When the truth is found to be lies,

And all the joy within you dies,

Don’t you want somebody to love?

Don’t you need somebody to love?

Wouldn’t you love somebody to love?

You better find somebody to love

A strange contrast to the Yiddish-language prologue of Dybbuks and old-world snowstorms that begins this Coen brothers film. And yet not. Because the pounding protest of the Jefferson Airplane track, with it’s yearning lyrics and fierce tone, is a masterful accompaniment to this affecting, philosophical film.

Larry Gopnik seeks meaning. He is, afterall, a professor of physics. He is also a family man and a Jew. His ancestors were Jewish. His community is Jewish. His friends and councillors are Jewish. Where else can a man turn when, slowly and insidiously, his life begins to be taken from him? Blackmailed at work, abandoned at home and resisting the persistent, unarticulated aggression of the world around him, Larry questions. He consults Rabbis. He observes. He thinks. 

And it is funny. Very, very, funny. Subtly, overtly, physically and emotionally, funny. The film is laced with a scintillating irony that makes everything, from the curious motions of the elderly Rabbis to the syrupy baritone of Larry’s cuckold Sy Ableman to the intensity of the many lectures disguised as conversations that the mild Larry must endure, fascinating and bitter sweet to behold.

And, ultimately, what is meaning? Stories have no meaning, as Larry is consistently told. And what are religion and attempts at consolation but empty stories? Larry’s life is one dominated by unseen terrors and the near constant suggestion of worse to come. And yet it’s also filled with struggles and puzzles all the more fascinating for their apparent lack of purpose. It shouldn’t be an uplifting film, but it is. It really is.

As yet another circular argument jerks to a limp conclusion Larry is asked; “Please. Accept the mystery”. Serious advice from a film that will stay with you long after the images have faded from the screen.