No Country for Old Men - "What You Got Ain't Nothing New."

I was a guest on my friend Robie Malcomson’s podcast, Knowing You Know Nothing, (click the link for the episode) this week to discuss No Country for Old Men. As usual, to prepare for the podcast I wrote an article before we recorded. So this article will be a bit more rambling than usual since it’s kind of serving as my notes for the podcast. But I think most of my stuff is rambling, so this article is probably just like all the rest...but with a bonus podcast you can check out.

“What You Got Ain’t Nothing New.”

No Country for Old Men is mainly about an aging lawman struggling to accept what the world has become. Of course, it’s not just people in law enforcement that struggle with the changing world; it’s all of us. For me, I remember it happening pretty early in a sports-related way. Whenever I went from one level to the next (like junior high to high school), I would think, “Man, they have it so much better than we had it.” It was essentially the “back in my day” bullshit we all grow up hearing. 

Things do change over time, but that doesn’t mean they are worse. If I checked game tape on basketball over the past few decades, the style of the play would be different, but not worse. A lot of this type of complaining is technology-based. As people age, they tend to prefer the more comfortable method they use for communicating and whatnot, so they’ll talk about the “simpler” times before everyone had a phone in their pocket.

Ed Tom in No Country certainly yearns for the simpler days of the past, as the film begins with his narration about how some sheriff’s didn’t even pack a gun. In his mind, the past was more peaceful, but now, with the drugs and everything, the world has become much more violent and confusing. It’s not until the end of the film that Ed Tom realizes that it’s not so much the world that has changed; it’s him. His uncle, Ellis, sums it up far better than I can: “What you got ain’t nothing new. This country’s hard on people. Can’t stop what’s coming. It ain’t all waiting on you. That’s vanity.”

Ed Tom finishes the film by recounting a dream he had about his long-dead father passing him on horseback and knowing that his father would be waiting for him ahead. I always thought that dream meant Ed Tom had accepted that he had aged beyond this world and felt comforted knowing that his father had gone through the same thing and would be waiting for him. His final line, “Then I woke up,” signifies that he’s at least aware of his situation now and has found a little peace in a hard world.

Accepting the chaos and Chigurhs of the world is something everyone throughout time could benefit from. When I was outlining this article, I thought I would focus on how crazy the world is right now and write about how this film can help someone realize that the world has always been crazy and chaotic. I still believe that, but I think focusing on that would defeat the point. It would assume that the world now is more chaotic than it’s ever been, and while that might seem like it’s the case, I can think of plenty of other historical events/time periods that would make the world feel less certain than it is today (the Holocaust, slavery, 9/11, JFK assassination, the Civil War, etc.). And I find it silly and disrespectful to try to compare horrible events to see which one is worse. 

Yes, learning the same lesson that Ed Tom learns in this film would be beneficial for a lot of people right now, but it would also be beneficial for a lot of people at any time in history. We all need to accept the title of the film and realize that this is not a country, or world, for old people. There are children growing up right now (my own two among them) that don’t see this current world as chaotic or different, even. This is just the world to them because this world is for them. Talk to them in twenty to thirty years, though, and they’ll probably tell you about how this chaotic world of ours right now is much simpler than the bullshit happening to their world in the future. And if I’m there to talk to them about it, I’ll just remind them of the lesson I took away from this movie: the world may change a bit, but people have and will always suck.

The Terminator, as Directed by the Coen Brothers.

It really hit me watching No Country this time how similar it is to The Terminator. The easy comparison is that Chigurh is machine-like and lethal like the Terminator and Llewelyn is the scrappy Kyle Reese, doing all he can survive.

There are certainly plenty of thematic differences between the films, but the long segments of tense cat-and-mouse interactions along with the scenes of preparation and self-surgery are spot-on Terminator. It makes for an interesting watch, seeing how the Coens would’ve made The Terminator.

