老无所依No Country for Old Men Movie Script

杰瑞发布于2022-10-20

Synopsis:While out hunting, Llewelyn Moss (Josh Brolin) finds the grisly aftermath of a drug deal. Though he knows better, he cannot resist the cash left behind and takes it with him. The hunter becomes the hunted when a merciless killer named Chigurh (Javier Bardem) picks up his trail. Also looking for Moss is Sheriff Bell (Tommy Lee Jones), an aging lawman who reflects on a changing world and a dark secret of his own, as he tries to find and protect Moss. 老无所依的剧情简介 　　美国德克萨斯州乡村，老牛仔Moss（乔什·布洛林 饰）在猎杀羚羊时发现几具尸体，几包海洛因和200万现金。Moss决定将毒品和现金占为己有，想以此改变自己的生活，谁知却遭到冷血杀手Chigurh（哈维尔·巴登 饰）的跟踪和追杀，陷入了逃亡的险境。 　　同时，当地治安官Bell（汤米·李·琼斯 饰）也在对一连串的杀人事件进行调查，并努力保护Moss的安全。但是，让Bell感到无力绝望的是，他使尽浑身解数也无法追踪到冷血杀手，Moss的生命安全也受到严重的威胁，Bell一边缅怀父辈们的光荣岁月，一边深感现实中老无所依的悲哀。

He is not yet over the river:
wind stirs the cane on the bank.
风吹拂着岸边的藤条。
He looks up:
Chain-link fence encloses the walkway to a height of about twelve feet, curling inward at the top.
He looks down the walkway. The three boys are distant figures.
He looks up the walkway.
A few paces up a light pole stanchion stands flush to the guardrail that separates road and walkway.
He goes to the stanchion and uses it to hoist himself onto the guardrail, his free hand holding the case.
Standing on top of the curved metal rail and holding the post for balance, he kneebends down and up and heaves the case.
It sails clear of the chain-link fence. A short beat and we hear a thump.
Moss pants for a moment, recovering from the strain of the toss. He eases himself off the guardrail and goes to the fence and looks at the bank below. One gnarled tree stands out in the cane. The case, wherever it landed, is not visible.
EXT. GUARDSHACK MEXICAN SIDE - NIGHT There is a lighted guardshack at the end of the walkway.
Inside, a uniformed guard.
Moss walks unsteadily up. He tilts the beer bottle in salute at the guard.
The guard impassively lets him proceed.
EXT. MEXICAN SQUARE - DAWN
BLACK:
In black, an insanely cheerful mariachi song.
Fade in on the mariachis. We are looking steeply up at them, dutch-angled. They beam down at us, energetically thumping their oversized guitars and bajo sextos.
We boom woozily up and start to un-dutch.
Reverse on Moss struggling to a sitting position on the park bench where he'd been lying. A public square.
Back to the mariachis. Beaming, singing.
Their smiles gradually fade.
The playing falls off to silence.
In the silence, birds chirp. The musicians are looking quizzically down.
Moss's arm swings up in the foreground, extending a bloody hundred-dollar bill.
On Moss. His coat has swung open to expose his bloody midriff.
His look up is glazed.