No country for old men

Foley, Minnesota, since we moved here in 1997, has been a town that has pretty much nothing going for it. Not so different from our town, Milaca, or the town south of us, Princeton. Princeton is close enough to the Twin Cities that it may someday get some kind of injection of suburban money that will make it half way interesting, but Milaca and Foley? Not likely.

Then something amazing happened. A couple of movie buffs bought a building on a corner in Foley’s downtown and put in a movie theater. And it wasn’t just a movie theater. They did it up right, with a beautiful new neon marquee, Brickhouse Cinema, and four small stadium-seating theaters with great classic-retro names (Judy Garland theater, John Wayne theater, etc.) and crystal chandeliers, and ceilings made of that molded tin stuff like in the old bars and taverns of the early 20th century.

In Foley.

I’ve been there three times since we’ve been back from New Zealand, and I want to go there every weekend. It’s amazing. It’s the kind of place I’d build if I could do anything I wanted with my life.

So Rob and I went there the other night to see No Country for Old Men, a movie based on a book I blogged about a couple months ago. I enjoyed the movie quite a bit. More than the book, probably. The amazing thing about the movie was how closely it follows the book. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a movie that follows a book so closely. It also has no musical soundtrack.

I think the movie is better than the book, in fact. It’s a story that works better as a movie than it does as a book, at least as written by Cormac McCarthy, an author I think is entirely overrated.

So go to Foley. Go the No Country for Old Men. Listen to the silence. Don’t read the book.

Night.

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