This review may contain spoilers. I can handle the truth.
FredM’s review published on Letterboxd:
This review may contain spoilers.
It's very rare that you hear a song for the first time that immediately drags you in, music- and lyricswise. But here, this is the case with the opening song. A guy playing the guitar. Heavenly voice. Smoke is blown, drinks are drunk. Eyes and ears glued to the screen.
And so it continues.
It's obviously a Coen's world, inhabited by stylishly sharp-dressed and sharp-humored men, scattered with awesome dialogue.
You know, it's about a musician. Those guys who, when getting out of bed, start playing the guitar before having breakfast. No real home, sleeping on different couches, trying to make an honest living, with a heavy past and a not so problemfree present.
It's a sad story, a musician on the road, except this one is not touring, but trying to get on stage. You root for the guy, wishing to have some recognition, but the Coens like to set you on the wrong foot. Like in the scene where he played for the guy in Chicago; the viewer thinks: yes, he's good, come on, sign him, but the guy, although seemingly liking his performance, makes a harsh remark: "I don't see any money in this".
In the end, the circle is apparently closed, his situation seems hopeless, but nonetheless, it was a great time joining this piece of the life of Llewyn Davis.