Talent doesn’t equal success.
We often hear about the ones who made it in the music industry.
The ones who climbed their way to the top, released acclaimed pieces of art, or amassed a following amongst the public.
However, for every Michael Jackson, Elvis, Madonna, etc., there is an incredible artist unable to break the mainstream.
Some of them, unable to survive.
Some are forced to compromise their integrity.
Llewyn Davis, the stubborn, yet truly talented folk singer, is cinema’s starring example of this difficult reality. A reality the Coens expand upon, introducing us to the many layers of success. Does it come from talent, timing, connections, or everything in between?
After his grueling trek across the Northeast, Llewyn finds himself in front of the man he hopes to give him his big break.
Bud Grossman, the owner of a popular folk club in Chicago, allows him to play one song for him.
The two sit across from one another in a hollow music venue.
Sunlight casts a thin spotlight on them through the window.
Llewyn eases his mind and plays a quiet, melancholic tune, The Death of Queen Jane.
Davis gives an emotionally raw performance.
In his voice, the years of struggle, loss, life’s unforgiving hurdles.
His mind, ready to let them all go.
The ballad, housed within the empty room, ends.
Grossman is completely still.
Llewyn looks at him for a moment, believing this is it.
“I don’t see a lot of money here.”
In one sentence, that faint glimmer of hope is shadowed across Davis’ face.
One sentence that reduces the song to a whisper.
He advises Llewyn to bring a partner back in, or join another group, classifying him as but a component in a larger piece.
The real-life Grossman (Albert Grossman) would go on to manage the likes of Bob Dylan and Janis Joplin. Two solo folk acts, who were also finding their break.
Llewyn is a talented artist, and one the public would not be introduced to.
In another set of circumstances, Dylan could have fallen down the same path.
Llewyn is constantly lifted up, just to drop down, yet the film never explicitly tells you why.
Throughout, he is consistently hard-headed, often acting in self-interest.
He sees himself as above his peers, yet unwilling to compromise, even in the face of opportunity.
Earlier in the film, Davis works on a tacky, radio-friendly song about outer space.
He doesn’t enjoy recording the tune, questioning the song’s writing itself.
He does it for quick cash, turning down royalties.
The song becomes a hit and Llewyn Davis gets none of the reward.
To him, it wasn’t worth the price of his artistic principles.
Where would you draw the line?
Grossman was the connection, but Inside Llewyn Davis isn’t black and white; our flaws are everything in between.