I love the cinematography in this movie. I hope Deakins wins a much-much deserved Oscar for it. He should have won for Fargo, but that year I think it went to The English Patient dude. Take it from a kid who went to film school in Montana--shooting snow and making it look pretty is much harder than shooting sand and making it look pretty.
I digress--I agree completely with every point you make. Especially about the ending.

Masterful analysis, Jim. Maybe you ought to turn this into a book! But I still can't neatly tidy away my dissatisfaction with Chigurh. it's because so much of the film is so grounded and "real" and he's so much of "a ghost" that he clashes against the scenery too much for me. And I don't think Bardem really nails the part. He still strikes me as a bit of a Coens' cartoon, whereas somebody else you mention, Hannibal Lecter, now he really scares me. It's still the one miscalculation that I see, but it may be one of those things that bothers me less on subsequent viewings. Overall, this kind of analysis has deepened the film for me. Most important, it shows the hard work that goes into making a film. All these connections aren't random, they are planned out by the filmmakers. In a way, you have pointed out how paltry most criticism is in understanding what makes a movie tick. Can't wait for the next installment.

Wow! What a post. I have always agreed that style and content go hand in hand but I think that when critics or moviegoers complain about a movie being all style and no substance (though not with this film, just in general) they're not speaking of an impossibility, just confusing their terms. You can overcompensate with style if your substance is weak (The Cell for instance, in my opinion) but what is not understood is that the style then becomes the substance. In moviemaking visual style is substance. So when that complaint comes up I think the critic/moviegoer is saying that the style/substance is not enough to elevate the art of the film (see previous example).

Playtime has no substance if we are confusing substance with content/story/plot. But substance isn't content/story/plot. Playtime's style is it's substance.

If one is confusing content for substance and confusing style as a separate entity apart from substance then one would be forced to conclude that the content of Forrest Gump which covers the history of America in the latter half of the twentieth century as told through the eyes of a simple everyman trumps that of Barry Lyndon which follows a bewildered Irish man through the travails of his life. And I would then be forced to conclude that said person is an idiot.

Great post.

Wow. Nice post.

It stirred some thoughts that had lay dormant since I saw the movie last weekend, regarding Chigurh. As you rightly point out, he almost exists as an abstraction. Or, rather, we want to equate him to an abstraction. Such a position aligns him with The Judge in _Blood Meridian_, I think. But, what McCarthy does in the novel _No Country_ and what the Coens emphasize here, is his normality. Basically, what I'm saying is that he's not a grotesque, which is a label that I think you could easily apply to The Judge (or, as you point out, Leonard Smalls). And in some way that makes him all the more frightening.

Jim,

Thank you, that was an excellent analysis that provided much to take in and think about. I hate to follow it up with something so superficial, but. . .you said that Chigurh dissappeared into the shadows of the motel room next door? How do you know this?

I've only seen NCFOM once, but my memory is that Chigurh sees Ed Tom through the hollow lock presumably from within the room that Ed Tom then enters. Are you saying that he actually looking at him from the next room? If not, how did he get out without being seen? Or am I just falling into the trap that Joel Coen mentioned in your interview with him?

Wonderful post, Jim. I really like what you said here:

"Chigurh is by no means the focus of "No Country For Old Men" (it's more about the other characters' responses to his presence), but he bothers some people because they don't know who he is or what he represents. And that's just fine. Ask yourself, "What does he seek?" (in the words of his movie-killer antithesis, the cannibal psychologist Dr. Hannibal Lecter)... and where does that get you? He seeks $2 million in a leather satchel. As Joel Coen once said to me in an interview about "Barton Fink": "The question is: Where would it get you if something that's a little bit ambiguous in the movie is made clear? It doesn't get you anywhere." Sometimes, if certain questions don't appear to have an answer, maybe that's enough of an answer. Or maybe it's a superfluous question."

Sometimes it's tough to accept the ambiguity, but that's the beauty of cinema. It reminds me of this quote:

"Narrative is the poison of cinema...There’s nothing more beautiful than elusiveness in cinema." Alfonso Cuarón

While Cuarón is specifically talking about narrative, I think his statement is very applicable to your language.

Thanks for keeping me thinking about this film!

Jim, a couple of things:
1. Chigurh actually says the coin has been traveling 22 years to get here.

2. Did you notice what was printed on the back of the paper Bell is reading in the diner? Death notices, vital statistics and the weather forecast, one after the other. Talk about fate and uncertainty -- with life stuck in the middle.

Excellent post!

Great analysis of how the movie works, regardless of whether the movie works for everybody. But, since you asked: You say that Chigurh disappears into the shadows of the room next door. But how? Correct me if I'm wrong (I've only seen it once), but the previous shot establishes him as in the room that Bell will enter: only one of the doors is missing a deadbolt, and light shines through the door that Chigurh hides behind. So does he stay behind the kicked-open door (would he fit?), or retreat to the luggage alcove until Bell enters the bathroom? Something else? Chigurh is a "ghost," so I don't think it matters if the ambiguous is made clear here. But I do think it matters if he's in the room or not (according to Chigurh's principles, Bell gets a pass), and the Coens seem to take pains to establish that he's there. (Note the shot in which the bathroom window is shown to be latched from the inside. Why show that unless to establish that Chigurh DIDN'T leave?) But you've seen it twice, so tell me if I'm wrong.

Re: people who praise the Coen's "craft" while still expressing reservations about the film...

When people praise technique and craftsmanship, but claim to be left cold by the overall film, I feel this is a perfectly valid complaint. After all, we're not robots. We feel and our reactions to movies have a lot to do with how that movie makes us feel.

I discussed my reservations with No Country in the previous comments section and won't rehash my argument about the film's anticlimaxes, but...all the craftsmanship, beauty, etc. would still be enough for me to give it a thumbs up on a Siskel & Ebert style show, as would the vast majority of film critics, if Rotten Tomatoes is any indication.

However, I don't think there's anything wrong in people resisting worship of No Country in part b/c it left them cold and didn't leave them with same sense of elation it left you with.

Granted, this is the toughest thing to put into words and seems to be what frustrates you with other critics...but we're emotional creatures and how a movie makes us feel is going to affect how we view a film. You can intellectually admire a film for technical aspects but not totally fall under its spell because it leaves you cold emotionally.

And just so you know, I'm not some heart-on-his-sleeve moviegoer who loves Capra and sentimentality above all else...Kubrick is one of my favorite filmmakers and Miller's Crossing ranks as one of my favorite films of all time.

