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| whiskeypriest |
 Posted: Tue May 18, 2010 7:01 pm |
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Location: "It's a Dry Heat."
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bartist wrote: ...they were both laconic Texas types....
Whisky, your longish posting there makes me feel like a laconic type. I know this is just wrong, that you've opened up whole vistas of discussion, but at the moment I feel like you've used up all the oxygen in the room.
I liked your description of Chigurh, in terms of how his physical appearance and wardrobe quirks give us the sense of an otherworldly being....more reptilian perhaps than human. At the outset, I thought there was something a tad comic bookish about him going around killing with a pneumatic bolt gun, but his demeanor eventually kind of sold it to me. |
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| whiskeypriest |
| Posted: Tue May 18, 2010 7:26 pm |
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Part Five: Structure
There WILL be blood….
We open with a scene of intense violence, the most gruesome in the movie: Chigurh sneaks up behind a telephoning deputy and kills him in a bloody, graphic scene. We see and hear the struggle, the scratching of the boots on the floor, the gurgling deputy; we see the blood spurting from the severed carotid, and Chigurh looks away from the final agony with an expression of… well, what, exactly? It almost appears to be sexual satisfaction.
A brutal scene. But note that at the end of the movie, the deaths of the three characters we have gotten to know, to various degrees: Carson Wells, Llewellyn Moss, and Carla Jean Moss. Wells’s death is filmed from behind, with him off to the right – we only see his forearm and hand on the chair when Chigurh kills him. We do not see Moss’s death either: Bell comes upon his dead body, shot in the chest, in the doorway of his motel room, after he has been killed. And Carla Jean is killed completely off camera – her death is surmised from what we know of Chigurh – including him checking his boots for blood stains. The movie draws away from the bloodiness of its tale at a time when the audience expects the movie to draw closer – draws away, just as Bell draws away from his duties as a sheriff and heads off towards an uneasy retirement.
Note that Moss’s death has an echo of the Colossal Goat Fuck as well. He comes upon the bodies ranged in the dust after it occurs: a set of brutal deaths, devoid of heroism or glory or meaning. “Natural causes” as Bell refers to it, speaking of the dead in Del Rio: natural to that line of business, dead from drugs and greed. And Moss’s death is treated no differently from theirs, for all we have gotten to know him and for all we have followed him. His death, like theirs, is from natural causes, and is not deserving of the heroic, or glorious, or meaningful death the structure of the movie’s chase has led us to expect. It is an example of the Coens using genre expectations and undermining them – Carson Wells, white hat and all, is himself another example, and Moss’s story sort of tracks the generic Western myth. It is at the ending that these expectations are upended. There is no meaning, or glory, or heroism in what Moss did for a little bit of money.
It is also interesting to compare Carla Jean’s death with Wells’s. There is a similarity to how the deaths play out: Chigurh catches them both unaware, they both are killed in bedrooms, they both talk to Chigurh before their deaths, and they both tell Chigurh, “You don’t have to do this.” But the two scenes are also drastically different, in how the two victims meet their fates. Wells, supposedly a savvy mercenary, is pleading and bargaining for his life; his “you do not have to do this” is coupled with an offer to bribe Chigurh with 14,000 dollars in an ATM. Carla Jean’s is an attempt, not so much to reason with Chigurh but to deny him the moral cover he has been using: he is not acting from “principles” or as an agent of fate. Carla Jean’s death has more dignity to it that Wells’s does. Not that it matters, of course, they are both dead.
Also, by the way, note Chigurh’s response to Wells’s “You go to Hell.” “All right” he says, and we are reminded of the kid Bell sent to the electric chair in Huntsville a while back – “Said he was going to Hell. Be there in fifteen minutes. I don’t know what to make of that. I surely don’t.” For a lawman, Bell has a misunderstanding of the nature of human evil, which plays a role in his romanticizing of the past and his feeling “overmatched.” In a sense, we are all overmatched by evil, but that does not excuse throwing in your cards and not fighting it, which is something both Ellis and his dreams are trying to tell him.
