I don't think you can really blame McCarthy's screenplay because it was so grotesquely mishandled by Scott's direction. McCarthy is a writer who triumphs in the layers of his story, whereas Scott took a far too literal approach to the material, filming it like a straight forward thriller. When you watch No Country For Old Men or The Road, you can feel the darkness and emptiness of the situation crawling under your skin. The Counselor is a similar exercise in futility, but one that is filmed as if it's a MTV music video. The only scene that really holds up is the phone call between Fassbender and Ruben Blades, mostly because it's very much just the two men talking, and the dialogue taking full reign, so McCarthy's purposes become all that more clear.
Counselor: I’m not sure you understand my position.
Jefe: But I do, Counselor. Actions create consequences which produce new worlds, and they’re all different. Where the bodies are buried in the desert, that is a certain world. Where the bodies are simply left to be found, that is another. And all these worlds, heretofore unknown to us, they must have always been there, must they not?
Counselor: I don’t know. Will you help me?
Jefe: I would urge you to see the truth of the situation you’re in, Counselor. That is my advice. It is not for me to tell you what you should have done or not done. The world in which you seek to undo the mistakes you made is different from the world where the mistakes were made. You are now at the crossing. And you want to choose, but there is no choosing there. There’s only accepting. The choosing was done a long time ago. Are you there, Counselor?
Counselor: Yes.
Jefe: I don’t mean to offend you, but reflective men often find themselves at a place removed from the realities of life. In any case, we should all prepare a place where we can accommodate all the tragedies that sooner or later will come to our lives. But this is an economy few people care to practice. Do you know the words of Machado?
Counselor: I know his name.
Jefe: “…caminante, no hay camino, se hace camino al andar.” Lovely poet. Machado was a schoolteacher and he married a young, beautiful girl. And he loved her very much. And she died. And then he became a great poet.
Counselor: I’m not going to become a great poet.
Jefe: No, perhaps not. But even if you were to do so, it would not help you. Machado would have traded every word, every poem, every verse he ever wrote for one more hour with his beloved. And that is because when it comes to grief, the normal rules of exchange do not apply, because grief transcends value. A man would give entire nations to lift grief off his heart, and yet, you cannot buy anything with grief. Because grief is worthless.
Counselor: Why are you telling me this?
Jefe: Because you continue to deny the reality of the world you’re in. Do you love your wife so much, so completely, that you would exchange places with her upon the wheel? And I don’t mean dying, because dying is easy.
Counselor: Yes! Yes, damn you!
Jefe: Well, that is good to hear, Counselor.
Counselor: What are you saying? Are you saying this is a possibility?
Jefe: No. It’s impossible.
Counselor: You said I was that man at that crossing.
Jefe: Yes. At the understanding that life is not going to take you back. You are the world you have created, and when you cease to exist, this world you have created will also cease to exist. But for those with the understanding that they’re living the last days of the world, death acquires a different meaning. The extinction of all reality is a concept no resignation can encompass. And then, all the grand designs, and all the grand plans will be finally exposed and revealed for what they are.
That part on the value of grief had me like
in the theater. I won't tolerate any shyt talking of the screenplay, brehs.