Jim,

You are dead-on! Thanks for writing this--it congealed all the exact same thoughts I was having about the movie. I got into a heated discussion with someone who was bothered by unanswered questions as I kept saying "It doesn't matter!" He was also disappointed in how the movie ended, and I thought it was just perfect--especially the speed between the last word and the cut to black. I appreciated that they didn't linger.

And I had just found the screenplay online yesterday as I was trying to look up a quote for my boss. He's already seen the movie twice and bought and read the book just since last weekend (and I'll bet he spent last night reading the screenplay). He gets it. I'll recommend The Road to him as I'd not made the connection with "carrying the fire" but it's perfectly apt as a sequel of sorts to this film.

Thanks again.

It is interesting to talk about how Chigurh perceives of himself and of the role he plays as a tool of fate in the world as opposed to how the world perceives him. What the film shows is that he is actually a megalomaniac who enjoys very much the power he has over other people. Whether he realizes it or not, he is clearly playing a game that he made up and no one else gets to know the rules. (When we were little, my cousin used to want to play a game where the only rule was that he got to win. He thought he was sooo smart). The scene that most exemplifies this is the one at the gas station. Chigurh is clearly having a lot of fun playing with this poor man. The one time I remember Chigurh showing a human emotion is when Carla Jean says she won’t call the coin. She says “you and the coin got here the same way.” I remember that he looked really annoyed that she was questioning his rules.

A couple of questions about your essay; Earlier in the movie, Llewelyn has a screwdriver to open the vent but Chigurh has to use a dime. I thought that Chigurh and Ed Tom were in the same room at the end and while Ed Tom is looking in the bathroom Chigurh sneaks out. The implication of the dime is that Chigurh had definitely been in the room. Did you think he went next door through the vent or maybe that he left before Ed Tom got there?

About mirroring; both Ed Tom and Chigurh look at their shadows in the TV while sitting in Llewelyn and Carla Jean’s spots on the couch. You say that we’re seeing what the Sheriff and Deputy see and nothing more, but Ed Tom sees what Chigurh sees. Could Ed Tom be mirroring Chigurh… looking into the blackness and making the decision not to follow?

Thank you Jim for this eloquent piece. It really expresses the style and motifs of the film, and why you found them so thrilling.

I'm especially grateful to have the text of both the opening monologue and Bell's closing dreams here. I subconsciously realized that they were linked when I saw the film, but only now do I realize how perfectly they compliment one another. The opening monologue ends with "OK, I'll be a part of this world". And the closing speech ends with "And then I woke up...". Waking up is Bell's reiteration that he will in fact be a part of this world and face it head-on, but whereas at the beginning Bell looked upon the crimes to come with incredulity and sadness, now he has a hard-earned wisdom that the horrors of the world are all too real and believable, yet there is hope ("a warm fire") if we keep struggling on. That's why I don't think the ending to the film is as bleak as many people seem to think it is. It's about carrying on in the face of the horrors of the world.

My own personal feeling about the film is that it's a brilliantly-executed thriller, but it's not quite as profound in scope or magnitude as many people are making it out to be. In the reaction it generated from both myself and the critical public at large, "No Country for Old Men" reminded me very much of "A History of Violence". I think that both are near-great films ("No Country" more so) that will stand the test of time and be still treasured decades from now, in much the same way that we treasure "Shadow of a Doubt", "The Night of the Hunter" and other classics from the 40s and 50s. But I don't think that either film has lived up to the billing of profundity that many people have struggled to give them.

That's why I think your take on the film, which is that the Coens' eye for details IS the profundity of the film, is the most honest approach. Some critics have tried to claim that "No Country for Old Men" is rigorously exploring a new moral code, but frankly, I think that it is merely articulating (through the thriller genre) the fairly common, somewhat reactionary, view of older generations looking at the sins of the young and raising their arms in amazement (I know that the one sheriff's speech about the world going to hell since "the young people started getting green hair..." isn't meant to be the film's philosophical outlook, but it certainly leaves a strong impression that it is.)

There are some moral shades of grey in evidence in the dual scenes of youngsters having to give up their clothes to one of the main characters (ironically, the "good" character is exploited and has to overpay for help, while Chigurh is generously offered assistance). But those scenes demonstrate another element of the film that, to me anyway, prevented it from feeling like an out-and-out masterpiece: it's use of fairly obvious literary devices (repeating motifs, scenes and shots) to underscore its themes. I can already hear you saying...but wait! Isn't that what all directors and artists do? Well, yes, but in the case of "No Country for Old Men", I felt as if the Coens were attempting to add some statements about the human condition, and the morality of our age, to a wonderful film that had already accomplished the resonance it needed (in many of the ways that you have described).

To my eyes, "Fargo" remains the Coens' masterpiece, and one of the greatest films I have seen. "No Country for Old Men" rates right behind it though (possibly in a tie with "Blood Simple"). It's a very good film, and so rich with beautifully-rendered details that, as you have said, heighten our awareness of the aural and visual possibilities of the medium (and of the world around us). This is something that many great films share in common, and that is why it is frustrating when people complain that a film is just an "exercise in style". Style, in all of its forms, is what makes a movie (otherwise we would just read screenplays). Critics need to move beyond these simplistic phrases and begin investigating what directors are actually doing when they provide us with recurring motifs (such as the ones you've beautifully described and highlighted). "No Country for Old Men" is, as you said, a litmus test for moviegoers. Do they see only the story, which is a fairly straightforward one about a "Terminator"-like bad-guy chasing after a poor fellow who made a bad decision? Or do they see the richness, the LIFE, in the way the Coens bring this story to the screen? Judging by the public's euphoric reaction to this film, I'd say that most people fall into the latter camp.

P.S. One other minor problem I had with this film, and maybe I'm oversensitive because my father is Mexican, is that I detected a sort-of casual racism to Mexicans that left a bit of a sour taste. The film's themes of an unknown tide sweeping over a once-innocent country is certainly timely, given the current crisis with illegal immigration. To their credit, the Coens dispel the notion that America was pure until Mexicans and other influences began polluting it (the speech by Ed Tom's uncle accomplishes this). But the film still basically treats Mexicans as either slimy drug dealers or laughable caricatures (the mariachi band...which I actually thought was a great moment of comic relief in the film). Ed Tom's comment that coyotes "don't eat Mexicans" may be meant to illuminate the casual racism of his Texas roots, but judging by the laughs it gets from the audience, I think it does more to perpetuate the stereotype of Mexicans as a bunch of dirty, greasy, double-crossing drug dealers. I'm not suggesting that the Coens are racist, merely that they don't do much to dispel the fears of an invasion of drug-dealing Mexicans that may be held by certain people in the United States.

