Film Review: The Power of the Dog

Here’s the thing right up top: movies like The Power of the Dog make me want to jump up and down in excitement.  I left this one stirred and shocked by what I’d witnessed, completely thrilled by everything about it.  It’s not often that you see such a confident filmmaker lead a remarkable cast to a final product like this one.  Given its expansive, 1920s, Montana setting, this movie could easily be categorized as cut-and-dry western at first thought.  But don’t let its sprawling cinematography fool you— this is a daring, menacing, at times psychosexual, chamber piece heavily dependent on the subtext blazing beneath the words Jane Campion actually supplies.  It’s one of those movies that doesn’t rush or spell anything out as a result of a heavy pen saturated to the brink with deep, black ink.  It trusts its viewer, allowing them to form their own conclusion from its carefully curated amount (or lack, you decide) of detail.  It’s a complex slow burn type of film that has a truly shocking, completely earned conclusion.  And the performances?  Phew, let’s get into it.

For starters, the film is based on the 1967 novel of the same name by Thomas Savage.  Written and directed by Oscar winner Jane Campion, the big screen adaption had its world premiere at the 78th Venice International Film Festival where Campion won the Silver Lion for Best Direction, a feat she could very easily match at this years Oscars.  It stars Benedict Cumberbatch, Kodi Smit-McPhee, and real life married coupled Kirsten Dunst and Jesse Plemons.  I don’t want to say much more than a thing about the plot because I don’t want to give away even one single story related detail, so instead we’ll focus on what I took to be it’s central themes, masculinity and jealousy.

Jealousy is a major theme in the best psychodramas.  It drives brash, devious, destructive behavior, raising the stakes with a steady march forward because if not confronted, jealousy will burn and burn and burn until it destroys all in its wake.  Cumberbatch here plays Phil, the Burbank brother who’s natural inclination is to bully while Plemons plays George, the Burbank brother who’s natural inclination is to provide.  Their often toxic relationship takes many forms and rears its ugly head in many ways but what you most need to know is that at the beginning of the film, the grown brothers are shown sharing a bed in their massive home, quietly illustrating how reliant Phil is on his steady, dependable bother.  So imagine how poorly Phil takes to George bringing home a new bride and her son, not one but two people he has to share George’s attention with.  Thus begins a cat and mouse game of emotional torture, driving Dunst’s Rose to alcoholism and, at first, fueling Smit-McPhee’s Peter’s fear.

In the films later chapters, things change from fear to empowerment in devilish ways, launching Peter and Rose to make their own daring decisions.  But what is ever prevalent is the idea of masculinity, a concept that has become quite buzzy some 100 years post this films setting.  There are ranchers and bull hides and mud baths and passive aggression abound.  It’s hard to even really categorize masculinity, especially in a present world determined to detoxify it, but you can feel it here in the looks, the grit, the tension.  But the fascinating undercurrent of it all is the queer energy searing beneath the surface.  I don’t want to give anything away but it is a truly hypnotizing counterweight to the brash masculine grit coating the films top layer.  The warring energies leave you edging closer and closer to the front of your seat, practically begging the film to let you know what will happen next.  

Here’s a quote from Campion that will give you a bit of tease of what I’m talking about with the masculinity and jealousy and clashing energies at play here: “Phil Burbank is one of the great characters of American fiction.  He’s so complicated, and even as cruel, mean, and unkind as he often is, he’s also a man with intense feeling.  He’s a lover, but he can only love safely in the past.”  His past has left a major mark on his present and he’s trying to taint everyone’s future because of it.  When you watch, you’ll know what I mean.

And all of these things become crystal clear in the triumphant performances from, in particular, Cumberbatch, Dunst, and freak-of-nature talent Smit-McPhee.  Benedict Cumberbatch is giving a career best performance here, reminding the world what he can do when free from the shackles of Doctor Strange.  He completely disappears into a role that seems so antithetical to how he is as a person.  Not only is the accent work delectable and the louder parts frightening, but the rare softer parts are gut wrenching and mystical, showing us that even this seemingly one dimensional bully has layers beyond what he presents.  Dunst, too, is doing career best work.  Her knack for the naturalistic never seems forced or put on, a skill that has left her sort of under the awards radar for many years as she hasn’t given the world an “Oscar clip” before.  But with this one, the work in undeniably great, securing her spot as one of her generations most alluring talents.  And Kodi Smit-McPhee, I mean my god.  I’m truly spiraling thinking about this performance.  It’s so complex that it’s hard to even describe.  It’s equal parts creepy and macabre, welcoming and disarming, pitiful and triumphant.  I can’t think of another performance that is elicits such empathy while also feeing so devious.  A truly one of a kind character brought to life by his singular talents.

Ultimately, The Power of the Dog will surely prove to be one of the years best films.  Ari Wegner’s careful camera work brings to life the American West as viscerally as it brings its characters emotion to fruition.  Jonny Greenwood’s (having an amazing year with this and Spencer) score is as evocative and unsettling as ever, inviting goosebumps to dance across its listeners skin.  And Campion’s perfectly thought out script is only matched by her fierce direction.  I’ll leave you again with a quote of hers: “The story of women in film is sad but getting better and, as I’ve quipped before, more of a haiku than a history.  I love women, I believe in equal rights, I am a feminist and I am an artist.  It has been my passion to fall in love with female characters and tell their stories.  While they’re not the only stories I’ve told, all of my work is through my eye, a female eye.  When I fell in love with this story, I felt curious that this time it was a male protagonist— and what a guy!  I have a particular thing for alphas.  They are so damn ugly and tragic and lonely and make life hell for everyone else and in the animal world tend to have a short and violent life.”  Catch this one to catch Campion’s answer to the challenge of a violent, tragic, lonely alpha male.  It has become abundantly clear that masculinity of cinematic proportion is most interestingly examined through a particular eye: a female one.