Movie Review: No Country For Old Men

Went to see this movie on a crowded Friday night. That was
my first mistake. They say in poker, position is everything;
well, it's true for trips to the movie theater as well. In the row
behind me were two annoying girls (probably intoxicated)
who literally talked (sometimes a loud whisper) throughout
the whole movie. They would make little comments only their
lackey boyfriends thought were cute. They made fun of every
character, especially Anton Chigurh and his weird choice of
weaponry. I supposed they were at least having fun but when
the movie ended, after Sheriff Bell's retelling of his dream
about his father, which came directly from the book, a nice
piece of cinematic poetry completely lost on these braindead
femizombies, they shouted out for the audience, as if their opin-
ion counts one iota in the universe: "Man that sucked!" Makes
me glad Im a fat, balding angry film critic wannabe. Ok back
to the movie analysis.

I have read several Cormac McCarthy novels, and I have to
say of all of them, No Country.. is by far his easiest, swiftest,
least dense read. And even more, I do not think it's anywhere
close to his best novel. But then his worst far exceeds the best
efforts of the rest of us mortals. I suppose the Coen brothers
chose this novel for its quirky regionalism, a theme which they
have adeptly translated to screen, in movies like Fargo, Blood
Simple, etc. But as grim as Fargo was, No Country... demands
an even more grim perspective. And no doubt the Coen brothers
were aware of this as well. There is humor in No Country.. , but
it is properly toned down, whittled to a pained smirk. The one
genuine laughing-out-loud scene occurs when Lewellyn Moss
(played to near perfection by Josh Brolin) returns to the Cowboy
Apparel store in his hospital garments. He's still wearing his new
boots he bought there recently and the clerk deadpanly asks how
they're working out. A very Coen Brothersesque situation indeed:
ironic reactions to bizarre happenings. Am I the only one who
wonders which Coen Brother dons the leather chaps and wields
the cat-o- nine tails? Ok, nevermind.

Aside from our quirky "regional" characters, we are entertained,
dumb laughing bitches included, with countless dead and bullit-
ridden bodies. The violence is, unlike the humor, unchecked, over-
the-top, as grisly and gratuitous as any honorable shock-horror
B slasher flick. Dario Argento would be proud. We see cruelty
where it's not warranted and mercy in suprising places. Mostly
thanks to the comically sinister and oddly principled Anton Chig-
urh, played by Spanish actor Javier Bardem. And that cattle gun!
For lovers of weird juxtapositions, you can't beat arming some
nationless madman with an old-school slaughterhouse tool. He's
like some wayward immigrant from an unknown land trying to
fit into his new surroundings the only way he knows how. Rarely
does evil and comical-- outside of Austin Powers movies-- work
so well.

So maybe one reason my lovely irritants in the row behind me
didn't love this movie is it-- whether it's art or not-- defies all
the Hollywood conventions (like another movie I'll be reviewing
soon, Mr. Brooks). Our "star" character, our quasi-hero, Moss,
glossed admirably with lush redneck charm (yes, ivy-league
nerdettes, redneck men from the south can be charming), dies
ever so abruptly. And oh how our movie fans gasped! The only
ones shocked by this were the ones who did not read the book.
It thrusts you out of the fantasy. It is designed to wake you to
deeper motives within these multiple frames passing you by
every viewing second. Maybe Oprah Winfrey got it. Those
that care are probably eating cake as we speak.
Let's give it, 4 out of 5 quasars.