Where in the World Is Anton Chigurh?
It is probably the most puzzling series of shots in the entire movie. It is after Bells has had a cup of coffee with the El Paso sheriff, and realizes that Chigurh has no compunction against walking right into a crime scene. He goes back to the motel, where two rooms remain taped off. As he approaches the scene, he notices that the lock to Room 114 has been blown out. As he steels himself to enter, we are treated to a series of shots of Chigurh, in the room, standing by the door, gun at ready, looking at Bell’s reflection in the blown out lock cylinder. And then Bell opens the door and walks into the room. The door swings all the way to the wall: there is no one behind it where Chigurh ought to be. Bell walks into the room, finds the window to the bathroom latched from inside and the room empty, sits down on the bed and sees the open vent, with the scratches in the duct work, the coin and screws on the floor. He’s in the dark but we are not: the money was in the vent when the police searched the room, Chigurh got the money, and is gone. Bell has failed to protect Moss, and he has failed to confront Chigurh and catch him.
But where in this was Chigurh, actually? Bell had told the El Paso sheriff that he thought Chigurh was like a ghost, but that was not a reality, it was an analogy. Certainly, there is an otherwordly cast to Chigurh’s features – his eyes, his color – and during the course of the movie we see less and less of his method and more of his result – that is, we see how he tracks Moss to Del Rio, but after that, he starts just turning up – behind Wells, in Carla Jean’s room. He asks the nervous accountant, in response to being asked if he was going to kill him “Do you see me?” (Smart answer: No.) But is he an actual ghost? Is this an actual ghost story? Oh, the El Paso sheriff notes, he’s real all right. If we shoot him, does he not bleed? Chigurh’s eeriness is not because he is supernatural, but because he is natural. He’s not a ghost; he did not just disappear from the room.
Is he in the other taped off room, 112? Well, as we know from staying in motel rooms, he’s on the wrong side of the door to be in the adjoining room: he would be to the right of the door, not to the left. Plus, why would he have gone to the adjoining room? He already got the money from Moss’s room, why go to the beer lady’s room? More beer? Even if the money was not in the vent when Chigurh looked, Moss could not have arranged it to fetch the money from the adjoining room as he had in Del Rio: the vent would not let him.
No, one of those two shots the Coens give us does not comport with reality: either Chigurh is behind the door, and the shot showing the door hitting the wall is false, or Chigurh is not behind the door and the shots of him behind it are wrong. Which is it?
CHIGURH BEHIND THE DOOR – if Chigurh is behind the door when Bell enters, his absence in the shot reflects what Bell perceives when he walks in the door. He doesn’t “see” Chigurh because he does not want to. If this is the case, it would seem to relate to Bell’s feeling of worthlessness and being over matched: he’s sort of daring Chigurh to kill him to try to retain some meaning in his life, and to restore him, by his death, to having some meaning to his career, which he is growing to believe he has become useless in. But because he does not “see” Chigurh, Chigurh has no reason to kill him, and leaves when Bell’s back is turned. Bell is such a failure that he is not even worth killing.
CHIGURH IS NOT BEHIND THE DOOR – if Chigurh is not behind the door, then what we see is sort of a projection of Bell’s fears. He knows that Chigurh has entered the hotel room, and he is imagining him inside (that he does not know what Chigurh looks like is not relevant – WE know and the shot is for us, not him). His going in to the room is his pushing his chips forward, and going out to meet something he does not understand. He walks into the room, gun drawn – no Wendell to hide behind as with Moss’s trailer – to find… Well, he is probably dissatisfied with the ending too. He was expecting a shootout, a confrontation to bring closure. He doesn’t get it either. Instead, he gets a reminder that he will always be a step behind evil. It adds to his feelings of worthlessness that lead on to his retirement.
Don’t be stupid! This is the shootout!
