Director Report Card: Patty Jenkins (2017)

3. Wonder Woman

For years, the question was asked by superhero fans: Where was the “Wonder Woman” movie? The most iconic of all comic book heroines, for years Wonder Woman's on-screen legacy was limited to a campy-but-beloved TV series, failed pilots, and many cartoons. A lot of bullshit reasons kept “Wonder Woman” out of theaters, while the age of the superhero movie blossomed and DC backed “Green Lantern” and “Jonah Hex.” Executives thought an action movie starring a woman wouldn't be popular. Or that the character was too goofy. Mostly, the previous attempts to get a “Wonder Woman” movie made – in the mid-nineties, with Joel Silver and Sandra Bullock, and in the mid-2000s, with Joss Whedon and probably Kate Beckinsale – were sunk by awful sounding scripts.

Finally, after Marvel had already won the public's heart, WB/DC decided it was pass time to build their own cinematic universe around their world famous cast of characters. A “Wonder Woman” movie was finally a pressing concern. Gal Gadot was plucked out of relative obscurity to play the Amazonian warrior princess. Michelle MacLarin was signed on to direct. The character's debut would be the sole bright spot in the tediously grim “Superman V. Batman.” By then, MacLarin was out and Patty Jenkins was in, finally returning to theater screens after fourteen years. The director of a bleak character study like “Monster” might seem like an odd pic for “Wonder Woman.” Jenkins, it turns out, loves superheroes. She cites Donner's “Superman” as an inspiration, made a superhero short called “Velocity Rules” in college, and nearly directed “Thor: The Dark World.” In both cases, the wait ended up being worth it. Jenkins' “Wonder Woman” movie was exactly the one we needed.

The Amazons, the great warrior women of Greek mythology, live out their lives in peace on Themyscira. They are led by the noble Queen Hippolyta. Her daughter, Diana, is curious about combat and, despite her mother's best efforts, becomes an expert at it. One faithful day, a mysterious flying vehicle enters the ring around Themyscira. Diana rescues the man – the first man she's ever laid eyes on – from the wreckage. It's Steve Trevor, an American spy working against the Germans in World War I. Upon hearing about the Great War, Diana believes that Ares – the God of War, the Amazon's mythical adversary – is active in the world of man. She follows Steve back to London, soon heading to the Western Front, in pursuit of Ares... But Diana, known as Wonder Woman soon enough, quickly learns that the world of man is not so simple.

The best superheroes are, essentially, archetypes. Which mean they can be boiled down to very simple ideas. Superman is a god that looks up to mankind. Batman wants to save innocents. Aquaman protects the coastline. Wonder Woman, no matter how strong a fighter she might be, is ultimately motivated by compassion. The best adaptations of these characters understand these root ideas and Jenkins' “Wonder Woman” can be included in that company. Diana may be seeking to kill Ares but she's doing it to save a million other lives. We she sees the atrocities of war around her, people left in pain, driven from their homes, starving and cold, she cannot stand by. That “Wonder Woman” so keenly understands the core of its iconic protagonist is, by far, its greatest strength.

This cry for compassion spreads throughout many other scenes in the film. Upon arriving in London and meeting Etta Candy, Diana inquires about the difference between an employee and a slave. When she meets Chief Napi, an American Indian, he pauses to tell her about the plight of his people back in America. This proceeds an even more powerful scene, where Charlie – another one of Trevor's associates – wakes up from a nightmare in the grips of a PTSD flashback. For a film about a heroine motivated by compassion, it's only fitting that “Wonder Woman” allows for quieter moments focused on the real world problems its supporting characters would've faced. It's thoughtful and I appreciate that.

A big part of the “Wonder Woman” story has always involved contrasting Diana's nature with that of the world of man. Unsurprisingly, Jenkins' film uses this tradition for some fish-out-of-water comedy. A long montage is devoted to Diana trying on the various outfits considered proper for women in the 1900s, to much bafflement on her behalf. She attempts to exit a building with her sword and shield, before being confused by a revolving door. The best comedy in the film plays off Diana's inherent innocence. She squeals with delight when seeing a baby. Her reaction to tasting ice cream for the first time is one of absolute joy. It's pretty cute stuff.

