The Power of the Dog review.
Jane Campion delivers a masterfully crafted and beautifully shot tension builder
Shot in New Zealand but set in 1920’s Montana, The Power of the Dog is a skillfully constructed, character-driven piece that shows Campion is on top of her game. She manages to utilise different tools of her craft in tandem and with such control that it appears effortless, though no doubt it was meticulously created. The film looks quite stunning, combining a deep sensitivity for framing and shot choice with the natural gravitas of the locations. An alluring combination of actors in Kirsten Dunst, Benedict Cumberbatch, and Jesse Plemons are joined by the less well-known Kodi Smit-McPhee. Each turn in taut but powerful performances which are underpinned by gradually increasing tension in the plot and a score by Johnny Greenwood that drives the emotional and psychological elements of the film thoroughly.
Adapted from Thomas Savage’s 1967 novel of the same name, the story follows brothers Phil and George Burbank (Cumberbatch and Plemons respectively) who are wealthy landowners but who appear like chalk and cheese. Phil is a hard, callused rancher with dirt beneath his fingernails and a disposition to match, George is well turned-out, quieter, and more inclined towards behaviour that befits his status. George takes an interest in local widow Rose and they soon marry. Phil takes umbrage with this decision and believes Rose to be a schemer after money alone, particularly when her son, the effeminate and sensitive Peter is sent to college to study medicine and surgery at George’s expense. Thus the tensions are set and continue to build, shift and evolve throughout.
There are many elements at play within the film. The characters are drawn in a real and complex manner, but their desires and agendas are never fully clear, allowing the film to steadily take on a strained tone. Phil’s almost affected machismo (constantly reinforced by his devoted acolytes on the ranch) is deliberately at odds with almost anyone else in the film; a stone anchor in the middle of the plot. He taunts anyone, referring to George as ‘fatso’, fuelling Rose’s anxiety by mocking her piano playing, teasing Peter about his lisp and mannerisms. It all seems a front, but for what exactly we are left guessing. Is he driven by jealousy, is he really simply over-protective of his family wealth, is he in denial about his own feelings and this amplified image of toughened masculinity? All are in evidence by suggestions, hidden by projected personality traits.
Having been out of the picture at college, Peter returns to the ranch to find his mother has descended into alcoholism, driven largely by Phil’s subtly cruel methods of psychological bullying. Peter is a little more self-assured, though retreats to his room to avoid the homophobic teasing of the ranchers. Here he macabrely dissects animals and studies anatomy. This dynamic, between Peter, Phil, and Rose allows an exploration of gender norms and attitudes of the time. All the while, questions over Phil’s rugged portrayal of himself hanging in the air, revealed through Cumberbatch’s nuanced performance. His constant deference to his mentor and paragon of maleness Bronco Henry, the vindictive nature of his taunts, his targetting of what he perceives as weaknesses in both Rose and Peter, all speak of a bitterness that hides something deeper.
In a subtly surprising turn of character, however, Phil apologises to Peter extending an olive branch in the form of teaching him to ride a horse (however ill-suited he seems) and makes him a lasso from the hides they produce on the ranch. This new relationship unsettles Rose, who in full-blown anxiety and alcohol-induced meltdown, imparts a sense of impending doom in this sudden proximity. The film never feels comfortable, the foreboding mood ratcheted up with each passing chapter. The score, which from the very first moment grabs your attention, is absolutely a character all its own, at once accentuating the inert pastoral landscapes but also progressing the unsteady psychological turmoil of the characters. Lurching from harmonious but melancholic melodies into dissonance and rasping despair, this is Johnny Greenwood at the peak of his powers.
I did feel ever so slightly underwhelmed at the film's climax. The tension was built in such a way that I felt the outcome of the plot (which I will refrain from spoiling) was somewhat disproportionate. This is a very minor criticism though of a film that is superbly crafted on every level, directed with all of Campion’s prowess and experience. Yes, she has a stellar cast of real actors at her disposal, but she clearly works on drawing such emotional performances out of them. To convey the majestic vastness of Montana (shot on location in her native New Zealand no less) but also impart such a sense of claustrophobia at times, is no mean feat. The film is often beautiful to look at and the visual choices evoke the desired mood and support the story and characters. In every close-up of hands working hide, grisly framing of animal innards and flies to the wide shots of mountains and dusty landscapes, the different elements of the movie are conveyed in image throughout.
In summary, there are few movies, few directors who can assemble such an array of elements without causing a sense of clutter. Campion here has spun all said plates admirably, the result being a unique inversion of the Western. At times almost a brooding psychological thriller, at others a character study that explores notions of masculinity, class differences, and even mental health, the film is authentic, uncomfortable, and above all gripping.
