Somewhere among the masterpieces, the failures and the crowdpleasers, this film tends to get forgotten in the Coen Brothers oeuvre. Even though it shared Best Director at Cannes with the newly ordained "Best Film of the Millennium" Mulholland Drive, The Man Who Wasn't There has become a bit of a phantom film. Sometimes I even wonder if it actually exists. But there it is on my self. It's almost too perfect that this film about an extremely passive and forgettable schlub, has itself become forgotten. And just like its protagonist, the film also holds surprising depth. That's the sort of extra-textual synthesis that you simply cannot plan. Or maybe the Coen's can?
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