Yet this comic relief is representative of Diana's overall character arc. Through the course of the film, she discovered that Ares is not responsible for the atrocities of the First World War. That man is more than capable of these things on their own. “Wonder Woman” was set in the World War I, partially to distinguish it more from Marvel's “Captain America” movie. Yet World War I was also a conflict without a clear good guy or bad guy.  The motivation of the war was hard-to-define political conflicts between various nations, without a clear adversary like Nazi Germany, and countless atrocities inflicted on innocent civilians. This proves the ideal setting for Diana to loose her innocence about human nature.

This character arc, of Diana trying to define herself in a world that is sometimes heartless, is one fiber that connects “Wonder Woman” to Jenkins' “Monster.” Another element that links Jenkins' million dollar blockbuster to her earlier work is the theme of motherhood. As in her “Five” segment, Jenkins devotes time to the sometimes challenging relationship between parent and child. Hippolyta hopes for a life of peace for her daughter. Diana, however, is drawn by her nature to fight for innocents. The two soon have to come to an agreement, that a parent can only direct their child's destiny so much. While it only occupies the first part of the film, you can see how invested Jenkins was in this idea.

With the announcement that “Wonder Woman” would finally be appearing in a big budget movie, came a world-wide search for the right actress for the role. Gal Gadot would beat out recognized names like Elodie Yung and Olga Kurylenko (who probably would've been my choice), despite having few other credits of note. While I was highly skeptical at first, Gadot is excellent in the part. She embodies the qualities we associate with the character. Gadot's Diana is powerful, compassionate, beautiful, graceful, and intelligent. Diana's strongly defined character arc also gives Gadot a chance to display her talent as an actress, proving more than up-to-the-task. While we can squabble about petty differences, about whether Gadot looks enough like an Amazon or whatever, but she's a pretty damn satisfying choice.

With Gadot proving largely an unknown, Chris Pine as Steve Trevor ends up being the marquee name in the film. It was a logical enough choice. Pine, after all, had already proven he could play a dashing, charming, rogue adventurer. What really makes Pine an inspired choice for Trevor is his chemistry with Gadot. Even though she often frustrates him, Pine shows just how charmed he is by Diana. Her noble attributes and ability to perceive the world through child-like eyes softens Trevor's heart, hardened by his experiences in the war. A dance they share in a liberated village, snow starting to fall overhead, is such a charming moment. “Wonder Woman” has to quickly establish how close these two will grow and, largely thanks to a few clever scenes and Gadot and Pine's chemistry, it totally works.

“Wonder Woman” obviously presented a lot of challenges to its filmmakers. One of which was that Patty Jenkins had never directed an action movie before. You can see her struggling a bit to handle combat scenes of this scale. Perhaps taking too much of a cue from Zack Snyder – who did, after all, produce and co-write the film – the early action sequences on Themyscira are heavy on melodramatic, slow-motion flips and dives through the air. That use of “ramping” occasionally rears its tacky head a few other times throughout the film. The more grounded action scenes, such as Trevor's raid on a bomb factory, are better. Jenkins' visual sense is at its strongest during the flashback to Ares' origin, depicted as a Greek fresco moving to life.

Even if the action scenes might've been a little sharper, “Wonder Woman” still features a stunning sequence that immediately down in superhero cinema history. You probably already know which moment I'm referring to. Diana climbs out of a trench, strips off her overcoat, revealing the iconic armor for the first time, and marches across the No Man's Land with ease. It's not just a beautifully assembled sequence, thrilling and powerful, but also gets at the root of the superhero fantasy. Wonder Woman steps onto the battlefield and single-handedly changes the course of history. She dispels the historical villain, saves the lives of innocent, and looks powerful and unstoppable the entire time. This is why we watch movies like this.

As much as “Wonder Woman” does right, Jenkins' films still can't overcome the growing pains of a superhero franchise launcher. In its last third, “Wonder Woman” largely falls apart. The real villain reveals himself, dumping a load of unconvincing exposition on us. A final fight that is heavy on CGI lightning and inexplicable telekinesis ensues. While the film does the best it can to overcome the awkwardness, it still seems like Wonder Woman saves the day thanks to a random new power revealing itself, not so much because of her own strength. This climax is weak enough that it squanders the emotion in Trevor's sacrifice, which really should have worked. (There's also the brain-splintering choice of Wonder Woman allowing a German poison specialist to escape... It's a good thing the Germans never did anything else bad with poison gas, isn't it?)