As far as Chigurh as the Terminator goes, I actually think he’s a bit scarier because of his obsession with chance. It’s one thing to be a machine on a mission, but his strange coin flip game is a cruel addition. But then again, death in general is the same. Although I’ve never thought of Chigurh as a simple representative of death, but more as a personification of the brutal chaos of the world. In that way, Chigurh is more realistic. I can imagine someone like him existing, whereas the Terminator is more of a science fiction fantasy.

It’s pretty obvious, and plenty of others have made this comparison (as evidenced by the video below), but it stuck out to me a bit more this time for some reason.

Why Do I Own This?

I own almost every Coen Brothers movie (except Buster Scruggs [which seems silly to own since it’s a Netflix movie] and Hail, Caesar!, which has not grown on me enough yet. I used to be a completionist, which is why I own Intolerable Cruelty. All that written, I’d own this no matter who the filmmakers were. I believe this is easily in the top ten of the past twenty years.

Random Thoughts

I’ve seen this movie at least a dozen times, and this is the first time I noticed that Llewelyn’s first line is, “You hold still,” which is very similar to what Chigurh says to the unfortunate motorist in the previous scene. One is killing a man, the other is killing an animal. I suppose this film is asking if there’s a difference.

Gas station and grocery store scenes in period films always bother me because they rarely get the product packaging right. In this case, the Jack Link’s beef jerky in the background should not be there since the movie takes place in 1980 and Jack Link’s wasn’t founded until 1986. Not to mention that there’s no way the packaging looked like that in 1986. It’s a pet peeve that I wish I could ignore. Who else would let beef jerky take them out of such an amazing scene?

“Age will flatten a man.”

I love how the trailer park office lady says, “Did you not hear me?”

“You telling me he shot this boy in the head then went digging around in there with a pocketknife?”

“Sir, I don’t want to picture that.”

“I don’t either.”

Hotel clerk, incredulous: “That’s got two double beds!”

This is a movie largely comprised of scenes of preparation and tension. Come to think of it, that’s another reason why this movie reminds me of The Terminator more and more each time I watch it.

It’s also an all-time Coen Brothers film in regards to scenes with people working behind counters and desks.

“Is Carson Wells there?”

“Not in the sense that you mean.”

“They torture them first. Not sure why. Maybe the television set was broken.”

“But that’s what it took, you notice, to get someone’s attention. Digging graves in the backyard didn’t bring any.”

“Oh. That’s all right. I laugh myself sometimes. Ain’t a whole lot else you can do.”

“It’s certainly true that it’s a story.”

At first, I was annoyed that Llewelyn died off screen. Now I see that the shift in narrative focus is part of the point. People die and the focus drifts to the next person.

I was confused for a while about where exactly Chigurh is when Ed Tom goes back to the hotel. But you can see briefly that the lock to the next room has been shot out, as well. So I believe he’s waiting in the next hotel room and takes off while Ed Tom is looking through Llewelyn’s room.

“I always thought that when I got older, God would come into my life.” I’m not so certain now, but there was a time when I just thought older people were religious because they were old, and that’s what you do when you’re old, and that when I got older I would become much more religious. I’m not exactly old, so perhaps this will still be the case when/if I’m elderly.

The “vanity” line from Uncle Ellis really speaks to me. The idea that it’s vain to assume the world is at its worst during your lifetime is something I use to comfort myself from time to time. When I was little, I used to be very worried about the end of the world (the impending year 2000 was a point of concern for me for a while). Eventually, I came to the realization that this current generation of humanity is nothing special, so why should the world end while we’re here? It’s a bit of a messed up way to comfort yourself, sure, but it works for me. Why would the world end while we’re here? We suck too much for the apocalypse. An apocalypse would be wasted on us!

When I watched this in the theaters the first time, some dido behind me said, “Are you serious?” at the end. Yeah, they’re serious, you fucking moron. Look at the title. It’s called No Country for Old Men, not The Coen Brothers Made a Terminator Movie and That’s All. I hate to claim that someone doesn’t “get” something, but if you watched this movie and came away disappointed by the end, which encapsulates what the movie is actually about, then...you didn’t get it.

