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It’s a dog screw dog world in the Coen Brothers’ latest beast, “Burn After Reading.” The screwing is limitless and sloppy, whether in the form of sex or violence. The film’s style takes a cue from the Bros’ 1996 Midwestern winter murderland antics of “Fargo,” merging comedy and thriller — because after all, there’s a fine line between hilarity and disaster, and the lead dunces stomp that line into the ground.

John Malkovich who plays Osbourne Cox, a C.I.A. analyst who at the beginning is assumed to have a fairly high clearance level, is the first unfortunate character we see of this eclectic cast. The cast, admittedly, is a huge draw for this film. Who could resist the two aging heartthrobs, but more importantly consistently impressive George Clooney and Brad Pitt, and the commanding Francis McDormand and Tilda Swinton?

But oh, John Malkovich, how I love thee. A Princeton alumnus, dressed quite sharply in an “I make way more money than you” suit, finished with a bowtie which just fucking makes the whole thing, he is self-righteous, entitled, and is generally a smug asshole. For Christsakes, he over-exaggerates the French pronunciation of American-adopted words like “memoir” and points out the necessity for their usage in the first place. For example, during his first encounter with Harry Pfarrer (Clooney), he corrects him — eyes rolling — that yes, that deplorably referred “goat cheese” is in fact chevre. He pays no attention to his own rude attitude because he really just doesn’t give a fuck and detests most people in general. This trait is especially unfortunate for the C.I.A. officials who fire him in the first scene of the movie.

It should be noted that each character - Cox included - is a complete clueless idiot. Everyone, whether they realize it or not, gets way up in each other’s business by way of poorly plotted affairs and blackmail that inevitably straddles the verge of utter demise.

In contrast to the high profile elitist lives of Osbourne and his hardass, disapproving wife, Katie (Swinton), and Harry Pfarrer who she’s sleeping with on the side, Linda Litzke (McDormand) and Chad Feldheimer (Pitt) are Hardbodies Fitness Center employees who instigate the deadly clusterfuck. They get a hold of a copy of Osbourne’s memoirs that were found on the gym's locker room floor that he began writing in lieu of a job, and mistake it for top-secret government documents. Linda is in search of money for multiple cosmetic surgery procedures and will go to any and all lengths to obtain it, considering these “documents” her golden ticket. Chad is the overzealous, dim-witted, spandex-wearing workout enthusiast (and executes it beautifully) that is hopelessly loyal to his good friend and colleague, Linda. He is the willing and quite unfortunate pawn of their blackmail scheme. This sets off a series of threats, misguided spying and bloodshed when Osbourne tries to reclaim the supposed confidential information and the Russian Embassy, of all places, gets involved.

The culmination of this film is hysterically absurd and funny. Clooney mutilates a sex chair he built, complete with a mechanized thrusting dildo, most everyone has slept with and/or killed each other, and the final conversation between the head of the C.I.A. played by JK Simmons and the C.I.A. man who is handling the ordeal sums up the whole movie. The C.I.A. has kept a covert eye on the attention-begging actions of all the lead characters and when reflecting on the puzzling case, the superior asks the officer,

“Now what have we learned from all this?”

“Not to do it again, sir?”

“That’s right. I’ll be damned if I know what we did.”

Vicky Cristina Barcelona: Sexy Smart Redemption

Woody Allen proves his breadth and perseverance with his new film “Vicky Cristina Barcelona.” After cranking out nearly 50 films in over 40 years, a few judgment lapses have overturned some questionable projects but do not overshadow his accomplishments and certainly not his iconic reputation as a comedic, self indulgent (and deprecating), nerve-consumed filmmaker. His latest animal is a coherent, vibrant creature that revives any faltering messes before it, reassuring that given more chances to produce — which he obviously has no problem getting — he will retrieve his spot as one of the most influential film makers of our time.

As the title alludes, Barcelona is the gorgeous painting of a city that fosters and instigates the feverish romances that infiltrate the story’s characters, from minor to major. The two title characters, Vicky and Cristina (Rebecca Hall and Scarlett Johansson, respectively), two best friends who seemingly couldn’t be more different in their romantic desires and expectations, seek post-grad refuge in Barcelona. A mysterious and sexy but not handsome bohemian artist, Juan Antonio (Javier Bardem) swaggers into their lives to sex things up a bit, to say the least.

Bardem’s Juan Antonio has a soothing quality, with his eyes and voice as the root sources followed by his coaxing way of controlling a situation, or attempting to. He approaches Vicky and Cristina in a restaurant after an art exhibit they all attended and without introduction, presumptuously invites them both on an excursion to Oviedo with scandalous intentions. Each woman’s response to his proposition are telling of their character. Cristina is intrigued, blushing and eager and Vicky is cold, insulting and repelled. Cristina finally persuades Vicky, an engaged woman, to join her and Juan Antonio to Oviedo, a small, quaint Spanish town.

Vicky is refreshingly blunt, outspoken and affirmative. She psychoanalyzes Juan Antonio about his infamous relationship with his ex-wife, Maria Elena (Penelope Cruz), without regard to his feelings. She mercilessly expresses her distaste for Juan Antonio. Cristina, on the other hand, is attentive and charmed by his company and accepts his invitation to sleep with him, but demands that he seduce her first, in a little game of pretend naiveté. Although Vicky’s outer shell seems to be hard and impenetrable at first, her weaknesses shown early — like losing herself completely at the first pluck of Spanish guitar — are indicative of her eventual succumbing to Juan Antonio.

A new chapter surely begins with the introduction of the feisty Maria Elena who comes back into Juan Antonio’s life after a suicide attempt. He takes his perhaps mentally ill ex-wife in after Cristina has moved in as his next leading lady, to further complicate matters. Penelope Cruz steals the show almost upon her first frame. Though Scarlett Johansson’s bombshell qualities are celebrated, and rightly so, she is no match for the older Spanish knockout whose eyes could pierce diamonds. Maria Elena is a torrential whirlwind disguised by a petite and exquisitely sultry frame. This could be —dare I say — Penelope Cruz’s best role yet, bringing hysterical energy as a highly creative and unstable artist whose actions and unchecked opinions also bring a substantial contribution to the film’s comedy. She of course is partial to the Spanish language, which angers Juan Antonio when she rudely continues to speak Spanish in front of the exclusively English speaking Cristina. Her first line in English spoken in that painfully cute accent is a request for Vodka upon her return from the hospital where she was fed meds.

A recipe for a love triangle is ready with two unbelievably looking women, one the past lover of Juan Antonio and one the current, all residing under one roof. Other affairs and romantic scenarios take place outside of this one, concerning Vicky’s status with her WASPy fiancé and also Patricia Clarkson, who plays the woman hosting the two girls in Barcelona, with her marriage.

Besides the quality of the acting, classic Woody Allen techniques are exercised to make the film the achievement that it is. Long, lingering camera close ups display the actors, showing favoritism to Johansson — Allen’s proclaimed muse. Violence is present in a surprising and wildly funny way and narration carries the plot with a collegiate-English lit-workshop-tone, appropriate for the graduate intellectualism of Vicky and Cristina.

The fate of the characters is unclear and left to the viewer’s foresight, but are assumed to be reflective of their actions hitherto the ending. But as we all know, life is what you make of it and thus, unpredictable. This film is elaborately delightful.

A-