While it's clearly Gadot and Trevor's show, “Wonder Woman” has a pretty strong supporting cast too. Robin Wright is fittingly concerned but noble as Hippolyta. Connie Nielson steals many of the scenes she's in, as Antiope, Wonder Woman's trainer. Nielson is so convincingly tough and determined, that it's a shame she exits the film as early as she does. Lucy Davis is in the tough position of being the film's wacky comic relief, in the form of Wonder Woman's longtime sidekick Etta Candy. Luckily, Davis is an appealing comedic presence and saves what could've been an annoying character. David Thewlis has the right balance of gravitas and conceited wickedness as the film's final villain, even if he's awkwardly subbed out for a CGI creation for most of his big moments. He's also largely overshadowed by Danny Huston, gleefully over-the-top as the primary villain for most of the runtime.

Since it's a big budget superhero movie, “Wonder Woman” also looks pretty great. The sets on Themyscira look fantastic, especially the ornate shrine that contains the Godkiller sword. One can't really undersell how important it is that a superhero movie get the main character's look right. It would've been easy to screw up Wonder Woman's iconic outfit when translating it to the big screen. Luckily, the movie nailed it. All the iconic elements are there – the tiara, the skirt, the patriotic color scheme, the eagle-like breast-plate and W-shaped belt – but rendered in a way that looks plausible and realistic. She looks like Wonder Woman but also looks like she can exist in real life, a delicate balance to pull off.

Compared to the rest of the DC Extended Universe films up to that point, “Wonder Woman” truly felt like a breath of fresh air. It was neither relentlessly grim and pretentious nor senselessly plotted and assembled by committee. It was fun and funny but not needlessly flippant. The cast was great and the story strong enough to support the things the film needed to do. Most importantly, the movie understood and grasp the details of what makes Wonder Woman an important character. While the film certainly faced some controversy, especially from folks who worry about whether these sort of things are either too or not feminist enough, Jenkins, in many ways, made the “Wonder Woman” movie that we most needed. Without revolutionizing the superhero genre, it proves to be a more-than-satisfying entry and a damn good debut for an iconic character. [Grade: B+]

We all know how this Director Report Card was originally suppose to end. As initially intended, I should've been wrapping things up with “Wonder Woman 1984,” the highly anticipated and very neat looking sequel to Jenkins' superhero stunner. Instead, ya know, the apocalypse began. While still dated for a October release date at this moment, it's looking increasingly likely to me that movie theaters will not be reopening anytime soon. So who the hell knows when we'll get to see 'Wonder Woman 1984.”

As it stands now, Patty Jenkins is a pretty interesting talent. Though her output is still brief enough that patterns and themes are only beginning to emerge, it is interesting that she's maintained a consistent vision despite the wild differences between her three features thus far. And now that she's a big shot blockbuster director, I'm sure we'll be seeing more films from her in the near future. I look forward to them.

Director Report Card: Patty Jenkins (2011)

2. Five

You would think, following an obvious breakthrough like “Monster,” Patty Jenkins' career would take off. She was attached to a few projects that never got off the ground, like a Chuck Yeager biopic and a Ryan Gosling vehicle called “I Am Superman.” When these follow-ups failed to materialize, Jenkins would spend most of the next decade working in television. This is, presumably, how she became attached to “Five.” A project done for the Lifetime Network, the film collected together five shorts directed by women, centered around the theme of breast cancer.  Jenkins would join Penelope Spheeris along with three big name celebs – Demi Moore, Jennifer Anisotn, Alicia Keyes – on the anthology feature.

The film begins with “Charlotte,” directed by Moore. Set against the backdrop of the Moon Landing, the segment centers around Pearl, a head-strong little girl. Her extended family has gathered at the home, ostensibly to watch the moon landing but also to say good-bye to the girl's sickly mother. The truth is being hidden from Pearl. She doesn't understand what is happening. All she knows is she can't see her mom and that a lot of strange people are in the house. This fact is quickly frustrating the willful young girl.

