The Greatest Showman #1186 - Melody

"It doesn't matter who you are; what matters is that you are part of this folk song wave."

This was the Coen brothers' original intent for creating Drunken Country Ballads. Through this story, they presented a sweeping picture of an era, and every character and ballad in the film was carefully chosen to serve a purpose. After listening to the soundtrack repeatedly over the past few days, Renly came to this conclusion.

Troy Nelson, played by Stark Sands, sings two songs in the film: "The Last Thing on My Mind" (originally sung by Tom Paxton in the 1960s) and "Five Hundred Miles" by Jim and Jane, both classic folk songs.

Stark's voice, while clear and crisp, and the final sound processing lively and exciting, didn't fully capture the essence of the original songs. Similarly, Troy in the story, who joined the folk music wave with passion, fell short of embodying the true meaning of these songs. This is precisely the Coen brothers' point: Troy represented a group of folk singers at the time who, out of love and enthusiasm, joined the movement but didn't truly understand its depth.

In the world of folk music, joining the wave might simply be about enjoying the music in a carefree, commercial way, rather than understanding its message. These singers, driven by their personalities and appeal, held more commercial value than artistic depth—precisely the opposite of LeVern Davis.

In the film, Troy receives praise from Bob Dylan's agent, Albert Grossman, and becomes popular in the bar scene. His rendition of "Five Hundred Miles" lacks the original song's poignant yearning of a wanderer longing for home. Instead, under Troy's interpretation, the sadness is softened into a light and happy tune. The ballad loses its wandering spirit, its deep emotion, and becomes more aligned with the mainstream commercial direction, becoming a generic pop song.

Other songs, like "The Auld Triangle" and "The Storms Are on the Ocean," play with gimmicks like a cappella and alternative instruments, trying to create novelty but straying from the authentic folk tradition. Meanwhile, "Please, Mr. Kennedy" reduces itself to a pop song without meaning, theme, or substance—just a light, catchy tune designed for entertainment.

These changes underscore one painful truth: the folk music of Greenwich is losing its essence. The focus on artistry, soul, and craftsmanship is fading in favor of fame, profit, and mainstream success, pushing folk songs into the commercial marketplace. LeVern Davis's experience with "Please, Mr. Kennedy" epitomizes this shift. He compromises his artistic values for money, only to despise the song he contributed to once it becomes a commercial success.

Ironically, "Five Hundred Miles" becomes the most popular track on the soundtrack, thanks to Justin Timberlake's influence and the song's marketable arrangement. This commercial success doesn't make the song inherently bad. It's a reflection of the tension between art and business, where compromises often happen for survival, and where popular trends can sometimes overshadow authentic artistic intent.

Business success doesn't invalidate art, nor does art's failure mean it lacks value. This tension between art and commerce is something every artist must face. High art isn't necessarily noble, and popular art isn't necessarily shallow. Art comes from life, and life itself is what influences art. Thus, the line between "high" and "low" art is not always clear.

The irony, however, is that this very shift in musical values is the antithesis of the artistic ideals that LeVern and Dave Van Ronk held. It is a theme the Coen brothers explore in the film, which reflects not just the sixties, but also the modern age, where art is often diluted to fit commercial expectations. In the process, it mocks the stubborn, idealistic creators who, like LeVern and Dave, remain true to their vision and yet fail to achieve success.

The Coen brothers are acutely aware of the art-business divide, and they cleverly use the casting choices to reflect this tension. They chose Stark Sands to play Troy Nelson not for his vocal likeness to Tom Paxton but because he embodied a character who represented the influx of commercially-minded folk singers. Justin Timberlake's casting as Jim reflects the tension between artistic credibility and mainstream success—his second album, more commercially successful than his first, represents the shift from artistry to popularity. Adam Driver, playing Al Cody, captures the internal struggle between commercial appeal and artistic integrity.

This wasn't a critique of these actors, but a reflection of the larger game between art and business, where some choose the former, and others opt for the latter. In the tide of the times, the latter often prevails, while the former fades into obscurity. The Coen brothers' film is a direct commentary on this, offering a harsh but necessary truth: in a world that favors commercial success, true art is often sidelined.

And so, Renly was cast as LeVern Davis—a character who, like Dave Van Ronk, embodies the spirit of uncompromising art in a world that rewards compromise. Renly's career, often marked by surprising artistic choices, mirrors LeVern's. Though he has won an Oscar, Renly remains an artist who resists mainstream trends, much like Dave Van Ronk, whose pioneering work was overlooked in favor of more marketable acts like Bob Dylan.

The film cleverly alludes to Bob Dylan's agent, Albert Grossman, who is the inspiration for the character Bud, the bar owner and agent. In the film, Bud dismisses LeVern's moving performance of "The Death of Queen Jane" as commercially unviable, encapsulating the Coen brothers' critique of the music industry's disregard for art in favor of profit.

The film captures the brutal reality faced by folk singers, who must eventually compromise their ideals to survive in a market driven by profit. Troy, Jim, and Jane represent the success of those who embrace the commercial side of the business, while LeVern Davis symbolizes the artist whose dedication to pure art leaves him in obscurity.

In the end, the Coen brothers remind us that sticking to a dream—or to art—can be incredibly difficult. Only by understanding the era's cultural wave and the battle between art and commerce can we give each character a soul. Troy, Jim, and Jane's success comes at the expense of authenticity, while LeVern's persistence remains unrecognized. This juxtaposition highlights the broader truth that, in an age of commercialization, true art often struggles to survive.