Thanks, all, for your (as usual) thoughtful observations and insights. I want to digest them further before continuing the discussion (but I have a screening I must attend this afternoon -- more about that later).

For now, I just want to address something Fritz brings up: I completely understand that someone may not be moved by a movie. What irritated me in so many reviews of "NCFOM" was that even some critics who loved the movie wrote about it as though the craft/skill/technique could be considered separately from the style/substance of the film. The point I wanted to make is that craft, skill, technique, style are the movie, and every movie has its own. The so-called "cinema verite" that Werner Herzog despises as false and dishonest is every bit as much a manifestation of "technique" or "craft" or "style" as what you see in "NCFOM." Reviewers often talk about "style" or "technique" as something imposed on a movie (especially by Hollywood craftsmen or foreign auteurs), rather than being the very stuff movies are made of.

So, by all means, respond to the film however you responded to the film, or make an argument that a cut or a composition struck you as false or inappropriate. I'm just saying we should talk about film as film, and not consider craftsmanship or technique as something extraneous.

Jim, i'm a 24 year old film grad from israel, and a hopeful film editor. just wanted to say that your Coens essays, and the Coens in general, give me such inspiration to help create artful and entertaining cinema. i would dream of being the Coens editor, if it wasn't for that "Roderick Jaynes" fellow. that lucky bastard! anyway, since i have to basically wait until the end of january for "No Country" to reach my out-house of a country, all i have are the reviews and articles to live by. so for that, sir, i thank you. i don't even mind the spoilers, because since when is a Coens movie about plot twists and surprises.

Hi Jim

I just saw the movie myself a few days ago, and after reading your analysis I just want to go back and watch it again. I'm an amateur about reading film myself but I was wondering if there was anything with the dogs in the film, there just seemed to be something about them but I wasn't sure what.

The more I think about this movie, the more I love it. I agree 100% that analyzing technique in an attempt to tear down a film is lazy criticism. Roger Ebert had a very good quote in his review of Charlize Theron's performance in Monster: "there is a certain tone in the voices of some critics that I detest -- that superior way of explaining technique in order to destroy it. They imply that because they can explain how Theron did it, she didn't do it. But she does it."

As for profundity of the film, I think there is an interesting comparison to be made between NCFOM and Fargo. The films, while similar in quality, are polar opposites - in character, setting, and most importantly ending. At the end of Fargo, the determined lawman filled with hope (literally), catches the bad guy, fulfilling our human desire for closure and justice. In NCFOM, the lawman is impotent with despair, and ends the film with a haunting (and for many I suspect boring) monologue about a dream. Both films are phenomenally good, but I think NCFOM is clearly better, not in spite of the ending but in part because of it.

If you want to talk about profundity, it's right there. Ed Tom realizes that the world isn't changing for the worse, but that he is no longer equipped to deal with it as an old man. The illusion of a changing world is something everyone goes through in order to rationalize their own growing obsolescence. The ending has the Sheriff coming to terms with that, and the entire movie brings about that understanding. Look at the juxtaposition of the young deputy who is eager, hopeful, ambitious), to Ed Tom, and the ending doesn't seem so much a downer, as a passing of life and its problems from one generation to another.

Jim:

Thanks, as always, for writing from the gut, yet making the effort to connect your personal reactions to the actual components of the movie: shots, cuts, color, sound, performance, dialogue. Guys like you and Bordwell inspire me to work harder.

Jeremy:

It's not just the dogs that stand out -- animals in general feature prominently. Off the top of my head: dogs, dead and alive, the hotel cat, Ellis' strays, the lucky (!) bird, horses, the deer Llewelyn hunts, the cows referenced in conversation...am I forgetting any? I'm actually surprised, Jim, that you didn't mention the ubiquitous animals; their presence struck me as powerfully as that of the scars -- from boot soles, blood trails, cars or firearms -- left on the film's various landscapes.

The two times we're shown a coin toss to decide someone's fate, it's done with a quarter. The one time we're shown Chigurh opening a vent, it's done with a dime.

I think the implication of the dime (plus the $100 bill he gives the boy later) is that Chigurh found the money the Mexicans didn't. That leaves me puzzled, though, why Chigurgh didn't kill Bell, unless they weren't in the same room, as you say.

I've only seen it once so far--looking forward to see it again to see what new things I notice, and not just which room Chigurh is in.

Jim, you've given cohesion to the disorganized thoughts of a lot of fans of NCFOM. You not only submersed yourself in the film, you understood what you were watching and collected these feelings into conherant words. I know I really liked NCFOM but there's no way I could truly express how it made me feel without breaking those collective feelings into comments on the cinematography, etc. Apparently, neither can many professional critics. I don't know that it's simply lazy criticism on the part of others; more likely, it's a display of lower levels talent and skill. Something I've learned in my 10+ years in my career is that most people are not great at their jobs. As a kid, I always assumed that if somebody worked in a field professionally, it meant that they were really good at whatever it was that they did. Unfortunately, the average quality in any field tends to skew to a lower quality than I would have hoped. Film critics too.

I understand that your specific frustration stems from critics discussing technique in place of discussing the film itself but that makes me wonder, is there no place for criticism of technique alone? The best example in my own viewing that I can think of where I'd really want to comment in technique outside of the whole are the films of Luis Bunuel. I've really enjoyed each film of his that I've seen but I have to admit that I am constantly distracted by some aspects of the cinematography. His indoor scenes always tend to be bland and over lit, possibly just as a means to achieve deep focus. In my opinion, this adds up to large sections of his films looking, well... amateurish and cheap. The fact that his films can usually overcome what I perceive to be low production values is a test to the quality of his films on the whole.

