At the time of writing this review, I am at the tail-end of
a bout with gastroenteritis; yes, a month and a half in and my body is still
finding new ways to keep me out of commission. As my brain is still running on
half-full in-between worrying about how intact my lunch is going to stay, I hope
you’ll understand if I just skip the pleasantries and get right into the movie
already. Hopefully, the film I’m looking at today does a better job of making
ghastly medical issues seem funny than I just did.
As someone who has gone on record about being rather
lukewarm with both the Coen brothers and the entire Western genre, this review
is going to prove a little tricky. Doubly so because we’re dealing with an
anthology film, the kind of fare that doesn’t exactly lend itself well to
cohesion. There’s gonna be duds, there’s gonna be winners, and even then,
that’s if you’re lucky; most of the time, it’s a collection of middling stories
that wouldn’t be able to warrant a separate release, much less stand on their
own alongside each other. Well, with all three ducks lined up in a row, I am
thankful to report that this turns out good. Like, really damn good.