By assuming the perspective of a child, “Charlotte” does a good job of capturing the different effects cancer has on people. Her father withdraws totally and can't even bring himself to say the words “breast cancer.” Helen, Pearl's acerbic grandmother played by a well-cast Annie Potts, wants to write about the topic and fight the taboo. Others treat Charlotte like she's already dead, a cousin stealing her jewelry and the priest referring to her in the past tense. The general perception of the time is that cancer is something a child shouldn't know about, representing a wider cultural disinterest in discussing the subject.

What I really liked about “Charlotte” is Pearl's personality. The little girl is a fighter. Her family has conspired to get her out of the house but she stalls for time, hiding her shoes. When she spies the thieving cousin, she calls her out. She tries to get answer from everyone around her, almost all of which are reluctant to say anything. Pearl's tenacity is admirable and I like it. Ava Acres' performance shows the clear frustration on her face and that drive to get at the truth. This makes the eventual reunion with her mom, the story's climax, all the more meaningful.

The second segment is “Mia,” directed by Jennifer Aniston. The short runs in reverse chronological order. It begins with a fully recovered Mia re-marrying, continuing back to when she met the man who would become her next husband. Back further to the day she learned her cancer went into remission. Then back to when she threw an early funeral for herself, which she used as an opportunity to burn all bridges. We then go even further back, during the worst days of treatment when her first husband walked out, and finally concluding with the day she got the bad news.

“Mia” has a clever premise, beginning its cancer story with the idea that some people do live through it, that it's not always the end for everyone. Yet, sadly, the script proves equal parts mawkish and ingenuine in its humor. The dialogue is frequently obvious and awkward. The comical set-up, of Mia wanting to experience her own funeral, feels contrived. As does the way she proceeds to reveal secrets and call out shitty friends in that moment. It's all a little too-on-the-nose. Similarly, her reaction to learning she has likely fatal cancer is to fixate on the minor details of her life. It's supposed to be touching, and it could've been with a more graceful approach, but it becomes overdone here. Aniston's direction is similarly sentimental.

What “Mia” has going for it is the cast. Patricia Clarkson plays the title role. Clarkson is, of course, a fantastic actress. Even when the dialogue rings false and the character's actions are hokey, Clarkson brings Mia to life with a lot of energy. If paired with a better script, you could see how Clarkson could've created a really memorable performance. It's also nice to see Tony Shaloub, funny and self-deprecating in his few scenes. Recognizable faces like Kathy Najimi and Xander Berkely – playing yet another deadbeat husband! – also show up.

“Five's” third segment is “Cheyenne,” from Penelope Sphreeis. Cheyenne is an exotic dancer. Through her work she meets Tommy, a meat-headed mob enforcer. The two soon fall in love. During some foreplay, Tommy discovers a lump on Cheyenne's right breast. Soon she discovers that she has breast cancer and will require a double mastectomy. The two have to grapple with the effect this will have on her career, their relationship, as well as the ways Cheyenne and Tommy perceive themselves.

“Cheyenne” begins in a really interesting place. Too often in our society, women are valued only for their physical appearance, their sex appeal. Quite literally, some people only love women for their tits. Loosing that threatens Cheyenne's whole life, her professional life, her love life, her personal life. Sadly, “Cheyenne” continues the schmaltzy streak that ran through “Five's” previous segment. The dialogue is overdone. The conversations Cheyenne and Tommy have in the doctor office's lobby addresses the short's themes too bluntly. The scene where Tommy has an emotional breakdown, and then receives a pep talk from the gambler he harasses, is ridiculously obvious. Also, isn't it weird that “Five” pauses to focus on how breast cancer affects... Men?

The ending might've been touching if the proceeding scenes weren't so drippy. The dialogue gets seriously syrupy in this moment. Penelope Sphreeis brings a little bit of her trademark punk rock energy to the short's opening minutes but it soon disappears into TV movie uniformity. Lyndsy Fonseca is well cast in the title role, as a complicated woman who has been forced to live her life as a hollow sex symbol for men. Taylor Kinney is maybe a little too good at embodying a empty-headed hunky guy. Overall, “Cheyenne” comes so very close to touching on profound ideas but is undone by its simplistic script and mushy presentation.

