Johnny, Get Yer Gun: No Country For Old Men

Twenty-three years after their collaborative film debut, Blood Simple, and seven years from the last break of comedy productions with The Man Who Wasn’t There, writers/directors Joel and Ethan Coen return to their second comfortable genre–noir–with the unflinching No Country for Old Men. Taken verbatim from Cormac McCarthy’s 2005 novel, the story unfolds on the parched terrain of isolated, southwestern towns so typical to these stories of greed and consequence; these settings outline the borders of hell where righteous humanity is scarce.

“The Old-Timers never even used to carry guns…” begins the nostalgic narration of Sheriff Bell (Tommy Lee Jones) as he tells about the way town sheriffs once conducted business. Bell seems to be a helpless character in the wake of what he considers an uncontrollable taint of Man that has ruled obsolete the methodologies of the Old Timers and ruined moral certainties. Though, as even Bell is reminded in this story, that taint is no novelty.

Lewewlyn Moss (Josh Brolin) is not the typical noir protagonist. Nothing in his character suggests much previous innocence, nor even moral judiciousness towards the choices that set events in motion. While hunting antelopes in the mountains, he stumbles across a failed Mexican heroine deal and explores the dismal remains of something like a circled wagon train. The ground is covered with bullet casings and shotgun shells. Bodies lay in pools of blood drawing flies. And dusty trucks are covered in bullet holes and shattered glass, some of the drivers laying slumped over the wheel. And amidst the carnage, remains an unclaimed satchel full of money that Moss quietly collects.

Moss has such a matter-of-fact approach to his gamble. In modern noir, redemption is not always a guarantee and viewers are constantly reminded of the lack of certainties of any kind in this story. Redemption is not even an effective option. Viewers are likely to reason that stealing from a drug dealer, and especially a villain who lays everything to waste without question, is not really a damning fault. Though, it can be a very stupid thing to do. And, in classic noir form, where greed and conscience are often odds, Moss’s momentary inclination towards the latter poses the challenge for his own survival.

Moss’s crucial worry is not the aging Sheriff Bell (Jones) nor the understanding federal drug agent Carson Wells (Woody Harrelson), as most all representations of law enforcement seem to be two steps behind the action. Rather, his critical concern is his black-hearted personal reaper, Anton Chigurh (Javier Bardem, closely resembling a young Raul Julia) who would fit the line Donald Pleasance once used to refer to young Michael Meyers in the 1979 movie, Halloween: “He had the blackest eyes; the Devil’s eyes.” Carson Wells explains to Moss when he is recovering in the hospital from he and Chigurh’s first face-to-face confrontation, that this is not a man that can be reasoned with. “He won’t care if you return the money… he’ll kill you just for inconveniencing him.”

The story of the greedy man turned drug dealer’s prey has been told countless times before and yet, Joel and Ethan Coen have produced a film of such immediate applause (already achieving a top 40 spot in the IMDb top 250 movies list as of this writing). The initial draw is like from Coen Brother loyalists and those lured by the solid starring and supporting cast. The film itself draws on the love affair for retro atmospheres that directors like Quentin Tarrantino have made a trademark, and the only real reference calling audiences back to this century is the comical mention of an ATM. But this nostalgia appears to offer a more primitive playing field for the characters. The fancy digital packages that worked for the young characters in chase during Disturbia, for example, are of no use in this dusty arena. Hell, they’re not even an option.

But perhaps the most effective device in this film are characters cut from a more convincing reality. Lewewlyn Moss is an intelligent man who suspects early on that someone, whether dealer or the law, will come for his claim and he is quite adept in protecting himself. Perhaps his only idealism is that he is convinced he can killed Chigurh. Chigurh, on the other hand, is the unfathomable mold; the man without conscience. And worse, he seems indestructible in ways that suggest nothing will end as we expect, much to the chagrin of audiences expecting easily manageable explanations and showdowns as the final marker in this narrative spectrum. Some have called it anticlimactic. But that is not to say that we are really left with any overwhelming complexities and uncertainties, save interpreting Bell’s final monologue. But, the audience will have to do some of their own work to understand how this tale ends and it almost requires abandonment of typical frames of moral logic.