Here are a couple paragraphs of notes that didn’t make the cut for the first section, but I didn’t want to just delete them:

This is why we die. If we live too long, this world changes too much for us to handle. It happens sooner for some people. For simple folk like myself, I’m able to step away from it mentally and focus on other things, like parenting, video games, movies, work, etc. Life sometimes seems like one big distraction from the world.

But I don’t believe humans have become worse over time. We just know more things now. I imagine plenty of fucked up terrible shit happened even back in the cave dwelling days of humanity. But all we have to go by are some cave paintings of deer and shit. Now, we can just go back through someone’s Twitter history to find out how big of a piece of shit they are. We’ve always been awful, now we’re just better at letting everyone know, and, worse, a lot of people are proud of it.

..

"Once Upon a Time...Inherent Vice."

*As always, I write these articles under the assumption that you’ve seen the film, so...SPOILERS. (This also applies to Once Upon a Time...in Hollywood.)

I’m still sticking with my current monthly plan of Van Damme, Oedekerk, and western, but getting a chance to see Once Upon a Time...in Hollywood inspired me a bit. That’s why I went ahead and wrote a review of that, but it also made me want to revisit Inherent Vice. Basically, I wanted to rewatch Once Upon, but that wasn’t a possibility for me, so I went with the film it most reminded me of with Inherent Vice. 

Once Upon a Time...Inherent Vice

There are some obvious connections between these two films (the setting, the Manson references, the comedic tone, etc.), but the main connection I found was both films’ theme dealing with the end of an era. It’s as if Inherent Vice’s world is what Tarantino wanted to prevent by changing history at the end of his fairy tale. That’s probably why Once is a much lighter, funnier film than Inherent Vice. 

In Inherent Vice, the overall point (as far as I’m concerned, anyway) was the death of the carefree ‘60s and the birth of the paranoid ‘70s. This is evidenced by the general tone, especially the music, of the film, but it’s pretty obvious with the plot, when you can follow it, that is. You see the co-opting of the hippie movement (Bigfoot playing a hippie in a commercial, Owen Wilson being planted within the community by a government agency), and the general fear of hippies and drug users because of Charles Manson (when the cop pulls over Doc with Dr. Blatnoyd, Japonica, and Denis he lists all the things they’re on the lookout for and Denis even namedrops Manson). You get the sense that within Doc’s own life things were simpler when he was with Shasta, but now things have changed and it seems like everything is controlled by sinister forces. So even when they seem to end up together at the end, Doc is still looking in the mirror behind him, as if someone might be following him. Things will never be the same. 

This is what Tarantino laments in Once Upon a Time...in Hollywood. He’s more specifically concerned with Hollywood (hence, the title) than the general culture, but it’s still about how the Manson murders helped put an end to a carefree era. You get the sense of foreboding with Once Upon anytime you see the Manson women (hitchhiking, dumpster diving, etc.), and it comes to the forefront when Cliff ends up at the ranch, in an amazingly tense, creepy sequence. Overall, things are kept fairly light because Tarantino’s film is a fairy tale, not only for the main characters of Rick and Cliff, but for all of Hollywood, as well. Tarantino’s film posits that stopping Manson’s followers could let that world stay the same. You could argue that stopping Manson’s followers would not have stopped the change in our culture, but it is a fairy tale, so in that world maybe it could have. 

This is why I think Inherent Vice and Once Upon a Time...in Hollywood make a great double feature. And it doesn’t matter what order you watch them in. If you go with Vice first, you see a more historically accurate change in the culture, and if you follow that with Once Upon, you get to what things were like before and how it could have been avoided. I think it works better with Hollywood first, though. In that order, you get to see this world and its alternate history, and Inherent Vice becomes this darker sequel about what would have happened if things went differently at the end of Hollywood. Either way, both films create a world I wouldn’t mind spending an afternoon in.

It’s weird feeling nostalgic for an era I never experienced.

Feeling nostalgic for the world of either film is strange since I wasn’t alive during this time. It’s nothing new to want to live in a fictional world that I don’t personally identify with (like, say, wanting to live in the world of Star Wars even if I would have probably just been a moisture farmer or nerf herder…), but to feel a bit of nostalgia for a real time period I didn’t experience is a strange feeling because it’s a world I almost experienced. 

