The Coen Brothers have made enough good movies that they can they can jerk off once in awhile—and they wear out their wrist with this one. In its defense, this 1940s-50s Hollywood satire is stunning in its detail. The Coens have old movies in their blood, whether you’re talking B-westerns, musicals, corny Biblical epics, high society romances, behind-the-scenes rumors or Communist scares. There isn’t a false note to any of the Coens’ Golden Age parodies here (the musical sequence in which Channing Tatum does Gene Kelly with a wink and no shortage of fine dirty subtext is a major highlight). They were brilliant at it way back in Barton Fink and they’re still brilliant at it. Hack filmmakers they aren’t. Great cinematographer Roger Deakins remains at their side taking us to another world, lighting beautiful and busy surfaces. As writers though, the Coens stitch together a patchwork that comes apart in our hands. I have no idea how this was written, but it feels like they went through their notebooks, pulled out a bunch of jokes that never made the cut for anything else and let ’em loose here. A look into the life of an old-time Hollywood studio executive (Josh Brolin, rugged, lined in the face and commanding in the part) provides the framework in which for them to run wild. Along the way, the Coens hook us sometimes only to let us go when the scene reaches a cheap punchline. There are no human beings here, just cartoon sketches. On the other hand, maybe that’s how our studio executive sees his stars, as a bunch of babies in constant need of pampering, burping and feeding. Occasionally, his job means having to stamp out a new Red threat. That’s part of why he sees it as important. It’s the big joke that the Coens are too busy with their little jokes to ever manage to sell.