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'No Country for Old Men': Thoughtful, Frightening, and Beguiling (by Gareth Higgins)

When a film ends with the recounting of a dream in which a weather-beaten, life-weary man searches for the fire his father is building to warm them, it's impossible not to think of the love we all yearn for and can hopefully muster. It's also a welcome spiritual respite when that film has seduced its audience on a journey into a hell of the relentless violence that follows a man after he steals drug money in the naïve belief that its owners might ignore him, and the slow-moving chase that ensues when a truly psychopathic person pursues the man and the cash. No Country for Old Men, the new picture from the Coen Brothers, based on Cormac McCarthy's 2005 novel, is probably the most accomplished film released this year.

I'll do my best to avoid spoilers, as it would be unfair to assume that readers have seen it. So I must skirt around the issues that cause me to praise this film so highly. In short, No Country for Old Men is a slow, thoughtful, frightening, and beguiling film about the selfishness of people and the desperate need to restore the virtue of community bonds. Its central character – called Anton Chigurh, and played by Javier Bardem – is one of the most titanic characterizations of evil intent I've ever seen in a film. He simply kills what gets in his way, and even plays sport with some of his potential victims - inviting them to toss a coin to determine their fate. Josh Brolin is the man who finds the money belonging to Chigurh's employers, and Tommy Lee Jones the sheriff baffled by the trail of death that ensues in their wake.

We follow these characters - scared of the killer, ashamed of the thief, and hoping against hope for the sheriff. We look away from the screen when the violence occurs, but may perhaps feel a little horrified by the fact that a part of us still wants to watch. And when one character finally stands up to Chigurh, it is not with physical violence, but by simply speaking and refusing to accept his games, forcing him to face the fact that he, and he alone, is responsible for his murderous ways. This film does not suggest that – as some critics have implied – there is no way to stop evil, but rather that we live in an age where we need to find new ways of resisting the violence many of us face. It doesn't provide simplistic answers, but suggests that the path may be found in such things as renewing the bonds of community and mutual respect, refusing to accept the moral reasoning of those who resort to force at the drop of a hat, and embracing something like the vision of the 5th century BCE Chinese thinker Mozi:

'If every man were to regard the pain of others as his own person, who would inflict pain and injury on others?'

The country where violence is king may indeed be no country for old men; but, to my mind at least, the film that takes this term as its title offers nothing less than a prophetic reflection on the most important question facing humanity today: Where do we go from here?

Gareth Higgins is a Christian writer and activist in Belfast, Northern Ireland. For the past decade he was the founder/director of the zero28 project, an initiative addressing questions of peace, justice, and culture. He is the author of the insightful How Movies Helped Save My Soul and blogs at www.godisnotelsewhere.blogspot.com

 

Comments

It is disappointing to hear rave reviews about yet another film that portrays senseless violence. Despite Mr. Higgins' appeal to rational, potential viewers by quoting Mozi - the moral messages in these violent films are mostly lost to less-than-deep thinkers - who are merely seeing violence glorified.

A few days ago, a man was punched in the face outside a pub in my small Wisconsin community. A couple of hours later he was dead. His assailant was a young man with a police record of violent behavior.

I my mind's eye, I can see a prison cell where this young man is watching a DVD and a living room where the children of the victim are crowded around their new flat-screen - all watching "the most accomplished film release of this year".

Where do we go from here, indeed.

So are we supposed to lower our artistic goals and expectations for a film because we fear that some or even a majority of viewers will misinterpret its deeper message, taking away only its surface elements? Absurd. People always turn films, television, and other potentially artistic mediums into scapegoats for society's ills. Admittedly, there is far too much meaningless violence and sexuality in today's popular media, but it's not the media's role to set moral guidelines for the public. That's what families, parents, mentors, etc. are for. Even though some films use negative elements without a valid purpose, this by no means justifies criticizing a film that uses ugliness to reveal a deeper message, however subtle.

I think that the method used to convey the message was distracting. Higgins is right to call it 'seductive', as it lures you into focusing on the violence, when the title would suggest that the movie is actually about Tommy Lee Jones' character (as he is one of the only old men in the movie).

The true meaning of the film is encapsulated in Jones' lethargic, cynical, and downright lazy character. While he had chances to do something about the violence, he didn't. Instead he made jokes and complained.

I should admit though, that I myself was one of those 'less than deep thinkers' that walked out of that movie brutalized by the violence and unable to see the forest for the trees. The interpretation that I offered above was with the assistance of some friends who watched the movie with me.

"the selfishness of people and the desperate need to restore the virtue of community bonds."

