Taking a wrong turn on the way to the mall, Lou Ann Norton (January Jones) daydreams about an afternoon of passion she shared with Melquiades Estrada (Julio Cesar Cedillo). Meanwhile, her frustrated, fidgety husband Mike (Barry Pepper), sitting next to her in the jeep, lights up a cigarette, trying to smoke out the guilt of having recently killed a man, Melquiades Estrada. Flash forward/back/sideways/ wherever (well, this is a script by 21 Grams writer Guillermo Arriaga) to another scene, where Mike forces himself upon Lou Ann; their dislocated sex life approaching near-rape. Unwittingly brought together by the adultery with/murder of the same bloke, the Nortons have never been closer – intricacies, coincidences and mistakes meshing the people of Van Horn, Texas together. And, what’s more, that first scene in the car’s a deleted one; such is the wealth of material Tommy Lee Jones had to play with for his exquisite directorial debut.
“It’s a small town, all sorts of drama happens and everyone knows each other,” says Mr Jones on his three-hander chat-track with Ms Jones and Dwight Yoakam (Sergeant Belmont). “Like my own town, people get mad with each other, fool around with each other’s wives. They’re idiots. But they’re our idiots...” Living in a desert town of few distractions and precious little affection, where lethargy, smut and neglect – dead eyes staring out into an Edward Hopper-esque void – rule the dusty roost, it is Jones’ cowboy Pete Perkins and his devotion to Melquiades that comes across as the least idiotic, most human thing around. After all, Melquiades was the only guy in the town with anything approaching a love of life, shot down in his prime by patrolman Mike. So, as gruff cowboy Pete carries his carked-it Mexican buddy back across the border for a decent burial and takes his killer along for the ride, you’re right by his side, desperate for him to redeem everyone’s wretched lives.
“My character represents the fallen man searching for fulfilment,” explains the outstanding, unnerving Pepper in the above-average Making Of (not just did-this-did-that filler, but insight-rammed). “He’s empty and lonely, with no understanding of love or commitment, and through the painful journey of his mentorship with Pete, he has to become a man.” A funny-looking thug, making the life of his beautiful young wife a misery (or, as the director puts it, “She’s having an affair with an illegal alien because her boyfriend’s such a dick”) and treating his lengthy border watches as excuses to jack off in the open air, Mike’s no poster boy from the outset. Yet, as rites of passage go, his still demands some sympathy: he’s dragged through umpteen hedges backward, bitten by a rattlesnake, has his nose flattened and gets freshly brewed coffee poured over his crotch. It is only during this journey that Arriaga’s timeline settles – now that Melquiades has been dug up and is being taken to Jimenez, his chosen piece of heaven.
“It’s a love story,” says Arriaga, explaining Pete’s loyalty to his dead employee. “But nothing gay.” So it’s no Brokeback then, but like that other great western-set drama, Three Burials’ lifeblood is man’s capacity for compassion and loyalty. With no one in authority lifting a finger for Melquiades when he dies, no one in Van Horn caring much about anything except making it through the day without bother, Pete becomes less angered by the inaction of the cops, more hurt and disgusted. “You know damn well who killed Melquiades!” he yells at Belmont... but gets nothing back. It’s up to the cowboy to do the decent thing. Sadly, during such intense moments, when the heat of the desert scorches the nerves, the cast all too often remain prosaic on the commentary, opting for technical info over emotion. Most frustratingly so during the climax, when, with a man’s life hanging in the balance, the chat’s all about bloody stone walls and how the crew got the dirt to kick up as if shot by bullets.
Thankfully, the warmth of those involved can instead be found in the film, and in the humour (albeit of the blackest kind) that runs throughout. The rank corpse, in particular, is a running gag to offset the intensity of Mike’n’Pete. Whether with salt, antifreeze or just good bandages, Pete is going to preserve it, and Melquiades’ manky mulch even takes on a life of its own – collapsing on Mike during his enforced grave rob and forever just sitting there like Pete’s taciturn ventriloquist’s dummy, piling the guilt onto its killer. The score, as explored in the featurette about the music, is crucial too; with Mr Jones highlighting how songs and TV clips were used as a “commentary on the irony and dramatic tensions at play.” So, as sexual infidelities play out, we get country and western standards about cheatin’ hearts and while Mike and Lou Ann mope around their bleak home, a trashy soap opera blares in the background, in which an unhappy couple recall better times, hoping “There’ll always be a River Valley for us...”
There are times when you will question Pete’s devotion to dead friend Melquiades, as he sets fire to his head, hoses antifreeze into his mouth and brushes clumps of putrid hair from his mouldy green scalp. Devotion tussles with obsession, and you may swiftly agree with Mike’s curt summation of Pete as a “goddam crazy son of a bitch.” But the magic of The Three Burials Of Melquiades Estrada lies in Jones’ understated, hugely affecting performance (unjustly overlooked by Oscar), always pulling you back to Pete’s side even though you’re not sure whether he’s loyal or plain insane. It’s this emotional head-scratching and eventual resolution which makes the rapturous applause for the film after its first Cannes screening (where it deservedly won Best Screenplay and Jones picked up Best Actor) understandable. Revisited in the Making Of, it’s hugs and kisses all round, with a big slap on the back for Tommy Lee Jones from none other than Morgan Freeman. The plaudits are deserved.
DVD Extras:
Making Of documentary
Making of the music featurette
Director and writer interviews
Cast commentary
Deleted scenes
