TIFF 2021: The Power of the Dog Review
When people look back at the past, they often remember events or eras happening in clear-cut stages. Each event leads to the next in a causal chain and a transition from one era to the next is a clean break. Reality is not so smooth. Events can sometimes have no clear cause and elements from each era can coexist awkwardly during a transition. It is the awkward coexistence of elements from two eras that is the backdrop of director Jane Campion’s The Power of the Dog (2021). The bygone days of the wild west clash with the roaring twenties in a drama that sees a man struggle with realizing his true self, even with the permissiveness of the new era.
That man is Phil Burbank (Benedict Cumberbatch), a successful Montana cattle rancher who shares the ranch with his brother, George (Jesse Plemons). The year is 1925, the 25th anniversary of when they took over the ranch. To celebrate they stop by a local restaurant tended to by a widow named Rose (Kirsten Dunst) and her son Peter (Kodi Smit-McPhee). George takes a liking to Rose and they are soon married. Rose and Peter movie into the ranch. This causes immediate friction because Phil does not get along with Rose and Peter from the outset.
Phil is unnecessarily spiteful. When he finds out that it was Peter who crafted the flowers that adorn the tables at the restaurant he mercilessly mocks what he sees as effeminate. He yells at the other customers, whose revelry can be seen as representative of the roaring twenties. He keeps up this spiteful intensity throughout most of the film. This is not needed because he commands the respect of his colleagues by simply being really good at what he does. On the surface it seems like he is bitter about the era of the wild west fading away because of some nostalgic connection to what the era represents. He keeps referring to the era by constantly talking about a long-dead friend named Bronco Henry. However, as the film progresses it becomes clear that something else causes him to lash out at others.
Benedict Cumberbatch plays Phil almost pitch perfectly. He has the intensity to portray Phil’s childish outbursts but also the subtlety to portray the pathos underneath the bluster. Cumberbatch’s performance is not the only standout. Kirsten Dunst and Kodi Smit-McPhee also shine as Rose and Peter respectively. Rose goes from struggling widow to marrying into a wealthy family. Instead of coming to enjoy the freedom that comes with wealth she progressively feels constrained. Phil adds to her pain by making sure she feels as unwelcome as possible. There is a stereotypical hysteria that is expected from roles like this one. Thankfully, Dunst does not opt to go in that direction. She plays the role with a quiet nuance that courts sympathy rather than pity. Then there’s Peter, a boy who is clearly sensitive but also intelligent and purposeful. Smit-McPhee does a great job of switching between Peter’s vulnerability and drive.
The Power of the Dog is mainly concerned with the interactions between Phil, Rose and Peter. The film is a psychological drama more than it is a western. Where westerns are often more expansive the film is more intimate. Intimate, however, does not mean tender. These three characters can be quite nasty to each other. It feels like the film sometimes veers into thriller territory as the viewer wonders what nasty thing one character is going to do to another. This is emphasized by Jonny Greenwood’s score that is sometimes discordant but always ominous.
Everything in The Power of the Dog feels off, but in a way that is thoroughly engaging. Almost nothing is cut and dry. Traditional elements of the western are called into question. The story is not about the Burbanks conquering the harsh Montana landscape, they have already done that. Neither is the story about a stoic hero restoring order to a lawless town. Phil is anything but stoic. He lashes out at people any chance he gets. The town is not lawless either. It is civilized enough for the governor (Keith Carradine) to visit the ranch. There is still the strange coexistence of the wild west and the roaring twenties, however. No image exemplifies this better than an early automobile awkwardly shambling down a dirt road.
Jane Campion’s simmering drama brings some much-needed freshness to the western genre. The more intimate focus not only allows the viewer to examine compelling characters more closely but also to examine the western genre as a whole. Perhaps critiques of the genre have been done to death but Campion’s is uniquely crafted enough to warrant a watch.