An addendum to Heather Davis' post about the TV: Carla and Llewelyn are sitting on the couch, actually watching a movie (I believe the shot is two or three people from the front, sitting in a car) called "Flight to Tangier," which has plot parallels to NCFOM. In a way, Carla Jean and Llewelyn are "previsioning" their fate. Its plot description, from IMDB, follows:

Originally released in 3-D, the film begins when a pilotless plane crashes at the Tangier airport. Those awaiting the plane include Gil Walker (Jack Palance), a sometime dabbler in black-market operations and an unjustified winner of a Congressional Medal of Honor; Susan (Joan Fontaine), an American girl engaged to the missing pilot; and Nicole (Corinne Calvet), a French girl whose affections seem to be evenly divided between Walker and various other Tangier underworld characters. The plane was supposed to be bringing in $3,000,000 to finance the purchase, by an Iron Curtain agent, of war planes from a Tangier black-market operator. Susan enlists the aid of Walker to find the missing pilot and the money, which she knows to be safely hidden 75 miles south of Tangier. The chase is on with Susan and Walker pursued by the black-market racketeers who, in turn, are trailed by the police.

I just wanted to chime in with praise for your reading of the film. What you've done is, for me, what criticism is supposed to do. Whatever personal or ideological response people have to the film, there is little doubt that this is a sophistocated, substantial piece of cinema, not just aesthetically, but morally, and the work you've done here could be a great starting point (and from the flurry of posts HAS been a great starting point) for further conversation. What ABOUT the films understanding of Mexicans? What kinds of gender related observations could we make about the movie (which is on some level an action movie about boys shooting at each other)? What kinds of class issues are going on here? Could we read this film against any kind of religious, philosophical or political tradition? The conversation about this one has just begun, and the complexity that your essay hints at suggests that it could end up being a long conversation indeed.

Thanks for demonstrating that the substance of the film is inextricably bound to the style and technique of the film. This is kind of a no brainer, but some folks still have the idea that content and style aren't the same thing. I honestly think some folks don't "get it" because they just aren't as aesthetically literate as they could be. (Of course, I'm sure there are those who "get it," but don't like it, but I'm at a loss to explain why. I don't wanna be tooo condescending here.....)

I'm reminded of the praise and awards that "Crash" received. "Crash" was aestheticaly and thematically insensetive as NCFOM is brilliant, but the words in the screenplay just sounded so damn important and SERIOUS and there was all that emotional ACTING on display and there were so many ISSUES in that movie. Yuck.

I loved NCFOM when I saw it last weekend, but as it's had a few days to "rest" in my brain, it's gotten better and better. I thought that "Eastern Promises" would be the film I saw this year that I'd remember, but not anymore (well, I'll remember that one too, but it's on the mental backburner right now). I just can't stop thinking about NCFOM, and from the posts here, it seems I'm not alone. The movie just keeps growng. It's not that I'm remembering it being more exciting or moving than it was, but that I keep returning to the idea in the film (ideas that were primarily expressed through visual grammar and through plot mechanics...."technique," "style") and the movie keeps getting richer. Your post has helped it grow richer still. I'm gonna have to see it at least once more on a big screen. I loved it the first time, and I expect I love it more the second time.

Does it seem to anyone else the scene with Chigurh, the two kids and the $100 bill is sort of the whole movie writ small and littered with fewer corpses? The one kid resists the money at first, but then once he gives in, he and his friend start fighting over it.

And, now that I mention it, you throw in the car accident and you have your violence. If the other driver died, you have death. And, with Chigurh, injured and walking away from the noise of the sirens, you have a wounded man on the run. I'm reaching a bit with that last bit, but still...

Matt: Thanks very much. You know how much I admire what you're doing at The House Next Door. For me, "NCFOM" is a reminder of just how hard it is to express in language what I love about movies.

As for The Room Next Door: As a friend of mine said, Chigurh is always in the room next door. (He does not share frame space with others -- which is why it's especially chilling when he comes into the shot, out of focus, behind Wells as he's going up the stairs. That's a shot, I later discovered, is also described in detail by the Coens in the screenplay.) Chigurh has taken a motel room adjacent to Moss's earlier in the movie. When Sheriff Bell approaches the motel at the end, the camera does not center on the door he enters, but on rooms 114 and 112, and the "Crime Scene" tape stretches across both. After he inspects the room, turns on the lights (dispersing the shadows) and sits on the bed, there's a reverse angle toward the door: Chigurh is not in that room. Not because he's "magic." (If that were the case, why does he need guns or cars or tracking devices or $2 million anyway?) But because, after retrieving the satchel (Ed Tom sees the vent and the screws and the coin on the floor), he hasn't left the scene yet.

OK, more later...

He shares the fram with the cop at the beginning, and possibly with the two men he kills in the desert.

He also shares space with the accountant, which is a scene I don't see many people talking about.

"Are you going to kill me?"
"That depends. Do you see me?"

It seems to me there are two ways to read that. One, the accountant says he doesn't see Chigurh, and Chigurh believes he won't talk, and let's him live. The other way, which is hwo I read it, is that it's a rhetorical question. Of course the accountant sees him, so of course Chigurh is going to kill him.

bill: You're right -- I didn't mean that literally. I meant it in the sense that he doesn't play well with others. If he shares frame space with someone, that usually means the other person is going to be eliminated.

The ambiguity of that scene you mention is, if I may use the phrase, dead-on. (How can ambiguity be dead-on? I don't know -- it's ambiguous.) It "pre-visions" the scene with Carla Jean, where he checks his boots upon leaving her house. (And we've seen what happens when he gets his boots dirty.) I read it the second way you describe -- as Chigurh's sadistic way of saying there will be no "coin toss" for this guy -- but I love that the movie doesn't feel the need to show us a definitive outcome. The murders move offscreen later in the movie (even the non-murders: we don't even see the driver of the vehicle that hit's Chigurh's). It should become obvious by that point, I should think, that "NCFOM" isn't primarily concerned with murder, as such. And that's why it ends the way it does, with no climactic confrontation between "good and evil" -- because the movie isn't that simple...

bill: You're right -- I didn't mean that literally. I meant it in the sense that he doesn't play well with others. If he shares frame space with someone, that usually means the other person is going to be eliminated.

The ambiguity of that scene you mention is, if I may use the phrase, dead-on. (How can ambiguity be dead-on? I don't know -- it's ambiguous.) It "pre-visions" the scene with Carla Jean, where he checks his boots upon leaving her house. (And we've seen what happens when he gets his boots dirty.) I read it the second way you describe -- as Chigurh's sadistic way of saying there will be no "coin toss" for this guy -- but I love that the movie doesn't feel the need to show us a definitive outcome. The murders move offscreen later in the movie (even the non-murders: we don't even see the driver of the vehicle that hit's Chigurh's). It should become obvious by that point, I should think, that "NCFOM" isn't primarily concerned with murder, as such. And that's why it ends the way it does, with no climactic confrontation between "good and evil" -- because the movie isn't that simple...