It is such an interesting chase movie, isn’t it? The Coens give us scene after tense compelling scene of Moss and Chigurh mano a mano, hunting each other and being hunted. Some of the scenes – the Eagle Pass shootout, starting when Moss hears his call ringing, unanswered, at the front desk – are tremendous set pieces. We root for Moss, despite the fact that he has deliberately mixed himself up with drugs, has put his wife and life deliberately at risk, and does not care about others he puts in harm’s way (the desk clerk and passing motorist in Eagle Pass, for instance). We want the chase to end in an emotionally satisfying way.
But we do not get that emotional closure to the ending. In plot terms, our expectations regarding the chase are upended because, like Moss, we have concentrated on the Moss/Chigurh dynamic so completely that we have completely forgotten about the other people out there chasing after the money. They did not just come out of the blue; they chased him after his return to the Colossal Goat Fuck, they were waiting for him in Del Rio. But he leaves them out of his calculations. I’m just looking for what’s coming, Moss tells the beer lady near the end, who tells him, nobody sees that. Not even, it turns out, Chigurh.
So what does the absence of an emotional payoff to the chase mean? I don’t think it is just the Coens fucking with our heads – if only because I’m informed it plays out the same way in the novel – not that they are necessarily beyond that, of course. The lack of an emotional payoff leaves us without a sense of balance, and with a sense that something, somehow, is missing. It is deliberately off putting because the Coens want us off balance; they want us, I believe, to feel the despair and sense of purposelessness that drives Bell to retire in the face. They want us to be uneasy about the continued presence, out there, somewhere, wounded but alive, of Anton Chigurh, waiting, watching, ready to be of service again.
It is also worth noting, to tie in to something else I wrote above, that the absence of a shootout helps to belie the heroism or gloriousness of Llewellyn Moss. If we give him a shootout, even one where he loses, he retains his status, slowly being built over the course of the movie, as a hero figure. He is not. He is, as I noted, sympathetic to us primarily because we follow him – as any reader of Nabokov can tell you, the main character, no matter how vile, is someone we find ourselves sympathizing with; we are in his shoes, we are emotionally invested in him. But in reality he is a low level trouble maker who gets in over his head because he thinks highly of himself and his abilities; he is not communicative with his wife and puts her and their life at risk, he does not care about the other people who come his way – even his ostensibly charitable act, taking water out to Aguaman, is something he does primarily because his conscience is bothering him. He’s acting to assuage his own feelings, not to help out Aguaman. By shifting away from him at the end we deny him the glorious, heroic end, because there is nothing glorious or heroic about him, except his struggle to keep the money and avoid dying.
And finally, not giving us the shootout is the Coens’ way of letting us know that the chase we have been watching is in effect a McGuffin. What it is is not relevant to the storyt: it’s Moss and Chigurh, but it could have been the boy he sent to the electric chair, it could have been… anything. The story is about Bell’s journey. The absence of an emotional payoff to the chase makes this plain.
Part Six: Finis
The movie begins with Bell’s voice over the gorgeous scenes of West Texas:
Quote: I was sheriff of this county when I was twenty-five years old. Hard to believe. My grandfather was a lawman; father too. Me and him was sheriffs at the same time; him up in Plano and me out here. I think he's pretty proud of that. I know I was. Some of the old time sheriffs never even wore a gun. A lotta folks find that hard to believe. Jim Scarborough'd never carry one; that's the younger Jim. Gaston Boykins wouldn't wear one up in Camanche County. I always liked to hear about the oldtimers. Never missed a chance to do so. You can't help but compare yourself against the oldtimers. Can't help but wonder how theyd've operated these times. There was this boy I sent to the 'lectric chair at Huntsville Hill here a while back. My arrest and my testimony. He killt a fourteen-year-old girl. Papers said it was a crime of passion but he told me there wasn't any passion to it. Told me that he'd been planning to kill somebody for about as long as he could remember. Said that if they turned him out he'd do it again. Said he knew he was going to hell. "Be there in about fifteen minutes". I don't know what to make of that. I sure don't. The crime you see now, it's hard to even take its measure. It's not that I'm afraid of it. I always knew you had to be willing to die to even do this job. But, I don't want to push my chips forward and go out and meet something I don't understand. A man would have to put his soul at hazard. He'd have to say, "O.K., I'll be part of this world."
