I somehow made a return to the cineplex this weekend in spite of another ultra-busy period of my personal/professional lives. Simply a miracle. First up -- the mere mention of Beowulf is enough to trigger memories of pouring over an excruciatingly long epic poem in primary schooling. Containing 3183 lines, Beowulf attained national epic status in Great Britain long ago. The poem actually is not so much about myth, but about legends. The author - whoever he was - crafted the piece probably a few centuries after Christ's birth primarily for entertainment. It does not separate between fictional elements and real historic events.
But this does not prevent individuals from forming their own vision of Beowulf who may or may not have been. And because it is a story told in historic perspective and features fantastical, epic events and characters, Beowulf passed down through the ages by oral traditional no doubt has been twisted and turned every which way. That leads, not surprisingly, to various interpretations of Beowulf on screen, from live action to animated. Most versions have focused on the supposed hero himself, although a few such as a recent Sci-Fi camp-du-jour with Ben Cross covered more ground with Grendel.
Enter director Robert Zemeckis, who ramps up his motion-capture animation technique from "The Polar Express" for a visually dazzling of Beowulf. One that shocks and awes in more ways than one. The basic story for those who've either forgotten or inexplicably don't know (which means you likely failed the lit class final): In the poem, Beowulf, an already legendary hero of the Geats with incredible tales of daring and death-defying to tell, battles three antagonists: Grendel, an unspeakable monster who attacks the Danish mead hall Heorot and its inhabitants after the loud partying there imposes on his sleepy-time; Grendel's mysterious mother; and later in life as a king, an unnamed dragon.
Regarding voice-casting, Zemeckis took some risks. Ray Winstone channels Gerard Butler's Leonidas from 300 and holds his own as a once-boastful warrior who ages to acknowledge that much of his life was not as genuine as many people thought. Anthony Hopkins leaves some to be desired as King Hrothgar. If moviegoers have not noticed, while Robin Wright Penn is a superb actress, her on-screen characters rarely get to neither smile nor laugh. Ever. It's pretty much evident that her Queen Wealthow is not exactly content in her kingdom.
Who brings their A-game? John Malkovich as Unferth, Hrothgar's prickly adviser; Brendan Gleeson as Wiglaf, Beowulf's loyal, hearty lieutenant and - ah yes – the ever-eccentric Crispin Glover (McFly!!!), who instills fear and is saddled with his own as Grendel. But much of the time his lines are unintelligible, giving a sort of Pig Latin version of Old Danish. And how can we forget Grendel's mom, brought to the flesh – quite literally - by Angelina Jolie. Let's see: A practically naked Angelina Jolie who speaks with a Slavic voice, piercing gaze, golden high-spiked heels anatomically attached to her feet and a pointy serpent's tail. Yeah, I'd be happy to see that in my dreams or living room any day or night.
Though it's rated PG-13, Zemeckis' Beowulf is not for the faint of heart or the little ones who think it's just another Pixar cartoon. Nope. Lots of people die. Horribly. Nightmares seem all too realistic. And I did I mention the nakedity (aside from Jolie's)? Ultimately while exciting, this version of Beowulf is somewhat devoid of emotion or a deeper character study that even 300 managed to explore in ancient mythos. I guess there's still room for improvement in Zemeckis' groundbreaking high-tech filmmaking.
No Country for Old Men is so brutal that it's depressingly beautiful. For all the easy-fix crap in mainstream movies today, there are films that seem so linear and straightforward yet breathtaking innovative, clever and riveting. (Michael Bay, feel free to check out those terms in a dictionary. It's a big, heavy book. Yes, you can buy it at Walmart, but is available for free at the nearest library. Which also has books. Lots of them.)
Cormac McCarthy's novel, set in 1980 West Texas, seemed ripe for interpretation by the likes of Joel and Ethan Coen, the brothers who have a penchant for finding dark humor and irony amid crime and the journey of the human psyche. Llewelyn Moss (Josh Brolin in his best role yet) is a struggling welder and Vietnam vet in a world where desperate times call for desperate measures.
Out hunting antelope (and failing at that), Moss literally stumbles upon a drug deal gone very awry. Dead men (and a dog) are everywhere. Bullets and plenty of blood spilled. Then there's the pickup bed that contains a huge cache of drugs and a satchel filled with $2 million. Sure, it's a bad scene, but if you found such moolah out in the middle of nowhere, what would you do? He intends to give his wife Carla Jean (Scottish access Kelly Macdonald, whose Texan accent sounds uncanny), but later must decide (not wholesale by himself) whether blood money and family life go together.
Moss takes off with the loot, setting off a horrendous chain reaction of events that involves:
*A psychopathic Russian hitman named Anton Chigurh (Javier Bardem also at his best) who dispatches practically anyone who crosses his path with either an air-controlled cattle stun gun (pretty neat way to open locked doors without breaking them down) or a high-powered rifle with a silencer that's as big as Texas itself -- all with few words, chilling efficiency, calmness and no remorse. And if Anton is unsure whether to do away with you, a coin toss will decide the matter. Just don't make assumptions in front of the guy. It'll just piss him off further;
* Sheriff Ed Tom Bell (Tommy Lee Jones simply kicking ass and having a stenographer take names) as an aging, disillusioned sheriff who's weary of law enforcement, the negative tide turn of American society and perhaps life itself. But he knows evil when he sees it, and tries to save the fugitive Moss (who's endangered his wife in the process) and track down the elusive Chigurh in the bleak, sun-drenched landscape;
* Glib hitman Carson Wells (Woody Harrelson, who's 10-gallon hat, gum-chewing and boastfulness lend themselves to the stereotypical tall Texan), who also has the unpleasant task of tracking down both Moss and Chigurh for his bosses. He sums up Anton to Stephen Root's character: "Well, he doesn't exactly have a sense of humor."
Interestingly, three main characters never physically cross paths with each other. But each man is clearly cynical of his purpose on this plane of existence, but each knows he is caught in a time he could not imagine and can do only what he feels is right to self-preservation. Virtually all Coen flicks explore not so much the seedier side of humanity, but the placement of priority or lack thereof. It's something that even Jones traversed in one of his more recent films, The Three Burials of Melquaides Estrada, which isn't too dissimilar from No Country for Old Men, but is far less insular and witty (for good reason, of course).
Staying mostly faithful to McCarthy's source material, the Coens flesh out amoral noirish characters, have scenes of extraordinary violence literally explode in city streets and dimly-lit hotel rooms and embrace local vernacular and deadpan colloquialisms as well as did they did in "Fargo," "Raising Arizona" and "Blood Simple." If "No Country..." gets nominated for best picture, you won't be surprised.
