No Country, under the skin
UPDATED 03/03/08: The author of the original letter expands his thoughts:
We received this very fine letter to the editor yesterday at RogerEbert.com. It's from Nicholas Rizzo and it offers a deeply felt understanding of "No Country for Old Men" (and one I happen to share). The "Country" of the movie's title is America, and the West, but it's also age, and death:
I've just seen “No Country for Old Men”. And I'm wondering about something. I'm at a crossroads in my life. And for the first time I’m feeling left out. I'm 39, about to turn 40. I work as a physician, and my practice is in a transition due to forces beyond my control. After hours I coach a high school wrestling team and that has to go by the wayside as our head coach is finally stepping down and I've injured my neck. So my coaching days may be over. I'm divorced, have some gray hairs, and am essentially in between the young daters and the "available divorcees" in age -- kind of in a relationship limbo. Admittedly, I'm facing my own mortality on several fronts. And this movie hit home for me because of this. But after that hit, there was something more that I found, and I’ll cover that at the end of this writing.
Regarding your review, I agree with it entirely. It's an incredible film, and in all the aspects you mention. Except, you didn't mention the point of the film, at least as I see it. The first clue to it lies in its title, which is a double entendre. That is, "country" as in place to seek a safe place to be, and also "country" referring to the U.S.A. and our way of life. The latter relates obviously to our society's neglect of older generations, as the younger ones just pass us by. But that's another conversation.
This film is expertly crafted in three layers. The first layer is the literal one, where there is a cop chasing a killer chasing a victim. The real treasures of this film lie in its abundant symbolism and meanings – all on a secondary level. The third level may only be my invention, but I like it.
I think this movie is not about Moss or Chiguhr. But rather about Ed the Sheriff and his coming to terms with his retirement, especially as it functions as a herald of his mortality. Put another way, Ed is coming to terms that the “living” part of his life is over. His usefulness to society has ended. A man is often defined by his work, and his effectiveness in that work. How poignant were the descriptions of the dreams at the end of the film. Additionally, Ed retires because he's "outmatched". By who? Today's society’s killers? The Reaper? I think both here. And I think it relates back to the double meaning of the title. In contrast, and told in parallel to Ed in the film, was Moss – he was representative of people trying to outrun their own mortality. Especially as illustrated by when Chiguhr said to Moss’ widow "he tried to save himself by using you." This is a key usage of "save himself". The killer Anton Chighur was illustrative of the Grim Reaper. Guy wore all black, no one could stop him, and he carried a black weapon with a silver end to it not unlike a scythe. Not even the car crash at the end could kill him. He even had a 1960's haircut like he never aged. He was referred to as a ghost. His name was even ambiguous, sometimes pronounced like “sugar” (ah, sweet slumber) and at other times like “chigger” (an annoying bug you can’t seem to catch but is always there.) This ambiguity is key here, and is in stark contrast to the stark stereotypes attached to the Mexican drug runners in the film. (I sometimes wonder if our society views multi-racial people as the most beautiful because, if we cannot determine which racial group they belong to, no racial stereotypes are attached and then we see their beauty purely and unencumbered.) I don't think this movie was so much about an ultimate evil so much as our ultimate ending. But rather about our ultimate aging, decline in usefulness whether true or not or simply relative to the youth of any generation. The ultimate finality of our time. Its categorical nature is represented by Chigurh’s "code of ethics" that can't be broken. A person asking “You don’t have to do this” is their bargaining with the finality of their own death... not with Chigurh. Indeed, bargaining is a well-described phase of the dying or loss process. Chigurh is also representative of the Reaper in the most important of ways. To me, the most intriguing thing about the Reaper is that he walks among us. He doesn’t kill some of us, he doesn’t even look at some of us, and is only visible to those he’s about to take. So there are four types of interactions he has with people. The first is with those he’s about to take. Notable