Thursday, January 7, 2016

Nobody's Visible Legend

Is it too much to infer that the blind man Tommy Lee Jones and his captive come across before crossing into Mexico, in the 2005 The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada, is emblematic of a Tiresias-like prophet, with all the turbulence of Grecian tragedy? Jones is not much for southern comfort in his later films; Estrada is no exception, and its opening structure has a satisfying sense of ridicule about man’s capacity for destruction with the 19th century technology of projectile weapons. Shooting wild dogs like coyotes, whether for legitimate purposes or simple sport, has unintended consequences, unraveling puzzles for quixotic figures like Penkins to piece together in his stark landscapes, one in which challenging questions about identity and marginalization are posed, since Estrada himself has very little identity, other than a dream of paradise, and his bond with his buddy, whose subsequent tunnel vision might be driven by guilt, just as Norton’s reactionary bile is driven by fear, and whether or not as the antagonist, this border agent truly sees the humanity of the “chicano” by the close of the film, I’d argue this is open ended, despite guilt shredding his psyche to pieces. Unlike the dowager, Jones is a morally decent conservative, one who posits a true form of liberality. It is admirable, and partly why we might stand against the border wall with Mexico.

But this 13 year old vehicle is an unforgiving parable. No figure like Clint Eastwood’s trainer stands ready to take the consequences upon himself to alleviate the suffering of a sterile, ailing life. The old man apparently forgives Penkins, since he lies to the posse of agents on the trail of our rather dubious hero. Penkins achieves resolution, but what he took to get there has a gut wincing cost. Although we can assume that a dummy model was used for the dun pack horse which bucks itself over the escarpment, that was some significantly brutal ecological footage, nearly equivalent to the courage of Melissa Leo’s branded, mildly rancid nakedness. Yet Texan mendacity is still entrancing.

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