Reading the Coens "Intolrable Cruelty"

"Who needs love when you've got equity?"

Intolerable Cruelty is like a modern Ecclesiastes—a satire on the emptiness of wealth, power, and human schemes, and a cynical one at that. The Coen Brothers take on the romantic comedy but twist it into something darker, a story where love is transactional, trust is foolish, and even victory tastes hollow. Over twenty years after its release, the themes and message of the story is even more relevant.

At the center of it all is Miles Massey, a ruthless divorce attorney who has turned the dissolution of marriage into an art form. He is the architect of the legendary "Massey Prenup," an ironclad legal document that ensures no spouse can walk away with a dime they don’t deserve. He is rich, successful, and completely without illusions about human nature. He has seen behind the curtain of romance and found nothing there but greed.

Enter Marylin Rexroth, a woman who is just as calculating as Miles. She marries for money, manipulates men with surgical precision, and has made the pursuit of wealth her life's ambition. She is, in many ways, the perfect match for Miles—not because they are soulmates, but because they play the same game. The difference is that Miles still wants to believe in something more, while Marylin has fully embraced the lie.

The plot unfolds like a screwball comedy turned cynical farce. Miles, against his better judgment, falls for Marylin. She, ever the strategist, makes him think she is sincere. There are betrayals, counter-betrayals, courtroom antics, and absurd plot twists, all leading to the moment where the Massey Prenup—the very symbol of his entire philosophy—gets torn to shreds in a grand romantic gesture.

But is it love, or just another con? That’s the central question of Intolerable Cruelty. The Coens never fully answer it, because they understand that in a world where everything is transactional, even the language of love can be weaponized. When Miles and Marylin finally end up together, it feels less like a triumph of romance and more like two predators agreeing to call a truce.

At its core, the film exposes the way sin corrupts relationships, reducing marriage—meant to be a covenant of love and faithfulness—to a game of advantage and control. It plays out like an inversion of biblical wisdom: instead of "What therefore God has joined together, let not man separate" (Mark 10:9), it is "What man has joined together, let lawyers exploit for profit." Love, stripped of selflessness and grace, becomes a cold negotiation.

Yet the very fact that Miles is ultimately dissatisfied with his own cynicism suggests a deeper longing. He has built a fortress of legal loopholes to protect himself, yet he still seeks something real. This echoes the warning of Christ: "For what does it profit a man to gain the whole world and forfeit his soul?" (Mark 8:36). Miles has gained the world—prestige, wealth, and power—but at the cost of trust, meaning, and perhaps even his own soul.

In the end, Intolerable Cruelty is not just a satire of divorce culture, but a reminder of what happens when relationships are stripped of grace. The Coens leave us with an uneasy truth: without real love—love that sacrifices, forgives, and seeks the good of the other—marriage is little more than a business arrangement. And in a world without grace, even when people say they want love, what they really want is an advantage.