in the film is that those he’s there to kill with individual intent he kills with the rifle and silencer – his scythe, a device that exists only for the purpose of killing humans. The second group of people he encounters consists of the ones that simply get in his way. Those people are no different than the deadbolt on a door obstructing his path… so he uses the cattle air gun to clear the way – not the rifle. Using the cattle air gun may even be a reference to people as no more than cattle, and Reaper is in fact an agricultural term. The third group contains the ones he lets call the coin flip. These are people not in his way, are not on his “list” per se, but are peripherally related somehow to his goal/adventure. So why the coin? Obviously the coin represents the fates. But why does the Reaper need a coin? I think it’s because he’s the Reaper and nothing else. For example, he has rules he has to follow. They are referred to as his “code” in the movie, but I doubt they are rules he made up. Rather, they would be made up by God or gods, and he has to follow them. He fulfills his job’s duties, but I don’t think the Reaper created his job. In the film, he doesn’t need to kill the clerk at the store. He doesn’t need to kill Moss’ widow. So, because they are not on his hit list, and they are not in his way, it’s really not his job to determine if they get to live or die. As the Reaper, he just does the collecting once that determination is made. For me, the best part of this was when Chigurh brings out the coin for Moss’ widow, and she asks about it. He mentions that it’s a quarter. The first thing I noted was that he states that it got there the same way as he did. So, he’s not referring to the coin itself, but rather the flipping of the coin – the fate it represents, and that his code/rules are not his. The second thing I noted was a less common usage of the word “quarter” defined as “mercy, indulgence, or clemency especially when given to an enemy.” As an example of usage, the phrase “give no quarter” is similar to “show no mercy.” So a favorable coin flip is Fate (not Chigurh/Reaper) showing clemency or mercy. The fourth group of people consists of those that are not on his list, are not in his way, and are not even tangential to his purpose… the ones he walks among but doesn’t touch. And this is referenced a few times. This relates back to my point about one of the most intriguing things about the Reaper is that he walks among but does so unseen. So in the instances of the accountant and the later on the kids who happen to see him but aren’t necessarily supposed to, the deciding factor is whether he was seen or not. The subtle point about the kids is that as they are minors who wouldn’t know any better, he specifically tells them “you didn’t see me” as a bit of parental command, whereas he asked the accountant as a knowing adult “did you see me?” Interestingly, Sheriff Ed falls into this group as he fails to see Chigurh in the motel room at the end of the film. And, while we initially see Chigurh in the Motel room, he seems to vanish and we as the audience fail to see him also. In an eerie way, the last shot of that scene( where our viewpoint is one looking out at Ed’s silhouette against the light from the door) was like Chigurh looking out at us from the screen, telling us he’s there but it’s not our turn yet. So, why does this guy who represents the Reaper care about the money? Obviously, this guy has the wherewithal to steal or make any kind of money he wants. And why does he care about this money? I don’t think he really does, so much as he cares about what it represents. When people think of “millions” of dollars, winning the lottery for example, they think of life without worries… endless possibilities, etc. Another shot at life, if you will. So I think it represents the illusion of immortality we often chase. For example, people never win the lottery and think “I won, I’m going to die now” – they think the exact opposite along the lines “the world is my oyster”. And this is illustrated when Moss is in the Mexican hospital, calls Carson and gets Chigurh on the phone, and Chigurh states “you know how this is going to end”. He’s telling Moss that someday he has to die. Moss doesn’t accept it even at the expense of his wife. (This is the only contrast between Moss and Ed… Moss not only doesn’t accept his mortality but he denies it. Ed realizes it, struggles with it, and then accepts it.) Chigurh, knowing he’s not “human” and that no human can stop him from doing his job never shows any uncertainty or fear. So I wonder if he’s not so much after the money per se, so much as he’s not allowing others to have it. He shows no worry or