No Country for Old Men (guest review)

That is no country for old men. The young
In one another's arms, birds in the trees
- Those dying generations - at their song,
The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas,
Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long
Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.
Caught in that sensual music all neglect
Monuments of unageing intellect.

William Butler Yeats (Sailing to Byzantium)

My good friend and fellow film enthusiast William Andreassen reviews No Country for Old Men, the latest offering from master filmmakers Joel and Ethan Coen. We saw it together Saturday, and he graciously agreed to write something for this blog. I heartily concur with his thoughts.

Can I begin by stating that this film, even after four days, continues to saturate my thoughts? Since I saw it last Saturday, I’ve done a great many things, both social and work-related. Yet, even in the depths of my often cerebrally taxing daily occupation, where distraction doesn’t always come easily, I have been frequently haunted by images, by lines of dialogue from this remarkable work of art by Joel and Ethan, the Bros. Coen.

How rare the film that gets under your skin, and stays there! Sometimes I see films that affect me quite negatively, and I somehow feel unclean, ashamed that I exposed myself to something so dark, so vile, so utterly bereft of merit. The Coens explore darkness as well as any American filmmakers, yet their journeys are always laced with a strong sense of morality.

Ed Tom Bell (Tommy Lee Jones, in one of his finest portrayals) is an embodiment of such morality. Even after listening to his opening narration, and considering the film’s title, the viewer quickly realizes that Bell is the core of the story we are about to witness. After many wearying years of working his beat in a dusty west Texas hole, he has adopted an effortless bemusement. As he converses with his wide eyed deputy, we hear wise retorts that are evidence of cynicism that has resulted from much blood soaked experience. And now, there’s more to come. Oh, is there…..

The two lawmen discover several corpses in the desert, the aftermath of what appears to have been a Mexican standoff over a bedliner load of heroin. A local hunter named Lewellyn Moss (Josh Brolin) got there first, unfortunately, and rather calmly decided that he will disappear with a suitcase (containing a few million) he finds near the scene. There doesn’t appear to be any urgency in Moss’ fateful decision; he simply wants to provide for his wife (Kelley Macdonald). Of course, these plans are subject to a few snags.

Fate steps in. Or rather, a malevolent figure with the difficult name of Anton Chigurh (Javier Bardem), a hatchet man brought in to retrieve the cash. Chigurh is a terrifying individual. Even his eyes are scary. But he’s not your typical psychopath; he plays mind games with nearly everyone who has the misfortune to cross his path. One uncomfortable scene involves a nervous gas station clerk who is forced to participate in the verbal equivalent of Chinese water torture. Chigurh is more complex than even that, however, or perhaps not. His actions seem to be dictated by pure probability. In deciding whether of not to off a potential victim, he flips a coin. For all of his studied evil, he seems to be at the mercy of chance.



I could write an entire essay on Anton. His character is one of the most unsettling I’ve encountered in some time. Having not read Cormac McCarthy’s celebrated novel upon which this film is based, I feel like I have an inkling of what makes the guy tick, but I look forward to learning more. How I was not familiar with this author’s work before now astounds me.

A lot happens in this typically serpentine Coen bros. tale, but I’m no spoiler. The film is patently unpredictable for a while, then it seems as if several chess pieces are strategically placed for an inevitable finale. Then the film takes a very sharp left turn for its last third, and let me say, it was pure poetry. I’ve read some blogs from other viewers who were baffled and frustrated by the concluding passages. Bell returns to the scene, and tries to assess the events which have transpired thus far. His place in the landscape becomes clearer, and the film continues to its quietly shattering conclusion. I won’t pretend to completely understand, but after much contemplation (and reading the dense monologues found in the later scenes), I feel I have deep appreciation for this sad world created by McCarthy, and brilliantly visualized by the directors. This is the best film I have seen in years.