2016 In Movies: Inside Llewyn Davis (2013)

Llewyn opened the backseat, reaching over to get his bag and his beaten-up guitar case. He stops. The air is still. The camera shifts to the backseat where the cat, not his cat, as he reminds everyone who assumes it is his, stares at him.

It’s a quiet moment. I held my breath and wanted Llewyn to take the cat with him. Llewyn stares at it. He then shuts the car door. He then flags a new car down. And he leaves.

There are few redeeming qualities to this hero.

He made his way to Chicago, playing a heart-wrenching original composition for Bud Grossman. He just wants a break, but not even all that much. There’s no fight in him when Bud tells him, “I don’t see a lot of money here.” He takes it, he rolls with it.

“I don’t see a lot of money here.”
“Okay.”

But the thing is: he’s there. And isn’t that the most human thing to do? At this point in the film, Llewyn’s musical ambitions are leading him nowhere, where he sleeps at night depends on which of his few friends has forgiven him lately, his lover, the girlfriend of one of his few friends, is getting an abortion on the off-chance that it might be his. He considers working for the merchant marines a failure, but when his prospects force him into applying again, he even fails at that.

And yet, he’s there. In Chicago. In Gaslight. With his guitar.

In this movie, as in life, no one is inherently good or bad. Everyone is just incredibly human.