need for it, no materialism, etc. So not only does he escort people across the River Styx, he also guards it. The Woody Harrelson character bears quick mention here. Here was a guy hired to “outwit death”. At the end, I think he knew he couldn’t, even though he tried to sell his skills as such. He was also trying to get the 2 million dollar ride to immortality. I think it was no coincidence that an actor who made his career playing a young comedic naive barkeep from the country was cast in this role. Ed follows in his father’s footsteps, and then he realizes he’s blinked. He did get his job well, but it’s passed him by. These realizations sometimes occur over a cup of coffee, and sometimes in company – a reflection of thought… maybe the reflection in the TV is just that… reflecting. This film is not a study of the ultimate evil, but rather the inevitability of our mortality, and as long as we delude ourselves into thinking 1. we are as useful as our prime, or 2. we can beat our mortality we view that mortality as something weevil when it’s not. It just is. The most poignant thing for me of the film though, illustrating this point, I think, was that the Coen brothers. ended this film so well. First, the end came abruptly without warning. It just cut from Tommy Lee Jones speaking to blackness. The screen said "End Credits" and it stayed there for a long, long time. And then never showed any credits. If you think about the roots of those words... Credit comes from Credulous... i.e., believe. So, I think it lends itself to the conclusion "End Belief", and its message is "Believe in your End -- it's coming and there's nothing you can do about it. There's no country for you." It could have just as well said “Credit the End”. More importantly done was the third layer of communicating this message. The first level was literal -- the Moss/Chigurh chase was illustration. The second level was the story of Sheriff Ed and his approaching retirement – that communicates it via empathy. The third, and I think most creative level is via audience experience. Yes, the third level of meaning here is us -- this movie is experiential. It was this aspect that led me to look upon my own life and led to this writing. This layer is best illustrated by the above point about the audience not seeing Chigurh in the motel at the end is really Chigurh looking at the audience and not being seen, and by the effect the Coen brothers achieved in the theater logistically and its impact on the audience. Think about the following environment during the last few minutes of the film and the end credits: Tommy Lee Jones is abruptly taken away. The screen is black except for two single syllable words. The blackness of the screen contributes to the blackness of the entire theater. One of those words is “End”. It stays there for a long time – much longer than expected and you are just left sitting there in the blackness. The icing on the cake is hearing maracas shaking from left to right, starting in the rear surround speakers and then moving to the front and then stopping – as would Chigurh’s footsteps coming up behind you, getting louder and louder, and without seeing him. Missed this? Play the last ten minutes of the film in a darkened room, be sure the surround sound is on, and experience it again. What a perfect “Ending.” So how does this relate to us as an audience now, after the film is over? Here’s how I see it. Tommy Lee Jones retires because he’s at retirement age (and that is not necessarily 65). Others in the film met their end. But we haven’t. Me, well, I blinked. The last ten years of my life seem like just a few moments. Granted, the past ten years working with the kids on this wrestling team, being there with my patients as they got ill, got better, lived and died, working as a professional entertainer in earlier years, etc., has been a wild ride. I feel incredibly fortunate to have lived as much as I have – probably more than most at my age. Ed is realizing that we weren’t designed to function past our prime. In fact, most great achievements by society’s geniuses occurred when they were in their twenties. How often do we re-live our lives and reflect on the good times we had in our youth and early adulthood, and then just “accept” that those times are gone and just amble through our daily work? We often miss out on our dreams by getting caught up with life all the while forgetting to live. Or, our dreams really weren’t what we wanted, or if it was, it’s simply over now. So, to the degree that his life is over, Ed is a tragic character. But not as tragic as Moss because he never got it at all, and died missing out on his life never having really lived. Ed got