I was born in 1984, so most of my childhood memories are late ‘80s/early ‘90s. To me, those were carefree times, but I’m sure they weren’t to adults who had grown up in the ‘50s and 60’s. So I think this feeling that the world changed because of one or more events is something that happens to every generation. For me, it’s 9/11. But that also happened during my senior year of high school, a common time for people to start thinking more about the world instead of their own silly lives. 

My generation is unique, however, in that we will be the last people to remember a time of landline phones, no internet (at least no internet in its current ubiquitous form[fun fact: Pynchon included a subplot about the beginnings of the internet in the book, so even that was covered to a degree]), no DVR, etc. I still remember a time when driving around was a thing, and people had to track each other down to hang out and make plans. We had to look things up the hard way, and the world could be more interesting and mysterious due to our lack of information. Now, with information both real and fake being presented at a nonstop rate, it’s easy to look back to my childhood, or an era like the ‘60s, and think, “Man, I wish things were like that again.” This is all ignoring the common issues with nostalgia, by the way, like the fact that no time period is ever as great or simple as you remember it, and odds are it was a terrible time period for entire groups of people different than yourself. But at face value, that’s where my nostalgia for an era I never experienced comes from.

That written, it’s not so crazy to feel like there was a time in my life that was similar to Inherent Vice and Once Upon a Time...in Hollywood. With Vice, the main thing that comes across to me is the generally hanging out feeling I get as Doc seems to randomly wander through the story. I feel like high school was like that a bit: just living in the moment, not worrying too much about the future. As for Hollywood, I feel like the movies I grew up watching aren’t really made anymore, so Hollywood has changed for me. Once again, I think this happens to every generation, and it has a lot more to do with getting older than it does with cults and terrorists. But who wouldn’t want to live in a fairy tale where these terrible things never happened?

Why do I own this?

It’s a Paul Thomas Anderson movie.

Random Thoughts

“Someone might be watching.” The foreboding beginning is brought full circle in the final moments of the film as Doc keeps checking his mirror as if he’s checking for a tail. The era of paranoia had begun.

Brolin in that commercial at the beginning is the most subtly threatening hippie of all time.

“So while suspect, that’s you, was having alleged midday nap so necessary to the hippie lifestyle…”

Doc watching Bigfoot eat that chocolate-covered banana…

Now that I’ve seen Once Upon a Time...in Hollywood, I get the joke Doc makes to the FBI guys about “missing” an episode.

“What’s a Puck Beaverton?” Reminds me of one of my favorite lines from Game of Thrones: “What the fuck’s a Lommy?”

“[F]rom a bass player turned record company executive, which trend watchers took as further evidence of the end of Hollywood, if not the world as they know it.” I think of this and Once Upon as films very much about the end of Hollywood and the world as people knew it back then.

“‘Gee,’ he thought, ‘I don’t know.’”

I kind of disliked/didn’t pay much attention to Sortilege’s narration the first couple times I watched this. Watching it now, I feel like her narration, while nonsensical at times (the astrology stuff, but maybe that’s just me), actually sums up a lot of the film’s themes.

“Are you sayin’ that the U.S. is somebody’s mom?”

The Last Supper image with the pizza is one of my favorites. It beautifully visualizes Owen Wilson as Christ-like (mainly in that he has returned from the “dead”), and I remember reading about it in the book and PTA captured it perfectly.

I never give this film enough credit for being a love story. That scene with Doc and Shasta looking for dope after calling the number from the Ouija Board is a great moment that effectively captures what it’s like to be in a great relationship during a carefree time. It is the perfect subplot (in a film that seems to be nothing but subplots) for the theme of innocence lost as paranoia sets in. In the film, that theme applies to the changing culture in America at the time, but it can also apply to Doc and Shasta’s relationship in the end. They seem to be slightly back together, but the innocent, carefree love of before is gone. Doc is driving forward, as is their relationship, but who knows where it’s headed now? And when did he start worrying about where things were headed? Perhaps that’s the real loss of the hippie culture of the ‘60s. People stopped living in the moment are started living in fear of the future. But what do I know? I was born in 1984.

