No Country for Old Men, by Coen Brothers [Rating:5 in 5]

When Cormac McCarthy’s “No Country for Old Men” was published in the year 2005, Michiko Kakutani wrote in a review, “No Country for Old Men would easily translate to the big screen so long as Bell's tedious, long-winded monologues were left on the cutting room floor — a move that would also have made this a considerably more persuasive novel”. As it is often the case with literary critics, he was absolutely wrong. It is the monologues of sheriff Ed Tom Bell (played by Tommy Lee Jones) that holds the core of the movie “No Country for Old men”, this year’s Best Picture Oscar winner. It is, at the end of the day, a post-modern (not in the hip sense) character study that believes in leaving more loose ends than answering each and every rational and inconsequential question about details. It hints at a dislocation that would have been unperceivable in any other era than ours. AND, MOST IMPORTANTLY, IT IS A MIRACLE OF A GOOD FILM!

Let us look back at the words I quoted at the very beginning of this review. Kakutani thinks the novel was not adequately persuasive because he was regarding it as a Genre novel, which it, and the film, is not. No Country, as a film, is a subversion of a genre that is all too familiar in the American cultural scene: Psychopath vs. The Force of Good; it is also not a spoof or a critique; it works through the structure of thriller and chase movies, breaks through every single loophole, and at the end, becomes something completely different. It is a movie about something a little inconceivable, something that looses its meaning once spelled clearly, something that lurks just behind the our all-too-certain understating of contemporary society. May be that’s the only way of showing what is there to show.

In the film, Llewelyn Moss (played by Josh Brollin), a poor man hunting antelopes at the valley of Rio Grande, discovers the remnants of a drug deal gone-all-wrong. Bullet-ridden cars stand desolate; in this scene, not only the men, but even the dogs are shown shot dead. Moss finds a huge stack of drugs, and with his habitually cunning mind of a hunter, understands what is missing: the money. He stalks the trail of a wounded man and finds a satchel full of money. He was discovered later, and a corporation hires Anton Chigurh (with Javier Bordem in his Oscar-winning role), a psychopath with a “principle”, who goes around Texas with a tank of compressed air in hand and killing people with a cattle stungun, to kill Moss. It propels a cylinder into their heads and whips it back again; it can bust locks as well. Chigurh starts stalking Moss, which forces Moss to leave his childlike wife Carla Jean (Kelly McDonald) behind. The sheriff of the town, played by Tommy Lee Jones, realizes the danger Moss and his family is in, and tries to help them. There are other characters, such as a bounty hunter who knows Chigurh well (Woody Harrelson) who is hired by a businessman (Stephen Root) to track down the money, and other nameless characters in motels, swimming pools, on the roadside. Yet, it is a curiously lonely movie, where none of the three major characters are shone together in a frame. And that brooding loneliness hints at a strange dislocation, something I was feeling continuously while watching the movie.

Take the scene early in the movie where Chigurh walks into a run-down gas station and talks to the visibly shaken elderly owner. Throughout the sequence, both the characters jostle with each other verbally with a stiff awkwardness, as if something was just not fitting in, something was just not right. It was like watching an English missionary looking at the orphan child from Blue Lagoon with a nasty feeling that he knows the language but cannot understand a word. Or something even more subtle. Subtle enough to elude the gasp of written words. Chigurh makes the man call head or tail in a toss to decide whether he should kill the man or not. The dialogs in this sequence are undoubtedly the best-written ones I have heard in a film for a long, long time. If you watch the film look very closely at this section, savor the strange tension such crafty screenplay can create [Coen brothers absolutely DESERVE their Oscar for Adopted Screenplay], and, if you can, try to feel that dislocation there. Can you feel it? There is a chance that you may not. That’s precisely the charm of such great films. Personally, I felt that the dislocation is the unspoken core of the whole narrative.

Before I went to see the film, I was apprehensive about one thing: Would the film be about nostalgia? The name of the film at least indicates that. The character of Tommy Lee Jones constantly feels outstaged by the capacity for violence of the next generation. One of his monologues sounds nostalgic too. But, to my great relief, the film turned out not to be so. We have had a bit too much of nostalgia lately, especially a sort of snobbish nostalgia about the innocent, “non-violent” days of the past. That sort of stuff makes a film stink of shit. Being a fundamental study about violence (among other things, such as, chance, self-will, unspeakable evil. Other critics have pointed those out before), No Country avoids all the cliché answers and solutions to violence (effect of consumerism, television, homosexuality and whatever-you-may-have-a-grudge-against); it only paints a cinematically sparse and austere landscape that hides hints that are only hints and not answers.

