This Old Man's Country No Place For The Faint
When I think about No Country For Old Men, the word that comes to mind is fate. And while the film is ultimately about fate, I thinking also about how the Cohen brothers have been angling towards this film from their first bloody satisfying Blood Simple. Cormac McCarthy, whose novel is being adapted, has written better works himself (The Road by far his most important), but whose sensibility makes for the creation of the ultimate film we are bestowed upon. And we have three actors who have been moving towards their unforgettable roles in a film that I will deem now to be a classic.
The film starts us off with Sheriff Tom Bell (Tommy Lee Jones) discussing in a monologue about how the times are changing when he talks about a boy who killed a 14-year-old girl just for the sake of killing. We can tell that he doesn’t flinch at the violence that is around him, but he isn’t unaffected. While he talks, we see the barren wastes of the open ranges of West Texas. This will be the epic battleground for a war that few will ever know existed. We meet its key warriors. There’s Lewellyn Moss (Josh Brolin), a Vietnam veteran-turned-welder who goes hunting one day only to find a drug deal gone terribly wrong. All are dead, the last man standing only getting so far as to the shade to die with two million dollars in a case beside him. Then there’s Anton Chigurh (Javier Bardem), a killer without remorse, though does have a knack of killing people with a bottle of compressed air. He’s after the money as well and is uncanny in tracking his prey. These three men will play a game of cat and mouse in a house full of dynamite. Chigurh has the upper hand as he tracks Moss from one flea-bitten motel to the next, finally culminating in one of the greatest moments of suspense ever filmed with Moss trapped in on one side of a door with Chigurh on the other end (though we don’t see him). As the game continues, we meet others involved in the game such as a band of Mexican goons after the money for themselves, a fellow hunter like Chigurh (Woody Harrelson) who is hired to hunt the killer, and Moss’ wife (Kelly MacDonald).
The film works as a first-rate thriller for most of the film, and then takes a sharp turn into something much more satisfying, deeper, and meditative about the nature of good and evil, the delicate balance between the innocent and the murderers. And overall, this is a character study of all of these characters and a few others not mentioned. This film takes the Cohen’s most accomplished work, Fargo, and makes it look like a first draft. Gone are the quirky and mildly exaggerated accents, replaced by hard linguists who say little if anything at all. The film is interested in decisions, choices, and actions made by characters. We watch Bell as he reluctantly gets drawn into this dance between Moss and Chigurh. The killer is responsible for the senseless murder of one of his deputies in one of the most brutal on-screen murders I’ve seen, but Bell isn’t a fool. It might be luck if he ever meets the killer again. We are intrigued by Moss’ actions, including his first decisions in the film. Whether he’s being chased through a creek by a dog (I think it’s the reincarnated spirit of the dog Brolin shot in American Gangster) or he’s choosing a second motel room in the same motel where his hunters are laying in wait, we wonder what he has in mind. But the character we find ourselves most curious about is Chigurh. That’s a testament to Bardem’s deadpan performance, McCarthy’s infamous character, and the Cohen’s eye for detail in their script and direction. Take the scene where he is staring down a gas station owner who was unlucky enough to be friendly. To anybody in the audience, we know Chigurh means to kill this man. Even the man knows this even though it’s never even indirectly mentioned. Or the confrontation between the killer and the closest thing to a friend he has. We know he’s pure evil, and yet he has a method to his madness. Not since Hannibal Lecter have we a more disturbing psychopath, and Chigurh would rip the old man into pieces and feed it to himself.
This brings up an interesting element in the film, the most horrific violence in the film is seen off-screen. In fact, there are two major gun battles that occur in the film, but all we ever get to see is the aftermath. The Cohen’s aren’t interested in glorifying violence, in fact there’s never a moment of murder that could be considered fun. Other interesting things about the film to contemplate when watching is the lack of Carter Burwell’s score for the entirety of the film but in small unnoticeable places. Also note that there is never a shot that has two of the three leads in the same frame. The lack of score is meant to keep the severity of the events in the foreground by taking away the most distinguishable element of a film. Keeping from putting characters in the same frame always reminds us that these men, no matter what they think, are hurting each other, using every resource in their possession.
If you are a fan of McCarthy, I can say that it is faithful to the spirit of the novel’s ideas, core characters, and pessimism about the future. When the film gets to the end, we realize that the film isn’t interested in conclusion, but in meditation, as the novelist himself is. Take the scene with Barry Corbin at the end, which is one of my favorites in the film. When he says, “You can’t stop what’s coming,” you understand what the film has spent every shot, every character, every storytelling device to get to. The Coens, who have never out-right adapt a film, had to realize the instant they finished the first chapter that they needed to make this film. They needed their actors, their brilliant crew headed by cinematographer Roger Deakins (who does Oscar-Worthy work here. West Texas has never looked more beautiful, or more dangerous), and their amazing control over the material (also Oscar-Worthy).
Acting-wise, I have nothing but admiration for every member of the cast, including those who played Chigurh’s victims. But the pairing of Jones, Bardem, and Brolin is brilliant. Jones, like John Wayne before him, plays one note so well that it doesn’t need to change it. And yet he allows us to really look into this disillusioned lawman who cannot understand what he sees to be a more violent world evolving away from his ideas of civility. If I could, I would nominate both Brolin and Bardem for Best Actor. Bardem would easily win since his character has more to play with, more charisma, and more interest. But I loved how Brolin allowed his character to come off as fully dimensional without saying much. Special mention must be made to Garrett Delahunt who plays the thankless part of Jones’ deputy. He’s partially comic relief, but not at the expense of the character as so many deputies in films.
All in all, No Country For Old Men is a film that doesn’t ask for a second screening, but demands it. It will be the next classic film from directors whose work has been spotty from time to time. But when they’ve focused their material, they’re unstoppable. Just watch Fargo, The Big Lebowski, Blood Simple, or Miller’s Crossing. Here they’ve made their best film so far, one that will stand alongside the tales of Margie Gunderson and Jeffrey Lebowski. What can I say, the Chugh abides.