Saving My Old Junk: No Country For Old Men (2007)

Rumor is that the next movie from the Coen brothers will be some kind of musical. That should come as no surprise to anyone familiar with their work, a catalog with plenty of  movies that use music as a way to move the story or provide insight to a character. From the soundtrack that defined O Brother, Where Art Thou?, to the Dude's telling preference for CCR over The Eagles in The Big Lebowski, music has always played a large role.


Well, maybe not in No Country For Old Men. But to be fair, this relentlessly bleak tale has no place for folksy tunes or references to '70s bands. That doesn't make it any less Coen. Here their meticulous attention to detail in terms of setting, time period and linguistics shines more than ever. I'm not ashamed to say that this has become one of my all-time favorite movies, which is why I'm ending the Saving My Old Junk series with it. Enjoy.

No Country For Old Men



On Robert Altman’s Nashville, critic Pauline Kael wrote that it was an “orgy for movie-lovers”, declaring, “I’ve never before seen a movie I loved in quite this way.” Upon viewing No Country for Old Men, I think that I am prepared to have my own Pauline Kael moment where I’m bold enough to gush unapologetically about a single work. With its seamless plot, mesmerizing characters, and clean balance of humor and pathos, the movie sets a new standard for the Coen brothers as they return to their roots in the lawless Texas undergrowth (their first film Blood Simple was set in the Lone Star state) to bring to life a story from Pulitzer Prize winning author Cormac McCarthy.


When protagonist Llewelyn Moss (Josh Brolin) stumbles on a case filled with two-million dollars among a pile of dead bodies and a veritable wagon train of souped-up trucks, he runs. With the law and a madman (Javier Bardem) on his tail, the chase carries him through the harsh backdrop of 1980 West Texas, each mile bringing him closer to his possible demise. Brolin captures the to-hell-with-you Texas attitude with every understated nuance; a man of few words, Llewelyn’s expressions speak more on his views of the chaos that surrounds him than the audible “Ah, hell” he emits upon a conclusion. To say this is the defining role of his career would be more than apt, but one would also have to consider Bardem. The two don’t just chew up the scenery—they tear it to shreds in a sparring match for greatness.



Bardem’s portrayal of Anton Chigurh, a man whose lust for the kill surpasses lust for money, is so spellbinding you want to gasp each time his presence appears onscreen. His kills are mechanical, so swift, efficient, and without emotion he becomes like a battering ram running down anyone who, as one character puts it, has the misfortune of just inconveniencing him. He finds a formidable rival in Moss, whose resourcefulness keeps him barely one step ahead of the oft seen, never survived Chigurh. Unlike his pursuer, however, he has reasons to fight for the money (to support his wife, played with sweetness and humility by Kelly MacDonald), but the reality lies in that he could lose more than gain in the process.


Chigurh’s dialogue proves just as scant as his pursuit, but what seethes inside him is as ambiguous as Llewelyn is revealing. We never truly gain any insight into this character. He has no background, no human ties, not even an ethnicity or nationality to point to (he looks Spanish, but has a Russian name). His only friend, it seems, is fate, as he places the future of his victims on the whim of a mere coin toss. The unpredictability makes him all the more chilling, and when we are left to determine the outcome of one of his potential victims—the scene cutting before we actually witness the act—we really cannot say what happens.


Much like the Coens’ previous films Fargo and O Brother, Where Art Thou?, No Country is a testament to the American experience, its barbarism clashing with the beauty of the landscape and appreciation for the flavors of regional culture that defines us as a people. The massacre Moss discovers in the desert is more familiar to our history then the honorable “old-timers” Sheriff Ed T. Bell (Tommy Lee Jones) speaks of in the opening narration. Jones himself embodies the theme of the title, his hound dog eyes and beleaguered smile showing how the escalating inhumanity has taken its toll physically and spiritually. The homespun wisdom and compassion that once served his position well in the past now makes little sense of the bloodshed that revolves around, as Margie in Fargo would say, “a little bit of money.” But even that isn’t the case, as death comes for no reason other than enjoyment or principle in this merciless country.