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finally got around to seeing no country for old men last night. although I don't think it is, as some people have been raving, the best movie of the last decade, it was quietly mesmerizing. I can't stop thinking about it. josh brolin and javier bardem were fantastic, the scenery was perfectly desolate. I wonder if the book had so many instances of men following thin trails of blood, or if that's just a coen brothers artistic touch. but most of all, I appreciated the stately, dignified pace of the film. I loved that a deliberate action by one of the men - carefully placing the briefcase in an air duct - would be accompanied by equally deliberate cinematography - at one point, a character knocks a lamp to the floor and it lies perfectly upside down between the two beds, where moments later it illuminates the underside of the beds for another character. I thought there was a little too much philosophizin' toward the end, especially considering that the catalyst of the entire film was anton chigurh, a man whose actions seem to have little meaning. however, when anton himself did philosophize, it was always interesting. the fact that bardem's spanish accent sounded so odd in this setting did a lot to establish this character as somehow otherworldly, from a different universe.

also, anyone else remember carla jean moss as the schoolgirl who fucked ewan mcgregor in trainspotting? I couldn't even recognize her.