When some movies are over, everything is tied up in a neat little package; for better or worse, someone worked really hard to make sure there were no unanswered questions. Other movies aren't so considerate. Others may be messy, but the good ones leave you asking key questions about the philosophy of the story. They may make you wonder "What would I do in that situation?" "Was the hero really a hero?" "Do I agree with the film's moral?" etc. These films draw you into the story, to the point where the ending is really the beginning of the film's lasting power. Sometimes messy is good.
Bad ones, however, leave you questioning the story itself: "Why did he do that?" "What happened to so-and-so?" "Did that make any sense?" "What did I miss?" Such films make you see the holes in the plot, not the story that surrounds them. When the film is a huge critical or commercial success, the pertinent question may well be "So, what's the big deal?" NO COUNTRY FOR OLD MEN is a "so-what's-the-big-deal" type of movie. It is undoubtedly THE film of 2007, an Oscar-winning, critic's choice, top ten darling. Yet, for the most part, it is an utterly conventional modern day western; so predictable that Charles Bronson could be resurrected from the grave and plopped down into the middle of it without missing a beat. It is adequately directed and decently acted, but otherwise -- for the first two-thirds -- it is largely without distinction. Perhaps, because the filmmakers work so hard to seem unconventional in the last third, the defenders think they see something unique in the whole.
The set up is routinely plotted: A poor, but relatively honest young man, while hunting in the west Texas desert, stumbles on a drug deal gone bad. While callously rooting around amidst the dead bodies, he helps himself to over two million dollars in illicit cash. He takes off and is soon pursued by a relentless, but relatively insane mob assassin -- and they are both -- sorta -- pursued by an honest, but relatively ineffectual local marshal. Leaving a predictable trail of dead bodies along the way, the film seems to be promising a confrontation where any two or more of the protagonists should face each other in a traditional showdown.
At least, that is how the writing/directing team of Joel and Ethan Coen set things up. It could be argued that Coen brothers are playing around with the audience, mischievously creating expectations that they have no intentions of meeting. But in side-stepping the obvious tried and true plot twists and dramatic confrontations that such a climax normally would offer, the Coens don't really replace them with anything better. The last third of NO COUNTRY is shocking and challenging only because it is so vapid and devoid of drama. Characters die off-camera with only the vaguest explanation, while other characters' fates are left an obtuse mystery. The finale peters out into three separate and pointless conclusions: the thief dies, the killer apparently gets away and the policeman quits, never to cross each other's paths. And the audience isn't given much reason to care about any of them.
The anemic narrative wouldn't matter so much, I suppose, if the film were instead a incisive or compelling study of one or more of the characters. Though the actors give decent enough performances, they can't flesh out the characters beyond ciphers. Josh Brolin as Llewelyn Moss, the hunter turned thief, is a solid presence, a modern day twist on the iconic figure of the strong, silent and resourceful cowboy. But beyond the good-boy-gone-bad tradition of the western, the film gives Llewelyn little backstory and no particular depth beyond being both foolish and yet smarter than one would expect. Ed Tom Bell, the gruff, world-weary, retirement-bound, small-town sheriff, is played by Tommy Lee Jones as a safe and comfortable stereotype; only denied by the uninspired script either the traditional age-cultivated wisdom or the opportunity to be even vaguely heroic. He spends most of the film wistfully longing for the good old days.
Javier Bardem's much praised work as the tiresomely inscrutable and indestructible hit-man Anton Chigurh is largely a one-note performance -- Oscar win notwithstanding. His persistence, in lieu of any personality, has been inexplicable interpreted as having mythic dimensions as the embodiment of cruel fate or death incarnate. Only desperation to find meaning in the slight story justifies such heavy-handed symbolism. Lumbering through the film with all the emotional complexity of a slasher movie serial killer, Chigurh is little more than a lazy gimmick; with his over-sized weapons (one requires he lug around a 30-pound tank of compressed air!) and arbitrary flip-a-coin sadism, he is a ludicrous character who survives only due to the manipulations of a generously contrived script.
But, it is no wonder the film focuses on Chigurh, who like Coens' films, embodies a cold, dispassionate emptiness. It is not that they don't do compassion (let alone passion) well, they don't even try. In their best effort, BLOOD SIMPLE, the chill of their drama is counteracted with a coy air of satire. Even FARGO is unpleasantly empty as far as emotional depth. You can tell a lot about filmmakers by how they treat even their minor and incidental characters; most characters in Coen films are disposable plot devices. It is no wonder a key character is killed off screen; the Coens don't care about his fate and assume we shouldn't either.