It ends with Bell, retired and feeling useless, at odds and ends, unsure of what to do with himself, having given up the controlling part of his identity, his life as a lawman. He describes two dreams:
Quote: Anyway, first one I don't remember too well but it was about meeting him in town somewhere, he's gonna give me some money. I think I lost it. The second one, it was like we was both back in older times and I was on horseback goin' through the mountains of a night. Goin' through this pass in the mountains. It was cold and there was snow on the ground and he rode past me and kept on goin'. Never said nothin' goin' by. He just rode on past... and he had his blanket wrapped around him and his head down and when he rode past I seen he was carryin' fire in a horn the way people used to do and I could see the horn from the light inside of it. 'Bout the color of the moon. And in the dream I knew that he was goin' on ahead and he was fixin' to make a fire somewhere out there in all that dark and all that cold, and I knew that whenever I got there he would be there.
If you watch the play out of the scenes, from the moment Moss learns that beer leads to more beer on, I think the meaning of those dreams and their relationship to the opening narration become clear. Bell feels himself a failure for not arriving in time to save Moss, and for not arriving in time to either catch him, or die like his uncle Mac (and father?) in the line of duty. He has spent the chase trying, not to confront Chigurh, but to save Moss. He has not “gone out to meet something” he didn’t understand in facing Chigurh, he’s actually deliberately avoided any connection with the investigation being conducted by the DEA and the Rangers (everything aside from the Colossal Goat Fuck takes place outside of his jurisdiction and, after determining that Chigurh had left Terrell County Bell would have no reason to be involved in the investigations at all – a point a lot of people miss). It is only at the end, when he cannot save Moss, that he tries to face Chigurh – and fails at that as well. He has become part of this world, and it leads him to despair.
The scene in the El Paso motel dissolves to Bell, driving up to visit his Uncle Ellis. I discussed this scene in some detail earlier, but I would reemphasize a couple points, related to that opening monologue, and Bell’s retirement. First, as I noted, Bell has apparently deliberately avoided the chance to hear about the old timers, at least those that might tell him a story that contradicts his identity as a law enforcement officer. Second, Ellis informs him that his feelings of usefulness are not an excuse for his withdrawal from the fight as a lawman. He might not be able to stop what’s comin’ – “that’s vanity” – but that does not excuse his not trying. Ellis is disapproving of both Bell’s retirement decision and his reasons for it.
After a pleasant chat between Carla Jean and Chigurh, and a peaceful suburban drive, we are back with Bell, at the breakfast table, retired and clearly a burden – lovingly borne, but a burden – to Loretta, who neither wants him under foot nor wants to join him in his leisure. And he has two dreams.
“It was about meeting him in town somewhere, he's gonna give me some money. I think I lost it.” He describes the first dream, and I think it is rather significant that he forgets part a lot of it, because it appears to refer to his inability to carry on the traditions established by his father and grandfather and his uncles: he has abdicated his responsibility to fight lawlessness and evil because of his perceived inability to make a difference. He has lost his heritage and his identity. He has turned away from the heritage and life he was so proud of in the opening narration.
The second dream involves a view of his father, riding ahead of him on horseback, “I knew that he was goin' on ahead and he was fixin' to make a fire somewhere out there in all that dark and all that cold, and I knew that whenever I got there he would be there.” It’s a comforting vision, isn’t it; like Byzantium, a world where all is right with the world and where he can find peace and relief from the struggle with evil that has sapped his soul and undercut his identity. It is a peaceful world, this after life; father, horses, comforting fire….
“And then I woke up.” So much for Byzantium.
Tha’s all.