The cinematography of the film is remarkable: it refuses to be stylish (as an unfortunate after-effect of the film “Traffic”, every movie in Hollywood nowadays routinely depicts deserts through extremely grainy deep-yellow filter, dark sides of a city through blue, using the most bizarre angles a camera can possibly find. Apparently, they call it “stylish”), it gets to the core of the ambience the film uses, so much so that the landscape becomes one of the principle characters in the film. It again shows that Coen brothers are one of the greatest exponents of the dramatic capacity of a landscape; they did it before in “Fargo” (using a landscape of blindingly white snow), they have done it again. The editing of the film follows the same path: it is effective, precise, and self-effacing. Surprisingly for a Hollywood film, it uses only 16 minutes of music, which is minimalist in nature as well. It was an inspired decision. Such decisions have made this film such a great one. The actors down to the nameless woman by the swimming pool do a truly swell job; I have seldom seen such perfect casting.

In my last piece about the Oscars, I wrote “Javier Bordem as the Best Actor in a Supporting Role (for “No Country for Old Man”) was again a routine choice, Hollywood loves its psychopaths.” I do not intend to change it. Javier is a great actor and has done mesmerizing work in this film. But, like all great art, this film will be easily misunderstood by most people, I fear. Like they called “Brokeback Mountain” a “gay cowboy movie”. I suspect that after this Oscar, many will watch the film the way they watch “Silence of the Lambs”, counting “nicely” shown “cool” killings; they will come out of the hall trying to imitate Anton Chigurh’s grin. It will become the benchmark for a new-era psychopath. The film will be lost in a labyrinth of deliberate mass-censorship. We are not very good at handling our own violence, are we?

So if you watch the film, try to look in closely. Check what is scarier: the chilling acts of Chigurh, or how the scattered symbols repeat themselves in the path of both Chigurh and Moss, obscuring the line between the hunted and the hunter? Why, after all the obvious evil, can’t we make an ethical distinction between Moss and Chigurh? Why do we perceive only a forlorn sense of futility at the end of the film? Keep those questions afloat in your mind, but don’t try to seek an answer. You might see a truly great film.

Making such an astounding film is a feat that belongs to the order of a minor miracle; add to that the fact that Coen brothers have done it before with “Fargo”. If we still stop short of counting them among the first three directors in Hollywood, it will be an act of blasphemy. This film deserves a five by any standards.

BAIDURYA CHAKRABARTI

THE DRABBEST OSCAR OF ALL TIME!

Man, it was boring! Positively, devastatingly, petrifyingly boring! Every single one of those major Oscars was a repeat of the BAFTA awards (and Golden Globe, to some extent), other than the Best Picture award, and that was an even bigger drab, because everybody knew they were going to do so! No one acted surprised really, no one did a summersault (like Roberto Benigni), no one expressed anger from past sufferings (like Halle Berry), no one cried uncontrollably. The honorary Oscar, as always, was an insult.

The whole award ceremony tasted of frozen floor-mops, to be frank! Shouldn’t we sing “Te Dium” to its amazing capacity at not surprising us?

The presenter this year, Jon Stewart, did share some pretty cheeky jokes (about Diablo Cody’s past, pay check, and her name, among others). But this guy has this Cheshire Cat smile of some thousand watts that he flashed at the audience every time he felt he made a good joke, and that, my friends, was a complete turn off for me. Well, yes, I agree, may be I am biased towards guys who do not laugh at their own jokes. But my point will still remain the same: Oscar is DULL without Billy Crystal! May be they should offer him a permanent job or something, but they should not let him go! Period. The star announcers were even worse, Martin Scorcesse appeared humorless (may be he was bored too), Danzel Washington sounded like an over-excited circus announcer. Helen Mirren kept her cool. Penelope Cruz, as always, sounded as if she was reciting an Alexandrine verse in Esperanto! How can she sound so incomprehensible after spending so many years in Hollywood (and dating hunks)! I still don’t get it. The only saving grace was the younger Coen; Ethan Coen’s first speech consisted of four and half words: “uhh…..thank you for this.”, and the next time there was no improvement at all! May be he was making a terse point, or may be he was dealing with the situation the way the brothers deal in their films: with no baggage, always understated, reserved. Hat’s off to him.

People who have not followed BAFTA and the GOLDEN GLOBE might find it surprising that Marion Cotillard won the Best Actress in a Leading Role Oscar. They should then, by now, know that her acting this year has swept virtually all award ceremonies (Cesar, BAFTA, GOLDEN GLOBE). Her performance as the legendary singer Edith Piaf is a type always favored by the American critics and audience: “authentic” biopic with a lot of make-up (makes the whole thing look more heroic) and tragic ending. It belongs to the tradition of movies like “Patton”, “Laurence of Arabia”, “Monster” etc. In hindsight, no one else could have been allowed to win the small-buttock man this year. Daniel Day-Lewis’ character in There Will Be Blood belongs to what I call “The Great American Acting Tradition”. He shouts, spits, smiles mischievously to a familiar effect of raw animal force, uncontrollable will power that feels like fate. It is sad for such a great actor to depend on such over-emphasized roles to win accolade every time. Hollywood, although never openly, always felt bad about underplaying characters; the greatest of under-actors had had a problematic relationship with Hollywood (remember Marlon Brando? Remember the fact that before “Silence of The Lambs”, Anthony Hopkins’ status in Hollywood was so miserable even after a film like “The Elephant Man” that he almost decided to relocate to London?). Intellectual acting is not something Hollywood adores. Hence the low number of awards won on memorable performances in comedies (I am thinking about “Sideways”). I have enormous respect for someone like Daniel Day-Lewis, and it saddens me to see how great actors are still forced to go through one, small, narrow type.

