Being an adventurous filmmaker means going out on a limb more often than not, and sometimes that means falling. Which is why it doesn't pain me too much not to recommend The Ladykillers, the new film from Joel and Ethan Coen. The brothers Coen, who have produced some of the most dazzling, original and fantastically entertaining films of the last 10 or so years, are always taking risks and trying new things, never content to rest on their laurels or repeat what's worked well for them in the past. With The Ladykillers, they attempt a remake of a classic, British comedy of manners, moving the setting to the deep American South but keeping the plot mostly intact, even having their lead actor practically channel the original player's spirit. That the result is a little off is the product of the Coens going further out on that limb than they should have, and playing wider than their usually fine sensibilities would merit.
The 1955 original starred Sir Alec Guinness ("genuine class," as Lisa Simpson would say) as a criminal mastermind who holes up his band of ne'er-do-wells in the spare room of a house owned by a sweet old lady, planning their major heist while masquerading as a string quartet. The Coens cast Tom Hanks in Guinness' role, this time named Prof. G.H. Dorr, and he plays the part much of the time as if they really had cast him as Sir Alec, sporting the same prosthetic teeth and condescending sneer Guinness had in the original, and occasionally doing a spot-on Guinness impression in the dialogue, as well.
The spare room is in the home of Marva Munson (Irma P. Hall), a churchgoing, old black lady whose biggest concern is that he'll fill her house with "hippity hop" music. Instead, he introduces his associates as a Renaissance musical ensemble, using fake rehearsals to cover for the gang's tunneling from the root cellar to the counting room of a riverboat casino. The crew includes inside man Gawain MacSam (Marlon Wayans), tunneler Garth Pancake (J.K. Simmons), demolitions expert the General (Tzi Ma), and the muscle, simply known as Lump (Ryan Hurst).
Of course, as in any heist movie, things go horribly awry, and the crew has to deal with Miss Munson after she discovers their nefarious plans. The original film played the conflict between the crooks and matron for dark, dry comedy, and the Coens retain the darkness while adding a broader tone to the humor. Each of Dorr's gang is an easy stereotype: Gawain, the angry gangsta; Pancake, the gregarious, passive-aggressive; the General, the taciturn but deadly Asian; Lump, the dumb jock. Dorr himself is a verbose academic crossed with an absurdly polite Southern gentleman, dressed like Col. Sanders and speaking in a bizarre accent which has certainly never naturally issued from any human being's lips. Half Southern, half British and all annoying, Hanks' accent typifies what's wrong with his mannered, cloying performance, although you can't accuse him of holding back. He gives Dorr a strange, hyena-like laugh, and the Coens give him plenty of long-winded speeches in which to practice his unique mangling of the English language.
Figures in Coen films often walk a fine line between character and caricature, and the main problem with The Ladykillers is that there's too much of the latter and not enough of the former. The brothers' best creations—Frances McDormand's Sheriff Marge Gunderson in Fargo, Jeff Bridges' Dude in The Big Lebowski, Billy Bob Thornton's Ed Crane in The Man Who Wasn't There—transcend their archetypes to become real, believable people whom you can care about, even as they make their way through the surreal worlds the Coens craft. No one in The Ladykillers ever gets close to that level, and though there are moments of genuine humor, most notably an absurd scene at a Waffle Hut, they feel hollow without any depth to the characters who populate them.
Only Hall comes close to embodying her part with a level of humanity, but even Miss Munson is never anything more than your standard fussy, old lady. The Coens, sharing a directing credit for the first time (usually Joel takes the credit alone), scale back some of their notorious eye for detail, and the camera work is more static than in their previous films. Although there is the expected rich sound track, this time full of gospel music, and a few nice Southern touches, the setting feels sketched rather than fully fleshed out. Ironically, last year's Intolerable Cruelty, supposedly the Coens' bid for the mainstream, had more life and style than this deliberately eccentric dud. Let's hope the Coens' next trip out on a limb will be more fruitful.