A Serious Man: The Universe Vs. Larry Gopnik

A Serious Man, the latest film from Joel and Ethan Coen, must be the first movie to use the Columbia Record and Tape Club as a metaphor for the chaos of the universe. In arguably the film’s key scene, physics professor Larry Gopnik (Michael Stuhlbarg) gets a phone call from a Columbia sales representative, who tells him that his account is in arrears: he still hasn’t paid for his copy of Santana’s Abraxas. (It’s 1967.) Larry has no idea what the man is talking about — he never ordered Santana’s Abraxas. But that’s the point, the voice on the phone replies: the album was sent to him automatically. “But I didn’t do anything!” Larry shouts, with increasing agitation. “I don’t want Santana’s Abraxas!” But what Larry doesn’t realize is, that’s how the universe works: even if you don’t do anything, God is the kind of person who will still force you to foot the bill for Santana’s Abraxas. In fact, the people who don’t do anything are kind of His favourite targets.

The situation with the Columbia Record and Tape Club is actually the least of Larry’s woes. His hopes of getting tenure at the university are jeopardized by a series of anonymous letters someone is mailing to the tenure committee. A Korean student, unhappy with the F he’s received on his exam, is apparently trying to bribe Larry into passing him — although the kid’s behaviour is so inscrutable that Larry’s not even sure what to accuse him of. His unemployed (and unemployable) brother Arthur has moved into the living room and spends his hours draining a cyst on his neck and working on a grand mathematical theory of the universe called “The Mentaculus.” And his wife Judith has informed him, out of the blue, that she’s leaving him for Sy Abelman — and insists that Larry move into a motel while she arranges for a “get,” a traditional Jewish divorce.

The divorce, the cost of the motel, Arthur’s problems with the law, the uncertainty of his position at the university, the arrangements for his son’s upcoming bar mitzvah — it all puts a strain on Larry’s finances. But what’s causing Larry the most tsuris is a much more abstract concern: why him? He’s a good man, a loyal husband, a devoted father. He goes to synagogue every week. He gives generously to the community. Why has God singled him out for such suffering? Is he being punished for some reason? Or is there no meaning whatsoever to any of these events — is it just random gibberish, like the signal on his TV set, which keeps “coming in fuzzy” no matter how much time he spends on the roof jiggling the antenna?

At one point, Larry tells his class the story of Schrödinger’s cat and tells them that even if they don’t understand it, they’re “still responsible for it on the midterm.” Reviewing A Serious Man makes me feel a little like one of Larry’s students — it’s been four days since I saw it and even though I’ve barely penetrated any of this movie’s mysteries, I’ve still got to write down some cogent thoughts about it. A Serious Man belongs alongside Barton Fink and The Man Who Wasn’t There in the Coen brothers’ filmography: it’s a deliberately cryptic fable that you might be tempted to write off as meaningless if it weren’t for the way each scene is staged and photographed so impeccably. Each image, each line of dialogue, each performance seems so deliberate, so precisely what the Coens wanted, that surely it all must signify something.

Here are the theories I’ve developed so far. The Jefferson Airplane song “Somebody to Love” is a symbol for God’s love. Danny’s transistor radio equals man’s connection to God. Larry’s neighbour, who keeps encroaching on Larry’s property with his lawnmower, represents the erosion of faith in modern society. Larry’s other neighbour, a married woman with a penchant for nude sunbathing, represents the temptation of the flesh. Schrödinger’s cat equals our inability to know if we have earned God’s favour. Property lawyer Solomon Schultz represents false hope that the ways of man can solve our spiritual crises. Mike the school bully equals the unavoidability of God’s wrath. So does the hurricane. So does Santana’s Abraxas. Or maybe Cosmo’s Factory does. Now I’m getting confused. And the parable of the goy’s teeth, which Larry learns from his rabbi... well, can I get back to you on that one too?

A Serious Man has been widely hailed as one of the Coens’ greatest achievements to date. Myself, I wasn’t quite as enraptured by it. Certainly, its evocation of Jewish life in 1960s Minnesota is wonderfully textured, and Michael Stuhlbarg gives a resourceful performance in a passive, reactive, powerless role. I sure don’t regret seeing it. But is “mildly intrigued bafflement” really an ideal reaction to a piece of art? I find myself echoing the sentiment of the CIA bureau chief J.K. Simmons played in the Coens’ previous film, Burn After Reading: can someone bring this movie back to me when it makes sense?