I love you, Cormac McCarthy. You know I do, but “The Road” on film? Will anti-depressants be offered at the concession counter? Seeing that movie would be like seeing “The Pianist” 100 times with any uplifting moments excised while sitting in a dark meat locker with no warm clothes all the while hearing the blood-curling screams of animals being slaughtered on the other side of the locked cooler door.
And the torture wouldn’t be that cathartic sort of experience one has when watching some films that take you to hell and back again. Oh, no. Instead you are left in hell with just the faintest bit of hope that a parent’s love matters, and that the worst is over.
Like I said, you do great work (and Viggo, too) but, in the interests of self-preservation I will not see your movie.