So I finally got around to watching Inside Llewyn Davis last night. I thought that it was okay. The little twists of truth and facts and the inaccuracies didn't bother me. I mean, it's a movie. The Coen brothers have left us with some pretty high expectations, though. If someone else had made the picture the reviews would have probably been raves.
Still, I'm fascinated with the selfish nature of all the "folk singers." I suppose that we're supposed to be a bit conflicted on whether or not Llewyn has any redeeming virtues. Up until we see the look on the face of the stray cat that he's abandoning in the car with the passed out John Goodman character, that is. What a dirtbag! Once we find out that Jean will sleep with anyone who might further her career all mysteries are solved. She's not better than Llewyn, just different. Oh, I've known these characters. In some cases literally. We used to work with Van Ronk on occasion.
I have to say that I spend, or maybe waste, plenty of time worrying about the nature of art and the artist. Do I do this for my ego? If so, shouldn't I slit my wrist based on my level of success? Am I really just living my life, communicating everything that crosses my radar screen, because I have to? Do I have any good intentions?
Luckily, I saw the Kennedys at a house concert earlier in the evening. Wonderful, of course, as always. At least I know that there is good out there. I mean good in every sense of the word, too. I love the Kennedys!
Of course I remember Martin Mull's quote: "Folk music. Remember when that crap almost caught on!"
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