Hannibal Lecter. Travis Bickle. The T-1000 from Terminator 2. Teenwolf on a fast break. To this academy of cinema's most unstoppable characters add the cleverly coiffed villain Anthony Chigurh of Joel and Ethan Coen's latest, No Country for Old Men (in theaters Friday). A pressurized-cattle prod-wielding Angel of Death, Chigurh is the biblical embodiment of the apocalypse. Confronted with a coin toss for his life, a gas-station attendant asks Chirgurh, "What do I stand to win?" The patient, friendly, but haunting response: "Everything."

Moviegoers will be glad to hear the Coens have abandoned their recent commitment to making horrible films. Their last two bombs, Ladykillers and Intolerable Cruelty, might just as well be stricken from the record. No Country harkens back to a style reminiscent of Fargo, providing the idiosyncrasies of time and place but lacking that film's sense of irony. A faithful adaptation of Cormac McCarthy's 2005 novel of the same name, the film is set in the godless environs of southwestern Texas near the border of Mexico, making for a stark, somber tone that's sure to garner the attention of Lou Dobbs fans. The plot line's deceptively simple: Llewelyn Moss (Josh Brolin) stumbles on a botched drug deal-turned-massacre and finds among the dead bodies a payload of heroin and a satchel containing $2 million in cash. Naturally, he takes the money and bolts. The dope's owner, Chigurh, seeks restitution in the form slaughter. Craggly, jaded Sheriff Ed Tom Bell (played pitch-perfect by Tommy Lee Jones), meantime, hopes to reach Moss before Chigurh does, trailing the men through an aftermath of brutal carnage.

The result is one of the most intense movie experiences in ... forever. No Country's sure to please fans of the book and moves with the slow, silent, unnerving creep of the best murder novels. It is almost devoid of soundtrack, but the pace is kept by the nearly unbearable suspense. There is plenty of action, too, but we still get a tasty helping of the Coen's dry wit—especially in Tommy Lee Jones's deadpan delivery of stripped-down one-liners. Our prediction: The Coens Fargo Oscar will soon have a mate on the mantle.