Page - 115 - in JRFM - Journal Religion Film Media, Volume 02/01

Review: Elijah Siegler, Coen | 115www.jrfm.eu 2016, 2/1, 113–120 ics of a fading religious iconography, the author certainly makes an important point here: film does not only refer to religion; it can possibly also be regarded as the object of religion, including its own cathedrals, cults, rites, and priests. Siegler refers here – amongst other movies – to Star Wars (p. 10). I wrote my doctoral thesis on the mythological aspects of the structures of the Star Wars trilogy and here I absolutely agree with Siegler. The chapter on the “Moral Hero” (pp.12ff) points to a character trait of many of the Coens’ heroes, stating that their peculiarity is mostly not of a su- perhuman kind but merely knowledge of “their own limitations and [... of the others’] capacity for self-delusion and vanity” (p. 13). This is, for me, the core sentence of the introduction, because it does not confront us with an attractive yet meaningless su- perhero but with a “mirror dimly” (cf. 1 Cor 13:12). The rest of the book shall be judged in relation to Siegler’s statement. It is the question of Morality that is addressed by Eric M. Mazur in the next chapter, and he brings together film and literature, Raising Arizona with Herman Melville and Isaac L. Peretz. Although I think his allegation against Georg Seesslen – “[he] pushes the interpretation […] quite possibly into ‘Anti-Semitic-Country’” (p. 27) – completely invalid, he has certainly made an important point: it is inappropriate to assume that, in spite of all Christian symbolism, the protagonist in Raising Arizona should be read as a representative Christian (p. 33). And that goes, I take it, for all the Coens’ heroes: they should not be taken for granted, even if evidence suggests something different. In Kerry Mitchell’s contribution on Millers Crossing (Theology), a film I have not seen, the author points out that in a radical secular world, the existential questions still remain the same. Even though all of the characters are a bunch of crooks (p. 35), they do not make their decisions “in radical freedom, but bearing the weight and even the shape of religious heritage” (p. 37). The author notes that “Jesus” and “Christ” are said thirty times in the film, on twenty-seven occasions addressed to Tom, thus justifying the identification of Tom (a killer) “with Jesus. But what kind of Jesus?” (p. 42). After an interesting excursus on the symbolism of a hat (which has, according to Mitchell, a quite similar meaning to the black dog in Andrey Tarkovskiy’s movies), he concludes by stating that “the Coen brothers relate to a tale of struggle and loss, with the Christian theological narrative drained of its promise of salvation and clarity” (p. 51). I would agree with that, but I am still not sure why the editor chose the subtitle “theology” for this chapter; I would rather refer to it as “radical existentialism”. Let us glance at the chapter on Barton Fink (World Creation) by S. Brent Plate and Elijah. Siegler. The authors point out that film as religion has the power to create new realities (p. 54). After rejecting various interpretations by film critics and philoso- phers, they state that the film is in fact self-reflexive on a high level, being a “clever movie about movies and heads and dreams” (p. 58). In this context, the observation that “several scenes of the film might be seen as microcosmos for the entire film” (p. 58) is very interesting. It seems that Barton Fink is – for the authors – a construc- tive hologram, the function of which is not merely to provide a narrative but also