Review: The Power Of The Dog

Image courtesy of Netflix.

Jane Campion's "The Power of the Dog" is the type of movie that really appeals to me. It's a slow burn western that only slowly reveals itself and then percolates in the brain for hours after you've seen it. It's anchored by a knockout performance by Benedict Cumberbatch - who displays none of the charm for which he's known and portrays a ferocious character that bears some similarity to Daniel Day Lewis's Daniel Plainview - and features stunning photography and a doozy of an ending that I only completely figured out about 30 minutes after the film ended.

Campion has long been a director with a distinctive voice - from her early "An Angel at My Table" and the now-classic "The Piano" to her gripping "Top of the Lake" miniseries - and she's back in fine form here with "The Power of the Dog," which is her first feature film in 12 years. The picture is, for lack of a better phrase, a neo-western that could play on a double bill somewhere with films such as "There Will Be Blood" and "No Country for Old Men" as it features some similar ideas and visual touches.

The picture features a series of power struggles between its four lead characters, and it's not until after the film has ended that we realize just how intense these struggles are. The film opens with two rancher brothers - soft spoken George (Jesse Plemons) and Phil (Cumberbatch), who's covered head to toe in dirt for much of the film (in fact, at one point, he bathes naked in mud), and has a soul that is just as grimy - stopping on a drive at a small tavern, where the proprietress, Rose (Kirsten Dunst), and her gangly school-bound son, Peter (Kodi Smit-McPhee), who wants to be a surgeon, serve them and their men dinner.

Phil, an apex predator if there ever was one, ridicules Peter's penchant for decorating the establishment's tables with fake flowers and isn't much kinder to Rose. George, embarrassed by his brother's unruly behavior, sticks around to apologize and, before we know it, he and Rose have struck up a relationship and gotten married. From the start, it's easy to see how the power dynamics will play out. Phil likes being in control, and Rose gets in the way of his domination of the gentle George - meanwhile, Peter is away at school. 

Rose, whose previous husband committed suicide, is fragile and clearly has a drinking problem, all of which Phil observes and stores away for future use. Phil has a few secrets of his own. He often makes reference to "Bronco" Henry, a mentor who taught him how to ride a horse and was, seemingly, his lover. On a trip home from school, Peter spies Phil swimming in the nude and finds a trunk where a number of magazines depicting men in the nude are hidden.

In an attempt to impress the governor (Keith Carradine) - the film is set in 1925 Montana, although the breathtaking backdrops were all shot in New Zealand, Campion's home country - George has promised him, among several other dinner guests, that Rose will play the piano for him. She tries to get out of this performance, but is put on the spot and chokes. During earlier scenes, she tries to practice the piece that she'd play at the dinner party, but Phil keeps interrupting her by playing the same song on his banjo. Later, he hides around the corner from where she's sitting, taunting her by whistling that same tune over and over, and prompting her to crack open a bottle.

But once Peter arrives to live with the brothers - George is often barely a presence, disappearing for long stretches, leaving Rose alone to fend for herself against Phil's mind games - the story begins to hurtle toward its tragic and brilliantly diabolical conclusion. Rose hates the way in which Phil has seemingly taken a shine to her son - or has he? - and begins to teach him how to ride a horse, tie a knot and other tasks his own mentor taught him. 

There are a series of events that lead to one character's fate, and it was only after carefully rethinking the events of the film's final quarter that I realized why the story turned out the way it did for that particular character. There are visual clues throughout, but the way in which Campion makes you work for the answer is pretty masterful. This is the type of film that demands a rewatch, which is something I intend to do when "The Power of the Dog" is available for streaming next week on Netflix.

Much like her best work - especially "The Piano" - Campion's latest film, which is based on the 1967 novel of the same name by Thomas Savage, is about the balance of power between various characters. While films like "The Piano" and "Bright Star" often had a feminist theme running through them, and strong women sparring with men, the woman in her latest film - Dunst's Rose - presents a threat of sorts to the male-dominant order of the brothers' ranch. Rose and Peter's arrival set into motion the events - driven by Phil, but later by others - that lead to the stunning climax. 

"The Power of the Dog" is the definition of a film that sneaks up on you, and is proof that Campion really needs to get behind the camera more often. The film takes patience, but it's dutifully rewarded for those who give themselves over to the spell it casts.