No Patience for All Men

I went to see the new Coen brothers' film No Country for Old Men on its opening weekend and like every dark indie darling released in cold weather, it attracted a sold-out crowd of middle-aged folks who pride themselves on their cinephilic taste but then spoil my viewing experience by having no sense of when it is appropriate to laugh.

If the studios want to know why fewer people are going to the movies, here's my reason: People are creepy.

I mean, we all pile in, sit, then readjust as the 10 percent of patrons who don't give a shit about inconveniencing people arrive during the previews and ask you if the seat four rows over from you is taken.

Then, during the most disturbing scene of the movie when your spirit can hardly bear the anguish and yet its pain lifts you out of your mundane despair, some guy or girl laughs hysterically. Like it's a joke. Like torture/anguish/cancer is a punchline.

This is when I think: Civilization is doomed. People are inherently evil and stupid. Or at least people who watch the same movies as me.

As for the film, it was great. Intensely suspenseful. The performances are perfectly balanced. The Coen flavour is sprinkled on like salt rather than hot sauce, enhancing rather than altering the Cormac McCarthy base.

And yet, two days later, the only detail that remains pressed in my mind is Javier Bardhem's Eight is Enough bangs.