TALES OF LOHR: "INSIDE LLEWYN DAVIS"

The exquisite pain of one of my 10 favorite films of the century so far

It is no secret, to those who know me best, that when it comes to movies, I am an unusually hard nut to crack, crying-wise. I’ve never really attempted this, but it might be possible to count the number of films that have moved me to actual tears on one hand. Films that usually, universally ignite the waterworks for most people have fallen short of bringing me to that place. I don’t cry when Bambi’s mother gets killed. I don’t cry when Debra Winger says goodbye to her kids in Terms of Endearment. I don’t cry when Carl’s wife dies at the beginning of Up. And no, of course I don’t cry when I watch Rudy. I don’t watch football; I didn’t go to Notre Dame. The points of potential pathos, for me, are simply not there.

But in 2013, Joel and Ethan Coen, those cinematic siblings frequently lambasted as cold-hearted technicians given to gleeful torture of their own characters, got me in tears as quickly as any filmmaker in motion picture history has ever done so.

The trigger: A bearded man in a threadbare jacket, chasing a cat through a New York subway car, to the tune of the most plangent folk song you’ve ever heard.