The Oscar authorities are famed for insulting great men with “honorary” Oscars when they are past their prime, post-prime, and post-post-prime! They awarded Charles Chaplin after they had successfully kicked him out of the country, and managed to not give him a single Oscar ever. They finally gave the honor to both Satyajit Ray and Frederico Fellini when they were about to die. This year is no exception. They gave the award away to 98 year old Robert F. Boyle, a legendary art director and production designer. Can you believe it! At 98 years of age! I mean, what the heck, check out this list of his major works, all of them were made at least 20 to 30 years ago! Here is the list: Alfred Hitchcock’s “Saboteur”, “North by Northwest” [Remember that breath-taking birds-eye shot of the United Nations Building?], “The Birds”, “Marnie”, It Came from Outer Space, Cape Fear, In Cold Blood, Fiddler on the Roof, Portnoy's Complaint, Winter Kills, Mame, W.C. Fields and Me, The Shootist, Private Benjamin, Staying Alive etc. What the hell, why did they not award him in the late eighties or nineties? Does it give them toothache? The old man took it apparently in all good faith, but God knows how he might be feeling about it now.

I am happy for Tilda Swinton (Best Actress in a Supporting Role for “Michael Clayton”) though. She is an exceptional talent, a consistent rebel; she wags an extremely sharp tongue and glitters with visible intelligence. That sort of an actress is becoming rarer by the day. She showed extremely bad dress sense in both BAFTA and the Oscars (in BAFTA, she looked like a psychedelic geisha gone loony!), she called George Clooney a “tremendous bastard” (I am quoting from memory though), and appreciated that slender butt of our UNCLE OSCAR. Hers was certainly the most memorable speech this year for me. I feel bad for Kate Blanchett though. Her performance as Bob Dylan in the film “I’m Not There” was remarkable by any standards. After watching her twice, I think Marion Cotillard sounds on the verge of crying almost always, which will, almost certainly, turn some men on; she has a very sweet French disposition, and she is certainly a very good actress (although, I have a suspicion, limited in scope) in her own way. Xavier Bordem as the Best Actor in a Supporting Role (for “No Country for Old Man”) was again a routine choice, Hollywood loves its psychopaths. It might prove to be a great thing for him, and help him get out of the zone where you only get type-cast dull Latino roles. But again, we must remember that the Oscar did not help Benetio Del Toro that much.

Best Director Oscar for Coen Brothers (“No Country…”) is a justified choice, but the award comes a bit too late; they should have won it for “Fargo”. They have been one of the most original directors in Hollywood for a long time, and no accolade will be enough for the work they have put in throughout the years. It is sad that many throughout the world are just coming to know about them because of an Oscar. They are great even without the golden statue.

I have a confession to make. When I first saw Diablo Cody (Best Original Screenplay for the film “Juno”) at BAFTA, I was more attracted to her amazing bust and her beautiful skin than anything else. It was very male chauvinistic of me. Many of you might recognize her as the author of the famous blog “The Pussy Ranch”. I have not yet seen the film “Juno”, but judging by other critics’ reactions, and going by the storyline and some of the dialogs; it seems to be a very well written film. I am looking forward to watch this movie, and specially watch the work of Ellen Page (Ms Cody called her “superhuman”, Roger Ebert called her “THE actress of her generation”); and I will also wait for future works of Ms Cody. She deserves a big congratulation.

Many of you may have noticed that all the major acting Oscars have gone this year to “non-American” actors. Some might call it an accident, I call it a trend. For years now, actors of other nationalities (specially the British) have given consistent performances in the industry; as a result, in the pool of contemporary bankable actors, you will find a major number of Britons, Spaniards and others. Maybe, just may be it is time for the American acting schools and the industry itself to rethink its lines, and check out where it is going wrong. As far as I am concerned, I feel that there is certain predictability in the acting of most American actors nowadays, especially the white ones. What do you think?

N.B.—In an act of tremendous bad faith, the Oscar authority failed to pay their tribute to the memory of the great German actor Ulrich Mühe, whose memorable acting as a East German interrogator in the film “Lives of Others” [winner of last years Best Foreign Language Film Oscar] is still fresh in many of our memories. They also failed to notice the deaths of Brad Renfro, French mime artist Marcel Marceau, acclaimed Taiwanese director Edward Yang (director of “A Bright Summer Day” and “Yi Yi”). Let us not be so obnoxiously ignorant about anything non-American, and pay our homage to these remarkable men. We will miss Ulrich Mühe sorely.

BAIDURYA CHAKRABARTI