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This movie is noteworthy more than an contaminated and unusual comedy. One reason for its cult following has been consistently missed by the critics: repeated viewings shriek surprising layers of meaning and an intricate web of symbolism.
At the heart of this film is the timeless debate known as “nature vs. nurture”: are we more a product of our genes, or of our environment? How grand of an carry out does our upbringing have on our likelihood to turn out as either a law-abiding member of society (a society which in this movie is of dubious merit, as represented by Hi’s job and his unctuous boss) or as a criminal deviant from its norms?
The symbolism in this film is rich and evocative–while always contributing to the comedy. Price how often the adult characters roar and carry on like infants. Imprint the arrangement the escaped convicts are “born” into the outside world. Stamp the marriage of a convict and a police officer, and the dissimilarity in their families visible in the brief wedding shot. Designate the juxtaposition of milk poured over cereal with the infant’s feeding bottle, as Evelle observes, “Ya don’t breast feed him, he’ll detest you for it later. That’s why we injure up in prison.” And brand the frequent spend of phrases such as “that’s natural,” as opposed to “you’re not being accurate to your nature” or “mother didn’t admire me.” As Hi observes, “maybe it’s my upbringing, maybe it’s fair that my genes got screwed up, I don’t know.”
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The quasi-biblical, poetical and aphorism-laden language the characters consume in the-state-adjacent-to-Utah is both touching and comical. Every word of the film is a finely polished gem. Ed’s shrimp idea is “the solution to all our problems, and the reply to all our prayers.” Her infertile womb is a “rocky dwelling where my seed can earn no engage.” And as Hi later writes in a touching letter to his dearest Edwina, “I feel the insist gathering even now…I cannot tarry…better I should go, send you money, and let you curse my name.” On the other hand, the crotchety Arizona characters also have a powerful literalness of expression. A packet of balloons does not blow up into laughable shapes, not “unless round is comic.” And as the passe codger in the bank robbery points out, “If I freeze, I can’t rightly fall, and if I fall, I’m gonna be in motion!”
Even the music in this film is perfectly executed, from the hilarious yodeling and whistling of the main theme to the map the chilling accompaniment of a nightmare is later revealed to be a haunting children’s nursery song, and then mutates into an ethereal melody in the film’s final scenes. The characters, despite their flaws, are all surprisingly sympathetic. And the film is tightly constructed, without a single unnecessary scene or moment. It ends with a bang, not a whimper, its final words resonating with significance and yet leaving one wanting more, like a swift exit after a big punch line.
At the deepest core of this film lies a mystery wrapped in an enigma: who is the once-orphaned “motorcycle demon from hell,” and what is his relation to Herbert I. McDonnough? The respond to this puzzle relates intimately to the “nature vs. nurture” theme. While I contemplate I know the acknowledge, I’ll leave it for you to figure out, based on the clues (“demonstrate the tattoo!”) liberally scattered throughout the film. “Okay then!”
I’ve seen Raising Arizona far more times than I can count. It is, in my humble concept, next to Kubrick’s Dr. Strangelove the most current, inventive comedy ever made.
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The dialogue is absolutely razor-sharp — plenty of examples are certainly readily available in the reviews preceding this one — and the camera work is amazing, as well. I’d wrong Raising Arizona a VERY conclude second to Miller’s Crossing in a list of the Coen’s best films. It is admittedly not as visually stylish as Miller’s Crossing (then again, very few films ever made are), and the storyline is not as cohesive as Miller’s Crossing, Fargo, or Barton Fink. However, the film is so burly of verbal gems that it definitely ranks as the Coen’s best dialogue writing pain. Cage and Hunter are fantastic, and John Goodman and William Forsythe are absolutely perfect as the Snopes brothers.
Admittedly, the DVD is nothing very special. All you really derive is the more durable medium and a widescreen format. Some kind of “The Making of…” mini-documentary, or better yet, a commentary option with two or three of the actors, the director of photography, or ideally the Coens themselves would have been a priceless addition to the DVD.
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