Gareth, can you please point to the scripture which says that we ought to expect virtue or community from the unbelievers around us.
Or maybe you can demonstrate a time when community bonds were stronger, and we were all safer? Be sure to explain why you believe things are getting better or worse in a teleological sense rather than just fluctuating always.

There is only one legitimate community, the fellowship of believers. This is made possible because we are able to forgive one another through the blood of Christ. All other collectives are based on some form of privilege or power, and leave relationships vulnerable to petty infractions.

Nathanael Snow
ndsnow@gmail.com

Simon -

The title is actually a reference to W. B. Yeats's poem "Sailing to Byzantium." The poem begins with the line "That is no country for old men," and goes on to describe how the speaker has left his own land of seductive, sensual indulgence to set sail for Byzantium, which represents the permanence of intellectual and artistic attainment. Thus, the question Gareth raises is at least implicit in the use of this line, even if most moviegoers can't be expected to "get it." I haven't seen the movie, so I don't know if the reference is ironic or not.

No Country for Anyone

Yeats begins his “Sailing to Byzantium” thus: “That is no country for old men”, for “An aged man is a paltry thing/a tattered coat upon a stick". This old man who has sailed to Byzantium is “fastened to a dying animal” and he wishes to be gathered “into the artifice of eternity”, to become a beautiful monument of art, for, he confesses, “Once out of nature I shall never take/My bodily form from any natural thing.”

In the Coen brothers’ movie, this old man is like the sheriff who, surveying the unspeakable carnage, conveys a weathered weariness with a world gone mad; a world in which violence, hate, greed, power, and egoism is inscribed into the very sinews of life. Thus, in this interpretation, No Country for Old Men is just not a slice of Americana, it is an allegory of America--it is a story of our collective sickness. Thus, while the picture is often difficult to watch (my wife, whose idea of a good movie is light entertainment, wanted to leave—can’t say I can blame her), I think it is trying to get us to look at ourselves as many of us are: mere animals, rugged self-centered individualists who are dying from eating the venomous and blackened fruits of our distorted self-love and hate and violence.

An interesting question raised by one of the bloggers is, in effect, is this movie cathartic--does it help us exorcise our inner demons--or does it just reinforce our violent proclivities? For many, doubtless the latter may be the case, but I think that the evil depicted in this movie is so implacable, so dark, so pitiless that even the testosterone laden among us may be repulsed. I would hope so, but one just doesn’t know.

In Blood Meridian (Ridley Scott’s next project, due out next year), Cormac McCarthy described what could be called a “transcendent” evil—a relentless violence that spills out from virtually every page of the novel. I say transcendent because, as some critics have noted, this evil can be viewed as a Gnostic Gospel of Lucifer. The syllogism goes like this: being is a fallen evil, man is a being, therefore man is evil. If this interpretation is anywhere near being the case, then, perhaps, No Country is not just an allegory of an American sickness, but also a dark description of a world made mad by universal evil.

Yet, and perhaps ironically, McCarthy’s prose can often approach a biblical cadence, in a juxtaposition of the lyrical and the vile. Here is a sample from Blood Meridian: “They rode on and the sun in the east flushed pale streaks of light and then a deeper run of color like blood seeping up in sudden reaches flaring planewise and where the earth drained up into the sky at the edge of creation the top of the sun rose of nothing like the head of a great red phallus until it cleared the unseen rim and sat squat and pulsing and malevolent behind them.”

Well-written but with intimations of vileness. But is it cathartic?

Funny; the only thought I had in common upon leaving the theatre was that this is one of the best films I've seen in years. Artistically stunning, beautifully written, yet, on a philosophical level, entirely against my system of beliefs. I'm interested to know what your interpretation stems from, as I didn't get the community aspect one bit in the film.

Also (and I'm not worried about the spoiler effect as you already mentioned the dream at the end), it's hard to miss the fact that Jones follows his recounting of the dream with "and then I woke up." This notion of a father figure preparing the way through the chaos is, for TLJ, a dream and nothing more.

The violence was utterly necessary; Sigurh represents total evil, the complete depravity of man. I thought that it was very tastefully done and could have been much worse. This is not pornographic violence (e.g., Kill Bill, etc) but violence done for effect, and done well.

I was mesmerized by the entire movie. The tie in of the opening scene
where the poor fool is hunting and misses killing his prey, only injuring it, and then tracks it ( and becomes it, and is tracked by Sigurh the rest of the time); the parts of the violence that are left to your imagination, unlike movies like A Clockwork Orange, Reservoir Dogs, or the other allegedly "great" killer movies, makes it much harder to take. If Sigurh represents the human race, perhaps it is time for God to give the cockroaches a chance. I would like to think that there is some redemption for Tommy Lee Jones' sheriff character. But he is so burned out he cannot do his job and he knows full well ( as do we ) that he is no match for the kind of evil represented by the killer. Neither are we, alone. Great movie. Glad I saw it. NEVER want to see it again.

