Ethan and Joel Cohen
Non è Un Paese Per Vecchi

Upon leaving the cinema, the usual somewhat snobbish 65-year-olds expressed a sense of disappointment: "All these deaths," "Mexico and the Border again," "They already awarded Traffic."

I think maybe it’s better to sneak away. And they’re just Old people.

"No Country for Old Men" marks the triumphant return of the Coen brothers. Forget the trivial Clooney antics of "Intolerable Cruelty," or the somewhat coarse laughter of "The Ladykillers." Here, they return to high ground. If it's not the pinnacle of the brothers' career, it's pretty close. Anyway, it’s a return to the early Coen style, like "Blood Simple" and "Miller's Crossing."

The story revolves around a suitcase full of cash and the scoundrels trying to claim it. The narrative is a grand spectacle. The theme isn't about a hardcore study of violence or the escape doctrine of a Vietnam veteran against the murderous insanity of a sadistic gangster, but rather a ruthless and philosophical analysis of how far a man can be pushed to seek his dark side.

In the film, those who endure intense trials, who typically bleed, who often die, triumph. But in the choice of pain, there is also the choice to breathe a unique air. Because life itself, when breathed in all its fearful weight, "is a win-all," as Chigurh-Javier Bardem declares.

The protagonist is Llewelyn-Josh Brolin. He is a typical anti-hero who, in the breath and the choice of pain, finds a remedy to the daily hunt and the beer drunk without looking at his beautiful wife. An intriguing character, especially when compared with the Coen's gallery of anti-heroes. When they are alone, without being accompanied by brave squires like Walter from "The Big Lebowski," they almost always end up falling.

Many have seen it as a simplistic philosophy falling from the sky. "A kind of 'categorical imperative,' of morality at all costs" (Mereghetti). Nothing could be further from the truth. It is instead interesting to talk about the Janus-like intent of the film, perfectly in tune with the duality of Cormac McCarthy's novel.

Two symbolic figures. The first is that of the New, using air rifles to avoid leaving old trusty bullets. For him, killing a man is the same as killing an animal. It's neither colt nor west. Killing happens in Texas as it does in Mexico. The new is global and attempts new forms of impact on the flesh. Then there's the Old. A pale example of a declining culture, of legality abandoned first to nostalgia rather than real danger. Sheriff Bell, superbly portrayed by Tommy Lee Jones, embodies this, a mix of cynicism and rashness defeated by disillusionment. Without death, there's condemnation. To limbo. To non-life. The final metaphor recited by the sheriff is an admission of guilt. A poetic and simultaneously very sad closing.

A film without morals. A film of ice. Roger Deakins' photography and Nancy Haigh's set design choices perfectly match a dream now covered in dust, barely visible even though it's still daylight, even if it still seems America.