (a much better Stanwyck performance) or even "Bringing Up Baby."

I suppose there are two types of reactions to this film: overawed by the terrific acting and direction while disregarding the utter impossibility of the plot, or concentrating on the ridiculous plot while underestimating the fine acting. I'd like to think that I fall somewhere in the middle. When I saw this film in the theater I was utterly riveted by the story and the fine performances turned in the by the entire cast (I'll add my own special kudos for Pete Postlethwaite). Walking home from the theater, however, I began to dwell on the enormous logical problems presented by the story. Now, logical impossibility doesn't necessarily prevent a film from being great ("The Big Sleep" even confused its writers). SPOILER ALERT Ultimately, however, the ending here is not a surprise, it's a swindle. Since the film is told, largely, from the perspective of someone who, it turns out, has been lying all the time, the viewer is left to wonder if anything happened the way it was shown. To some, that's tantalizing ambiguity: to me, that's about as satisfying as an ending saying "and it was all a dream." It's a lazy, desperate way for the writers to extricate themselves from a story that has outrun their powers of logical thought. Too bad--it could have been a great movie.

I saw this movie on video, after hearing all sorts of movie critics praising Tarantino's masterful use of "multiple narratives" in this film. I suppose I was expecting something along the lines of "Rashomon," which was probably setting my expectations too high. There are three story lines (two and a half really--the Tim Roth-Amanda Plummer story is not sufficiently developed), only one of which is really interesting: the final story, revolving around Bruce Willis. And that story takes up maybe one-quarter of the movie. The remainder is filled with the John Travolta-Uma Thurman story line, which would have been interesting in the hands of a more talented writer or director than Tarantino. The most interesting character is Keitel's--a great movie could be made of him, but he is on screen for only about ten minutes. Tarantino does a nice job of exploring the "banality of evil, but the "hard-boiled" dialogue is more often artificial and embarrassing, and when he runs out of expletives, he resorts to violence. As for the multiple story line concept, it's wasted here. Tarantino actually did a better job with interweaving multiple story lines in "Reservoir Dogs" (another flawed film, but for different reasons). And regarding what's in the briefcase--ultimately, who cares?

This is a movie, like "The Great Dictator" or "Birth of a Nation," that more people _know_ than have _watched_. Everyone is familiar with the scene in which Marilyn Monroe stands over the subway grate, but how many people have actually seen this film? Well, for all those people, the answer is: don't bother. The problem with this film isn't Monroe, who turns in one of her best performances this side of "Some Like it Hot," but rather with Tom Ewell. He is annoying, irritating, and an absolute vacuum at the dead center of this film. Unfortunately, Ewell is on screen about twice as long as Monroe, and he spends most of the time talking to himself, which is just cruel. His is a role that, in the hands of someone like Jack Lemmon, could have been terrific. Ewell, however, supplies an obtrusive, boring narration to a leaden, plodding performance. In the end, I didn't want Ewell's wife to catch him in his tentative indiscretions, I wanted a meteorite to hit him.

An astoundingly, excruciatingly unfunny movie. This film makes "Dumb and Dumber" look like "Citizen Kane." It has only one mildly humorous scene (Ben Stiller vs. the dog), but otherwise the immense popularity of this movie is absolutely baffling. Stiller is not adept at physical comedy, Cameron Diaz is beautiful but not adept at any style of comedy, and Chris Elliott is wasted in a role that is unnecessary to the plot. Others may applaud the "gross out" humor, but I didn't find much of either. Making fun of the physically or mentally challenged has a long, distinguished history, and other films have done a much better job of it. As for funny situations revolving around bodily functions, this doesn't even rank up there with some of Mel Brooks's worst efforts. Unfortunately, movies are now being advertised as being "funnier than There's Something About Mary." That's certainly setting the bar pretty low.