it, but at the time of his retirement. He takes a moment (more than once in the film) to reflect over a cup of coffee. There’s lots of “reflection” symbolism in the film and I’ll leave that to other reviewers. But I’d like to add that “reflection” here be noted as a verb for us, and not just as something seen in a camera shot. I’d like to think that its these realizations that Ed came to, and is referenced by the last lines of the film when he states “Then I woke up.” First, that he’s 20 years older than his father ever was and realizes that he has another chance to do something “living”, albeit different from what he thought it would be and now in the context of retirement. Second, that he “can’t stop what’s coming” and accepts his mortality (even his being “outmatched” in his previous job capacity), and then can live actually connected to reality instead of pursuing a 2 million dollar suitcase that you’ll never get. Giving up the myth that we could ever get a 2 million dollar suitcase of immortality allows to actually start living. As long we don’t, we are not living in the moment, we are out of touch with the “rhythm of life”, getting caught up in the “drone of life” and then we lose a decade in a blink – like I just did. Good art always gives us something – it makes us richer than we were before experiencing it. In the case of “No Country for Old Men”, we get an extremely well-crafted adventure, and the message of “don’t blink”. So, there’s Moss, who denies, tries to cheat death and die trying, or Ed who ultimately accepts death as a part of life, “wakes up” and finally has a shot at “being a part of this world”, and we as the audience -- we get the message Ed got but are fortunate enough to “wake up” now instead of on the eve of our retirement. I’m taking a step back. I’m evaluating which dreams I’ve achieved, which ones are no longer dreams, and creating new ones. Putting it another way, “there is no country (haven) for those who try to outwit death” like Moss and Wells. And maybe more properly stated “this isn’t a great country (U.S.A.) for aged men.” But for us, if we accept our mortality now, if we know this life will end then we can savor every moment. If we can wake up now (and see if we are living trying to outrun death and then stop it), there’s no law that says we have to act old… at least until we’re really are. Don’t blink… Chigurh’s coming for ya’.
Your thoughts?
Comments
Very interesting. As someone who didn't like the film nearly as much as others, this interpretation makes a lot of sense to me and enhances the picture greatly.
That being said, I have a little bit of a hard time believing that this entire movie, and all the stuff about the money, Anton, everything, is really all a ploy, if you will, to get Ed to realize what he does. I agree that that could definitely be part of it.
I know the writer of this letter didn't necessarily say this was THE interpretation, or that No Country only has one theme. So I like this idea, so long as it's not the only "theme" of the film.
Posted by: pacheco | February 26, 2008 12:32 PM
It's a very good, very insightful letter. I remember seeing NCFOM and thinking it wasn't nearly so much about causality, the central topic of a lot of talk about the film, and much more so about inevitability. I love how the film presents a tangible world that we live, work, and dream in...beautiful beyond measure, but at best indifferent to us, usually hostile, and eventually, inevitably, one that will kill us.
I do think it's not quite right to say it centers on Bell's feelings of becoming less useful, but more so that he is realizing that he was useless his whole life without being aware of it fully. His fight against the darkness is futile and he knows it now. There's a certain point at which your raging against the light propels you that much faster towards it. Nearly all of the characters in NCFOM exist in that space, but they aren't aware of it in the same way as Bell.
Posted by: NObodyNOWHERE | February 26, 2008 12:55 PM
Great insight. Yet another example of the depths a great movie can reveal to different people.
I also see the film very much as Ed-Tom Bell's story, inasmuch as the Chigurh-Llewellin story is one of his stories, except this one is playing out right now. Although, I must say, being 21 years old, mortality did not strike me as being the overriding theme, but the nature of people, and while the film's view of that is undeniably nihilistic, what makes the film great, IMO, is the optimism found in the final dream. We're not in this alone. And as vane as it might be to think we are pretty good, it is also vanity to think that we are the only sane and moral ones in this decayed world.
