Campion western barks a warning

Benedict Cumberbatch and Jesse Plemons give fine performances as two brothers who couldn’t be more different in the highly original The Power of the Dog.

The Power of the Dog (M)
In cinemas prior to streaming on Netflix on December 1
★★★★½

Jane Campion’s eighth feature film, her first in 12 years, The Power of the Dog reconfirms the director as a powerful force in contemporary cinema. Campion has always been concerned with the dynamics of power, whether within the dysfunctional married couples in Sweetie (1989) and The Piano (1993), or in the relationship between Harvey Kietel’s cult de-programmer and the hapless Kate Winslet in Holy Smoke (1999), or even in the relationship between Mark Ruffalo’s sinister cop and Meg Ryan’s vulnerable teacher in the dark thriller In the Cut (2003). Her new film explores similar themes, not between couples but between brothers, and this time in a western setting: Montana in 1925.

Based on a 1967 novel by Thomas Savage, the film – spectacularly filmed on locations in New Zealand by Australian cinematographer Ari Wegner – evokes classical Hollywood in its depiction of an isolated ranch and two brothers who could not be more different. The great house, which formerly belonged to the brothers’ parents, who have left to move into what passes for high society in this part of the world, may remind you of Sam Shepard’s mansion in Terrence Malick’s Days of Heaven (1978), and the relationship between the very different siblings is reminiscent of countless other dramas of brotherly friction, going back to the rivalry between Gregory Peck and Joseph Cotten in Duel in the Sun (1946) and beyond.

Phil Burbank (Benedict Cumberbatch) is a rangy, taciturn professional: a sort of latter-day Gary Cooper, but with a darker side to his character. He’s a hands-on, old-fashioned cowboy who likes to hang out with the hired help, he’s not terribly bright and he has a mean streak – he refers to his brother as “Fatso”. George (Jesse Plemons), who takes care of the business side of the ranch is, on the other hand, a natty dresser – he wears three-piece suits and bow ties and sports a bowler hat rather than the cowboy gear and traditional Stetson favoured by Phil – and he’s far more intelligent and sensitive than his brother. Yet these two radically different siblings still sleep alongside one another in the bedroom they’ve presumably occupied since they were children.

The dark streak in Phil’s character becomes clear when the brothers and their cowhands, during a routine cattle drive, pay a visit to a boarding house and restaurant run by Rose (Kirsten Dunst), a widow with a sensitive teenage son, Peter; Peter is played by former Australian child actor Kodi Smit-McPhee, who many will remember from Romulus My Father (2007). Phil arrogantly and hurtfully mocks the youth’s lisp and his effeminacy – Peter makes paper flowers to decorate the restaurant’s tables – in front of the macho cowboys, while the clearly embarrassed George remains silent. George later returns to the boarding house to apologise to Rose and her son on behalf of his brother, a visit that eventually leads to an unexpected wedding and dramatic changes to life in the Burbank home. George even buys his wife a baby grand piano – making this another Campion film in which a piano plays an important role. Phil is unimpressed with the new arrangements; he refers to his new sister-in-law as a “cheap schemer” and as being “half-cooked”.

One of the impressive elements of The Power of the Dog is that you never know just where it’s taking you. The characters undergo subtle changes, and the unexpected revelations that eventually occur are genuinely surprising. When the film premiered recently at the Venice Film Festival, Campion was awarded the Best Director prize by the international jury.

Her beautifully made new film should, if possible, be seen on a big cinema screen before it transfers to Netflix.

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Blue Bayou (M)
In cinemas from Thursday
★★★★

Australia is not the only country with an immigration department whose decisions often appear to be heartless. Blue Bayou, an angry, passionate film from writer-director and leading actor Justin Chon, focuses attention on foreign children adopted by American parents who failed to register them as citizens after a new law was introduced in the 1980s.

Chon plays Antonio LeBlanc, one such victim of the legislation. Antonio, who was born in South Korea, came to the US at the age of three after his troubled birth mother attempted to drown him. He was fostered and given the name LeBlanc, but his foster father treated him – and his foster mother – badly and he left them as soon as he could.

Antonio lives in a small town in Louisiana and has found happiness with Kathy (Alicia Vikander), a sweet-natured young woman whose first husband, Ace (Mark O’Brien), a local cop, abandoned her and their daughter, Jessie (Sydney Kowalske), who now wants nothing to do with her dad. For Jessie, Antonio is her father; they have fun together and they’re very close. Kathy is pregnant and they eagerly await the arrival of a new member of the family.

The main problem facing this otherwise happy family is financial. Antonio ekes out a meagre living working as a tattoo artist, but he’s eager to find more rewarding employment. In the film’s impressive opening scene he is interviewed by an unseen potential employer for a job as a mechanic, but while Antonio calmly and persuasively talks up his attributes, the interviewer seems racially prejudiced and vaguely hostile.

Antonio’s stable life is overturned by what at first seems like a trivial encounter with another cop, Denny (Emory Cohen), Ace’s partner. Denny’s hostility and thuggish attitude lead to Antonio’s arrest, and routine investigations reveal that he has never become a US citizen. Now he faces deportation and has to find the money to pay for a lawyer (Vondie Curtis-Hall) who will plead his case before a judge – $5000 for a first payment, a considerable sum when you’re only just keeping your head above water.

In an interesting subplot, Antonio has befriended Parker (Linh-dan Pham), a Vietnamese woman who has terminal cancer. This friendship, platonic and emotional, brings Antonio into contact with other Asians living in the area – there’s a lovely scene of a party in which Antonio and Kathy experience Vietnamese food for the first time.

Blue Bayou is not without flaws. Some elements of the film – for example, Antonio’s close friendship with Merk (Toby Vetrano), an officer with Immigration and Customs Enforcement – don’t ring true, and Cohen overdoes the vicious racism of the reprehensible Denny. But the film is so passionate and so unabashedly troubled by what the multi-talented Chon clearly sees as the injustices of the system that I was prepared to forgive it for its excesses and occasional improbabilities. The end credits are accompanied by photographs of men and women, mostly Asian, who, though residents in the US for most of their lives, are being or have been deported under the crackdown featured so compellingly in this emotionally draining film.

Alicia Vikander, Sydney Kowalske and Justin Chon in Blue Bayou

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The Kids are Back (Chacun chez soi) (M)
In cinemas
★★

The Kids are Back is an extremely modest French comedy conceived along familiar lines. Anna (Alice de Lencquesaing) and her partner Thomas (Olivier Rosemberg) lose their apartment and have to find a new place to stay; with some misgivings they move in with her somewhat eccentric parents, Catherine (played by the film’s director, Michele Laroque) and Yann (Stephane de Groodt). Yann, who spends most of his time obsessively caring for his Japanese bonsai trees, is a vague character, while Catherine annoys Thomas by throwing away clothes he has left on the floor of his room. The young couple worry that their lovemaking will be overheard by her parents, which is intimidating, but their searches for a new apartment are met with little success. Not a great deal of substance occurs, apart from the fact Anna’s university professor (Lionel Abelanski) gets fresh with her. As a character study the film is pretty mild and there are really no surprises to be had as the amiable but listless comedy moves to its foregone conclusion.