NO JOB FOR OLD MEN (OR WOMEN)

I hate two-fers. Not only is lumping together two movie reviews into one an exercise in laziness, it's insulting to the film makers of both films being reviewed. No movie, not even a feature starring Dane Cook, deserves having to share the stage with another in a half-baked write-up. Like a cut-rate Universal Life Church minister, 79-year-old Andrew Sarris of The New York Observer has officiated the wedding of Sidney Lumet's "Before The Devil Knows You're Dead" and The Coen Brothers' "No Country For Old Men" in his article, "Just Shoot Me! Nihilism Crashes Lumet and Coen Bros."

After giving "Before The Devil" an unenthusiastic hand tremor, not to be confused with the uncontrollable tremor of his other hand, Sarris turns to "No Country," ceremoniously giving it his "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust" before high-horsing into the sunset to collect his Big Fat Greek Paycheck. Some wedding, huh?

The fact that Sarris disparages both films (and Cormac McCarthy's novel, "No Country For Old Men") because they are Nihilistic, and therefore some kind of ideological threat to the universe, is even more offensive than Nihilism itself. That level of closed-mindedness has no place in a film review, and is surely a signal of how he'll be voting next November. Talk about a threat to the universe!

I personally believe Mr. Sarris' near-octogenarianism might be the determining factor in the loss of his critical thinking skills and his inability to put forth a convincing argument built on a foundation of quicksand. This is something every professional critic should know how to do and do well, either to flesh out a thin critique or to give a studio-bought review the desired result (yea or nay). He used to be a crackerjack at it. Don't get me wrong, he's still sharp with the bon mots, but there's no meat and potatoes.

In the "No Country For Old Men" portion of his article, Mr. Sarris does acknowledge the great performances by Tommy Lee Jones, Javier Bardem, and Kelly MacDonald. Strangely, though, he describes the film's insane, murder-mad villain (the Bardem character) as "a subhuman killing machine with a touch of whimsy." Doesn't that sound like the job description of a movie critic?

The Javier Bardem character is not the only kindred spirit Mr. Sarris has found on what he cynically calls "this reportedly endangered planet." He is married to fellow critic and author of "From Reverence To Rape: The Treatment Of Women In The Movies," feminist Molly Haskell. As of late, MRS. SARRIS(!) has been de-balled, not unlike Janet Maslin, and has gone from being a film critic to being a book critic for The New York Times. It is unusual for me to review book reviews, as I think books are jive-ass, but since she is a "once was" and is married to a "still is," I'll make an exception.

Between authoring books such as "Love and Other Infectious Diseases: a Memoir" and "Holding My Own in No Man's Land: Women and Men and Film and Feminists", Miss Molly writes about one review every fifteen years - probably because she chooses only to write good reviews, and probably specifically for her female writer friends.

In one of her more recent reviews (written in the year 2000), "High-Wire Artist," she does a fine job of not reviewing Kate Buford's biography, "Burt Lancaster: An American Life." But for a single blurb-friendly line where she calls the 400-plus page monster a "splendid biography," Haskell instead reviews Burt Lancaster the man, choosing to treat the article more like a book report than a critique, more like an advertisement than an analysis.

Perhaps she has finally grown a conscience after years of abusing imaginationeers in her film reviews, subscribing now to the "If you have nothing nice to say" philosophy. Or perhaps, and more likely, she has become one of those voiceless, powerless women without opinions - the kind she obsessively writes about in her books - a victim of her husband's success and egomania. With no point of view to call her own, Haskell is a failure as a critic, but at least she's a human being.

Her spouse, on the other hand, has opinion-eggs crawling out of his bony ass. And even with his teeth in a glass by the bed, he's got more bite than she has ever had and probably ever will have. He is a God-fearing, God Complex-having Nihilist-hater who seems determined to piss on creative people for the rest of his days.

How can we stop him? Depends.