No Country for Old Men.

After a couple stumbles in screwball comedy land, the Coens are back. No Country For Old Men harkens to their more serious works like Blood Simple and Miller’s Crossing, shrugging off the typical zany Coen characters and pitch-black humor. It’s a film of incredible restraint, patience, observation, understanding, and familiarity.

The performances of every character, from the leads to the supporting roles, are as good as I’ve seen for a long time. Tommy Lee Jones especially conjures up a genuine, unique character in Sheriff Ed Tom Bell who strides through the film with world-weariness and can’t quite believe the atrocities that are happening around him. He thinks about the old days when his father and grandfather were lawmen, and wonders how we got here, what’s to come, and how to put any sense to it all. His sparse dialog, dialect, expressions, and demeanor are honed to perfection by Jones… we can see the years of this man behind those sunken eyes and hear the weight of the world in his words. On the other side of the story is Anton Chigurh, the wide-eyed, unblinking psychotic killer that has a chilling lack of respect for life. He lives by his own moral code that somehow follows a disturbing logic and matter-of-factness in his twisted mind. In the middle is Llewelyn Moss, a resourceful, clever trailerpark dweller gets caught when he loots a Mexican standoff over money and drugs. In one dialog-absent scene after another, he narrowly escapes capture with remarkable wit and determination. Chigurh is after the money and will kill anyone in his way. Sheriff Bell is constantly one or two steps behind Chigurh, and pieces together the aftermath with the accuracy and skill of an old-school lawman that’s seen more than his share of crime and human nature. It’s fascinating watching these three characters operate; we’re not insulted by expository dialog, instead their actions speak for themselves.

The cinematography puts the action together deliberately, coherently, chillingly. Here we delve into more familiar Coen territory where jarring scenes of brutal violence explode from the most placid scenes. It’s just as effective as it ever was in Fargo, capturing the bizarre, incomprehensible atrocity of cold-blooded murder as it happens. Simultaneously we’re treated to the sparse beauty of west Texas, the dust and rocks blinding in the sun and big-sky sunsets evoking that feeling of isolation. The deliberate pacing sucks you in as the camera meanders from one setpiece scene to the next. Once again, little explanation is offered of what you’re seeing, the movie always lays everything out in plain sight for you to discover as the characters do. It’s an exhilirating and rewarding experience.

There is virtually no soundtrack or incidental music in the movie, perfectly matching the desolate and unforgiving setting. It makes the visuals even more effective and the mood even more disturbing.. a great touch by the directors. I love hearing the little textures of sound instead… the crunch of dust and rocks under the boots, the click-hum of someone picking up a telephone, boards creaking in the hallway as you-know-who makes his way to the room where we hide along with Llewelyn, the scraping sound of him unscrewing the lightbulb in the hallway, the faint hiss of compressed air as he opens the valve on his air gun.

It all adds up to a engrossing experience that seems to fly by. Like all great movies, it doesn’t seem long enough. The ending isn’t very neat or tidy, but I think that’s part of the effect. By the time the movie is over, we’ve witnessed senseless violence and there doesn’t seem to be much payoff or benefit, no great realization or retribution. It’s just how things are; no explanation needed. No ride into the sunset as the theme song reprises, no hero kissing the girl, no dry quips of the victorious. This film is reality, in all its harshness.