the ecstasy of gold

It never ceases to amaze me; this imagery, this music, this idea.




I’ll often choke up at it’s power.


I love that he’s got a driven snear throughout the closeups, but in the longshots his running frame becomes celebrated for just being alive to run;  it’s an ecstasy of life, too.




Run, Tuco. Run.

The woman’s vocals serve up ghostly hauntings with all kinds of implications; whether she speaks for all the spirits he’s sacriligiously trouncing on as he scrambles for something to make the secular life they’re no longer a part of better for his wretched soul,


or if she’s the muse of his quest;


or, indeed, she is above it all and the voice of a forgiveness that celebrates a pity on him the best she can – almost as if she even find’s herself swept up – for a brief moment – in Tuco’s ecstasy of gold.


Eternal. On another plane.