In "No Country for Old Men," a wind blows, unabated by tree,
building or much else.  Depending, you might describe the sound
as hungering or indifferent.  But before any image arrives to
help you decide comes a voice that has as much texture as the
face of the actor to whom it belongs: Tommy Lee Jones.  There is
black. There is wind. There is Sheriff Bell's voice. Only after
these elements are established does the screen open on a
desolate, beguiling view: horizon, prairie scrub, low-lying
hills at a distance.  "The crime you see now ..." the lawman
muses, "It's hard to take its measure."  There's something
biblical at play in the beginning of Joel and Ethan Coen's
tremendous adaptation of Cormac  McCarthy's parable of good,
evil and the vast in between.  And it may take you a spell to
recognize what's missing at this beautiful start: There's nary a
note of score or underscore to nudge us along.  Like McCarthy's
novel about a laconic Texan, a suitcase full of drug money and
the ever-dying American West, "No C