Hold Onto Your Hat: Miller’s Crossing and How to Do Symbolism
I was walkin' in the woods, I don't know why. Wind came up and blew me hat off.
Miller’s Crossing is one of my favorite films because it’s written with the energy of a novice writer who just read their first Dashiell Hammett novel and is incredibly jazzed to mimic its rhythms and vocabulary1. That’s a feature, not a bug—any movie that wears its artifice on its sleeve the way Miller’s Crossing does (and that dares play “Danny Boy” during a violent sequence involving Irish mobsters) is pretty much my jam2. Lord knows I myself wrote a lot of terrible, showy noir-ish stories after encountering Hammett and Chandler and Himes, but they were sure fun to write, and eventually I stole what was useful and refined my style.
Joel and Ethan Coen are very good writers, and they use the showy, artificial dialog of Miller’s Crossing to great effect, turning every bizarre bit of slang (I still use “giving me the high-hat!” as a general grievance and I will not apologize3) into a savory meal. Albert Finney, Gabriel Byrne, Marcia Gay Harden, John Tuturro and company all turn in amazing performances—you can almost feel their joy biting off those phrases. But what’s also interesting and well-done in the film is their use of symbolism—specifically, hats4.
Symbolism often bedevils writers. Getting the balance right is difficult—too obvious and symbolism becomes cheesy and laughable. Too subtle and no one notices. In Miller’s Crossing, it’s handled perfectly.
Nothing more foolish than a man chasin' his hat
Hats are important in Miller’s Crossing. This might not be a shock if you’ve seen the film and remember how it lingers on a poetic shot of a hat in the leaves, blown away by the wind (echoing a dream that Rom Reagan [Byrne] recounts at one point). But the beauty of that shot is that it’s not really the point the Coens are trying to make. There are a lot of interpretations about the hats in this movie, but to me they pretty clearly represent control. Men wearing their hats in this movie are in control of their own fate, even if they’re on the losing side of things5.
That’s why it’s important that Tom is constantly losing and chasing after his hat—he’s not only the character who needs control the most (because loss of control means he’s a dead man, basically), but he’s the one who sees that the most clearly. When Tom has his hat, he’s plotting and planning and in front of the doom that’s chasing him. When he loses his hat (like, say, when someone punches him hard and it flies off his head) it’s a sign that he’s not in control any more6.
The hat symbolism is everywhere. Men who don’t wear hats in the movie, like Steve Buscemi’s Mink, are generally pawns. The sole exception is Leo (Finney), the boss. How come Leo never wears a hat if he’s the boss and hats represent control? Because Leo is never actually in control. He’s manipulated throughout the film—first by Tom, then by Verna.
The key here is that control and power are not the same thing. Leo always has power—he has the city, and even when he loses the city he has the firepower and muscle of his gang. And Leo is a formidable thug, as evidenced by the way he massacres the men sent to murder him at his house. Leo has power—it’s just that he’s hatlessly7 manipulated into using that power at the direction of others. The ultimate symbolic use of a hat? The hapless, grapefruit-faced boxer that Tom visits, finding Bernie Bernbaum’s hat and knowing the fix is in. Tom places the too-small hat on the boxer’s stupid head and remarks “You’ve outgrown that one.” The boxer, a big, dangerous fellow, has been reduced to a terrified pawn—and he’s not even in possession of a hat that fits at all.
A Mental State
The reason all this hat business works is because it’s understated. The Coens are content to let you know that the hats are important—hence the dream discussion, and the repeated shots of a hat blowing away in the wind—but they let it operate in the background, which is where symbols ideally should stay8.
At the same time, the hat doesn’t stand out, because the film is set in the 1920s, a time when all men wore hats as a matter of course9. Tom’s grim determination to find, wear, and keep his hat can be seen as the same energy a modern man might exert to find, wear, and hang onto his phone, or his pants, if you’re into that sort of thing10. It doesn’t leap off the screen and scream LOOK AT ME I AM A SYMBOL the way poorly-conceived symbolism does. And if you need an example of poorly-conceived symbolism, consider the film American Beauty, starring Kevin Spacey: If you’re going to use roses as a symbol for lust, death, and just about everything else, maybe don’t have quite so many roses littered about the film, and maybe don’t name your fucking film after the roses. Just a thought.
And of course the crucial aspect of the hats is that it’s not necessary to notice them or interpret them to enjoy and understand the film. The things they symbolize can be sussed out of the film in other ways—the struggle for control isn’t exactly subtle in the story, and it’s not like you need to track Tom’s hat situation to know whether he’s on the upswing or the downswing11. Like all good symbols, the hats in Miller’s Crossing add depth and subliminal seasoning to the story. If you want to put in the effort to dig into it, you’ll be rewarded. If you’d rather just enjoy a film where everyone talks like they spent the night before feverishly revising their notes, you can do that too12.
Believe it or not, I used to wear a baseball cap every single day of my life, to the point where people sincerely wondered if I was bald. Like so many other aspects of my life, I cannot even begin to explain to you why.
Next week: The exhausting Mrs. Maisel
I know exactly what this is like … purely by coincidence.
Does your film entertainment involve Irish people? Apparently you are required by law to include “Danny Boy.” And possibly “The Dirty Glass” by the Dropkick Murphys.
Other things I will not apologize for include mispronouncing common words and then acting offended when corrected, drinking up all your liquor when I visit your house, surreptitiously trying to leave some of my many cats in your spare bedroom during the same visit, playing Styx albums at high volume on Sunday mornings, and my edgy opinions regarding interior design.
I can’t be the only person who is absolutely amazed that hats were once commonly worn by just about everyone at all times.
Or, possibly, that hats are just incredibly expensive in this universe. I do love the fact that despite being gangsters who more or less run an entire city, all of the characters wear worn-out clothes that look like they got a deal at Goodwill, and live in the sort of furnished apartments you imagine host a lot of down-on-their-luck divorced dads as they spiral down.
This is also true in real life. I haven’t been in control of a single thing since I stopped wearing a hat. This might be coincidence, but it’s more fun to imagine otherwise.
Something else I will not apologize for: Inventing this word. Go about your business hatlessly, damn your eyes.
Many writers treat symbols like slightly clever Halloween costumes, and spend their time walking around the party saying “I’M A HANGING CHAD, GET IT?” Half of you have no idea what a hanging chad is referencing and I am now very tired.
Again, the weirdness of hats cannot be overstated. What were we thinking?
Is “Hang Onto Your Pants (If You’re Into That Sort of Thing)” the title of my memoir? Maybe.
Any doubts about the symbolic nature of hats are put to bed when Leo gives Tom “the kiss off” beating. Initially Leo’s gang, used to Tom holding high status, help him up every time Leo hits him—and hand him his hat. Once they realize Leo is done with him, they stop doing that.
I tried this, but no one ever engaged in any of the conversations I’d prepared for, which made my careful scripts very, very awkward.
Am I giving you the high hat when I point out the present era’s nigh omnipresence of the baseball cap?
Hanging Chad is akin to, “Fire at Will”. Who is Will? And why are we shooting at him?