Two friends of mine have lost their mothers in recent months, and in both cases the question is what, if anything, can be said. And what makes the difference seems to be silence, giving the grieving person space to say what they need to.

Silence is in short supply in many films. One exception is No Country for Old Men, the latest offering by the Coen Brothers. Recently they’ve been dabbling in light comedy, and I respect their willingness to explore what they’re capable of. But this new film reaffirms they’re at their strongest when in territory they’ve made familiar to us through their darker work; Fargo and Blood Simple in particular.

The story is driven by the discovery of a case containing $2 million by welder and Vietnam vet Llewelyn Moss (Josh Brolin). It’s a sum with the potential to change his life forever, and that’s exactly what he sets out to do. Only, other parties have an interest in this cash – as indicated by the number of corpses Llewelyn encounters in the process of finding it – and getting to spend it will not be easy. In particular, he needs to worry about Anton Chigurh (Javier Bardem), a psychopathic killer with a trademark Coen Brothers haircut. These developments are communicated visually in the main, cause and effect shown beat by steady beat, action leading to reaction and consequence.

Not having read the Cormac McCarthy story the screenplay is based on, I couldn’t tell you how close it matches the original. At any rate, I’m assuming it was chosen because it’s very much in tune with the Coens’ sensibilities. There’s regional flavour, West Texan in this case; strongly characterised parts for even the smallest roles; and an abundance of idiosyncratic detail.

Above all though, what makes No Country for Old Men stand out is its gravity. Oh, there are the usual Coen Brothers laughs along the way, but make no mistake, this is a serious film. And nothing demonstrates that more than the ending. I won’t spoil it, since the film has only just opened.  Let’s just say that the story ends at an unexpected point that can lead to only one inevitable conclusion.

It’s a breathtaking finale, essentially throwing up so many plot points in the air to say ‘Look, there’s something big happening here, something that matters more than entertainment, and you as an audience need to face up to that’. The rest is silence, pretty much, the film’s end credits being a musically slender business. And that’s what stayed with me as I left the cinema into the night and the city, only to hear as I walked away the strains of a busker I like, a middle aged black guy whose voice and guitar playing are steeped in the blues. Blues is cliché in musical form, but there’s no getting away from some things, and that’s why it’s important we have people to sing, and write, and make films about the biggest cliché of all: the fact that we’re all going to die one day.