The fourth installment, “Lili,” is directed by Alicia Keyes. Lili is a successful businesswoman. Her sister is a working-class mom. Her mother is a melodrama attention seeker, who always finds a way to make every conversation about herself. The three meet for lunch, where Lili plans to tell her mom she has a cancerous lump that will be removed the next day. Instead, her sister breaks the news. Mom and Sis follow her to the waiting room the next day, embarrassing Lili and making her more uncomfortable as they continue to force themselves into what she hoped would be a quick, private affair.

Of the various stars-turned-director in “Five,” Alicia Keyes makes the best impression. She even has a strong visual sense, as displayed in Lili's walk into the operating room. “Lili” is a madcap comedy, greatly needed after the bathetic last few stories. There's a number of amusing comedic episodes here. Such as the way Lili's mom immediately goes off on a tirade about their late father. Or an encounter with a man in the breast cancer office, played by a typically deadpan Jeffrey Tambor. The way Lili's mom immediately decks herself out in pink, literally the day after learning about her daughter's diagnosis, could even be a sly commentary on the exploitative commercialization of the disease. Much of “Lili's” humor arises from something most of us are familiar with: That one person in the family who uses any opportunity to guilt, or shame, or make the situation about themselves.

”Lili” also has the advantage of a really strong cast. If you're looking for a strong woman-of-color who is utterly believable as an overachiever, you'd be hard-pressed to find someone more perfect than Rosario Dawson. Dawson is hilarious as someone who is fed up with how those around her don't understand the specific path she's carved out for herself. Jenifer Lewis makes an ideal foil, as the more practical sister that is no less strong but has made some very different choices in life. Tracee Ellis Ross demands a lot of attention as the mom, embodying exactly that kind of insufferable person. Really, the only time “Lili” trips up is in its sappy conclusion.

“Five” comes full circle with its final segment, the one directed by Jenkins. “Pearl,” the little girl from the first segment, has grown up to be a breast cancer specialist. In fact, she's appeared in every segment, as the doctor delivering the good or bad news to each patient. As an adult woman, Pearl learns that, like her mother, she has breast cancer. She still struggles with the scars of her mother's death, especially with how her father kept the truth from her. Now, as a mother herself, she faces the same decision with her own daughter.

“Pearl” has one moment in it that I really like. After her father continues to be evasive after forty years, Pearl comes home. She has a talk with her husband about an unimportant factor of her everyday life. She then attempts to break the news to her little daughter, who is preoccupied with a cartoon she's watching. This is a hard truth: We want to be honest with our kids but sometimes they really aren't ready for the truth. Pearl fights through the fear and frustration she feels in that moment, because her parental love is greater than both of those things. This is, sadly, the stand-out scene in a segment that otherwise continues “Five's” maudlin approach. Pearl's second scene with her daughter features too much phony sounding dialogue. Her conflict with her dad does not feel lived-in or natural. By skipping over much of Pearl's cancer ordeal, the final scene is less emotional than it could have been.

Since it's the whole reason I watched this thing, how does “Five” stand up as a Patty Jenkin's film? Disappointingly, the opening scene feels like really bad television. In voice-over, Pearl dictates the lives and struggles of a dozen women in quick succession. This sequence even features some truly heavy-handed product placement from Walgreens! For what it's worth, “Pearl” does continue Jenkin's favorite theme of a woman trying to define herself against the mistakes of the past. Jeanne Tripplehorn is mostly solid as Pearl, a talented performer doing her best to overcome the weak script. Scott Wilson reappears from “Monster” as her dad, even if his scenes are the segment's most melodramatic.

