Hear Me Out: ‘High Fidelity’ and ‘O Brother, Where Art Thou?’ Are the Same Movie
The Scoop features personal essays on movie-related topics.
Once upon a time in the year 2000, when the future felt optimistic, two fantastic movies came out and accidentally explained 95% of the cis-het male population: High Fidelity and O Brother, Where Art Thou?.
Both films are about emotionally stunted, semi-charming dudes on */^jOuRnEyS^/* to get their partners back. One is a wormhole of record-store existentialism based on Nick Hornby’s enjoyable book, which in turn was partially inspired by Elvis Costello’s incredible track of the same name. The other is a banjo-drenched odyssey loosely based on The Odyssey by Homer. If you remember your high school English classes (LOL you don’t), it’s the story where our hero tries to get home after war and somehow ends up banging like seven witches along the way. The classics, amiright?!
Technically, these are both redemption arcs. But Rob’s the type of guy who says “I’ve grown!” because now, he asks before hitting on your cousin because she also likes Pavement and Fugazi. Everett’s the type to stop lying just long enough for Jesus and the Klan to call it a draw.
Rob is trying to win back a woman by growing up and giving a half-assed go at introspection. Everett attempts to gaslight his way back into family dinners by getting Depression-era famous.
Guess who wins? Spoiler: both of them. Because women are tired.
Two Floppy-Haired Man-Babies with Big Dreams!
High Fidelity’s Rob Gordon (played to perfection by undefeated champ of dreamy sad boys John Cusack) is a record store owner who organizes his life into Top Five lists: Top Five Breakups, Top Five Side Ones/Track Ones, Top Five Times I Wanted to Punch This Guy for Being So Self-Absorbed. You get the picture.
Meanwhile, in O Brother, Where Art Thou? Everett McGill (played by an impeccable George Clooney with the charm of a used car salesman who sold you a lemon-ed Pontiac and then slept with your best friend afterwards) is a wordy fugitive trying to get home to his ex-wife. She has changed her name and told their kids that Daddy got pancaked by a train. Understandable, to be honest!
Here’s the common thread: they’re both on a quest to win back women they absolutely don’t deserve. Rob treats his girlfriend Laura (played by a pitch-perfect, exasperated Iben Hjejlelike) like an unpaid therapist. Laura, a goddess among mere mortals, is an intelligent lawyer, calm, and has the patience of a preschool teacher on a Xanax drip. She’s the real hero here.
Everett tries to gaslight his ex Penny into pretending he isn’t a compulsive liar with too much Dapper Dan hair product. Penny, the eternally brilliant Holly Hunter, goes so far as to fake Everett’s death to avoid dealing with his bullshit. That’s not just a plea for needing some space, it’s big witness protection energy.
These women are not love interests. They’re pro bono social workers with incredible cheekbones and a deep, abiding tolerance for dude nonsense. The subtext is: He might be trash, but at least he recycles! No, girl. Take out the whole bin!!!
Music Matters But Not Like That, You Walking Flannel
Rob surrounds himself with vinyl. His record store is really just a sanctuary for gatekeeping. Rob uses music as a fortress, and you aren’t allowed in unless you know the B-side of a Japanese pressing of a Velvet Underground demo where Lou Reed was on slightly less heroin than usual.
Everett and his fellow escaped convicts morph into a folky, bluegrass phenomenon. His band, the Soggy Bottom Boys, become a huge hit with their recording of “Man of Constant Sorrow”. This is Mississippi during the Great Depression, and everyone wanted to hear their own misery reflected in jangly harmonies, so it makes sense. He’s not really a musician, just a conman with decent rhythm.
Both use music to rewrite and revise their own stories. Rob weaponizes it to intellectualize heartbreak. Everett uses it to create a legend that helps him avoid getting strung up by a racist mob. Music isn’t a healing balm for them but a distraction from self-reflection.
This is the sonic equivalent of saying, “Okay, look, I know I cheated on you, but we were in different states, so it doesn’t count! By the way, have you heard the album of Woody Guthrie songs that Billy Bragg made with Wilco? You might be able to enjoy it, silly lady!”
Redemption? Maybe?
By the end of High Fidelity, Rob’s big emotional breakthrough is that maybe he is a self-important dickhead. So he makes Laura a mixtape with her tastes in mind. This is treated like a massive leap forward in personal growth. Wow. Groundbreaking stuff, y’all! Next, he might learn what foreplay is!!
In O Brother, Everett finally admits that he escaped prison and strung along his convict pals not to find some epic hidden treasure, but to get back with his estranged wife. This happens only after multiple people get hurt, everyone finds themselves incognito at a Klan meeting, and a cow dies. He wins Penny back by singing and saying “I love you” louder than the other (albeit way more racist) guy.
For both movies, the bar for men is in hell. And their romantic interests are just expected to accept it with a cute li’l smile and grateful nods.
These Movies Are Amazing. The Men Are Not.
Don’t get me wrong, these are both excellent films.
The dialogue? Sharp! Hilarious!
The soundtracks? Boy howdy, you’re in for a treat. They slap harder than your drunk aunt at a wedding.
The cinematography? ::chef’s kiss::
Literally all the leads and supporting characters? Jack Black! Tim Blake Nelson! Oh my god, post-Roseanne Sara Gilbert loving Green Day and Stiff Little Fingers?!? Inject it in my veins.
Rob and Everett are both funny and broken. They’re fictional guys who feel painfully real because everyone’s dated at least one of them.
But here’s the thing: you shouldn’t get a goddamn parade for realizing your partner has tastes and a life outside of your relationship. While High Fidelity and O Brother pretend to be redemption arcs about the power of love or something close to it, they’re actually about how women are expected to be emotional life jackets for men who don’t know how to swim and refuse to take lessons. The ability of Penny and Laura to forgive is both beautiful and deeply, deeply cursed.
You should still watch these movies. Just with the same lens you view your college-era Facebook photos: nostalgic, amused, and slightly concerned with everyone’s emotional wellbeing.