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The Road (John Hillcoat, 2009) Y

Seems Cormac McCarthy is a writer immense, universal, of the stature of a Hemingway, a Faulkner or Erskine Caldwell. This is the great actor Viggo Mortensen, a writer himself, which says in the bonus "the road". McCarthy himself appears in the bonus. This man has a deep love for his great country of America, its open spaces, etc., says Hillcoat. In fact, it looks like a gentleman farmer retired, very dignified, with a furrowed face of the beautiful wrinkles of wisdom and a look of deep gray-blue, hinting at a mixture of sad and kind of quiet determination.

The other McCarthy books are already very Successful throughout the film, but "the road" was already universally known before becoming a movie.

Across the globe, men, women, and Soviet Olympic swimmers retired, were a triumph in this novel. Because it is a simple story that speaks of universal things that everyone can understand.

For example: the love of a father to his son and the love of a son for his father . That is, if not the most precious thing in the world, at least one of the things that immediately touch the heart of every human being, even in the orphanages and homes for battered children in the remotest wilds of Arkansas. What father in correcting its mouftard Loved skillet on the mug was not moved that the flesh of his flesh was his most precious Ardennes what farmer killing a burglar with a big buck deer shooting, thinking his kid did nocturnal said: "I would give my life for you, my p Tiny monster loved?

These are sentiments that speak to what is deepest in the human heart, as the panic of being accommodated on skewers or cut into sausage from Toulouse by unfriendly neighbors, Following the extinction of food-based animal fat.

So already, a novel that deals, as the simplest, most human feelings, translated into 140 languages.

I read anything by Cormac McCarthy. I vaguely knew his life following the adaptation by the Coen brothers for "No Country for Old Men." I liked the staging in this film, but history itself, I had trouble, I confess. Which, among other things, lead the story in my opinion, was the ongoing drivel and whining resigned from the old sheriff, is played by Tommy Lee Jones.

Whenever he placed his little verse philosophical about the savagery of the world as it was so nice and friendly before, with the Texan accent very well imitated the guy has seen the birth of the rail, I was anxious that we move on, and it refocuses on the chase between the horrific psykopat polite and funny redneck and cunning and silent.

No, permanent intervention of old, there with his cocker spaniel eyes sad about the state of the world, how it goes, how there are more values, and respect s'perd, it m has pretty well stuffed.

And we must recognize that it seems to be a topic of choice the guy McCarthy. In "The Road" was, for once, right throughout the film, with segments of monologue disillusioned old man's foot gout, osteoarthritis and spits his lungs to make matters worse, the loss of basic human values of his contemporaries, especially when his contemporaries as the sole obsession of eating all cooked (not raw: there anyway a survival of habits and customs of civilization), he and his little boy very sensitive . So sensitive, innocent and cute enough to eat another old limping, running, afflicted with glaucoma (Robert Duvall visit, just long enough to swallow a can of fruit cocktail) he says, envious, even if its not an angel from heaven or the last tangible evidence of the existence of god, then for sure we can sincerely wonder if the old bearded studded has something to carrer, some hand, men of this earth.

I dunno, I feel that literature too simple, profound and universal guy McCarthy.

It makes me think too much about my old janitor, who died years ago, which saw evil everywhere. Finally, concierge, it was not really. It was the tenant of the ground floor, which has always lived in the building, and who had virtually usurped the function. Spent his life on the doorstep, he choked his little chubby fat mass which was stuck, no neck, his fat little head bald bulldog, shooting everyone, especially me, his eyes suspiciously. The

was so convinced I was some kind of dirty hippy intellectual junkie from my life watching films of Bergman and listen to Shostakovich quartets instead of my weekly cleaning stairs, he had filed a claim, one day, the LAN cable, since the TV from his old companion Poodle in the third, although no longer displays channels.

He accused me of having to fiddle with the cable TV or what have you, to enjoy the eye of their programs. I had the opportunity, of course, clear that I was paying on the nail my subscription to "Coditel" (now "voo") since my arrival, I would go so why tamper with the ropes, which I am already incompetent where I saw, to distinguish an electric transformer to a meter of heat? "With malicious intent," was the reply, fearless, that I received.

No, people are evil, j'dis me, especially the elderly, especially the plump little old What a bulldog's head stuck on the shoulders without a neck, and obstructing morning, noon and night supervision the door for you scolded their constant complaints.

Well, he died 10 years ago, the poor. I was sad for him.

A week before his death, his old girlfriend had called the third in the middle of the night because he was choking on the floor and she could not put it back on his bed. It was a terrible night. The old lady had knocked on my door. It was all lost, defeated the bun, like a witch in Salem notched his dressing gown which hung by mistake in a long stretch marks by a condom filled with water to half. Finally, say, a good third. The latter still agitated about half a centimeter from my face while we will repair the janitor who choked while purple and naked, lying on the carpet like a piglet crumpled.

This scene and these visions so similar to the image that can be done after death, back in my flat, I had had to put in the tape a vhs porn-soft-erotic nymphs with jojoba coating their bodies with sculptural curves maddening. For me pull the pin and exorcise these visions of flesh hanging and cadaverous.

But back to Cormac McCarthy and "the road". Not that this is definitely bad, as post-apocalyptic film, a genre that has the symbol. Was very impressive landscapes and stuff, hanging bridges in the mist, and a small side-resident evil 4 beautiful contemplative visit.
But suddenly the old man who protects her child, he regularly explains how to plug a bullet Cabessa in kind to any dirty trick sudden upsurge in the perimeter of cannibals on a spree; teaches him to "hold fire" in deepest self (even if we feel there longer believes himself too much, and my faith in their situation, it's understandable), then sadly meditating on happiness vanished and the cowardice of his desperate wife who has gone away a morning mist dirty cinder, to live the horror things, etc., well, it was not too carried away my belief.

Another story for fear of old shit scared for elderly and children, and harden more the old man's heart. I had a little trouble getting into swing this trip there, even if I do not feel either of the first freshness.

I saw all the time, superimposed, thrombin Roger Ebert, the great critic old movie.

Ebert The poor father, since he has no chin, wearing a neck brace and is sustained solely straw, became as it were cowardly life. Note, that would not, in a sense, in its place. He does not pray regularly for us to explain on his blog that the complete works of McCarthy stands on his bedside table. But suddenly, he no longer celebrated, as a critic, as stories of disillusioned old lonely soliloquy of bitter truths and resigned to a world uninhabitable dedicated to predation, radical evil. With a micro touch of hope on the part of remnants of the old moral order, violated everywhere, making them nostalgic for the good old catechism Log Church of wheedling.

I do not know if it's a good idea, even by thinking about the "state of the world", this onslaught of nostalgia and a bit crapoteux because it encourages a feeling of depression in a world downturn ultra-violent decomposed, leave too easily predict remedies guns, sauce "Inspector Callahan.

At least there is a positive message in this film and, though discreet, it has not escaped me.

Must know that in a world that is more than dusty debris stagnant for decades and decades in an atmosphere of congregating and soot seeping everywhere, are still using find distributors with, inside, cans of coca-cola fresh and sparkling under the metal cover rust and rubble.

Proof that this is a quality product, good value. Moreover, it is well known: if you go on an expedition tourism in exotic countries of the Third World, where hygiene is not top, always fill your bag of sodas. It may prove valuable not to nab gastroenteritis or dysentery. And since there are few pharmacies.