“Five” was heavily promoted by Lifetime, premiering on October 11, 2011 to high ratings. It was nominated, and even won, a number of minor industry awards, suggesting it was well received. The network even created a sequel of sorts. “Call Me Crazy: A Five Film” took a similar women-directed, anthology approach to the topic of mental illness. (The subtitle suggested Lifetime wanted to turn the “Five” format into an ongoing series but no further installments have been made.) While I really wanted to like “Five,” it simply can't overcome the limitations of its medium. The Lifetime Network's original films carry with them a certain reputation, not always earned, but “Five” is as exactly as sappy and awkward as I feared it would be, save for Keyes' segment. [Grade: C+]

Director Report Card: Patty Jenkins (2003)

I don't like to talk about this sort of thing, because of the strong likelihood I'll put my foot in my mouth while doing it, but it's definitely odd that Patty Jenkins directed a critically acclaimed, Academy Award winning film and then didn't make another theatrically released project for fourteen years. One assumes that a director with that kind of prestige would be receiving a number of offers afterwards. You can't help but jump to the conclusion that Hollywood's notoriously unfair treatment of female filmmakers played a role. But this story has a happy ending, of course, as Jenkins eventually returned to make a big-budget superhero blockbuster and is now the highest paid woman director in Hollywood history. So let's take a look at her career, which may look brief but will likely prove influential.

1. Monster

Patty Jenkins began her filmmaking career working as a camera operator. Supposedly, while working on a Michael Jackson music video, Jenkins was encouraged to pursue directing. She entered the American Film Institute and directed two shorts, which attracted the attention of producers Brad Wyman and Donald Kushner. This would lead Jenkins to her first feature film. Aileen Wuornos, with her widely publicized (and inaccurate) status as America's first female serial killer, had already been the topic of one critically acclaimed documentary. Yet clearly Wuornos' true story inspired Jenkins. “Monster” was written in seven weeks, production set up in two months, and filming was completed in 28 days. The resulting film would be critically acclaimed, a box office success, and win its star an Oscar.

Aileen Wuornos, known as Lee to her friends, is a homeless prostitute in the American South. She is considering suicide, with the pistol she carries, but decides to go into a bar and spend the last five dollars she has first. There she meets Selby, a teenage girl on the outs with her religious parents due to her lesbianism. The loud and confrontational Lee is disarmed by the quiet, shy Selby and the two soon fall into a relationship. While trying to earn money to take care of Selby, Aileen is brutally attacked and raped by a john. She shoots the man, who clearly intended to kill her, to death. Aileen hopes to quit prostituting herself but, when she finds few other options to provide for her and Selby, she returns to sex work... And kills again.

The opening minutes of “Monster” shows Aileen as a happy child, looking at herself in the mirror. She relates her childhood dream of one day becoming a movie star. We then see a man violently yank her away from the mirror. Throughout the opening, as Wuornos' hopeful narration continues we see the grim reality of her young life. From the very first moment, “Monster” depicts how Wuornos had the normal comforts of life ripped away from her from the very beginning. She was left unloved and mistreated by the people around her. This provide context for the person she becomes, for the things she will do. “Monster” thrusts us into Aileen's world and asks us how we would have acted, if put in the same circumstances.

Movies about serial killers always have a very careful tightrope to walk. Focus too much on the crimes the killers committed, you run the risk of becoming trashy exploitation. Humanize the killer too much, getting the audience to sympathize with a murderer, and you risk being insensitive to the real life victims. “Monster” does not focus on Aileen Wuornos' well known and long history of arrests, violence, and antisocial behavior. (This did not go unnoticed by people who knew her in real life.) “Monster” does not glamorize Wuornos' crimes, far from it. Yet Jenkins and her film clearly hopes to make us understand how a person can become a remorseless killer.

The factor at the center of the story, and its depiction of Wuornos, is never named but couldn't be more clear. Lee describes how she was molested as a child by a friend of her father, who refused to believe her and even beat her because of it. She talks about her homelessness, forced to turn to prostitution at a young age to take care of her siblings... Who were not appreciative or sympathetic. After the rape that spurns her first murder, she is clearly left shaken. When her sole friend in the world describes his experience coming from Vietnam, it all falls into place. Wuornos was left traumatized by a horrible life, clearly suffering from P.T.S.D. “Monster” contextualizes Wuornos' crimes as acts carried out by a mentally ill woman, reeling from a lifetime of abuse.

