Movie Review: Inside Llewyn Davis (2013)

Ever since watching A Real Pain, I’ve been reminded of Inside Llewyn Davis. The two films would pair well as a double feature, sharing a similar despondent tone. Both explore characters weighed down by existential dread, their every action and word steeped in a sense of futility. They occupy the uneasy space between merely existing and truly living, capturing that emotional inertia with stark, affecting clarity.

Oscar Isaac in Inside Llewyn Davis (2013)

In many ways, A Real Pain deepens my appreciation for Inside Llewyn Davis. What makes the Coen Brothers’ film so exceptional are precisely the elements that feel absent in Jesse Eisenberg’s second feature. While A Real Pain captures both the beauty of small moments and the intensity of big emotional swells, Inside Llewyn Davis elevates its themes with a synthesis that culminates in a few quintessential scenes—moments so masterfully constructed they rank among my all-time favorites in the medium.

Inside Llewyn Davis centers on Llewyn Davis (Oscar Isaac – Dune, The Card Counter, Triple Frontier, Across the Spider-Verse), a struggling folk musician navigating the vibrant yet unforgiving Greenwich Village scene of the 1960s. Set during the heart of the folk music movement, the film captures the daily grind of aspiring artists like Llewyn, many of whom face constant setbacks while chasing their dreams of breaking through to the next level.

It’s true—Inside Llewyn Davis crafts a world where it’s easy to empathize with the struggles of artists trying to carve out a space for themselves. But Llewyn, as the film’s focal point, consistently pushes the audience to keep their empathy at bay. He’s his own worst enemy, sabotaging opportunities and relationships alike. He drifts from couch to couch, surviving on the goodwill of others while showing little gratitude or remorse. His dismissiveness and self-absorption make his struggles feel self-inflicted, creating a character who’s both pitiable and exasperating as he fails to sustain even his basic needs or find traction in his career.

And from that description, you’d expect Llewyn to be the most unlikeable main character in a movie this century—or at least in Joel and Ethan Coen‘s filmography. But the Coens (Blood Simple, The Big Lebowski, No Country for Old Men) deftly balance his flaws with just enough underlying ethos to keep you rooting for him. Llewyn’s abrasive and self-destructive tendencies take on a more poignant hue when viewed through the lens of grief. His former partner, Mike, tragically ended his own life, a loss that lingers over the film like a haunting refrain.

Though the movie never explicitly dwells on Mike’s absence, every interaction and song Llewyn performs feels imbued with a sense of mourning. It’s clear this partnership was not only a creative lifeline but also a stabilizing force for Llewyn. His inability to let go of their shared past manifests in his refusal to compromise artistically and his growing detachment from the people around him. The Coens never absolve Llewyn of his behavior, but they do offer a context that makes his stubbornness and cynicism feel achingly human.

And perhaps most importantly, Llewyn Davis can sing. He’s not some impostor fumbling his way through an industry he doesn’t belong in—he’s the real deal. When Oscar Isaac steps up to the microphone, the film slows down and gives him the space to showcase his hauntingly beautiful voice and heartfelt musicianship. These moments are magnetic, brimming with raw emotion, and they remind you why Llewyn keeps chasing this elusive dream despite everything.

Llewyn’s talent is undeniable, but it’s his personality and poor decision-making that consistently sabotage his potential. The frustration of watching someone so gifted get in their own way only deepens the film’s melancholy. He’s his own worst enemy, forever stuck in a cycle of self-inflicted setbacks, despite having the one thing that should, theoretically, guarantee him success: extraordinary talent.

This dynamic culminates in two of the most unforgettable scenes in the Coen brothers’ filmography. The first takes place in Chicago, where Llewyn, desperate for a breakthrough, auditions for a prominent record producer, Bud Grossman, played with quiet authority by F. Murray Abraham. In a dimly lit office, Llewyn performs a soul-stirring rendition of “The Death of Queen Jane,” pouring every ounce of his talent and emotion into the song. It’s a breathtaking moment that showcases the depth of his artistry.

But the moment’s poignancy is undercut by Grossman’s blunt dismissal: “I don’t see a lot of money here.” It’s a devastating blow, made even crueler when Grossman suggests that Llewyn reunite with his partner—a suggestion rooted in commercial practicality but oblivious to the tragedy that makes this impossible. The weight of this rejection is palpable, as it underscores the brutal indifference of the music industry and the futility of Llewyn’s journey. It’s not just a rejection of his talent; it’s a dismissal of his very essence.

The final moments of Inside Llewyn Davis bring the film full circle, delivering an equally poignant emotional blow. Llewyn finds himself back at the Gaslight Cafe, the dimly lit bar where he began, performing yet another melancholic folk song to an audience that barely acknowledges his presence. The cyclical nature of his journey becomes painfully clear, a metaphor for his stagnation—both personal and professional.

Among the crowd are familiar faces, including Jean and Jim (played by Carey Mulligan [Maestro, She Said, Saltburn] and Justin Timberlake [The Social Network]), the married folk duo who are both supportive and weary of Llewyn’s perpetual messiness. Jean’s exasperation with Llewyn, coupled with her begrudging willingness to help, adds layers to their dynamic. These are people who care about Llewyn in their own way, offering him temporary refuge and even musical collaboration, yet his inability to maintain relationships or gratitude drives an unspoken wedge between them.

This closing act captures the quiet tragedy of Llewyn’s life. He’s surrounded by talent and potential collaborators, but his self-destructive tendencies and pride isolate him. The sequence subtly reiterates the film’s central theme: that talent, no matter how extraordinary, isn’t always enough to overcome personal flaws and external obstacles. In the end, Llewyn’s world is one of constant repetition, the same songs sung to the same audience, as life continues to move forward without him.

Llewyn heckles a performer on stage at the Gaslight, his frustration spilling over in a futile attempt to assert himself. This leads to his being dragged into the alleyway behind the venue and beaten—a moment that mirrors the film’s opening scene, revealing that the story has come full circle. The cyclical structure underscores the stagnation of Llewyn’s life, as though he’s trapped in an unending loop of self-inflicted misery and missed opportunities.

As Llewyn lies defeated, physically and emotionally, a new performer takes the stage inside the bar. His voice, clear and distinct, carries through the walls—a haunting reminder of the talent and charisma Llewyn possesses but can’t capitalize on. That voice belongs to none other than a young Bob Dylan, signaling the dawn of a seismic shift in folk music. Dylan’s rise to fame is imminent, and Llewyn’s failure to break through is thrown into even sharper relief.

Inside Llewyn Davis is indeed a masterpiece of nuanced character study, where the Coen brothers bring their signature blend of dark humor, existential despair, and offbeat storytelling into a film that feels as emotionally resonant as it is stylistically unique. It’s a film that pulls no punches in portraying the painful, humbling reality of an artist struggling against not just the world, but also his own shortcomings. Llewyn Davis may be a man adrift, emotionally wounded by the loss of his partner, selfish and hard to like, yet he is also profoundly human, filled with raw talent and unfulfilled potential.

Score: 10/10

Cast: Oscar Isaac, Carey Mulligan, Justin Timberlake, Ethan Phillips, Robin Bartlett, Max Casella, Adam Driver, Stark Sands, John Goodman, Garrett Hedlund, F. Murray Abraham
Crew: Joel Coen, Ethan Coen, Bruno Delbonnel
Genre: Drama, Musical
Runtime: 104 minutes
Rated: R
Release Date: December 10, 2013
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