It is strange to me when people call “Inside Llewyn Davis” a comedy because it, uh, really isn’t.
He’s a shitty, dysfunctional and depressed person.
But then, everyone around him keeps reminding him: “You’re a shitty, dysfunctional and depressed person.” (and are more than a bit smug about doing so, it has to be said.) It feels like borderline abuse at points.
And then he gets even *more* depressed. It’s a bit sad.
There’s a reason the cat (or cats) were the only ones he related to.