The Power of the Dog
Oscar-winning writer-director Jane Campion casts her native New Zealand in the role of 1925 Montana in her haunting new drama “The Power of the Dog.”
The rolling hill panoramas, sometimes traversed by a lone automobile or train under clouds lumbering ominously across the sky are co-stars with the superb cast in her gorgeous film. But the grandeur can barely contain the pent-up explosiveness of Phil Burbank (Benedict Cumberbatch).
Phil and his brother George (Jesse Plemons) are the wealthy owners of a sprawling cattle spread, complete with one of those rustic mansions you expect to find Kevin Costner in.
Phil is the working cowboy, always in chaps and spurs. He's loved and feared by the other ranch hands, and has a clever way with words when he's not hiding it under his surly side. Brother George does his share of the ropin' and herd driving, too, but always in a business suit, even in the saddle. Phil calls George “Fatso.” Phil got whatever humor was to be had in the Burbank family … and he plays the banjo, too.
On a cattle drive their crew shows up for dinner at a restaurant run by Rose Gordon (a never-better Kirsten Dunst). She's the widow of a physician who died by suicide. Her son Peter (Kodi Smit-McPhee) waits tables. Rail thin, Peter is a willowy fellow, given to making artistic paper flowers for the tables in the cafe. Taking note of such “lady's work,” Phil ignites one to light his hand-rolled cigarette.
George, in contrast, takes note of the fragile woman (who wouldn't? She's Kirsten Dunst) and proceeds to turn things at the ranch upside down by going and marrying her.
As you might imagine, this doesn't go down so well with brother Phil. He launches a campaign of sinister but easy-to-deny bullying that quickly has Rose stashing booze all over the house that she gets less and less careful about hiding. Her husband may know how to run the ranch, but is entirely ineffectual at protecting his wife or subduing his brother.
While the outline of the story – a fragile woman's destruction by a cruel, bad man – seems obvious, framed by the poetic economy of Campion's script and the rustic elegance of her cinematography, don't go jumping to any conclusions. Surprises emerge as the story moves from horror to mystery, like discovering that Phil was Phi Beta Kappa at Yale, majoring in classics.
That tidbit is shared during a visit to the ranch by the state's governor (Keith Carradine). The house is an outpost of culture in the wild land, George boasts. The governor and his wife, along with the brothers' parents, are guests at a black tie dinner George planned to introduce them to his new bride. Already under Phil's gaslighting, she's unfortunately not up to the occasion.
Phil's war of psychic attrition goes into high gear when son Peter arrives from boarding school for the summer. With Phil's eyes shining like a wolf's in the flickering firelight, audience minds race thinking up all the ways this isn't going to end well …
Jane Campion won her Oscar in 1993 for writing “The Piano,” which she also directed. That was long before Hollywood realized there were such things as female film artists, maybe because there weren't. At least not many. Campion's stamp on every facet of moviemaking – from the cinematography to Jonny Greenwood's music – is as assured now as it was in her earlier landmark film, as is her artistry – making every moment of screen time a dazzling, mesmerizing image that will take your breath away.
So will Cumberbatch's performance – a testosterone keg of dynamite teasing and tormenting weak victims as a diversion from keeping his own demons at bay.
There is nothing wasted in the storytelling. Every scrap of dialogue proves important. Not until the last scenes do we learn what the film's title means, and how perfectly chosen it is. What started out looking like a fable of simple archetypes has become an exploration of human complexity that you can't take your eyes away from when it's on-screen, and can't stop thinking about once it's over.
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