A dark, hilarious, and haunting masterpiece. It is not for everyone—its episodic nature and grim conclusions can feel exhausting—but for those who appreciate the Coens at their most philosophical and morbid, it is essential viewing.

The cinematography (by Bruno Delbonnel) is astonishing, capturing the grandeur of the American West in widescreen vistas, while the script is sharp with the Coens’ signature dialogue—formal, eccentric, and deeply ironic. This is not a John Wayne movie. There are no heroes, no clear moral victories, and no triumphant rides into the sunset. Instead, The Ballad of Buster Scruggs argues that the frontier was not won by courage, but by chance. The only certainty is death.

Whether it’s a singing cowboy, a limbless artist, or a frightened young woman, everyone in these stories is simply waiting for their final ballad. The film’s title, then, is perfect. A ballad is a story set to music—often tragic, often beautiful. Buster Scruggs, despite being the first to die, gives his name to the whole collection. He is the jester who welcomes you to the gallows.

The Ballad of Buster Scruggs is streaming on Netflix.

In 2018, the Coen brothers (Joel and Ethan) delivered something Hollywood rarely offers anymore: a true anthology film. Released by Netflix after a brief theatrical run, The Ballad of Buster Scruggs is a six-chapter western that swings wildly from slapstick musical comedy to existential dread. It is a film about storytelling itself—specifically, the American myth of the frontier—and it delights in pulling the rug out from under its audience at every turn. A Singsong Start with a Shocking Sting The film opens with its title character, Buster Scruggs, played with manic, toothy glee by Tim Blake Nelson. Buster is a cheerful, clean-shaven cowboy who strums a guitar, sings about his own misadventures (“Cool Water”), and breaks the fourth wall with a wink. He looks like a caricature of the singing cowboys of 1930s and 40s cinema (think Roy Rogers).