No Country for Old Men

McCarthy and the Coens prove this ain’t swell country for anybody.

Dylan Ferguson, volunteer staff

“Precise,” “masterful,” “airtight,” “meticulous,” and “superlative” are some of the adjectives I considered using to describe the Coen brothers’ direction in their new movie. I suppose I’m avoiding using the word “perfect,” but I’ve noticed a surprising number of critics already have.

This may be No Country for Old Men, but it is more than fertile country for old film fans. Young and starry-eyed cinema admirers who demand constant innovation and constitutional overhaul of the century-old conventions of the form may be dismissive of the movie’s achievements. But if you belong to that category of true-blue-old-school film fan who loves a solid story told well through spectacular photography, hermetically sealed editing, measured pacing, and precise, airtight, meticulous, and superlative directing, No Country for Old Men will make you feverish with delight.

The movie is based on the 2005 novel by Southern-fried morality-pundit Cormac McCarthy. It may prove to be the first of a “currently in production” series of McCarthy adaptations, so filmgoers may have to acclimatize themselves to grizzled Texas law-enforcement officials waxing philosophic on the nature of right.

There’s nothing new about No Country’s story, not in the book, not in the movie. It concerns Llewelyn Moss (Josh Brolin), a laconic, unexcitable, mustachioed welder who discovers two million dollars amongst a plateau of dead bodies shimmering in the heavy heat of a southern Texas dessert. He decides to keep the money, despite the obvious risk involved, a decision he makes without hesitation or emotion, the same way everybody makes every decision in this film (and presumably, on the Tex-Mex border in general. Something about that cowboy hat, moustache, rattler-proof boots, and squinty eyes kind of look just screams — or calmly drawls — unassuming confidence in one's own judgment).

Moss is soon hunted by two men. Anton Chigurh (Javier Bardem) wants him dead and wants the money. Sheriff Bell (Tommy Lee Jones), realizing what’s in store for Moss, just wants to protect him.

Most of the film is a chase or a hunt (or “a game of cat-and-mouse,” as they say) between Moss and Chigurh. This particular game is fascinatingly suspenseful, thanks to that precise, masterful, airtight, meticulous, and superlative directing. It is hard to exaggerate just how well the Coens handle the suspense and just how wonderfully every aspect of the visual and audio design contribute to each and every scene of, say, Moss waiting behind a door for someone to barge in or hiding inside a car as shots are fired at him. The Coens, masters at their peak, are delivering a clinic in classical filmmaking.

A note about Anton Chigurh — what the fuck kind of a name is that, anyway? Chigurh isn’t exactly mysterious — on the contrary, he’s open and obvious in everything he does, including blowing up a car just so he has a distraction to casually rob a pharmacy — he’s more oblique. Inscrutable. Just like his name, you can’t place him. Stony, unemotional psychopaths are a dime a dozen in Hollywood, and Chigurh isn’t significantly different from them. His impact has more to do with his placement in the screenplay. Though, as I’ve mentioned, no one hesitates or second-guesses, economically rolling with fate’s unpredictable punches, Chigurh takes it to the next level. Down-south sayings like, “Life doesn’t have much value down here,” or, “There’s no accounting for chance,” aren’t merely maxims for him — they’re part of his philosophy.

Weary Bell is ready to give up on trying to protect people and he isn’t really sure what his philosophy is. How is a guy like that supposed to overcome Chigurh? The answer is that he can’t.

McCarthy’s black ethos pushes the Coens to be darker than ever before. With a visceral, visual body count that no amount of dark humour can counterbalance, it’s little wonder the Coens need to conclude with even more scenes of moral proselytizing than McCarthy used to make sense of it all.

A moral conclusion isn’t really necessary when the rest of your film features precise, masterful, airtight, meticulous, and superlative direction. Some may even find it annoying. But the Coens are just going that extra step. Had Chigurh made the film, he wouldn’t have gone that extra step.