NO COUNTRY FOR OLD MEN builds to one of the least satisfying conclusions of all time. The film is ultimately riddled with gaps in logic and figure-it-out-for-yourself ambiguities; things that the audience may not need to see, but have a right to expect to experience as part of the drama. NO COUNTRY isn't just weak film-making, it is an act of bad faith. The final question facing the viewer might well be "Is that it?"
Bad ones, however, leave you questioning the story itself: "Why did he do that?" "What happened to so-and-so?" "Did that make any sense?" "What did I miss?" Such films make you see the holes in the plot, not the story that surrounds them. When the film is a huge critical or commercial success, the pertinent question may well be "So, what's the big deal?" NO COUNTRY FOR OLD MEN is a "so-what's-the-big-deal" type of movie. It is undoubtedly THE film of 2007, an Oscar-winning, critic's choice, top ten darling. Yet, for the most part, it is an utterly conventional modern day western; so predictable that Charles Bronson could be resurrected from the grave and plopped down into the middle of it without missing a beat. It is adequately directed and decently acted, but otherwise -- for the first two-thirds -- it is largely without distinction. Perhaps, because the filmmakers work so hard to seem unconventional in the last third, the defenders think they see something unique in the whole.
The set up is routinely plotted: A poor, but relatively honest young man, while hunting in the west Texas desert, stumbles on a drug deal gone bad. While callously rooting around amidst the dead bodies, he helps himself to over two million dollars in illicit cash. He takes off and is soon pursued by a relentless, but relatively insane mob assassin -- and they are both -- sorta -- pursued by an honest, but relatively ineffectual local marshal. Leaving a predictable trail of dead bodies along the way, the film seems to be promising a confrontation where any two or more of the protagonists should face each other in a traditional showdown.
At least, that is how the writing/directing team of Joel and Ethan Coen set things up. It could be argued that Coen brothers are playing around with the audience, mischievously creating expectations that they have no intentions of meeting. But in side-stepping the obvious tried and true plot twists and dramatic confrontations that such a climax normally would offer, the Coens don't really replace them with anything better. The last third of NO COUNTRY is shocking and challenging only because it is so vapid and devoid of drama. Characters die off-camera with only the vaguest explanation, while other characters' fates are left an obtuse mystery. The finale peters out into three separate and pointless conclusions: the thief dies, the killer apparently gets away and the policeman quits, never to cross each other's paths. And the audience isn't given much reason to care about any of them.
The anemic narrative wouldn't matter so much, I suppose, if the film were instead a incisive or compelling study of one or more of the characters. Though the actors give decent enough performances, they can't flesh out the characters beyond ciphers. Josh Brolin as Llewelyn Moss, the hunter turned thief, is a solid presence, a modern day twist on the iconic figure of the strong, silent and resourceful cowboy. But beyond the good-boy-gone-bad tradition of the western, the film gives Llewelyn little backstory and no particular depth beyond being both foolish and yet smarter than one would expect. Ed Tom Bell, the gruff, world-weary, retirement-bound, small-town sheriff, is played by Tommy Lee Jones as a safe and comfortable stereotype; only denied by the uninspired script either the traditional age-cultivated wisdom or the opportunity to be even vaguely heroic. He spends most of the film wistfully longing for the good old days.
Javier Bardem's much praised work as the tiresomely inscrutable and indestructible hit-man Anton Chigurh is largely a one-note performance -- Oscar win notwithstanding. His persistence, in lieu of any personality, has been inexplicable interpreted as having mythic dimensions as the embodiment of cruel fate or death incarnate. Only desperation to find meaning in the slight story justifies such heavy-handed symbolism. Lumbering through the film with all the emotional complexity of a slasher movie serial killer, Chigurh is little more than a lazy gimmick; with his over-sized weapons (one requires he lug around a 30-pound tank of compressed air!) and arbitrary flip-a-coin sadism, he is a ludicrous character who survives only due to the manipulations of a generously contrived script.
But, it is no wonder the film focuses on Chigurh, who like Coens' films, embodies a cold, dispassionate emptiness. It is not that they don't do compassion (let alone passion) well, they don't even try. In their best effort, BLOOD SIMPLE, the chill of their drama is counteracted with a coy air of satire. Even FARGO is unpleasantly empty as far as emotional depth. You can tell a lot about filmmakers by how they treat even their minor and incidental characters; most characters in Coen films are disposable plot devices. It is no wonder a key character is killed off screen; the Coens don't care about his fate and assume we shouldn't either.
NO COUNTRY FOR OLD MEN builds to one of the least satisfying conclusions of all time. The film is ultimately riddled with gaps in logic and figure-it-out-for-yourself ambiguities; things that the audience may not need to see, but have a right to expect to experience as part of the drama. NO COUNTRY isn't just weak film-making, it is an act of bad faith. The final question facing the viewer might well be "Is that it?"