Last night Ladyfriend and I saw the Coen Bros. latest flick,
No Country for Old Men. I have to admit that when people go apeshit over Fargo and Miller's Crossing, all I can muster is a, "s'OK, I guess." But don't get me wrong, I am a fan of the venerable brothers, but I'm more of
Big Lebowski or
O Brother Where Art Thou kinda fan.
That being said, No Country for Old Men is more along the Fargo line of cinema, BUT the Coen's movie-making maturity & finesse are sowcased in every aspect of the film. I won't even really go into the movie except to say that the plot, the detailed West Texas weidness of my youth, and the bad guy we're so very real in this flick. And I agree with those who are starting the
THIS IS THE PERFECT MOVIE mantra. Even the ending was perfect, which brings me to the point of this blog's title.
Watch this move in a safe theater, away from the
yo-yos and Federites. During the movie, they answered cell phones and emptied their empty 40's down the aisles. At the end of the movie, which was
perfect by the way, several of the drunken, be-methed yo-yo's shouted, "That movie be fuckin bullshit!" The tapered ending to a perfect movie had no explosions, the good guy didn't ride off in his hotrod, but it was perfect, you'll see. Trust me. The drunken Yo-yos didn't agree and in fact were vocally angry about it. Several of us had enough of their shit to start mocking them. Ladyfriend and I shouted something like, "Fast and Furious VII was playing in the next theater Kid-Buttrock." They grabbed the crotches of their baggy, oversized, $100 sweatpants, threw us some weird gang sign, then meandered back to their momma's meth-lab/trailer, muttering, "E-dog that be some fuckin bullshit knowhati'msaying?!" Then they tried to start a fight with an elderly crackhead outside the theater, but gave up when they realized they were a bunch of pussies.
It was an old guy moment for me, the kind that I'm having more frequently lately. But I didn't expect it to happen at what I see as MY movie theater. The only one in town to host film festivals and independent flicks. Those of you who know
where I'm talking about should join with me to complain about these assholes to the management. Send em back to
Tonsiltown where they belong. They better stay outta my yard too dammit.
This is my great-great Uncle Eddie (my maternal great grandmother's brother)...early 1900's. I never met him, but did meet his brother Paul briefly once. Note the very typical, stand alone west-Texas style tornado/fruit cellar in the background. You don't see them much anymore, but neighbors with shared tornado cellars were common in west Texas up until my early childhood.
