Directed by: The Coen Brothers

Runtime: 133 minutes

In our recent editorial piece analysing the rebirth of the Western through the immersive, world-building video game sensation that is Rockstar’s incredible Red Dead Redemption 2, Film Bunker’s own Ciaran Kerr succinctly presents the allure of the Western genre in contemporary cinema amongst our pervasive media-culture osmosis: “In an age where we are constantly being sold sequels, reboots, and homages to by-gone eras (’80s fever is still ripe, currently), our Westerns are almost acting as Trojan horses among the nostalgic properties. Sure, they look like the old films we would watch on a Sunday afternoon to remember simpler times, but really, they are filled with complex characters with skewed moral codes.”

If you’ve been watching films over the last thirty years or so, then it should come as no surprise to you that nobody does complex characters with skewed moral codes better than the Joel & Ethan Cohen. Originally conceived as a series pitch for streaming giant Netflix, The Ballad of Buster Scruggs is a Western anthology film consisting of six short vignettes, each possessing the same mix of intense personal drama, black comedy, gallows humour and lurid violence that made Fargo (1996), No Country for Old Men (2007) and True Grit (2010) instant cult-classics. Without dropping any spoiler-worthy detail, each vignette—framed as a chapter in a leather-bound book titled The Ballad of Buster Scruggs and Other Tales of the American Frontier, complete with preceding colour plate illustrations like The Brothers Grimm meets Disney—finds the Coen Brothers paying homage to, or playfully riffing on, archetypal Western characters, tropes and set-pieces with an all-star cast of old-hands and fresh faces.

The film opens with the hokey exploits of the anthology’s titular character Buster Scruggs (Tim Blake Nelson), who sings, dances, gambles and shoots up screen time as a charming, dandy anti-hero, making his way through dishevelled cantinas, smoky saloons, rigged card games and dustbowl streets seemingly tailor-made for tense, nail-biting duals. “Near Algodones” finds a mostly silent James Franco playing a nameless cowboy down on his luck, fumbling his way from one doomed situation to the next. The portentous “Meal Ticket” centres on the carriage-bound, apodal artist Harrison (Harry Melling) and his begrudging, ill-tempered impressario (Liam Neeson) as they trundle from outpost to outpost, surviving hand-to-mouth off the back of Harrsion’s heartfelt renditions of scripture readings, Percy Shelley poems, Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address and the Declaration of Independence.

Adapting a short story by author Jack London, “All Gold Canyon” is carried by a hilarious and riveting performance from singer-songwriter Tom Waits, as a lonely hermetic prospector who anthropomorphises his picturesque surrounding in search of buried riches. “The Gal Who Got Rattled” pits a romantic subplot against the stark brutality of Manifest Destiny, where a young Alice Longabaugh (Zoe Kazan) attempts to navigate the uncertain terrain of patriarchal dividends, family ineptitude and the affections of the ruggedly handsome Billy Knapp (Bill Heck). The film closes with the Gothic romp of “The Mortal Remains”: a monologue-driven escapade involving five curious strangers on a fateful carriage ride which won’t stop for no man (or woman).

As you would expect, the writing and direction from the Coen Brothers often cracks like a whip, featuring sharp dialogue, little flourishes that wink back to their collective oeuvre and thematic signposts in the vein of Cormac McCarthy novels and the Spaghetti Western traditions of greats like Akira Kurosawa and Sergio Leone. Frequent Coen collaborators Bruno Delbonnel and Carter Burwell also return to lend the film their signature flair: Delbonnel’s cinematography is simply gorgeous, packed full of stunning vistas, glorious wide shots and a saturated palette which paints the Old West in vivid detail; and Burwell’s score is equal parts plaintive and rousing, working within the tried-and-true domain of master composers like Ennio Morricone.

While the film certainly has more hits than misses, not every vignette hits its thematic mark. It’s, unfortunately, a case of diminishing returns, as the film starts out strong, hits its darkest stride in the middle and then becomes a bit of a meandering slog towards the back end. Despite being stacked with excellent performances, “The Gal Who Got Rattled” is nearly evaporated of all dramatic tension about halfway through and hangs around too long to be saved by a tense and miserable climax. Likewise, “The Mortal Remains” feels hackneyed and tedious in comparison to the film’s spirited and comical beginning, coming off as a cheap, exposition-laden parody of scenes from Quentin Tarantino’s The Hateful Eight (2015).

The Ballad of Buster Scruggs is a mostly enjoyable, darkly comical and well-rendered slice of Western cinema. If, as Ciaran suggests, the Western genre is sneaking once more into our collective consciousness as a type of nostalgic Trojan horse, then the Coen Brothers have trained this particular steed to kick its meaning straight into the audience’s skull: this here universe is one, big ol’ mean sonuvabitch; a ruthless, demanding and unflinching beast that cares not for the wills or desires of its fledgeling and ill-fated protagonists. So come for the characters, stay for the slaughter and, if you feel so inclined, meditate on the message. Happy trails, partner.