the zephyr chronicles: revolutionaries on the blacktop

although skateboarding had been around since the 1960s, it has flucuated in both popularity and marketability (well… it is an industry!) up until the mid 1990s when even former bones brigade rider turned one-man commercial empire, tony hawk, relays in his autobiography the fear of being unable to survive on his meager royalty earnings in the early 90s and taking sidejobs in video editing. but what began in the 1960s as a mini-surfboard style deck on wheels initially intended to serve as the alternative afternoon activity for young, adept surfers, quickly faded from view as a fleeting kiddie pasttime, and in the disapppearance of commercial manufactured boards, the primitive planks plywood and the clay wheel attacments from disassembled skates, became its substitute. like anything that had started as a primitive youth exploit and evolved into an explosive industry (punk music being analogous here), the model flows from nature (surfing technique and the draught that made pool surfing popular) and responsive architecture (the embankments of california schoolyard playgrounds), to the engineering (development of urethene wheels and kick tails), to the publicity (the dogtown articles) and marketing.

with the poularity of former pro-skater and skateboard company co-founder (among other things) stacey peralta’s fine documentary, dogtown and z-boys, followed by the narrow-minded hollywood production, lords of dogtown, the story of the z-boys–the highly publicized teenage tyrants of 1970s venice beach whose low-to-the-ground style of skating inspired by pro surfer larry birdlman forced the sport from its 1960s paradigm of nosewheelies and headstands–is no longer legend reserved to the underground.

however, it seemed curious why recent skateboard restrospectives, particularly those that came after the zephyr team, had never bothered to offer much history beyond brief commentary from those outside of the team who were affected by the infectiousness of the zephyr riders. though, arguably, recent documentaries on both the born-again former glory boys (female riders other than ellisa streamer have really yet to make any sort of breakthrough in professional skateboarding) christian hosoi (served time on drug charges) and vision skateboard’s mark “gator” ragowski (currently serving a life sentence for murder) have offered some background on skateboarding evolution in the 1980s from verticle to street-based dominance, the only really in-depth (barely) synopsis of third and fourth wave skating can be found in michael brooke’s the concrete wave.

understandably, the focus outside of prominent players like rodney mullen’s fancy freestyle or danny way’s daring monster ramps or the development of the double kicktail, might be limited intentionally where the changing histories can no longer be said to be influenced by one small group who might later impact the rest of the skateboarding world. and mass commercialism might not be the sole culprit to rob anyone of unique opportunity, but mass media as well, where unique presence is something that is not typically not nurtured, even where it might possibly exist. in the dogtown and z-boys documentary, style is frequently suggested to be the most important factor among the zephyr team. but this heralded “devotion to style” was left as a little-described abstract. and with footage of similar manuevers shown in succession, the viewers, watching these long-haired teenagers trying to fit both feet on their skinny, mobile planks and thrust the seemingly impossible little boards about, might presume that this was what style was all about – whatever motions you needed to keep your balance. the flowery documentary freewheelin‘ made in the late 1970s follows stacey peralta and his friends (one of whom was tom logan, founder of the logan earth and ski company) as they travel to locations for afternoon skate sessions. where peralta’s accompanying friends had different athletic backgrounds–one a professional skier, the other a longboard surfer–this had impacted the way they manuevered their boards. even peralta, a surfer in addition to skateboarding, had a self-tailored technique, which became most evident in his slalom. and as such, what is meant by this loose abstract, “style,” now becomes more evident. but unfortunately, it is a uniqueness that likewise appears lost in the age of mass-everything and generic representation.

