After Monday, I took the rest of the week off. Today I decided to catch a matinee of the new flick from the Coen Bros., No Country for Old Men. Before I comment on the movie, I should point out that I rarely go out to the theater. Why? Because other people suck. In this instance, the audience of perhaps 20 people got treated to THREE incoming cellphone calls to the old couple sitting in my row.
Of course, they didn’t want to be rude and answer their phone. Instead, the let the incoming calls ring out, including the one that occurred during the closing monologue. Thanks, you old fuckers! I loved listening to your ringtone instead of the movie! Be glad I didn’t wait for the lights to come up so I could ask you for $9 to make up for the moviegoing experience that you wrecked.
Despite those interruptions, it was an awfully good movie. Looking over his filmography, it appears that I’ve never seen a Josh Brolin flick before, so I don’t know if he’s known for anything besides bagging Diane Lane, that lucky so-and-so. What I do know is that he played a tough role very naturally, without pulling any “Look! I’m acting!” moments.
Tommy Lee Jones also did a fine job as an old sheriff. The role called for an extinguished spark, which he provided. Strangely, his role mirrored that of Frances McDormand in Fargo, as a cop/sheriff who’s always trailing the mayhem, and trying to make sense of it all. In McDormand’s case, the character’s pregnancy catalyzes questions of evil and life. For Jones, his family’s history in law enforcement chronicles an abyss that looms ever closer.
That abyss is brought to you courtesy of Javier Bardem, who was utterly frightening as a killer possessed of a moral vision. I’m still trying to wrap my head around the character. When I write “moral vision,” I don’t mean some pat line of “I kill people because they’ve been asleep all their bourgeois lives” or somesuch. Rather, the character really seems to consider issues of fate and will, notions that I’m sure attracted the Bros. to adapt the novel into this movie.
Plus, one of the attacks enabled the Coens to throw in a little Miller’s Crossing homage (a character has to escape out a window a la Albert Finney in the great Danny Boy sequence). Of course, longtime readers of this blog know that I adore that movie over all others. Because of this affection, I usually give the Coens the benefit of the doubt. (Except with The Ladykillers, which looked pretty awful.) It’s a very restrained movie for them, with only a couple of their trademark weird moments, and that’s just fine. The story and the characters are vivid and eerie enough that any preciosities would demolish the tension that carries throughout.
I’d recommend that you go out and see this flick ASAP, but only if you buy out the movie theater, so you don’t have to deal with idiots and their goddamn cellphones. Or buy one of those jammers and block everybody from getting calls.
(Bonus: Conversation with Joel & Ethan Coen and Cormac McCarthy, author of No Country for Old Men! And Joel dismisses Miller’s Crossing as a ripoff! Thanks!)
We used to go to the cinema on Sunday night, when the breather numbers were at their lowest. Now that we’ve moved to a low-income area Brendan (based on his experience growing up in Ireland) refuses to go at all because “working class people just can’t behave when the lights go out.”
In its first season (c. 1992) In Living Color had a skit about special movie theaters in the ghetto, where they keep the volume low so you can talk over the movie more easily.
Do you live in the Chav section of town? Do they have them in Australia?
I guess it is chav country…It’s always been a pretty depressed area. We don’t have fully blown versions of the English Chav with the burberry hats and bling…Our white trash is a little more low key, like the southern US ones (mullets etc).
I actually grew up out this way, but back then I never noticed the parents swearing at their kids and punching them in the back of the headin the shopping centres. Don’t people have the decency to abuse their kids behind closed doors like middle class alcoholics do? My favourite moment so far was when I was sitting at the train station early on a Monday morning watching a heavily pregnant woman chainsmoking. I guess it’s better than ice (crack isn’t big here…yet).