"There ain't no stoppin' what's comin'." We hear this phrase multiple times during "No Country for Old Men," Joel and Ethan Coen's hypnotic adaptation of the Cormac McCarthy novel. And boy howdy is it true. Mr. McCarthy's story of a small-time West Texas welder who happens upon a drug deal gone wrong (and a suitcase full of money) has all the elements that the Coen's do best. There's the regional patois ("Country" is likely to do for West Texas what "Fargo" did for, well, Fargo), the local sheriff following a trail of bodies (played by Tommy Lee Jones, likely born to star in Mr. McCarthy's stories), and the deep dark sense of humor. But this isn't the humor of "Fargo," "Raising Arizona" or even "Blood Simple" (their neo-noir debut). "No Country" has a slower, more confident pace. The humor comes from the characters and, to a larger extent, to relieve the intense sense of dread that permeates the film. This is one of the Coens' most mature, complete works. More than anything else, "Country" feels orchestrated - conducted with the rhythms of the land and the language. Mr. McCarthy turns out to be a perfect match for the Brothers Coen. After a string of slight missteps ("Intolerable Cruelty," "The Ladykillers"), they are back in fine form.

With beautiful sprawling vistas (courtesy of cinematographer Roger Deakins) and little on the soundtrack except wind and the crunching of dirt underfoot, the Coens introduce Llewelyn Moss (a finely-tuned Josh Brolin) as he stumbles upon that satchel of cash. Waiting at home, and unawares, is his wife Carla (Kelly Macdonald, completely masking her native Scottish inflections). After a misplaced moment of compassion, Llewelyn finds himself on the run from Mexicans, the police and - worst of all - a killing machine named Anton Chigurh, played to chilly perfection by Javier Bardem.

The less said about the plot the better, since the magic of "Country" is in watching it unfold. The Coens create a palpable sense of doom as these characters chase the prize. It seems as though death lurks around any corner and through any doorway. This is no country for any men, old or otherwise.

There are elements of previous Coen films at work here, but perhaps the film "Country" most resembles is "Raising Arizona." Instead of the stolen baby, it's the bag of money. And instead of hell-on-wheels biker Leonard Smalls, played so memorably by Randall "Tex" Cobb, "Country" features Chigurh, that ruthless psychopath with a penchant for using an air gun to dispatch his victims (it's also handy for opening doors!). Mr. Bardem's relentless, remorseless killer racks up a body count of Rambo proportions. And he does it with the cold, disinterested stare of someone stuck in a dead-end job. "You don't have to do this," his victims invariably declare. Chigurh's face says otherwise. The character is nothing short of death itself. If you see him, you're done for. He leaves no witnesses - with the unexplained exception of Carson Wells (a well-placed Woody Harrelson) who pops up late in the story to track Chigurh. Surely, the backstory of these two characters - and how Wells managed to survive - deserves a movie all its own. I don't think that's comin'. But if it were, I wouldn't try to stop it.