The Coens followed Barton Fink, which is partially a defense of formalism, with The Hudsucker Proxy, their most formalist exercise to that point. At times, Proxy feels like a parody of a Coen brothers film; ornately filigreed dialogue, deadpan shenanigans, nonexistent or ironic emotional content and smart-aleck mimicry. It's still a tremendously entertaining film, with some of the Coens' most inspired cinematography and wordplay, but at the end it amounts to little more than an extended riff on pre-war screwball comedy, right down to the font of the opening credits. Beyond the catchphrases and enjoyable mannered performances, what really lingers after watching The Hudsucker Proxy is the dread-inducing industrial hellscape of the Hudsucker industries mailroom, which has to stand as one of the most visceral depictions of the dehumanization of industrial relations put to film. Even if it is mostly a joke. You know...for kids.
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