Burn After Reading: A Spy Comedy for the Rest of Us

By Breanne Boland September 18, 2008 Issue

We’re lucky lately in media, I think. Popular books and movies are still dominated by people who do one thing right, and who then proceed to do that one thing over and over. But certain super-talented folks are switch-hitting. Think Michael Chabon, Pulitzer Prize-winning novelist who also writes comics. Or TV whiz kid Joss Whedon, creator of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, who dabbles in film as well as Internet movies. Joel and Ethan Coen, directors of Burn After Reading, stick to the big screen, but they ambidextrously move between grim drama and absurd, sublime comedy.

If the spectrum of their films starts with straight-faced drama, such as No Country for Old Men and The Man Who Wasn’t There, then Fargo would fall dead-center, and films like The Big Lebowski and Raising Arizona would be the heights of the comedy end. Burn After Reading falls between Fargo and Lebowski.

Reading takes place in Washington D.C., where the political is commonplace and casually mixing with government agents is nothing out of the ordinary. Osborne Cox (John Malkovich) is pushed out of his job as a CIA analyst. His wife (Tilda Swinton), an overachieving doctor, doesn’t much like the idea of having an unemployed husband. She copies files from his computer to start investigating him for divorce proceedings. Alas, the CD is misplaced and found by inept fitness club employees (Brad Pitt and Frances McDormand), who see dollar signs in the tangled code of the files and begin shopping it around the city.

The film begins in the cold hallways of CIA headquarters, following clicking dress shoe-clad feet as they walk from office to office. The subtle send-ups of the trappings of spy thrillers continue through the film—from the X-Files-esque subtitles, to clandestine meetings in cars. The best, though, are the several scenes where strangers try to meet each other in parks—walking by benches, attempting to subtly figure out which lone man is the contact. Of course, in this film these introductions are as likely to be about Internet dating as they are about espionage.

The advantage of films like this—with well-connected directors who have a dreamy ensemble of talent to pick from—is that no part is neglected. George Clooney, for instance, is hilarious but, despite his top billing, doesn’t dominate the film. Brad Pitt’s role is relatively small but deeply memorable, and it’s his gymrat’s ideas and fate that send the film reeling several times. The casting leaves no detail untouched, a philosophy that’s true of the smallest tendrils of this film’s sprawling story. One of the most inspired touches is a sort of Greek chorus of two CIA agents. Despite presumably having been involved in difficult political situations far more serious than the one we follow, they still appear flummoxed as they discuss what the main cast has been up to.

Probably this is the message of the film—if there is one. Even high-ranking officials in posh leather chairs have a far more tenuous grasp on these things than we would guess. Mere mortals like us find it hard to explain or control what most of the world does; why would it be any different just because someone has a badge and security clearance?

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