These guys are all the rage with pseudo-hip hop fans. They’re actually quite good when they’re singing. When they try to rap it’s just “go, white boy, go!”
Like Lou Barlow riding on a particularly moody wavelength with only an acoustic guitar and whispering drums. Simultaneously depressing and celebratory.
These Seattlites froth and curse like white trash, whiskey drinkin’, drug usin’, hard livin’, hard fuckin’, hot rod racin’, law hatin’, fight startin’ cretins.
After redefining noir and slapstick for the ’80s, the two-headed beast they call Coen jitterbugged into the ’90s the most complex gangster pix of the decade.
Moviegoers for whom Fargo is their first Coen film may want to head back to frame one and get a load of the raw material that unspools through Blood Simple.
John Turturro again turns in a paranoid tour de force as our hero, a poor, disillusioned playwright creating his art not for commerce, but for the common man.