The movie is an excellent depiction of the book’s action plot but left out the dialogue/thoughts that deepen the content. Not that the books gives a brighter conclusion, it only asks questions about where we are headed. McCarthy never offers remedies.

Bell in the book is tired and feels utterly defeated. The book seemed to say that once we are let loose from our moral anchors, the drift ends in Chigurh and what did we expect? Bell laments that when we stop saying “yes sir and no ma’am”, the end is pretty well in sight. He further asks his wife (in the book) if Revelation has anything about green hair and bones in their noses - “signs and wonders”. That may come off as a redneck moralist, but Bell is simply bewildered by the decay brought about on the border awash in drugs, drug money and drug blood. He is trying to reason how his country got to a place he no longer recognizes. His drift in faith caused by what he sees is a major part of the book left out by the Coen brothers. The decay he sees is beyond his ability to believe in anything anymore. He comments in the book that he used to believe in Satan but quit. The violence brought about with the drug trade is making him reconsider that. He comments that if Satan wanted to destroy people, drugs would be the perfect tool. Pretty bleak stuff.

As far as one blogger says about Bell stopping it, Bell’s view in the book is that this is all his fault – “if the dog is bad enough, people stay out of the yard, I guess the people around here didn’t have a bad enough dog.” The reader is left wondering how being “badder” than Chigurh could be an answer to anything.

I wished the Coen brothers had found room for some of the Bell’s questions in their movie. They seemed more intent on action and terror. It becomes a border-town version of Alien, with Chigurh as the remorseless, soulless killing creature hunting everyone down. That said, it is the most emotionally exhausting movie I have seen in a long time. Love McCarthy’s books but this movie I won’t see again. The thought of a movie version of Blood Meriden is terrifying. The antagonist in it is Chigurh’s spiritual father.

I read the book and found that to be emotionally exhaustive! Many times I wanted to put it down, but I think I kept going hoping against hope for a bright ending. Knowing the book was a prize winner and recognizing the excellent prose in places also kept me going, and I have another book of Cormac McCarthy's to read but will admit I'm afraid to start it. I will not see the movie. I know that I do not have whatever it takes to see it, no matter how much praise it receives--even on this website.

I read the book and found that to be emotionally exhaustive! Many times I wanted to put it down, but I think I kept going hoping against hope for a bright ending. Knowing the book was a prize winner and recognizing the excellent prose in places also kept me going, and I have another book of Cormac McCarthy's to read but will admit I'm afraid to start it. I will not see the movie. I know that I do not have whatever it takes to see it, no matter how much praise it receives--even on this website.

I read the book and found that to be emotionally exhaustive! Many times I wanted to put it down, but I think I kept going hoping against hope for a bright ending. Knowing the book was a prize winner and recognizing the excellent prose in places also kept me going, and I have another book of Cormac McCarthy's to read but will admit I'm afraid to start it. I will not see the movie. I know that I do not have whatever it takes to see it, no matter how much praise it receives--even on this website.

Great review! I enjoy all you reviews, even bought your book. Haven't seen the movie yet but probably will although being a procrastinator and living in a small town that won't show it I will most likely Netflix it.

Tell me Gareth, what did you think of "I'm Not There?"

hi jackfate

i have made it a habit not to post comments on this blog as i feel i have more than enough scope to say what i feel in my regular articles, and don't feel it's fair for me to write in the space where comments are invited from readers, but because of the direct question you ask, i am posting simply to say thank you for your kind words, and that i have not seen 'i'm not there' as it has not opened in belfast yet; but when i see it i will endeavour to post something on my personal blog about it; as i believe becky garrison has already written a rather intriguing post about it here on the god's politics blog.

peace,

gareth

Gareth,
Thanks for your response. I'll keep an eye on your blog and see if I can find Becky's post here.

I found I'm Not There to be an intriguing and risky film. Intriguing because it will of course appeal to Dylan followers like me and risky because it does not define The Man in clearly stated terms or images. Indeed, if one is not familiar with Dylan and his work that person would be completely lost throughout the entire film.

Thanks again and I look forward to your future reviews.

