A Tale of Two Movies

I really can't stand the Coen brothers. I've seen several of their movies, trying to give them a chance, and I really haven't liked any of them.

It started years ago with Raising Arizona, thoroughly unfunny, thoroughly weird, and thoroughly obnoxious. This was really before I even paid attention much to who wrote or directed films (yeah, that long ago), so it didn't really register with me that there was anybody I ought to be putting on my shit list.

Years later, I saw The Big Lebowski. Also thoroughly weird. Arguably not unfunny. The thing is, seeing the movie itself didn't make me laugh at all. Didn't even make me crack a smile. But this is one of the most-quoted movies there is among a certain circle of my friends, and for whatever reason, a Lebowski line (whether well impersonated or not) always gets me to grin. The movie itself, though? I find it pretty unbearable. Go figure.

When A.F.I. released its original top 100 movies list, I had it in my head for a short while to try and see them all. I gave up on that probably not long after suffering through Fargo, a movie far too interested in conveying an atmosphere rather than telling a story. "Isn't this quirky?!" the film seems to ask with a nudge at every turn. Quirky, yes. Entertaining, no.

That was when I swore off Coen brothers movies. Over the years, various friends who thought highly of their films tried to get me to watch their particular favorite, each making claims along the lines of "oh, but you'll like this movie" or "well, sure, those three films you saw weren't really their best."

Finally, someone wore me down enough to get me to try one more Coen movie, The Hudsucker Proxy. Well, it would be hard to make a movie as unbearable as Raising Arizona, so I can't say it was the worst of them all. But I found it obnoxious and boring like all the others. So then I really, really swore off Coen movies.

No matter people tried how many times to get me to watch O Brother, Where Art Thou.

But then it came down to Best Picture Oscar nominations. And, more to the point, "four out of five." Since I became a more avid movie buff, I've generally seen around three of the five Oscar-nominated movies every year. Last year, I saw four -- for the first time, I think. But the one I missed was Letters from Iwo Jima, which everyone seemed convinced had no chance of winning. I felt no pull to go, no problem letting that one slide through the cracks.

But this year, I'd seen four of the five, and the one that was left No Country for Old Men.

But it's by those damn Coen brothers.

But it's supposed to have this incredible performance in it too, by Javier Bardem.

But it's by those damn Coen brothers.

But it's the movie all the oddsmakers say is destined to win.

Sigh.

So this last weekend, I sucked it up and went to complete the "quintfecta."

I'll say this: this was by far the best Coen brothers movie I've seen, in my opinion. And it's going to piss me off when this wins and Juno doesn't.

No Country for Old Men is like two movies in one. And not in a peanut butter and chocolate kind of way. The two movies really have no relation to one another, and barely interact over the course of the two hours. There's the movie the Coen brothers appear to be interested in, and the one in which they successfully engage audience interest.

If you take a step back, the movie is really supposed to be about Tommy Lee Jones' character, the sheriff of a small desert town. He delivers the opening monologue. In his scenes, the things he talks about clearly resonate with the title of the film. He talks about how his father was a sheriff, and his father was a sheriff, and muses about how he's getting too old and too tired for it all. By all rights, this is the "point" of the movie.

And it goes absolutely nowhere. This supposed protagonist does nothing proactive. He's engaged in no plot of his own; he trails some two or three chapters behind the rest of the movie for the entire two hours, never catching up, never doing anything to propel the story at all. Were this a short story, I think I could buy this kind of inactivity and fatigue as a cool way of conveying a message. As a feature film, it's aimless and boring.

Then there's the second movie, in which Josh Brolin's character finds a bag full of drug money after a massacre and runs off with it, only to be pursued by bad hombre Javier Bardem's character -- relentlessly. This story is riveting. It puts you on the edge of your seat early on, and keeps you there the entire time. Both actors are compelling. Both characters are well-written, each clever and capable. From a literary, "tonal" standpoint, the movie isn't supposed to ultimately be "about" these guys, but the story is too fascinating.

Though it's not without two major flaws. First, there's a sidetrack in the middle of it, in which a character portrayed by Woody Harrelson is introduced. He chews up screen time, twirls a figurative mustache in a few scenes, and does nothing ultimately meaningful to the plot before exiting the film permanently. It's a complete waste of time, and derails a lot of the momentum the cat-and-mouse plot has built up.

But the bigger flaw is a symptom of the fact that the movie is not supposed to be about this story. Imagine if you will, reading a 20 chapter novel. Then imagine that chapters 17 through 19 were torn out of that novel. You get to read up through chapter 16, then you skip the climax and go straight to chapter 20, the aftermath.

That's exactly what happens in this "other movie" within No Country for Old Men. Remember, it's not supposed to be about these other guys... it's supposed to be about Tommy Lee Jones. So you're not supposed to care what happens to those other two guys. And to drive that home in an oh-aren't-we-so-clever way, the final climax of that story takes place off screen. The see only the aftermath of the only story you've actually cared about for two hours.

There's another meandering monologue to close the film, and then a sudden, startling cut to black that might have been inspired by the infamous final episode of The Sopranos. And then credits.

I've rarely heard such a reaction in a movie theater as I heard at that point. "What?!" screamed one man. "What the hell?" another young voice wondered. "Geez!" exclaimed some woman. "Well, I hope everyone enjoyed that!" declared an older man near the back. And then everybody stormed out in silence.

I honestly don't know whether to condemn the overall mess of the total film, or to praise the half movie the Coen brothers actually got right for once. (Well, let's say one-third film, taking points off for the Woody Harrelson side trip.) That piece was so good. But the whole was such a breach of contract with the audience. They knew damn well what they were trying to say with the movie, and knew just as well that they were making the rest of the movie more interesting. They decided to hoodwink the audience deliberately.

So I feel that the praise being lavished on this movie is a case of the emperor wearing no clothes. The intellectual critique of the film has to acknowledge the narrative structure, and laud the cruel joke. To deny this and focus on your sense of betrayal is to basically say, "I didn't get it."

So of course anyone trying to appear intellectual and worthy of giving their criticism is going to say what a wonderful movie No Country for Old Men was. Because they can't say "they didn't get it," or anything that could be construed by snobbish peers as having not gotten it.

I fall back on my own measuring stick, though, which is to judge a movie by how it makes me feel. This movie pissed me off. And not in a way that should be praised. It jacks with its audience.

That said, it's damn weird, but I can't quite say "don't see it," either. If only there could exist some cut of just the "good parts" -- and with an imagined "missing reel" that puts the climax of the story in there. That would be indeed be one of the best movies of 2007.

But as a whole, I have to give the movie a C+. If you decide to see it, you've been warned.