Brilliantly woven and perfectly executed, No Country for Old Men will surely be a film that etches itself into modern movie folklore.

Rating: 10/10 (2 December 2009)

The Coen Brothers' late 2007, early 2008 film No Country for Old Men has very, very quickly embedded itself as one of my favourites of the contemporary age of film-making. I've seen it a number of times now, two times of which have been in recent months alone – here is a film I get odd chills in just contemplating watching it or not. If there was a film released in Britain in the calendar year of 2008, that was better than this and wasn't Steven McQueen's Hunger, then I either haven't seen it or it doesn't exist. The film is a burning, brilliantly observed piece, encompassing the horror of the world; morality and plain pure old fashioned film making techniques such as the ability to build suspense and execute action. Once just isn't enough with No Country for Old Men.
The film is a crime-infused, MacGuffin driven tale between two predominant sides playing cat-and-mouse with one another in the wide open playground that is the state of Texas in a dusty June, circa 1980. The two warring sides are Josh Brolin's downbeat and somewhat cynical Llewelyn Moss, and he's in direct competition with Spanish actor Javier Bardem's Anton Chigurh; a cold and seemingly emotionless killer who appears to have gone rouge from his employers and is now on Moss' tail. Thrown in amidst these two are the elements of innocent bystanders; hide and seek games at road side motels; shop, trailer and toll booth workers; an angry group of Mexican gangsters whom show up in fits and starts with their own prerogative and the law themselves, this time in the shape of Tommy Lee Jones' sheriff, named Ed Tom Bell.
The chaos is ignited when Moss, having accidentally shot a wild animal in the leg whilst trying to score a body shot, notices a trail of blood left by a pit-bull terrier. Moss observes the dog, who eerily looks back at him with a sort of knowing sense of what bloodshed and chaos comes with what he's just run away from: "Trust me, it's not worth it" seems to be the exclamation. At the site, made more shocking by the presence of bullet ridden mutts, Moss waltz's through a barren patch of land inhabited by dead drug dealers, automatic weaponry and shot-up trucks. A few hundred yards off is a few million dollars in cash, which he swipes after appearing to confront himself with the question. A distant storm begins to break, with feint cracks of thunder – the bag that contained the money is beginning to double up as Pandora's box.
The film's immediate opening is a voice over uttered by a man that has seen better days. His comments, recollections and opinions on life and the world is juxtaposed by some fantastic Texas scenery. Bell talks of the old times, and how some sheriffs in the past barely drew their gun as there was so little crime – just 35 minutes in sees Bell's deputy, who's just a kid in comparison, drawing his gun to enter a potentially dangerous property. Bell's reaction to this is fascinating. The beauty of the locale shooting suggests that the man still loves his home area and the place in which he has spent his whole life, but looks on with concern; that times change and people have to change with them otherwise they'll be left behind. What follows this knowing observation, the film's central theme of making sense of it all, is a brutal murder - the first of many Chigurh will commit. The Coen's thrust you into the centre of Chigurh's world with this killing, setting up the white-knuckle ride and getting across this guy's cold efficiency; something that is put in contrast with Moss' earlier inability to take his time, take aim and shoot a nonthreatening wild animal.
While widely accepted as one of the greatest screen villains from recent years, Chigurh is a collection of very basic but very effective things. Predominantly, his uncanniness is born out of his weapons of choice; those being a stun gun later established to exist so as to kill livestock painlessly as well as a standard pump action shotgun that comes complete with a silencer, thus creating an odd metallic whooshing noise when fired. His sly and sporadic use of ambiguous quotes and metaphors combine with his ruthless ability to play games and con those around him, out of methods of transportation or whatever. The scene in mind that sticks out most is the initial "call it" exchange at a petrol station, during which odd shaped pieces of material are lined up behind the supposed victim; all of which are in the shape of a crude noose suggesting impending death, doom or execution.
The film is violent, but the attention to the repercussions of violence are what makes it seem more gruesome than it is. When characters get injured later on, they need to treat themselves and this focus is ten times more nasty and more effective than, for instance, lining up nothing characters in a Saw sequel and lopping their limbs off. The film is so very visceral in its attention to sound; the build ups to two motel exchanges between certain characters is arguably more exciting than the following action sequences with light switches, floor boards, cocked guns and distant telephone tones all playing their part. With a sense of humour running throughout that is as dry as those rough, dusty early desert scenes and a fantastically structured narrative revolving around this man Moss; the decisions he makes and how they affect those around him and who he loves, No Country for Old Men is a stunning film and one of the best of recent times.