where there lacks more extensive histories of a sport that began four decades back, a review of the dogtown and z-boys documentary, which provides some balance to both the pre-commercial and post-commerical developments (whereas lords of dogtown is saturated with focus on the latter) reveals that the core of the legend is that major shifts in the sport can synthesized to just neighborhood surfing kids emulating their favorite pro surfers on a pavement playground – the concrete wave. the beginning of the dogtown story, in other words, is perhaps the most purest and primitive before all the external forces dictated what might follow. and unfortunately, the spoken and written histories of skateboarding tend to overlook the fact that the unadulterated spirit of the people who were engaging the sport for fun, have existed all along. dana brown, the son of endless summer director bruce brown, may have been one of the few to really capture that perpetual essence, but in the surfing world instead of skateboarding with his documentary, step into liquid, which reveals the advocates of strange locals and their own definitions of the perfect wave. they may buy factory-produced surfboards and wetsuits, and it’s true that these are real considerations because obviously, these things have becomes million dollar industries. but when it comes to running out in the cold ripples of wisconsin waters (yes, wisconsin), none of it matters because the participants concern has been the more emotional, mental, physical and spiritual connection to what they’re doing. and suddenly the fact that surfer kelly slater won a world championship title or that skateboarder geoff rowley has a signature shoe doesn’t mean jack shit.

Come Out Where Its Creepy: 30 Days of Night

american horror movies typically have no problem attracting audiences these days, although business headlines often reporting even the seemingly most ridiculous of corny teenage date thrills with surprise when it ranks high on the weekend box office returns. although, perhaps that is because the market tends to bulge with bland remakes (often of its asian horror and thriller counterparts which have made claim to newer depictions of disturbing creepiness) and forgettable sequels, earning the genre the reputation of little more than one of corny date-movie thrills. ironically, 30 days of night the recently lauded indie vampire thriller adapted from the graphic novel, serves as the bright spot here. primarily, the film is driven on fairly simple elements of the drama, though appropriately (and yet, really only slightly) tweaked to maximize viewer tension. and it succeeds in forcing viewers from their comfort zones in all manners.

the biggest advantage of 30 days of night is that it isn’t a film operating on gotcha gimmicks and poorly written characters which might more often deflect the sympathies of its viewers–though it is not entirely devoid of these tactics, peppering (sparingly) the movie with elements like the token creepy child and, probably influenced by the tactics of torture-themed horror films, delivers an abundance of painstakingly gruesome visual punch. the film opens in a rural alaskan town of borrow, the northernmost town of the united states. there, its residents are gloomily preparing for the thirty consecutive days in the year when daylight disappears. the setting is forever gritty; shades of grey and later, the permanence of darkness and bitterly cold which all, obviously, serve as the metaphorical imbalance of good and evil that has befallen the town.

immediatley, the characters are forced into dubious odds against their impending doom — the vampires who excitedly infest the small town of easy, unsuspecting prey. the townspeople’s weaknesses are further compounded by the extreme elements and the dramatically superior strengths of the vampires who may or may not be suspectible to the traditional notions of bloodsucker defense like garlic and holy water. and as they are unleashed upon the town, their wrath of relentless destruction is presented in ways that mirror the more stark historic portrayals of genoicide. the periodic echos of violent screams of the helpless. the corpses strewn in pools of blood along the street. the simple realization that the characters have few places to hide, mobilize, and sufficiently equip themselves against their predators.

30 days of night also presents the rare moral dilemmas and the psychological impacts of intense fear and prolonged isolation in ways that parallel john carpenter’s 1982 remake of the thing (scientists stationed in antartica are threatened by an alien parasite that replicates the physical identiy of its host). and though perhaps these are natural where the victims (especially collectively) exist in a frame of extremely limited capability, it rarely seems to become a significant impetus of similar movies in the genre because the gotchas and gore tends to trump these considerations. trumps. major of characters of the film–other than the posse of vampires–are the town sherrif and his former girlfriend (or wife?) and deputy. though their history remains undeveloped, the subtle references initially encourages viewers into conventional expectation, at least if they are typical consumers of the american movie plot; that somehow, a love angle will emerge more completely here, thus demanding a neat, happy resolution. the vingettes of secondary characters such as the sherrif’s teenage brother or the doddering old survivor add to the story’s moral challenges of personal sacrifice and self-defense.

it’s exceedingly optimistic or perhaps simply naive to hope that the successes of 30 days of night will have some (lasting, improving) effect on the styles of american horror filmmakers, especially when the coming attractions advertised four or five more painfully standard (and utterly forgettable) tales in sanitary-tinted scenes of effortlessly pretty girls being oh-so tormented by that grizzly-voiced predator lurking in the shadows.