No Country for Old Men

Much has already been said, critically and otherwise, about No Country for Old Men’s “hunter becoming the hunted” and the prospects of Javier Bardem winning an Oscar (which would be great). While such clichés citing overt and somewhat elementary symbolism flow like sentimentalism from a Spielberg movie, the more sinister and indicting themes at the core of this story confound such reductive criticism while demanding attention. Contrary to the popular notions of chic hipsters, Country doesn’t settle for merely achieving pop-genre status but, like many of the great films, resists simple classification and generalization to the effect of appealing to multiple tastes and sensibilities while being pointedly insightful. Of course the tense story and action, paced by remarkable editing, grabs our focus as well as our concern. But where the film becomes the most fascinating is in its acute awareness of cultural politics in America.

Although Llewelyn Moss is a sympathetic character who gets drawn into a treacherous stalking match, it’s significant that we understand him as a truly opportunistic guy who is determined to keep a bundle of money he gained by shady chance. That this money is someone else’s never deters him from trying to keep it even though he clearly understands that doing so puts him and his family at terrible risk. This act seems to characterize more of the McMahonian notion of capitalist expectation than one would normally assign to a poor schmuck being stalked by a raging psychopath. To ignore this and idealize a protagonist’s morally dubious actions based on our empathetic support is a remarkably dangerous practice and one that is deftly exploited by the Coens and award winning novelist, Cormac McCarthy.

Similarly, at the center of the film’s parade of ubiquitous and abrupt violence is the idea that no one is exempt and punishment (or dire consequence), however unjust, is inevitable. The fact that neither lawful nor vigilante retribution has a marked effect on minimizing the imminent brutality that Anton Chigurh brings further parallels a culture muddled in paradox and misconception. This is not to say that the film promotes fatalism, but only that it has its finger on the proverbial button of our societal conundrum of violence and terror. As Sherriff Bell’s narration brilliantly bookends the film, we understand the layered and self reflexive irony that veterans returning from conflict are doomed to relive the same madness at home.

No Country for Old Men evokes a haunting vision of social anxiety in America, defying our best efforts to evade responsibility in a way that could generically be considered post neo-western-noir. Despite the ambiguity of such categorization, we could also surmise that the Coen’s have made a masterful adaptation of a striking novel. More importantly, however, the filmmakers appear to have not only been faithful but have had faith in their source material – a virtue to be sure. If artists continue to make comparable renderings because of such stark and relevant works (i.e. if Moss really is America’s redneck Everyman) then our cultural position is bleak indeed.

Assessment: Many stars

Lindsay Lohan + Tennessee Williams = Redundant?

Affectionately named 'Li-Lo' by the tabloid press, Lindsay Lohan would be wise to heed such advice as every time she moves she takes it in the neck from the media. Sure, we tire of hearing of yet another silly thing that she has done, but the last thing we really need is the exploitative tabloid harlots encouraging further (self?) destruction.

Cintra Wilson at The Oxford American discusses the sympathetic struggle of Lindsay Lohan and why her new role in an upcoming Tennessee Williams adaptation is so fitting and familiar:

While Lohan never seemed to have the dazzling prepubescent wonder, poise, and innocence that made Liz Taylor so sympathetically girlish and childlike (New York Times film critic Janet Maslin found Lohan’s double-performance in the remake of The Parent Trap so audacious, “that she seems to have been taking shy violet lessons from Sharon Stone”), there is something endearingly lame about both actresses—a pleasantly obvious lack of the kind of cool, preternatural grace possessed by Audrey Hepburn or Grace Kelly. They get a little shrill, raspy, and nasal when they’re nervous or overexcited. There is, at times, a perilous, half-crazy, overbrightness in both sets of big blue eyes. Something roundly superfeminine about their cushy, youthful bodies best reflects the more ravenous, low, cannibalistic desires of their decades. Unlike the indestructible Ava Gardner, both Lohan and Taylor have suffered from chronic broken hearts and serial attractions to men who guarantee them. Liz and Lohan are wounded little tigers—always collapsing and being released from hospitals, sprained, skinned, whimpering. But tigers are perceived as tigers, and get no pity from cows.

Tennessee would have felt their pain. “I have a funny heart,” he wrote of himself. “Sometimes it seems to thrive on punishment.” He was admitted to the Barnes Medical Center in St. Louis by his brother for what was deemed “violent, destructive and possibly suicidal” behavior brought on by willful and sustained drug abuse. Artists blessed and cursed with the job of channeling the emotions of their generation are invariably crushed under the bright pain of unrelenting scrutiny. Stars are supposed to portray human life, and its joys and tortures, perfectly—but we don’t allow them to feel excessive misery in their personal lives, without a note from the doctor or a dead parent. Depression is forbidden, as is self-loathing…how dare she be so unhappy when she has everything?

Update: Apparently, Lindsay Lohan has been replaced by Bryce Dallas Howard for The Loss of a Teardrop Diamond... which might be less ironic and generally better for the poor girl.


[Link] to the full article.