Several scenes from No Country for Old Men feature characters drinking from a glass of milk. "Look, it's still sweatin',' says one. Yup. Out here in the Texas heat, a sweatin' glass of milk means you are about to drink it or (oh shit) the person just drinkin' it was just here.
"He's no one," says a character of Anton Chigurh, the philosophical serial killer who makes Hannibal Fava Beans' "intellect" look like pre-school. Chigurh is poor Mexican hit man, apparently, who has a grander vision of the world than he does of himself. The Coens' film truncates much of the extended conversations he has with his victims, but they syphon those words into "pictures worth a thousand words." Every shot counts.
Which, by the way, leads me to ABELOUR a'bunadh, my new favorite single malt Scotch, introduced to me at a seminar last night. The facilitator reviewed Glenlevit, Scapa, and Laphroaig first, and then hit us with this. Whoa. No peat, shoe leather, or iodine. Just cherry, chocolate, ginger, and dried fruit, almost like a sherry. Can a Scotch be a sherry?
"Would you have me second guess the world?" That's what Chiguh says to someone who pleads for dear life. Before he pulls the trigger, he might say, "If the road you travelled got you here, of what use was the road?" These aren't pithy Arab proverbs ("If a dog bit off your ear, would you search first for your ear or chase the dog?"), these are examples of a tight belief system. The trouble is, there's one contradiction. Chigurh occasionally tosses coins and let's his victims go. Does he put more faith in chance or fate? Is there any distinction for him? When you are the one blubberin' "You don't have to do this!" he answers, "They always say that." Note his failure to communicate with the victims in any meaningful way: "they" not "you" as in "Why did you say that?" Chigurh kills like a monk in love with life--but the opposite of a Buddhist who preserves life at all costs. Same tenet; different execution, no pun intended.
Let's not forget the film is set in 1980 and at least three characters (possible Chigurh, too) were in 'Nam. You've got to listen closely to Sheriff Bell's stories. The function of his narration is to make up for a huge mistake he made in the war. You will miss this, but it's there. The book, obviously, makes sure you don't miss it, but the Coens, understated poets that they are, make obscure reference to it. And this is why I like the film so much. It makes me remember why I study film as seriously as I do literature. I could pause any frame and write a page on that alone. The mess of dead bodies in an open plain, a windmill in the distance. The wealth of knowledge Texans have about guns, but not necessarily people (Anton seems to be adept at both). The lighting, oh god, the lighting. Let's call it Hotel Room Gothic Noir. Afternoon sun creeping through the shades, shining through a central air grill in which a suitcase full of money sits, and waits, like Chigurh himself. The irony of shootin' guns at people as "impolite"! "When they stop saying ma'am and sir, then the rest of the world'll go to shit." Only a Texas cop with a gun would say that--and then read the newspaper article about the "weird" man in nothing but a dog collar.
Since Chigurh is after the money that some hapless shmoe found, it would seem that Chigurh is after "himself" too. Again, he's like a religious man, trying to find himself by exploring the world. Take away the killing part and he could be my best friend. Or my new favorite Scotch. Take a shot--cask strength--and yelp. But then mellow out and deal with it passively for a moment. I suppose Scotch drinking--any hard liquor-drinking--is a bit like masochism. Assaulting one's tongue for the benefit of belated effects.
I watched the film with an open mouth. I couldn't move. The Scotch seminar taught me to smell Scotch with an open mouth: it cuts the alcohol and allows the flora to permeate. Now go do this at No Country. Allow the flora of money, blood, and gunsmoke to permeate your pallet.
