Like watching rope being braided

If that expression says "Why am I still here?", that was me through the whole film.

The Michigan Theater is decent for previews. Unlike major theater chains that are only too willing to put you through a good 10 minutes of previews before every feature, we often only get one or two films at the Michigan/State or at most three or four and they're usually fairly enticing in terms of what we'd all like to gather and see the following Tuesday. When we first saw the trailer for Power of the Dog, everyone was largely indifferent. The story itself didn't seem compelling and I was immediately disinterested as soon as I saw that it was written and directed by Jane Campion, as her films simply do not work for me. I thought In the Cut was too predictable. I didn't find Holy Smoke! to be particularly funny or interesting, despite it having two actors that I'm quite fond of (Kate Winslet and Harvey Keitel) as the leads. And, most notably, I thought The Piano, despite its virtual pile of accolades, was a slog. We spent a lot of time with Holly Hunter looking sternly and imperiously at anything that had the impertinence to either move or speak and an equal amount of time watching Keitel brood. The only high point was the performance of Anna Paquin, perhaps because she was the only person who didn't seem to be taking herself too seriously. So, I am not a Campion fan. But when the various awards lists were splayed out, Power of the Dog found itself leading the (ahem) pack and so when it ended up on the theater's schedule again, trying to ride that wave of Oscar popularity, we gave in and decided to give it a try. That was a bad idea.

It's at least partly frustrating, because I often get what Campion is trying to do. She's trying to tell a story visually, rather than bury people under dialogue. That's fine. I'm all about that. The greatest science fiction film ever made is the director's cut of Blade Runner, which takes advantage of the fact that film is a visual medium and lets said visuals tell the story. The problem with Campion's approach is that she does it in a manner that's aggressively tedious. Aggressively tedious. Like, tedious. You know, aggressively, endlessly, perpetually... tedious. In the same way that I sat and waited for Keitel to actually do something in the tropical forest of New Zealand, I spent just as much time waiting for Benedict Cumberbatch, Kirsten Dunst, Jesse Plemons, and Kodi Smit-McPhee to find something actually interesting to do in the vastness of the Montana plains. (It was actually shot in New Zealand which was, unfortunately, kind of obvious. I've been to Montana. That wasn't Montana.) There is such a thing as too much allusion. What was even worse in this case was that the visual allusion was often repeated to the point where it was hitting you over the head just as much as any scene that has actors constantly explaining what's happening to the audience who can see it in the first place.

Early 20th-century Montana could be a lonely place. Rose (Dunst) ends up in a marriage of convenience on a cattle ranch almost literally in the middle of nowhere with no one she can really relate to; especially not her husband, George. (Plemons; the still eternally-typecast man-who-can't-figure-out-how-to-have-actual-emotions.) Consequently, Rose ends up drinking to fill the void. We see her drinking, everywhere. We see son, Peter (Smit-McPhee) hide her bottles. We see the knowing glances of the two cooks in the house kitchen. We understand that everyone in the house knows that Rose is a drunk. But we keep getting reminded of this, as if Campion somehow felt that the point wasn't getting across. This is when I usually start making the "speed it up" motion with my hand because the story just isn't moving at a decent pace. But this story barely moves at all, to the point where I was seriously considering how rude it would be to just stand up, say "Not for me!" and walk out. It's not something I've often done in a theater, but I was sorely tempted. And, yes, the use of allusion didn't stop there. Phil caressing the length of rope and straddling a pointed fencepost are quite obvious, thanks. One could almost say "ham-fisted" except that this was a cattle ranch, I guess.

The only thing that rescues the film at all are the performances. Cumberbatch presents very well as the hardass rancher, aggressive with everyone as he struggles with his own desires and identity. His scene in his private grove, making motions toward his own sexuality that he can't quite complete, was really well done. Dunst is equally good with her quiet desperation radiating at her lot in life (Or maybe that was me as we sat there in the darkness...?) Smit-McPhee was possibly the best of them, as his slow transition from mousy introvert to confident manipulator once he had a grasp of just who Phil was came through with mostly subtle cues and very believable transitions. Plemons, of course, was still Plemons, emotional void. It was cute and often quite funny in Breaking Bad, but at some point, as an actor, you'd have to get tired of it, right? Many of the most frustrating moments of the film came with Plemons as the focus, with me asking myself: "What purpose does this character serve, other than to highlight the dreariness of their collective existence that we have already been beaten over the head with for an hour now?" Keith Carradine is unfortunately wasted in a couple minutes as the governor, but is also the liveliest person to appear onscreen during the entire 2+ hours.

In short, still not a fan. The fact that all four of us walked out of it feeling like we could've done so after the first half hour makes me think that this is going to be one of those films that makes the vast majority of filmgoers feel like they have no connection to the Academy whatsoever when it wins the fistful of awards that it seems destined for. Certainly, you couldn't fault the voters for the acting awards, but direction and writing and best film...? You're just twisting that rope too much.