What a Country

Moviegoers love their tidy happy endings, and no I speak not of the sexual kind.
Since before Frank Capra completed a full circle of bliss to despair back to thankful, joyful relief in his “A Wonderful Life,” we’ve run for the solace of movie houses to get our fix of utopia with extra butter. We like it when the guy gets the girl, when the good guy overcomes evil, when everything turns out honky-dory by the rolling credits.
Basically anything that reminds of us real life.
So when things go bad, and stay that way, by the expletives ejaculated from the peanut gallery, you’d think you just witnessed the most despicable crime play itself out on super 16. Worse even then Keanu's acting.
Never mind the $11.50 you just shelled out to some pimply-puss high school kid who thinks “Mrs. Robinson” is merely his fifth-period alegbra anatomy teacher. Instead, you 'was robbed by that crappy, illogical, unparalleled dénouement that rankled your chonies into such a bunch a tree full of monkeys couldn’t solve.
We’ve all seen those special movies that resound to a chorus of frustrated sighs from those all around you peppered with a “What the fuck?” over there and an “Is that it?” and a “You’ve got to be kidding me!” from behind. I’ve even seen soft drinks hurled in disgust at the silver screen. Talk about the rise of the proletariat.
So it shouldn’t have come as a shock to hear bewilderment recently at the conclusion of “No Country for Old Men,” brothers Ethan and Joel Coen’s ode to the modern day western. But this ain’t the country of your grand pappy when the likes of Lash Larue and Gene Autry roamed the plains. The Duke himself would’ve blinked if confronted by the slight of hand from these young whippersnappers.
The good, the bad AND the insanely talented.
The Coens succeed at something myriad filmmakers before them have longed for but never quite could muster, pissing off the establishment with an exquisite film framed by stellar dialogue that pushes boundaries -- both literally and figuratively -- yet still seemingly never delivers that final orgasmic bang of appeasement. And that’s not saying anything about Tommy Lee Jones as the stoic yet bothered Sheriff Bell, Josh Brolin’s role of a lifetime as Lewellyn Moss or the truly diabolical character of Anton Chigurh played to pitch perfection by Javier Bardem, perhaps the best big screen madman of this young century.
If you’ve seen the movie, then no doubt you have your own 2 cents to pitch. You probably loved it or hated it, felt euphoric as the screen faded to black or felt cheated by the most magnificently sexy whore who had you thinking just for a moment that she really loved you.
But one thing you can’t deny is “No Country” made you feel.
The killing scenes were gruesome, and there was anticipation and intrigue that built to a fever pitch. And there was, as only Hollywood could write it, a Woody Harrelson cameo, whose murdersome father Charles is mentioned in Cormack McCarthy’s novel from whence the movie comes. It’s all the makings for a cult classic. And that it may very well turn out to be.
For all its plot twists and turns yet apparent failure to deliver the goods in the end, the Coen brothers’ adaptation uncovers the true grit of McCormack’s literary genius, that the America of our forefathers crumbles from within under its own weight.
And there could never be a happy ending made from that.