So Martin Scorsese discovers three pages from a never-made Hitchcock film, entitled The Key to Reserva, and vows to make it as Hitchcock would have made it “back then,” only “now.”
Funny, and more entertaining than 82 percent of what’s released into theaters . . .
Although the premier Hitchcock send-up belongs to Mel Brooks’ Psycho take-off in High Anxiety . . .
And what is the deal with No Country for Old Men cleaning up with Best Picture awards? All the power of the book has been drained in the Coens’ adaptation, leaving little more than their typically mannered visual quirks. I realized I was watching a work of film school mediocrity at just about the point when Josh Brolin crosses the border. Touch of Evil immediately came to mind—now imagine Cormac McCarthy interpreted by Welles and you will realize the difference between what the Coens bring to the table—a self-conscious “style”—vs. what a Welles would have contributed—a vision.
I will admit to admiring Tommy Lee Jones’ performance—actually his drawl. His voice—especially his narration—had to have been what McCarthy heard in his head when he was composing his original.