Alex: Thanks again for another well-written, idea-filled post. I thought the guy who made the comment about the "green hair" was just as flummoxed by "this world" as Ed Tom is in the opening monologue. Interesting that a movie called "No Country for Old Men" seems to have so few people under 30 in it. The youngest characters (Carla Jean and the Poolside Woman) are women --until the bike-riding boys at the end. Where are these kids with bones in their noses? I thought the move was poking fun at the old-timers' generational paranoia. (As Ellis later tells Ed Tom: "What you got ain't nothin new.")

I got the same impression about the comments about Mexicans -- something you'd expect from white residents of a Texas border area. It's similar to their view of the customs of youth -- a kind of xenophobia. I thought Sheriff Bell was being sarcastic with the comment about wolves not eating Mexicans, repeating an old superstition that he knew was ridiculous but that others didn't question. I'll have to pay more attention to that the next time I see the movie.

N Farias: I was going to get into the whole dog/cat thing (the movie starts with dogs and ends with cats), but I just didn't know how to fit it in. The dead dog is singled out three times -- it has an effect on people, emphasizing the brutality of the crimes. Seems to bother some even more than the dead people. Moss first sees the wounded dog -- and later is hounded (sorry) by one at the river, in one of the most spectacularly realized, surreal moments in the movie. (I had recently marveled at a dog jumping into Lake Washington at a dog park near my house. He did the same thing, chasing after a fetch toy. He was so lean and muscular, that he could actually jump into the relatively shallow water and spring off the pebble-covered lake bottom, arcing out of the water like a dolphin. A month later I saw "NCFOM" and almost shouted with joy/fear in that scene. What a cinematic eye these guys have!!!)

A negative-nelly here.

(No offense, Jim, but in regards to your 2nd, 3rd and 4th paragraph in this entry:) in an otherwise finely-written entry/essay, it's almost as if you had to shoe-horn a swipe at people who only consider NCFOM a finely made film.

Is it such a crime to admire the form of a film but not the content? If form and content must always be interdependent and inseparable, then how does anyone study film in a basic sense? And what would David Bordwell say about people who separate form from content? I don't think he would consider it as much of a problem as you do.

For instance: holistically and ideologically, I think THE PASSION OF THE CHRIST is a problematic movie. But I think it has some great cinematography in it by Caleb Deschanel. Does that mean that I'm extremely conservative Catholic like Mel Gibson? No, not at all.

Also: since George Lucas imitated Leni Reifenstahl's TRIUMPH OF THE WILL in STAR WARS, does that mean that Lucas was implicitly celebrating Nazis like Reifenstahl? Not at all. He was just ironically imitating the style.

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Their eye is amazing. They know exactly what they want you to see and how they want you to see it at every second. For some reason, a moment that sticks out for me is the moment when Moss is scrambling out of his hotel room window, just before Chigurh busts in. As I remember it, at one point the camera is just outside the window as Moss is dropping from sight. At the top of the frame, you see Chigurh's sillouhette come in and fire his gun at the same moment. I could really feel the closeness of that close-call.

Not to mention, later in that scene, seeing the muzzle-flash of Chigurh's gun in the distance, and the bullets (and the sound of them) coming through the windshield. It almost felt like Chigurh was aiming at me.

JE: This was actually sent to me in e-mail hours before I published the post above, so I asked Drew if I could put it up to continue the discussion of "NCFOM":

You have been discussing various reactions and impressions of reviewers and viewers of No Country For Old Men on and off for a while now. I just saw the film myself this weekend, and then read (or reread) some of the reviews on the film. In doing so, I was struck by what impressions and images seem to have stood out in people’s minds so distinctly, that they have actually elaborated or embellishied on what they actually saw. I think this is to the credit of the Coens, in that they enhanced the events in the way that they were filmed and edited, that they created certain illusions in the minds of the viewers, making them feel more than they actually saw. So here are my observations on:

The Illusions of No Country for Old Men

Cattle gun

Everyone viewing the film is struck by the eccentricity and unique terror of the Cattle Gun. But if you actually watch the film, he only actually kills one person with it, at the beginning of the film. And this is only because he’s just escaped from a police station, and it’s the only weapon he has at that moment What he really uses it for, is to blow out the locks on doors. Every he kills every other person using a shotgun with a huge silencer on it. When you think about it, using the cattle gun as a regular weapon would be awkward and impractical. But the impression it makes at the beginning of the film , and then the continued use on locks, is so indelible that people are taking it as his main weapon.

Amount of blood/Level of violence shown

Reviewers are also commenting on the amount of blood and level of violence in the film. But upon examination, while there is violence, most of what you see is not so much the violence but either the implied violence offscreen or the aftermath of violence. Llewelyn Moss comes upon the dead bodies of a drug shootout, not the shootout itself. When Chigurh kills Woody Harrelson’s character, we see Chigurh pull the trigger, but we only see the back of Harrelson’s chair, in shadow on the edge of the screen, and then a cut to a slowly flowing puddle of blood. We actually see Chigurh pull the shower curtain closed before shooting him out of our sight. And in one of the most chilling scenes, after an unbearably suspenseful conversation between Chigurh and Carla Jean, we don’t see him killing her at all. We only see him coming out of her house, then stopping on the porch to check the soles of his shoes for blood.

All these are elements of the artistry of the storytelling of the Coens. They initially give us explicit scenes of horrific murders, one using a kind of terror weapon, to establish the evil of the terrifying Chigurh, but then steadily show us less and less of what he does, only implying it and leaving it to our terrified imaginations to fill in the gaps. And what you imagine is always more terrifying than the reality.

John: I was trying to be more specific than that (as I wrote in a previous comment). I set this up by saying that critics who'd loved the movie and who were left cold by in had described it as "perfect." (I happen to think Roger Ebert, who was among the former, did a fine job of explaining exactly what he meant by that.)

The tone of many of these reviews was to imply that, somehow, expert cinematic craftsmanship is suspect or shallow or artificial or aesthetically invalid. It's this dismissive attitude toward craft that I was trying to address. It's something that certain critics have been saying about the Coens' work for 21 years, and (as I've written in previous posts) I wanted to put that in perspective. Their craftsmanship -- their mastery of technique, their personal style -- is essential to their artistry, and I think what they're actually doing is too often overlooked. As I keep saying: You can like it or not like it, but at least take the trouble to notice it.