“You know it?”

“Shakes a tambourine.”

I have to remember to start using that instead of “rings a bell.”

This is the first time I noticed that Japonica’s dad was with the Voorhees-Krueger law office. Of all the unexpected elements of this film, a reference to Jason and Freddy is pretty high on the list.

“God help us all. Dentists on trampolines.”

“Did I hit you?”

I guess I just have a soft spot for movies that are about an end of an era without being too obvious about it.

“So you guys been working for the Golden Fang long?”

In the end, Shasta references it being like the Ouija day, and it being “Just us.” But Doc looks suspicious of this now. 

“Under the paving-stones, the beach!” I forgot this text was at the end of the credits. I think it fits in with my general thoughts about the theme of the film, in that the corruption, drugs, and paranoia in general became the paving stones while enjoying a simpler life was the beach.

"Sicario" Is the Dark, Tense Film the Drug War Deserves.

Sicario

Director Dennis Villeneuve has recently established himself as a master of tension, mood, and atmosphere. His two most recent films, Prisoners and Enemy set the tone for what to expect from his latest film, Sicario. Villeneuve’s ability to take basic establishing shots of arguably mundane settings and make them foreboding and intense is impressive. It’s a way of creating an effective style without calling too much attention to itself.

With Sicario, Villeneuve has the deserts of Mexico and the American southwest to play with. Lengthy establishing shots (renowned director of photography Roger Deakins impresses yet again) paired with a menacing score (by Johann Johannsson) let us know that this film about the drug war is going to be dark, intense, and disturbing. Mood isn’t everything in a film, but it certainly helps draw the viewer in. Working with a script from Taylor Sheridan (best known as an actor from Sons of Anarchy), Villeneuve is able to take what could have been a cookie-cutter action-thriller and make it into something special.

A movie about the drug war needs to be elevated because this is a story that has been told before, in a way. There have been movies about the drug war in Mexico for decades, but Sicario rises above the rest thanks to Villeneuve’s direction. That is not to say Sheridan’s script is weak. It is not terribly original, but it is interesting thanks to the perspective Sheridan chose.

The story is told from FBI agent Kate Macer’s perspective. Macer (Emily Blunt) is asked to join a joint task force made up of vague government types including Josh Brolin and Benicio Del Toro. Neither one wants to tell Macer much, so we do not know much. The most Macer, and the audience, is told is that the mission is to shake things up for the cartel and “dramatically overreact.” There is more to it, of course, which is the mystery of the film. The title itself is a bit of a mystery as “sicario” means “hitman” in Spanish, but we are not told who the hitman is. Having the main character be the new member of a group is a standard ploy of screenwriting to give the viewer someone to empathize with, but it is interesting here when you consider that Macer may represent the typical American’s reaction to the drug war. Not to get into spoilers, but Macer’s story arc is much more powerful when you view her as a representation of America in general.

While the character of Macer may be a bit plain, Blunt is still able to show her impressive range. Even though she plays a successful FBI agent, this is not your typical strong independent female role. Normally, a female character like this would be shown overpowering every man in her way, but Sicario takes a more realistic route. Macer can hold her own in a raid, but in a hand to hand fight with a man who has fifty pounds on her, things do not go so smoothly. While Macer is physically capable of her job, she struggles with the moral implications of her work with the task force. It is a role that requires Blunt to show equal parts strength and weakness, and she is great at both.

Brolin gives a fun performance in his supporting role, providing some much needed comedic relief to an otherwise joyless film. But it’s Del Toro who steals the film. As Alejandro, a mysterious and deadly soldier, he is able to make a menacing character surprisingly sympathetic. Del Toro comes across as the true star of the film. And Macer (and we the audience) are just there to watch him work.

