Inside Llewyn Davis

Inside Llewyn Davis you'll find a staggering conflicted troubadour torn apart by the loss of his musical partner, problematically fazed.

This guy's a bit of a jerk, depicted as an oddball within folk music culture, gifted and heartwarming while performing, troubling and disruptive while doing anything else.

It's like he's a jaded cynical holier-than-thou 90s caricature surrounded by congenial 1960s good spirits, frustrated by his lack of success, overconfident to the point of paralysis.

He always has to be in control.

It's as if the Coen Brothers are playing a joke with Llewyn Davis (Oscar Isaac), presenting a character reminiscent of Five Easy Pieces's Robert Eroica Dupea (Jack Nicholson), assuming their audience will be unconsciously sympathetic, while making him as unsympathetic as possible, hoping people will still refer to him as tragic.

He's given opportunities.

And unlike Dupea, his community has merits to which he can relate.

His loss perhaps prevents him from noticing these merits.

But his attitude suggests that he may have been directly responsible for his loss (which is likely augmenting his malaise).

Jerry Seinfeld's (Jerry Seinfeld) interactions with Kenny Bania (Steve Hytner) offer a constructive parallel, Kenny functioning as the 1960s good spirit living in the 90s, as if Inside Llewyn Davis primarily concerns itself with this comedic dialogue, with elements of The Master's Freddie Quell (Joaquin Phoenix) intermixed.

I was hoping he would take off to the Northern wilderness near the end like Dupea in Five Easy Pieces.

Perhaps he did.

John Goodman (Roland Turner) delivers another exceptional performance.

L'homme qui rit

A child is grossly deformed and abandoned.

Chance intervenes, providing shelter, friendship and nourishment.

The passage of congenial times nurtures love and success, swathed within an impoverished yet self-sufficient itinerant tenacity, innocent yet cunning, diligent and stable.

Until historical alignments introduce an aristocratic heritage whose peers and privileges threaten his sense of balance.

But these very same entitlements present means, pretentious and vitriolic though they may be, through which that sense's desire for social justice can institute positive change, in pre-revolutionary France.

L'homme qui rit is more of a kid's film, filled with obvious larger-than-life stereotypical depictions situated within a maudlin yet tear-jerking realistic fairy tale, but it does function as a contemporary allegory for democratic citizens who lack wealth but still wish to use their (available) political channels to influence current affairs, such as the environmental footprint of big business.

It's difficult.

It's daunting.

And seemingly impossible.

Unless you take into consideration the work of organizations like Avaaz and/or what's currently taking place in highly industrialized nations like Germany, whose decision to replace all of its nuclear reactors with environmentally sustainable technologies should be applauded.

It can be done.

It's being done.

Canada can do similar things.

If it's intent on moving forward.