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I think No Country is the Coens' second best movie, after Fargo. I currently rank it in my top 25 movies ever. |
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I ask you, Velvel, as a rational man, which of us is possessed? |
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| whiskeypriest |
| Posted: Tue May 18, 2010 8:12 pm |
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bartist wrote: I know this is just wrong, that you've opened up whole vistas of discussion, but at the moment I feel like you've used up all the oxygen in the room.
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I ask you, Velvel, as a rational man, which of us is possessed? |
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| Marc |
| Posted: Tue May 18, 2010 8:35 pm |
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| Holy shit, Whiskey. I got some catching up to do. First, I'm going to watch "No Country"...and then read your impressive analysis. |
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| whiskeypriest |
| Posted: Tue May 18, 2010 8:48 pm |
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| I should note that from Thursday on my time on the forums will be limited due to vacation/family visits, for about two weeks. |
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| marantzo |
| Posted: Wed May 19, 2010 9:00 am |
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Finished both of your synopses/analysis, whiskey. Doesn't get much more thorough than that. I have to see the movie again, as I've said a number of times.
Could we postpone this forum till I get back to Winnipeg where these movies are available? 
I don't know if I agree with you about Bell. He is tired and beat and feels past his time as an effected law officer. The world he is in is a deranged world and not a place where an old man should have to spend his twilight years. He makes the right choice and leaves the bloody circus, casting off the emotional and physical ties to his heritage of living entirely in a world inhabited by morally challenged and homicidal beings. He doesn't realize this yet as the movie ends, but his life will be better and his guilt about his feelings of breaking off from his lineage will fade.
That's the way I look at it. |
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| whiskeypriest |
| Posted: Wed May 19, 2010 1:01 pm |
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Could be. Many take a more hopeful view of Bell's situation than I do.
I cannot believe I wrote all that without ever mentioning the Huck Finn connection. Maybe when I return after lighting out for the territories. |
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| marantzo |
| Posted: Wed May 19, 2010 1:20 pm |
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| In the book, Bell and his wife buy a condo in Boca and play bridge every Tuesday night with Seinfeld's parents. |
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| Syd |
| Posted: Sat May 22, 2010 10:47 pm |
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I'm watching No Country for Old Men now. I was going to argue with whiskeypriest about this:
Quote: We open with a scene of intense violence, the most gruesome in the movie: Chigurh sneaks up behind a telephoning deputy and kills him in a bloody, graphic scene. We see and hear the struggle, the scratching of the boots on the floor, the gurgling deputy; we see the blood spurting from the severed carotid, and Chigurh looks away from the final agony with an expression of… well, what, exactly? It almost appears to be sexual satisfaction.
but looking at it again, I think whiskey may be right. There's a sort of ecstatic look on Chigurh's face while he's strangling the deputy and the way the struggle is played out, it's sort of a parody of sex. (On the other hand, this is what he is really, really good at, and people do love to fulfill their talents.)
I'm also noticing parallellism more than before because I'm looking for it. Chigurh and Moss telling their victims to "stay still" is an obvious one. A little while later, Chigugh is in the Mosses' trailer and we see his reflection in the tv, and a few minutes later, we see Bell's reflection in the tv. They're even both drinking milk. |
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| bartist |
| Posted: Sun May 23, 2010 12:46 pm |
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| I am aching to read all the No Country observations -- after I get through the "Lost" madness tonight (for those chained to hot water heaters in windowless basements with only yellowed copies of Saturday Evening Post to look at, that's the series finale that will effectively immobilize the nation's geeks for at least 2.5 hours...) (not that they are all that mobile to begin with...), I will pop in the DVD and watch the thing early in the week. |
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| Syd |
| Posted: Mon May 24, 2010 12:27 am |
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Whiskey's pretty exhaustive on this movie.
Quote: CHIGURH IS NOT BEHIND THE DOOR – if Chigurh is not behind the door, then what we see is sort of a projection of Bell’s fears
That's how I interpret the scene.