Posted by: John Porath | February 26, 2008 12:58 PM
That is a lovely letter. The previous blog entry had a response that referred to NCFOM as a re-make of Raising Arizona, and I think those movies should be viewed back to back (serious one first, comedy second!). It is remarkable to me that they could be presented with a novel that echoed there own film so clearly, and darkly. The difference is the Tommy Lee Jones character, acting as our representative in the film. The two films have a common theme - committing an act that everyone knows is wrong, an unnatural act, resulting in an unnatural vengeance (Chighurh, or the Lone Biker of the Apocalypse) being released upon you and your family. But the comedy is possible when told from the protagonist's (H.I.'s) point of view. We identify with H.I., and we root for him despite the crime. Seen through the eyes of the old sheriff, there's nothing funny about the inevitable end of such a story.
I guess it's no secret that the advantage of youth is the feeling of immortality, that there is more ahead than behind. I look forward to the Coen brothers' next comedy.
Posted by: mostofusaredaves | February 26, 2008 01:05 PM
This sums up perfectly what I've always thought the underlying theme of the movie is. On the surface "country" can refer to the hard-earthed west, or the rise of violence that was going to start following drugs up from Central America, or even the job of being a sheriff in that particular place and time. But I think all of those are just metaphors for what Ed Tom is going through personally as he faces his own mortality. And as you've said, the ending of this segues very nicely into McCarthy's The Road, which is about someone even closer to his final moments, wanting to light the way for his son.
Posted by: Liz | February 26, 2008 01:17 PM
To a large extent the passionate viewers' commentaries and interpretation about No Country for Old Men (including your own) has added to my appreciation for the meaning and themes of the movie. Even though I knew from the start the theme is about the inescapable race from Death, the movie itself did not move me that much (except for TLJ's monologue at the end) until I read about other men's reflections on mortality and life. I can sympathize more now than I did before.
I see Llewelyn Moss's journey to escape Death while keeping the money as an illustration of one of the central themes in Taoism/Zen Buddhism -- the illusion of worldly desires and pursuit of wealth and success that consume our lives. Of course I'm not saying Taoism or Buddhism has a monopoly on existentialist themes, but it's why I find it so familiar. There is a classic Chinese fable about a man who, on his way to the national bureaucratic examination (which means success and fortune), has a dream of a lifetime of grand success and misfortune. Upon waking up he realizes the things he is pursuing are all but a dream and abandoned his exam. Moss's mock-thriller journey is no different as he tries to believe that he can take the money and outrun the inevitable end. It seems to be a very Oriental kind of idea.
Again I am struck by how one's own personal situation and history and baggage can affect how one sees and appraises a movie. Just the other day a friend passionately praised There Will Be Blood as I listened with a little uneasiness as I realized that she saw something I didn't. It touched something in her that is very personal to her. No doubt there are objective standards in the craft and depth of thoughts and feelings, and some movies are just bad no matter who watches it. Still these discussions have been a humbling experience for me. For example, the reason why I continue to be haunted by Michael Clayton has a lot to do with my own experience with being a cog in the corporate wheel and ethical issues (not as a lawyer). I have to face the reality that others without the same baggage may be perfectly reasonable to react completely differently to the same movie. It also makes me wonder how much of filmmakers' thoughts and intentions and masterly treatment I have missed in many many other movies just because I'm not "on the same wavelength", so to speak.
Posted by: Jun | February 26, 2008 01:29 PM
There has been much talk about Chigurh as Death, and rightly so, but Mr. Rizzo's excellent article made me think more about Moss from Bell's point of view and I realized he can be seen in the same allegorical sort of way as Everycrook, just another guy thinking if he can just beat the system that one time...
At the same time there is a fatalism to him that, in combination with his somewhat surprising competence for a pawn, may well indicate that he is sort of a stand-in for Bell--that he is somewhat representative of a younger, stronger Bell trying to cheat Death. If he can't do it, what chance do old men have? Like all explanations for this film, this one is far too simple, but it makes sense to me.
Posted by: Dane Walker | February 26, 2008 02:37 PM
I'm happy to read some more support for the idea that Raising Arizona and No Country actually go together nicely in the Coens' oeuvre. mostofusaredaves, you make a great point I hadn't thought of about the narrator of each film (their age and their outlook) being the key difference between comedy and tragedy. I'm teaching a high school film class focusing on directors, and my Coen Bros. unit is coming up (it's suburban Minneapolis, how could we not have a Coen unit?). I'm planning on showing Raising Arizona, Fargo, and No Country, and now I feel less crazy for thinking RA and NC fit together.
Posted by: Tim K. | February 26, 2008 02:54 PM
Other people may have touched upon this slightly before, but I think the issue of inevitability extends to Llewelyn as well as Bell. Early in the film, when talking to his wife back at the trailer after he finds the money, he goes back out to the scene of the crime and essentially tells her he's about to probably do the dumbest thing he's ever done. He knows it and yet he does it anyway. Later on, Chigurh tells him on the phone that he already knows how it's gonna end, that his fate is essentially sealed. Beyond the driving force of death or violence (which I certainly agree is a very central theme of the film), there is this idea of certainty, or a pre-determined fate--the idea of the inevitable. Where Bell becomes resigned to the fact, Llewelyn either runs from it, or foolishly threatens to run through it. All from that early scene with his wife where he knew what he was doing and still couldn't stop it.
Posted by: Jason | February 26, 2008 04:54 PM
I was the guy who suggested the RAISING ARIZONA / NCFOM parallel; glad others thought I didn't have my head up my ass (as others I've suggested this to have)! Consider also that both films end with a dream being narrated - H.I. imagines his future self looking back on a life bursting with children and grandchildren, a vision of a life that leaves a fruitful legacy. Bell, meanwhile, looks the other way: rather than imagining his descendants, he evaluates his life through the eyes of his father, and finds that he falls short. Pretty perfect mirror image, if you ask me, but I bet if you posed the question to the Coens you'd get a blank stare followed by a shrug. "Yeah, I guess; sounds good to me."
Posted by: Dan Erdman | February 26, 2008 09:19 PM
My interpretation was the same as Nicholas Rizzo's: Chigurh is not a personification of generic evil but of Death specifically.
I see NCFOM as an American Seventh Seal (recall Carson's bubonic plague comparison) and Death's apperance as a Serial Killer is a persona ideally suited to the 20th-century, a natural update of his previous incarnations as the medieval Grim Reaper and biblical Angel of Death.
I've discussed this further on my blog, but there is a wonderful misdirection in Bell's opening narration. When he says "I don't know what to make of that" we assume (or I did!) that he's referring to the remorseless evil of a boy who killed a 14-year-old girl, but what he's actually referring to is the boy's attitude toward Death before his execution.
When Bell says he's afraid of going out to meet something he doesn't understand, he even speifies that it's not the immeasurable crime he's afraid of. By process of elimination that means it's Death he doesn't understand, and the rest of the movie contains many clues that Chigurh represents Death.
Carson's words are the most telling. He can't believe that Moss has seen Chigurh and isn't dead, but of course Moss was incorrect: he only saw Chigurh's reflection in a store window and never saw him with his own eyes.
As Chigurh responds to the accountant who asks if he's going to die: "That depends. Do you see me?"
Posted by: Nobody | February 27, 2008 06:59 PM
I agree with Chirurgh representing death
Just wanted to add it also explains the laconic response the kids at the end have towards him. "death" is something that doesn't really exist yet in their young world.
Posted by: Erwin | February 28, 2008 12:25 AM
After seeing the movie I went out and read the book and was struck by how faithful the movie was to the book. So many movies aren't.
I also reached the same conclusion that Rizzo did, that story could really be seen as Bell's more than anyone else's. This is emphasised in the book by the greater use of Bell's first person narrative at different spots throughout the story, rather than just at the introduction, as in the movie. So a Bell-centric reading of the film isn't just interpertation, it's supported by the source material.
Posted by: Matt A | February 28, 2008 08:37 AM
I think Mr. Rizzo has captured a large part of what No Country means to me, though the beauty of the film is that this is but one angle. It's an impossible movie to sum up with just one theme.
I look at the picture as showing the different ways we confront our fate. Ed Tom fears it and shrinks from it. Llewelyn thinks he can outwit it. Carla Jean submits to it, but refuses to let it reduce her to a simple coin toss. She dies knowing she means more than that.
I've said this before elsewhere, but I'm fond of repeating myself so I'll do so here: One of the great pleasures of No Country has been the huge amount of introspective analysis it has inspired in critics and bloggers and blog commenters and the movie-going community in general. It's been going on to a degree since the movie played Cannes, it really picked up when the movie was finally released, it has continued these months before the Oscars and it continues even today.
I don't know how else you could describe a great movie.
Posted by: Craig Kennedy | February 28, 2008 11:16 AM
Beautiful analysis. As good as any other interpretation I've heard. People who think this movie is empty, an excercise in formalism, are only trying to cover for their feelings about how much it hurts and bores them to think every once in a while, as if movies were only delivery systems for chocolate and popcorn and nothing more.
Posted by: Chris | February 28, 2008 05:56 PM
Chigurh and the Zodiac are one in the same, death manifest, relentless, elusive. This letter makes the case brilliantly that Bell is the protagonist -- the movie is told from his point of view and he's the one who changes -- and makes sense of Llewellin's disappearance, which is only vexing if you think he's the movie's hero. In ZODIAC, it's not an aging lawman trying to make sense of death's approach, but collective knowlege, represented by a cop, a reporter and an amateur sleuth. I agree with the RAISING ARIZONA harmonies, but think NO COUNTRY and ZODIAC also make a smashing double bill.
Posted by: Ernest | February 29, 2008 12:21 AM
Matt A: I also read the book after seeing the film and the remarkable thing about the screenplay for me was not only how faithful it was, but how it managed to condense the novel so well, feel like it was 100% Coen and STILL remain true to the source.
Posted by: Craig Kennedy | February 29, 2008 08:30 AM
This update is quite alot to think about. Nicholas certainly does get into the language aspect of the film's dialogue, in addition to the title. One thing I really liked was his reading of Chigurh's four types of interactions with people. Before I saw the film, I had heard about how Chigurh kills his victims with the captive bolt pistol (which was erroneously referred to as "compressed air", but never mind that), which kind of bothered me afterward because it makes him sound like he's attached to one particular weapon. Here Nicholas really gets into the complexity of Chigurh's character--he doesn't kill everyone with the captive bolt pistol, he doesn't give everyone a coin toss, and he doesn't let everyone off with "you didn't see me." I really need to see the film again after reading this analysis.
He does seem to go on too long, though, maybe because the last paragraph is a wall of text. I'm glad he made the original letter much shorter, because it works well in its brevity.
Posted by: Danny | March 3, 2008 10:16 PM
How could you not agree with that? I've always found Ed's retirement almost as the logical progression that Marge Gunderson might take a few years after the events of "Fargo". At the end of the film she just doesn't understand how people can be so evil. It's an incredible moment, one that's reflected by Thom's whole dilemma.
I always felt that and have wanted to write about the timliness of NCFOM. I've wondered that when someone watches this film 20 years from now, will they "get it" like we do? There will be certain aspects they get, death, etc, but will they get how it related to our society as it is now. I watch movies from the past and I know there's something I'm missing. Like "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest". Brilliant. Love it. But how much don't I get because I didn't experience that era. I have no emotional connect to the time, so the movie lacks a certain dimension for me. I think that's how it might feel for some people who stumble upon NCFOM in twenty years.
Posted by: Phillip Kelly | March 9, 2008 09:23 PM
This man writes eloquently because he speaks from his genuine experience. Up to this point i did not realize how "close to home" this movie might hit for some people. Well done indeed.
Posted by: Patrick Roberts | March 11, 2008 05:54 PM
My friend is brilliant.
Posted by: Christine | March 16, 2008 05:04 PM