Since this is a film about the drug war, there is a bit of action, as well. Villneuve does not glorify any of the violence, instead making most of the action scenes quick and brutal, showcasing how savage the situation has become. Each “action” scene is an incredibly tense moment that is much more effective than anything you will find in traditional action films of late.

Every positive element of the film is amplified by the style Villeneuve infuses into the film. Perhaps this is giving him too much credit, but mood and atmosphere cannot be undervalued when it comes to films about serious topics. Villeneuve’s style demands your close attention. And your close attention is rewarded with a tense, atmospheric “action” film that will have you contemplating a real world issue. In short, Sicario is what every serious film should be.

Sicario receives a:

Random Thoughts (SPOILERS)

I really liked the dark ending of the film, with the whole mission being about supporting one cartel to take over the entire drug trade. It's hard to fault Brolin's reasoning, especially when he points out the impossibility of getting Americans to stop using drugs. It's not a nice solution, but maybe it's a realistic one. 

I liked Sicario quite a bit because of my interpretation of Macer's character. By the end of the film, I saw her as representative of America in general because of her inability to bring real change to the situation. When Alejandro visits her at the end to coerce a signature that will legalize all the illegal things they did, he tells her she isn't strong enough for the war. She is not a wolf. So she should move away from it. I feel like that sums up most of America's citizens in regard to the drug war. Most people can't handle the brutality of what's going on, but their drug use or lack of attention allows it to continue. We are not wolves, so rather than do something about it, we "move" out attention elsewhere, hoping someone else fixes it. This interpretation was solidified for me when Macer retrieved her gun, aimed it at Alejandro, but was not able to pull the trigger. She was left on the balcony, powerless. That symbolizes the typical American regarding the drug war. We're above it on the balcony in America, and we have the power to stop it, but we can't pull the trigger. I really wish the film had ended there, rather than ending up at the kids' soccer game in Juarez. The ending makes a powerful point (that was also made in Traffic, by the way), but the theme of the film would have been more evident if the film had ended with Alejandro walking away as a powerless Macer stands, defeated, on the balcony.

After watching this, it is clear why Villeneuve is directing the next Blade Runner. This film is actually quite similar, stylistically. Blade Runner featured lengthy establishing shots set to a unique score that solidified the mood and atmosphere of the film constantly. I am not officially excited for what I previously thought of as a needless sequel. I know Villeneuve will keep the new Blade Runner just as dark as the original.

Finally, hats off to Sicario for that brutal dinner scene at the end. For a second, I thought Alejandro would prove to be sympathetic to the innocent woman and children at the table, but he turned out to be just as brutal as he had been the entire film. He was truly a man on a mission. I have not found Del Toro this interesting in years. Hopefully he keeps this up with his role in the next Star Wars film.

Why Watch "Everest"? Because It's There!

Everest

Every few years disaster strikes on Mount Everest and multiple debates about climbing the tallest mountain in the world begin. The most basic question that is always at the heart of Everest is, “Why?” The film, Everest, directly posits this question as well, and the characters, in unison, shout George Mallory’s famous line: “Because it’s there!” The characters give serious answers afterward, but that line gets to the root of most reasons why people climb and also why the film exists. Everest is there, and such an imposing example of nature will always fascinate climbers and viewers alike.

There is no shortage of disaster stories from Everest’s deadly history, but the 1996 climbing season was possibly the most documented making it the obvious choice for source material. Jon Krakauer’s Into Thin Air is the most famous account of the climb, but Everest went with a more broad scope in an attempt to present more viewpoints of the event. This makes Everest more accessible, but the lack of focus also leads to some characters receiving short shrift. That said, enough character building is done to make the human drama a very effective counterbalance to the visual spectacle of the film.

The draw of Everest is definitely the spectacle, though. Any film about Everest needs to be about the beauty of the deadly mountain and the general experience of climbing it. In that regard, Everest is extremely successful. The shots of the mountain are stunning, but, more importantly, the actors seem to be truly struggling as they make their way higher and higher. The film shows how brutal the climb truly is, even when climbers are paying to be shepherded up the mountain. The climbers are basically dying the last few thousand feet since humans aren’t meant to survive at such altitudes. Director Baltasar Kormákur said in an interview that he’s “fine” with putting actors through “a little bit of pain” and it definitely shows.