I figure Chigurh will get caught or probably killed a few months after this film. There's even a hint of it: at the end, Chigurh buys a shirt just like Llewellyn earlier bought a jacket. Despite him being a "ghost," he's left witnesses and he's not going to stop killing just because he's got money. For Chigurh, killing's an end in itself. Not to mention a supply of new vehicles. |
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| gromit |
| Posted: Mon May 24, 2010 12:58 am |
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I might watch this again, but I didn't get involved in the chase, and wasn't interested in the characters at all, so the anti-climactic ending wound up with nothing to deflate.
The moment when Bell goes into the hotel room and Chigurh is/isn't there has its analogue in Blood Simple when Emmet Walsh is in the office trying to bust open the safe and then hides when Abby enters, sees the lock chipped apart, and opens the safe. The question lingers, where is Walsh (is he there? gone?) or did Abby actually go there (she sees the chipped lock and the hammer ... but then we see her waking up, from a dream? or from a sleep after having gone to the office?).
In Blood Simple this seems deliberately unresolved, though the somewhat unsatisfactory dream explanation is certainly on offer.
While in No Country, it seems the puzzle is a bit stronger and more existential.
I like the way that this visual uncertainty transforms the bad characters into an abstraction of evil and injects a subjective element of fear.
For the literal-minded, it is not identical, but it's the same basic device ,employed in a fairly similar fashion, in the directors two main crime genre films. |
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| bartist |
| Posted: Tue May 25, 2010 8:38 am |
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Just watched....seems to be a character study of a man, the sheriff, even though we see relatively little of him onscreen. I find that an interesting approach, given that Bell seems to be the subject of the film and the only person whose emotional interior we get much glimpse of. Moss and Chigurh, who get most of the running time, are fairly opaque, and men of few words. The hunt has little dialog, which results in a compelling stretch of cinematic art. Few modern films really take their time, the way the bros do here. Few directors could make the shoving of a briefcase down an air vent and around a corner so fascinating to watch.
Regarding Whiskey's
"But we do not get that emotional closure to the ending. In plot terms, our expectations regarding the chase are upended because, like Moss, we have concentrated on the Moss/Chigurh dynamic so completely that we have completely forgotten about the other people out there chasing after the money. They did not just come out of the blue; they chased him after his return to the Colossal Goat Fuck, they were waiting for him in Del Rio. But he leaves them out of his calculations. I’m just looking for what’s coming, Moss tells the beer lady near the end, who tells him, nobody sees that. Not even, it turns out, Chigurh."
I thought that line from the beer slut was kind of key to the whole story. This is a new world where crime is no longer personal and rural, between family members or longtime friends. This is a world with drug cartels and big money and confusing and shifting chains of command and control. Seeing what's coming around the corner -- that's old school stuff. "Emotional closure," here is simply realizing that. |
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| Syd |
| Posted: Tue May 25, 2010 8:52 am |
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| But the point of Ellis' story about how Mac died was that this isn't as new a world as Bell thinks it is. |
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| bartist |
| Posted: Tue May 25, 2010 11:32 am |
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Maybe -- Ellis story of the grandfather's murder by Indians -- i.e. outsiders coming in and doing a murder that no one local understands. Honestly, wasn't clear enough on the particulars to know how pointed Ellis story was. Clearly, the film is more about how Bell sees things, how he feels the changes, than about any objective rendering of then v. now. The "colossal goatfuck" (Stephen Root's line, IIRC) does seem to be a whole other level of madness than the Uncle Ellis story of a guy getting shot on his porch.
I think when Chigurh's victims tell him "You don't have to do this" (which, Chigurh himself notes, they all tend to say), it also serves to remind that this sort of killing is not the old West type of killing where one suspects the motivations were clearer to all parties concerned. If that is not strictly true, again, that's how it feels to Bell -- he doesn't want to sort out the actions of psychopaths.
BTW, I'd go with the "not behind the door" theory. Mainly because, watching, it just didn't occur to me that he would be behind the door. The way that scene is shot, Chigurh feels long gone. |
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