Cormac McCarthy functions in strange territory. Somewhere between Jack London (think of the passage with the wolf at the opening of The Crossing) and Tolstoy. A writer who appears to be able to locate the epic and the spiritual within timeless narratives, but someone whose work retains the popular touch. Furthermore, many of his books occupy the strange territory between the apparent order of the United States and the described lawlessness of Mexico. Drifters bleed across the border (literally in the case of No Country...), driven from the locatable security of the first world to the anonymous safety of the dangerous third. In a country which tends to turn its back on the disparity between its wealth and the poverty of its neighbour, McCarthy is an exception. He knows where the line is and he writes as though he knows what it means to cross it. In his latest book, The Road, the whole world has crossed the line, so much so it's eradicated. The border protects no-one anymore, on either side.
No Country for Old Men is far from his best work. It features a remarkable villain with an unpronounceable name, Anton Chigurh, a great deal of acutely observed violence, and some of McCarthy's least cryptic down-home Texan wisdom. The book's ending is surprising in so far that the writer seems to lose interest in his central narrative, which ends abruptly, and the final section heads off at a tangent to offer a valedictory portrait of Ed Tom Bell, the sheriff who's retiring in the face of the mounting warfare caused by the drugs trade.
The Coen Brothers have adapted the book with a high degree of fidelity. McCarthy's sparse and precise dialogue is lifted wholesale. The film relies on the shifts in the book's narrative for surprise. In an early scene, when Chigurh strangles a cop with his handcuffs on the floor, the camera holds on the scuff marks left on the lino after the struggle, at which point it seems as though the adaptation is going to pay dividends in heightening detail and nuance. Whilst it's true that the Coen bros eye for detail complements McCarthy's precision, it is ultimately less rewarding than might have been anticipated, as the brothers retreat into conservative story telling. They successfully extract the tension from the book, but unfortunately they've selected a text which runs out of tension some time before it reaches its conclusion.
The film has been a critical success. Speaking to someone who didn't know the book, you can see the way in which McCarthy's narrative, in particular the characterisation of Chigurh, might seem surprising and fresh on first acquaintance. Yet one can't help feeling that what the critics are doing are awarding points for competence, rather than cinematic flair. The Coen brothers seem, of late, to have lost their appetite for visual panache and narrative whimsy which made them so compelling when they were at their peak. Perhaps damaged by occasional failures, they've resorted to delivering high-quality, user-friendly product. McCarthy's novel is just about powerful enough in itself to warrant the reverential treatment, but the marriage though functional and effective, is passionless. The film gives glimpses of McCarthy's power, as well as reminders of the Coens' rare talent, but it ultimately fails to take the viewer into the heart of the strange territory both occupy when they are at their most beguiling.
No Country for Old Men is far from his best work. It features a remarkable villain with an unpronounceable name, Anton Chigurh, a great deal of acutely observed violence, and some of McCarthy's least cryptic down-home Texan wisdom. The book's ending is surprising in so far that the writer seems to lose interest in his central narrative, which ends abruptly, and the final section heads off at a tangent to offer a valedictory portrait of Ed Tom Bell, the sheriff who's retiring in the face of the mounting warfare caused by the drugs trade.
The Coen Brothers have adapted the book with a high degree of fidelity. McCarthy's sparse and precise dialogue is lifted wholesale. The film relies on the shifts in the book's narrative for surprise. In an early scene, when Chigurh strangles a cop with his handcuffs on the floor, the camera holds on the scuff marks left on the lino after the struggle, at which point it seems as though the adaptation is going to pay dividends in heightening detail and nuance. Whilst it's true that the Coen bros eye for detail complements McCarthy's precision, it is ultimately less rewarding than might have been anticipated, as the brothers retreat into conservative story telling. They successfully extract the tension from the book, but unfortunately they've selected a text which runs out of tension some time before it reaches its conclusion.
The film has been a critical success. Speaking to someone who didn't know the book, you can see the way in which McCarthy's narrative, in particular the characterisation of Chigurh, might seem surprising and fresh on first acquaintance. Yet one can't help feeling that what the critics are doing are awarding points for competence, rather than cinematic flair. The Coen brothers seem, of late, to have lost their appetite for visual panache and narrative whimsy which made them so compelling when they were at their peak. Perhaps damaged by occasional failures, they've resorted to delivering high-quality, user-friendly product. McCarthy's novel is just about powerful enough in itself to warrant the reverential treatment, but the marriage though functional and effective, is passionless. The film gives glimpses of McCarthy's power, as well as reminders of the Coens' rare talent, but it ultimately fails to take the viewer into the heart of the strange territory both occupy when they are at their most beguiling.
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