It’s important for the film to hammer home the difficulty of the climb to make the major question of the film more pertinent. Why put yourself through this? Why risk your life? This question is doubly relevant when you add in the weather conditions that led to the 1996 disaster. Is it worth losing your life for the glory of reaching the top? Everest does not presume to answer this question, but the characters obviously think that it is very much worth it. It’s important that the film ultimately leaves the answer up to the viewer since it is a real world question that is still relevant, especially since Everest’s deadliest day occurred this past April. The bigger question then becomes about commercial climbing. In other words, should less-experienced climbers be allowed to pay professional guides to get them to the top? Multiple times in the film, money is mentioned, and the guides clearly want to get people to the top so they can stay in business. Would the disaster of 1996 have happened if the guides didn’t feel that pressure to get more people to the top, especially with a journalist in two who was going to write about it? The film’s screenwriters (William Nicholson and Simon Beaufoy) wisely stop short of blatantly demonizing the practice of guided climbing, leaving it ultimately up to the viewer.

The question of Everest then becomes, “Why recreate these terrible events?” That is difficult to answer. Much like any film based on real, tragic events, there is a tricky line that is toed between reverence and exploitation. “Everest” does not come across as exploitative, but there are moments near the end (which did actually happen) that felt too personal to be recreated, much less witnessed by millions of viewers. (This is a slight SPOILER so skip to the next paragraph if you don’t know the true story and don’t want any part of the film spoiled.) Near the end of the film, one of the main characters, Rob Hall (Jason Clarke), has a conversation with his pregnant wife via a walkie-talkie/satellite phone hook-up as he is dying. It felt too personal to read about it in Into Thin Air, and it felt even more personal watching it recreated. The film seems aware of this, however, as there are multiple reaction shots of characters listening in on the interaction. Everyone is crying, and most people watching the film will be crying as well. This moment is so important because this is where the film might lose the audience. It feels a bit too manipulative, but it actually did happen this way. It’s hard to fault a movie for being melodramatic when it’s based on a real moment. The scene proved to be a double-edged sword for me. It made the film much more emotional and powerful than I expected it to be, but it also convinced me that I never wanted to watch it again.

Any emotion created in a scene is also the product of the actors involved. Clarke is great throughout, but he is truly heartbreaking at the end of the film. Keira Knightley, as Hall’s wife, gives an effective performance as well, especially considering that her scenes were just her talking on the phone. The rest of the cast of Everest is equally impressive: Jake Gyllenhaal, Robin Wright, Josh Brolin, John Hawkes, Michael Kelly, Sam Worthington, and Emily Watson. Brolin is given the meatiest role as Beck Weathers, a man whose experiences could have been a movie on its own. The rest have their moments, but the only weak point of the film is that some of the cast is underutilized, specifically Gyllenhaal. Gyllenhaal portrays Scott Fischer, who was known as kind of a rock star mountain climber. This reputation leads to a slightly strange performance as Fischer seems to be constantly drunk and/or angry, but it’s never explained completely. It seems that once Gyllenhaal was cast, the screenwriters wanted to beef up the role, but couldn’t devote enough time to create a fully fleshed out character. That said, Gyllenhaal brings enough charisma to the role to justify his appearance; you’re just left wanting more.

If anything, the main issue with Everest is that you’re left wanting more. It’s a true story with so many characters it’s impossible to feel like the full story has been told in two hours. Thankfully, there are multiple books and articles that delve deeply into the individual experiences. So Everest is more of a snapshot of Everest and all the human drama that comes with it. It is a very effective film that makes you appreciate (and question) the struggle people go through to achieve their dreams. As a short glimpse into the world of commercial climbing and the tragedy it can bring, Everest works on every important level. It won’t (and can’t) answer the question of why people climb Everest, but it does present a fascinating example of people who took up the challenge and paid the ultimate price.

Everest receives a: