I am not a movie reviewer. Movie discussions, save the likes of Charlie Wilson's War, which is directly related to the business of this Blog, have no place here. But there is something I must get off my chest.
I got, at birth, for better or worse, a full dose of the male gene set. I am not very squeamish, and I must reluctantly admit a predilection for rather nasty movies and TV shows—from Platoon to Syriana, to my favorite movie of all time, Apocalypse Now, to 24. (I even own an old video called, I think, The NFL's Hardest Hits.)
I suppose I've been a solo moviegoer for 50 years. And I've never walked out of a movie, no matter how many bombs were exploding or how much blood was flowing.
Until this Sunday.
At the 15 minute mark I left the Rutland VT Movieplex 9, where I was watching No Country for Old Men. It has won a bucketful of awards, and reviews have indeed remarked that it is pretty violent.
I can state without (personal) doubt that I have never seen such continuous, gratuitous, barf-inducing, disgusting violence in my life, including dog shootings, which I abhor.
If the movie wins the Academy Award for Best Picture, I will probably throw a rock through my TV screen.
Before blogging became all the rage, Tom was posting book reviews and Observations (essentially early blog posts) to this site. You can find the archives below.
What we're talking about
on the front page.