I'm not sure I buy the idea that much of the violence was illusory. Apart from the cattle gun murder, there is the graphic shooting of the men in the desert, the graphic death of two of the men in the motel room, the graphic death of Stephen Root's character, and, most of all, the graphic death of the man in the truck. Nothing illusory about any of those.

Speaking of dead dogs: the woman behind me made a quiet "aww" at the first image of the dead dog, but was silent for all the dead (and dying) people.

There is one shot in the movie that I can't figure out: When Moss is looking at the dead guy sitting under the shade trees (he's tracked there from the scene of the drug deal), the camera all of a sudden swoops back across the grass really, really fast then cuts to Moss again. It happens so fast I'm still not sure I actually saw this. It almost feels out of place in the movie. Did I imagine this? Can anyone explain it?

Thanks.

JE: This is another thought-provoking e-mail I received before posting the above, but did not read in its entirety until now.

From Michael Calia:

I've seen "No Country" twice now, with two different audiences. The first was at an arthouse theater in Montclair, NJ, the second at a multiplex theater in Clifton, NJ. The first time around, the audience responded to the cut to black as if they had been roused from a dream ("And then I woke up.") If there was any grumbling about it, I didn't hear it. In fact, I heard some people outside discussing the movie compared with the book, perhaps trying to make sense of it. The second time was a mostly different story. For me, it was just as gripping as the first time, although I was taking more notice of the mise en scene, the lighting, etc. The audience was dead still the whole time, which I appreciated, but at the end, I heard one member yell "Okay?!?" and another yell "I want my $20 back!" At first I was outraged: How could these fools say such things? Weren't they paying attention? And furthermore, how rude of them? There were people who enjoyed it and didn't seem to have any problems with the ending, a sizable group stayed until the credits finished. But the ignorant loudmouths got me thinking: What kind of movie (and as an extension, ending) were they expecting?

Was it the ad campaign's fault? Did it drum up interest among the bloodthirsty action-movie crowd under false pretenses? Maybe, but I think it's more about audience expectation. In a way, audience members who expect a bloody, satisfying conclusion are a lot like Llewellen, who looks for the "ultimo hombre" at the beginning, asks whether Chigurh is "the ultimate badass," and promises a violent confrontation with Chigurh. But he doesn't get his wish, and neither does that "macho" portion of the audience, so willing to see themselves as a Llewellen: tough, smart, resourceful, stubborn, protective. They want to be Gary Cooper in "High Noon" (no wonder this country "elected" George Bush twice). Instead, they're left realizing that this enemy is not like before, not like the "outlaws" of American romantic myth.

Chigurh is a killer who at once sees himself an agent of history and its subject ("The coin and I got here the same way.") He has a code, too, but one that doesn't make sense to the average American or, for that matter, average American moviegoer. So when Carla Jean refuses to play by Chigurh's rules, he becomes visibly offended at having to make the choice himself. I'm sure the audience felt the same way when they didn't get to see Llewellen's violent end at the hands of the Mexicans. If they had the chance to make it happen their way, they'd rewind it and make sure it happens the way they want to, like the home invaders in "Funny Games."

"No Country", then, suggests a terrible truth about America, that it's not what it seems or what we want it to be. Americans want to be the scrappy, righteous underdogs: the Brooklyn Dodgers or the 1969 Jets. But rather we're the Yankees or the current incarnation of the New England Patriots: a remorseless machine bent on winning at all costs, no matter who stands in our way. We are no longer the 13 colonies who rose against an empire; we are imperialist occupiers. We ordain ourselves as free to spread our ways of life, commerce and faith. We see ourselves as above the world. We think we're Llewellen Moss, but we're really Anton Chigurh.

Some other notes on seeing "No Country" a second time (I know you're working on something right now, but I figured I'd throw in my two cents):

Red light, green light: The transponder in the satchel has a red light, Chigurh's detector has a green light. Later on, during the chase/shootout in the streets, Moss looks back through the pickup's window and sees a red light before Chigurh shoots. And of course, when Chigurh is injured in the accident toward the end, he has a green light.

"It's sure made an impression on me:" The movie is full of impressions: the scuff marks on the floor of the police station, the indentation from the shot-out lock at Llewellen's trailer, the various wounds and injuries, various bloodstains throughout, the clouds looming over the landscape, Bell's and Chigurh's reflection on the television screen.

Money as an instrument of fate, not a maguffin: Roger Ebert calls the satchel of money a maguffin. I disagree. While it does set the plot in motion, this movie is more about plot, and there are other moments that indicate the presence of money is intertwined with fate: Chigurh's coin tosses and the way he uses coins to open the vents, searching for the money. Other characters see the money as an object of their greed; Chigurh sees it as his purpose and as a tool.

Jim,

These are just a few of my abbreviated responses to your posting here, which I go into more detail on my own blog. I pretty much agree with everything you've written, except for...

To say that Chigurh isn’t a character is faulty. It’s like saying the film is beautiful while dismissing the rest of it - you can’t separate the two. It’s like saying that because Randle Patrick McMurphy, Nicholson’s role in “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest”, represents something, he can’t be a character. The two, in the best films, go hand in hand. Just because Chigurh doesn’t act with the same motivations of other movie killers, what you exemplify with ”primal psycho-sexual needs” doesn’t mean he isn’t a character, because he represents something, or because he doesn’t have an arch, well, it’s insane to not call him a character.

He has a set of subtle reactions that break from his code throughout the film, which I go into more detail...at my blog, but which I'll avoid going into here.

I would go even so far as to describe Chigurh in the way I’m about to. There are two types of main characters I learned in my screen writing class back in college, the kind whose ideals change throughout the film to match the world around them or those who hold firmly to their ideals, who stays strong and firm and who fight against the unchangeable world around them. With this in mind it’s easy to see Chigurh as the main character. And he’s putting up a pretty good fight to get people to listen to him, but when you go looking for death, it’s bound to notice. As Brolin does when he enters back into what seems to be hell to give water to a dying man. A moment of charity spells his demise.

Then you move on and leave that final line, “That’s vanity,” sitting untouched, as if when it’s said, nothing is meant by it, and to me it’s one of the most important lines in the film, especially when taken into context with the rest of Ellis’ speech, funny that it should come from the one character who looks like he’s been fighting off death for decades. Ellis is making a comparison between the violence and lack of safety that was then, when the “old timers” were around, and the violence that is now, that Chigurh represents. When he says “That’s vanity,” he turns the narrator’s, or Ed Tom’s, opinion on its head.

So, perhaps when Moss took the shotgun slug to the arm, he was already dead. He was avoiding death from the get go. Moss crosses the river Styx, running from death, as the dog chases him. Maybe the whole cat and mouse game between Moss and Chigurh is the chess game that Bergman personified in “The Seventh Seal”. In that case Chigurh isn’t even a bad guy, he is simply death doing his job, he’s “Death on a Pale Horse” by Piers Anthony. He’s something only the vain fear, those that think either death has made it harder for them alone (Ed Tom) or those that think they can avoid it or fight it or pretend it doesn’t exist (Moss has a chance to save his wife but his vanity keeps him from sacrificing himself to keep her alive, or when he proclaims, ”There ain’t no devil” to the Mexican drug runner, whose asking for water) or bargain with it or contain it (Carson Wells, Woody Harrelson’s character), and even Chigurh, who believes he is above the inevitability of death almost and unexpectedly meets his demise. And that is the brilliance of the film, in the final few scenes the Coen’s very subtly flip the themes we’ve been following on their heads. First when Chigurh meets a flip of the coin, and when Ed Tom is told, “That’s vanity.”

It turns out that perhaps Ed Tom is the "old-timer" that doesn't know how to deal with what's come.

Liz: I don't recall that moment you describe. Have to look for it next time. Could Moss have been simply looking around in response to a noise he heard or a presence he thought he sensed? (I do recall this sequence being set up with look/see shots.)

But, wow, do I love those two trees -- they way they stand out as the only sources of shade in this barren, sun-baked landscape. For some reason I can't quite articulate at the moment, I love that there are two (like the coin toss, or the two motel room doors). In this case, it seems to offer the illusion of choice, but no real choice at all. The guy could have died under either tree.

Philip: I appreciate your thoughts and close observations of the movie.

Perhaps there's an incomplete thought here (re: Chigurh as "not a character"), but I hope the rest of the sentence and paragraph (and the next paragraph) provides the context and elaboration I intended, which is to say that he's not on the same footing as the rest of the characters. He's not "magic" or "supernatural," but he haunts the other characters like a shadow. I was building on what I had previously written about how Chigurh is not provided with "serial killer" motivations, in the sense that we don't get any psychological explanation for how he got this way or why he does what he does. All we know is that he does it. ("You don't understand," Wells says.) As Hannibal Lecter did say about "Buffalo Bill": the killing is incidental -- to the single-minded pursuit of his goal. He eliminates what gets in his way, and anyone who can identify him. (Kinda preserves his mystery and enlarges his legend that way.)

I think your River Styx image is absolutely what the film intends to evoke. Moss is definitely chasing death, and he knows it -- which is made explicit when he tells Carla Jean he'll tell his dead mother himself that he loves her. And again, when Sheriff Bell tells Carla Jean that whoever is after Moss will not give up, and she says he won't, either. In that sense it really is a "death match" like the chess game in "The Seventh Seal" (I love that comparison).

As for "That's vanity" -- well, your last sentence sums it up. That's what I mean when I describe the kitchen setting of the retired man who recounts his dreams of his father (when he's now older than his father ever was), in contrast to the apprehensive man reminiscing about the "old timers" in the opening monologue. A lot more can be said about Ellis's speech, but I felt others had already dealt with that pretty well, so I summarized it by saying Ellis is "trying to shake him loose from his nostalgia." Nostalgia is a form of vanity, by definition -- a romanticization of the past in relationship to yourself. Ellis tells Ed Tom how his uncle really died, to show him the truth: that "this country is hard on people," that violence is the same as it ever was, that what he's got "ain't nothin new." (If he were speaking today's pop culture language he would have said: "It's not all about you.") The title says it: "No Country for Old Men." By the end, Ed Tom knows he's one of 'em. He's had his moment of reckoning -- at the motel -- and that's enough for him. So, I wasn't trying to leave that hanging; just thought it was pretty well-covered territory.

You've brought up a lot more to think about. I'll read your full post as soon as I can!

Phillip, I really liked your post but one of us is mistaken. I thought Moss told the Mexican there are no wolves (lobos) rather than diablos. Pretty important distinction, though both make sense. And of course there was one or the other but is Chigurh a wolf or a devil? Natural or supernatural? Many of the posts regard him as death (supernatural) which helps make the case for connecting the movie to Iraq but thinking of him as a wolf (natural) preying on feeble men lost in a wilderness of money and drugs, neither of which he shows any interest in, connects the movie to more local issues, including environmental ones. I think both explanations work fine which is one more piece of evidence for the Coens' genius. Or McCarthy's, of course, I haven't read him, yet.

On other matters: Quarters are for flipping and dimes are for screwing. This is not news.

I agree with Jim about Bell's Mexican remark. But it was beyond sarcastic. He seemed to be saying: "You think the normal rules apply here?" (plus, regarding wolves...I'm no Marlon Perkins but maybe coyotes, simple scavengers, would avoid the work of wolves.)

Great continued discussion. Have to chime in again on the Room Next Door speculations, as I just returned from my second viewing.

Without question, Chigurh is IN the room Bell enters at the end. Yes, the police tape is stretched across two hotel doors, but only the door on the left is missing a deadbolt. When Bell approaches the door, he stares hard into the opening in the door, contemplating whether he wants to play his chips. You have that screen capture in your analysis. Then we see Chigurh. He’s standing in the dark somewhere, but at first it’s hard to tell quite where. But this is followed by a reverse shot of the empty space where the deadbolt should be: darkness on the frame with light shining through the hole. The only one who could see this view is Chigurh. So he has to be in the room.

Further evidence that Chigurh is in the room is the close-up on the latched window. This shot explicitly says “No, he didn’t slip out the back.” Now, could he have slipped through the air vent? In theory, yes. But, no. Never mind if he could fit, he wouldn’t have had enough time to wiggle his way through. More importantly though, that’s not Chigurh’s style.

Over and over we see Chigurh’s strange code: Llewelyn’s wife meets her fate at the end even though Chigurh has his money, per the code. Bell is spared, per the code. But the code isn’t worth much if he’s in the other room.

This might seem like nitpicking, but this whole conversation began related to the idea that shots have meaning. Therefore we must assume that the reverse shot of the empty space where the deadbolt should be (Chigurh’s view) and the close-up of the latched window are there for a reason.

So where is Chigurh? Well, he doesn’t stay behind the door, because there’s a split second view of that space as Bell enters the room. But there are unexplored dark corners of that room where Chigurh COULD be until Bell enters the bathroom, allowing Chigurh time enough to escape long before Bell comes to sit on the bed. Here’s where we don’t really need to know.

Also, Jim, about the previous motel incident: I don’t think Chigurh takes the “adjacent” room then either. It’s easy to assume that because Llewelyn wants a connecting room (for obvious reasons) and looks at the map. But remember that Chigurh looks at a map because he wants to enter a room with the same LAYOUT as Llewelyn’s room. Remember: he does a practice run, opening the door and deciding where the opposition might be. Most adjoining rooms ‘reflect’ one another. So this would suggest there’s at least one empty room between Llewelyn’s and the one that Chigurh rents.

So now back to the motel at the end: It could be argued, I guess, that Chigurh is in the next room and hasn’t left the scene yet. But why would he go into the neighboring unit, which would have already been secured by police tape, to begin with? What would be the motivation? And if he did enter that room, wouldn’t he blow the deadbolt out of that door, too? Chigurh already knows which room contains the money and where it will be. He just needs to fetch it.

Okay, forgive the rambling on this issue. But, again, I think the power of Chigurh’s ‘pardon’ of Bell is tied to their proximity. If he’s in another room -- even the room next door -- he just avoids conflict. If he’s in the same room he’s like the lion at the circus that could bite down on the tamer’s head, but chooses not to. Much different.

Thanks again for the original analysis and to everyone else for the continued comments. This movie is becoming more special to me just because of the conversation about it.

Ah, this is exciting. The type of conversation I love, especially when I'm sitting in a coffe shop street side Hollywood and I have a homeless guy telling me "waste not, want not" and talking about his "marijuana stick..." with cars zipping past -- a perfect evening perhaps.

Jim, I unfortunatley haven't had the time to read other blogs or reviews until I read yours this morning and instead of doing what I should have been, devised a response. So the repition you were trying to avoid was lost on me. The great thing about this film is that it's so well written, you can pick it apart line by line and image by image, talking about each with equal value and weight. I haven't seen "There Will Be Blood" yet, but thus far "No Country" is my favorite film this year and last year.

I look forward to your further comments, but now fully understand where you were coming from. I did like the nostalgia comment by the way.

I think one thing that hasn't been spoken of is that Moss is a smart guy, capable. He manages to avoid his fate a lot longer than most people would and it isn't this personification of death that finally gets him. He might very well have gotten away if it hadn't been for his Mother in Law, perhaps another "old-timer" that can no longer tell the difference between sincerity and manipulation. What are the lot of us looking for a quick road to fortune supposed to do?

Dane, that's interesting. I've seen it twice (and probably will a third), but I remember Moss telling...wait...hmmm... somehow I've gotten it mixed up perhaps. In my head. I think you're right. I imagined something, that Moss had said "devil" in english. But he does say "lobos" doesn't he. I'll have to go make a correction on my own post. Thank you for that. I don't take notes during movies, maybe I should. And I don't know Spanish all that well.

Dane, Jim

Another sample from a new post.

There is a lot of talk about wolves not having come to the site of the drug deal, or fear of coming to the drug deal. I wonder if there's something written somewhere about wolves relationship with death...ah, the joy of internet...

"The word "wolf" itself has a very negative meaning: The Swedish and Norwegian term for wolf is varg, in Icelandic vargr, which not only means wolf but also is used for a wicked person. The Gothic word vargs (warg in Old High German, warc in Middle High German, verag in Anglo-Saxon) stands for murderer, strangler, outlaw, and evil spirit. The verdict "thou art a warg" declared the culprit an outlaw. Those people were banished forever from human society and were forced to live in the wild."

The wolf it seems has a very negative standing in mythology from blowing down the three pigs houses to having demonic origins. The whole write up I ran across about the mythology of wolves can be found here... It would seem that when Moss says "There ain't no wolves", he very easily could have in an ominous way and in a way he didn't realize he was doing, talking about Chigurh, or in a stretch...the devil. Ed Tom and his deputy take note that wolves haven't come, but perhaps it did, in a stretch, in the form of Chigurh. But maybe it isn't so much a stretch. Jim, you speak of Chigurh working on a mythological level, something I whole heartedly agree with. So maybe it's not so much of a stretch.

Jim - as I think about the scene at the shade trees, I'm thinking the shot I'm talking about is what Moss sees as he lowers his binoculars - just a swooping image of grass moving back toward him. But that shot, in this film, doesn't make a lot of sense to me.

Hilts - your analysis of the shots in the sequence at the last hotel is what I was thinking. They indicate that Chigurh is in the room that Bell walks into. What happens once Bell walks in (how does Chigurh get out?) -- well that's one of those questions that we'll never know the answer to.

When you were quoting the last scene as Jones talks about the two dreams (specifically the first dream) I think the script you referenced online was off from the final release. You quote him about the first dream " first one I don't remember so well but it was about money and I think I lost it." Well I remember him saying in just about as many words that he met his dad in town for money (or his dad met him in town to give him money) and that he thinks he lost it. The distinction seems important for interpretation at least for the first dream but I may have it wrong as well.

When you were quoting the last scene as Jones talks about the two dreams (specifically the first dream) I think the script you referenced online was off from the final release. You quote him about the first dream " first one I don't remember so well but it was about money and I think I lost it." Well I remember him saying in just about as many words that he met his dad in town for money (or his dad met him in town to give him money) and that he thinks he lost it. The distinction seems important for interpretation at least for the first dream but I may have it wrong as well.

Jim, what do you think the Coens would make of all this analysis?

Chigurh doesn't kill Bell because Bell hasn't "inconvenienced" him, or confronted him, or seen him to identify later. Remember: "you might even say he has principles."

Also, Chigurh uses the cattle gun twice: once on the motorist and once on the clerk at the motel. Though the motel murder isn't shown on film, it is explained (afterward) in the book.

Dane, I agree with you about what quarters and dimes are for; I was just addressing the notion that Chigurh may have flipped the dime to decide Bell's fate. I don't think he did: first, he's used quarters for that and a dime for opening the vent, and second, he forces the clerk to call it and is annoyed when Carla won't. And also there's his line earlier in the film, "I can't call it for you; it wouldn't be fair." I think the dime was there just as a tool to open the vent, and he probably just left it there because it's only ten cents and he doesn't expect to need to open any more vents for awhile.