I cannot believe the level of intolerance towards this movie in all of the comments. If you have seen this movie or read the book, and you still feel that the violence in it is "senseless", then you have truly missed both Cormac McCarthy's and the Coen Brother's point. The use of realistic and frightening violence in both the book and film are put there not to desensitize us, but to make us look at the tragedy of human loss throughout the narrative. It is sad to see that so many people are unable to see the message of horrifying brutality that is being spoken out against in this film. As for the review, I would agree that this movie is the best film of the year. The film's most striking community aspect is not necessarily within the film, but instead it is in the shared empathy of the audience. Thank you.

-Jordan

"Realistic and frightening violence."

I'm afraid that I haven't heard of a lot of killers walking around with compressed air tanks killing people. I don't particularly find that realistic, but rather it something that a cheap horror film might use to portray the strangeness of the villain. The violence was certainly frightening though.

That said, perhaps I'm missing some metaphor that's implied. I haven't read the book, so please enlighten me.

Dude, the psychopathic killer walking around with a compressed air tank is one of the best cinematic personifications of evil I have ever encountered. That which keeps us alive, air (which stokes the sheriff's father's fire), is now what becomes the triumph of a delusional pride in the part of Bardem's diabolical Chigurh. Chigurh is the type of evil that all the 80's slashers tried to be, but ultimately failed. The passivity of the psycho is the foil of the Sheriff's sad decay, loss of vitality, senility, weariness, sadness, longing to believe that there ever was a world he could have been nostalgic about. This film is a metaphor to itself. Like a burn center patient crying away at the treatments, forgetting about life before the burning, yet aware that at some point there were less scars.

I sat mesmerized, even if I didn't fully know why, as the credits rolled and the projector's douser clicked shut.

Not to be judgmental here, but I feel like a more Christian response from the film should be more like Mr. Rosenbaum's review.

http://www.chicagoreader.com/features/stories/moviereviews/2007/071108/

"No Country" does not really invite us to discuss whether God exists or whether hope can grace the human heart; it is simply fatalistic and bleak as hell. The Coens as well as Mr. McCarthy really went all out in elevating the glamour of a serial mass murderer, as reviews from the mass media (such as the NY Times, the Rolling Stones, and you) have also joined.

Perhaps I am reading too much into it -- nothetheless, these are my thoughts:
Chigurh represents chaos, the evil inclination in humankind, the devil -- whatever your religious/philosophical bent. As expressed through the ages, it is recurrent, part of the fabric of life. G-d, the force of life etc. is seemingly not present -- as the sherriff feels. And at times, when one does not open oneself to it, life feels chaotic, without meaning or purpose, it is "nasty and brutish" and one feels "the horror (references intended). But G-d, meaning, good, etc is indeed there. And just as the sherriff comes back to his wife and dreams dreams of the coming of God's messiah (I believe the dream of the father on the horse with the horn is a biblical reference - I think the coming of the messiah or the second coming -- whatever your religious bent - is to be preceded by the prophet elijah on a horse by a blast of a ram's horn), he comes back to understanding that part of making sense of the world is accepting man's lot as a finite being and the infinite's place in it. It is not a nihilistic view at all. It is a philosophical acceptance of the hidden meaning being or underneath == the invisible. And while all seems chaotic, it is not. It should not scare or cause fear that Chiguh seems indistructable -- just as the "angel of death" he/she/it creates situations which engeandor meaning -- as it is said, the very finite nature of life (death) makes life meaningful for us. The preciousness we feel when we realize we can/will lose it. And Chigurh/death/evil is chastened, put in its place by G-d/the universe itself. The car that smashes into Chigurh -- as it kills the innocent person in the car -- also smashes Chigurh, never killing it, for it is part of the equation, but assuring that it is a only part of the whole.

Surely, I have read too much into this crime thriller. But just as youth is lost on the young, when you get old is when your thoughts turn to your own mortality, to your finite nature, and as you recognize you are not indeed all powerful, but a veteran, bruised, dusted up from the struggle, you also begin to recognize the fabric of it all, and hopefully, with peace and tranquility, you reach the zen state of the man in the wheelchair.

What a treat to find such an intelligent discussion of this important movie! I've been distressed by the comment I've heard from many friends: "I didn't like the ending." Must we always have a happy ending? Do we really believe that every problem has a solution? Does an artist have a responsibility to give us something we "like"? Or is the artist's responsibility to give us what s/he believes is truth, no matter how unpleasant?
It seems to me that Anton Chigurh is fate -- inescapable, blind, indifferent. Several times, he tells his victims "you chose this path."
But, as a movie buff, I think the great achievement of the Coen brothers is in outdoing Hitchcock in suspense, and in creating a masterful MacGuffin.

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