It's de-mented, it's de-structive, it's de-lovely. No Country for Old Men sells me on its ruthless and hopeless atmosphere, sparse sound design, tense direction, and penetrating performances. So well that I neglect the relative mediocrity of plot and character development. There is money at stake, and many people are after this, including a sociopathic hitman named Chigurh (Javier Bardem). Local sheriff Bell (Tommy Lee Jones), in awe upon how unconditionally brutal Chigurh is, aims to protect money holder Moss (Josh Brolin), as best as he can stomach. The film succeeds as a two-hour testament as to how unforgiving and dangerous the world can be, as well as a lack of justice when most needed. The Coen Brothers and Cormac McCarthy may not have much else to say, but for your attention, they need not say much else. If anything, it may be better to interpret No Country for Old Men as a horror-thriller, than as a neo-Western drama. Most horror movies fail to send me into a pit of despair, or to get the following out of my mouth: "Yikes! ____ is one scary son of a bitch." And believe me, Chigurh consistently scared me, walking firmly on the edge between reality and urban legend.