Hells bells, they even shot the dog! (the No Country for Old Men review)

After seeing Charlie Bartlett, I had a small freak-out, thinking that No Country for Old Men would leave the theater within 24 hours, so I went Sunday afternoon to see it. And boy howdy, I'm glad I did.

No Country for Old Men is the movie that everyone wished they'd thought of. Or the story everyone wished they'd written. And then everyone wishes they were the Coen brothers, but they're not, so too bad. Life sucks. This movie doesn't. It was the perfect blend of simplicity, action, gratuitous violence, and psychology, and it was completely deserving of Best Picture. I'm a bit miffed that it didn't get Best Cinematography (it went to There Will Be Blood), but I suppose that Best Picture, Director, Adapted Screenplay, and Supporting Actor will have to suffice.

Man, where do I begin? The opening lines, a voice-over spoken by Sheriff Ed Tom (the always awesomely deadpan Tommy Lee Jones), capture the viewer's attention right away, nostalgia and exhaustion dripping from every word. Cut to an arrest, which turns sour as Anton Chigurh (Javier Bardem) brutally murders the arresting officer, takes his little oxygen tank, and goes on his merry way. We are then introduced to Llewelyn Moss, a man in the wrong place at the right time who finds the aftermath of a drug deal gone wrong, as well as a case with $2 million inside. He takes the money, which brings Chigurh onto his trail, along with a whole lot of mayhem and ridiculously fascinating deaths and mind games. All for money.

The movie was an absolute dream. I mean that seriously; that shit was surreal. The shots of the landscape, especially when there was a storm on the horizon, were just incredible, giving me a look at a part of the country I barely knew existed. Once again, they lost Best Cinematography. That really frosts my cookies.

The performances were fantastic. Tommy Lee Jones never disappoints, and was so world-weary that you couldn't help but feel the weight of life that he carried. Josh Brolin was an unsuspectingly great anti-hero. I really empathized with him and was very sad when he met an unsuspecting fate. He was smart, he was witty, and he was relatable. Woody Harrelson, not sure what the hell you were doing in the movie, but you were funny ("As compared to what? The bubonic plague?") and annoying and I'm sorry your ass got shot.

Okay. Finally, we get to the talk of the town. Javier Bardem not only deserved Best Supporting Actor, but he also should've been given the Scariest Motherfucker EVER award, because what. the. hell. No, it wasn't just the haircut that terrified me (the hair should've been given Best Supporting), but it was his eyes, totally devoid of any emotion or regard for life, or the stiff way he walked, like a machine. It was his mindfucks (I sat through the scene in the convenience store with the entire cast of ER on standby, because I swear I was gonna have a massive coronary), his silk-over-gravel voice, and it was his damn coins. CHRIST. What a performance. Javier, eres fantastico! Te admiro mucho! Espero que te veré en más peliculas muy pronto!

Shut up. I know Spanish. (If any of that's incorrect, I don't want to hear about it.)

Regardless of the movie not winning Best Cinematography or whether or not my Spanish is half-decent, No Country for Old Men is truly cinema at its best.

Although, what can you expect? It's the Coen brothers.

I give No Country for Old Men 5 out of 5.

ima mess you up.


** I'd like to make a correction from my earlier post regarding the weapon used by Javier Bardem's character. It wasn't a tire iron, it was an oxygen tank. Who fucking knew?