The first time Aileen kills, it's unambiguously depicted as an act of self-defense. The subsequent times she commits murder, she psyches herself up before each killing. You can see her mentally talking herself into believing each man is as bad as her rapist, that they all deserve to die. She attempts to justify her actions. In her narration, Aileen talks about the empty platitudes she's heard her whole life. About how all you need to do is follow your dreams or be kind, beliefs that have been rebuffed by the cruelty she constantly faced. In a key moment, Selby's aunt says people like Wuornos are lost causes. (She also claims to not be racist, after using a racist epitaph.) These are all justifications people tell themselves to get through life, another way “Monster” attempts to make us understand its murderer.

In addition to her obvious P.T.S.D., Aileen Wurous was also diagnosed with bipolar disorder while in prison. Throughout “Monster,” we see her fly off the handle at random people. Sometimes, it could be justified. While attempting to apply for a secretary position at a law fair, the man interviewing her is an asshole for no reason. (Leading to the film's one moment of comedy: “Fuck you, Leslie!”) Other times, her angry reactions are totally unjustified. When first meeting Selby, she yells at her. When the owner of a restaurant calmly explains that there's no smoking, she screams at the man and pushes him down. After being treated so badly, for so long, Lee responds to almost any stimuli with anger and outrage. It's her default mode.

Most of the praise directed at “Monster” was meant for Charlize Theron, her performance and subsequent Oscar win too often being boiled down to “uglying up.” Granted, it is a stunning physical transformation, as Theron is totally unrecognizable. Yet this also overlooks her incredible display of acting. Theron stares, often unblinking, with eyes that are amazingly intense.  Every word that comes out of her mouth is said with utter conviction. She makes us understand exactly what Aileen is feeling at every time. Every traumatized reaction is perfectly depicted through Theron's trembling body language or clench jaws. It's an impressive psychological and intuitive performance and the film wouldn't have worked without it.

Starring opposite Theron is Christina Ricci, as Selby. If Theron's blistering intensity is Aileen's defense mechanism to a lifetime of hurt, Ricci's Selby is unable to hide her vulnerability. Even in her first scene, she's a sad puppy that is just looking for someone to accept her. Ricci's massive eyes and doll-like face could not be better used. But Ricci is not just physically perfect of the role. She doesn't let us forget that Selby – based on Wuornos' real lover, Tyria Moore – is basically a kid. She can be selfish, bratty, or childish. Yet she also has a capacity for forgiveness. When most would've discarded Aileen immediately, Selby showed her love. Ricci brings that empathy to life wonderfully.

While “Monster” devotes a lot of energy to making us understand Wuornos' mindset, it does not back down on displaying her brutality. The initial rape and murder is harrowing, Jenkins focusing on the fear and pain Aileen feels, on her panic as she tries to undo the knots around her wrists and confronts the likelihood that she'll die. From there, the murders grow easier for Aileen but are no less intensely depicted. Jenkins makes the interior of the cars feel as sweaty and cramped to us as they surely felt to the people who were actually there. The intensity with which Jenkins directs the murder scenes certainly impress, and make up for some of the cheesier touches she uses, like flash-forward shots of cars speeding through traffic or an askew shot of the Daytona sign.

Similarly, the film's use of music is, sometimes, a little on-the-nose. Brian Transeau's score is full of quivering, ramping notes that build up the tension before the murder scenes, sometimes drowning out the actual dialogue. “Don't Stop Believing,” a song built upon exactly the kind of empty platitudes she rebuffs throughout the film, becomes Lee and Selby's song during a night in a roller rink. The first time they make love, “Crimson and Clover” plays, the dreamy guitar solo being stretched out. Yet, as overdone as some of these choices arguably are, they largely work. Transeau's score does increase the feeling of anxiety. Journey is ruefully reprised during the end credits. “Crimson and Clover” fittingly matches the light-headed feeling of falling in love. You can't fault this stuff when it works.

Ultimately, as it nears its conclusion, “Monster” reveals itself as more of a tragedy than anything else. After being arrested for the crime and awaiting trial, Aileen has her final phone call with Selby. While Lee describes never turning her back on her girlfriend, Selby is discreetly worming a confession out of Wournos on tape for the cops in the room. The killer is soon aware of this and clears her young lover of all wrongdoing. In the end, “Monster” shows Aileen Wournos being abandoned by almost everyone that showed her kindness. Okay, yes, she was a killer and a psychopath. Yet you can't help but feel some empathy for her, in moments like this. “Monster,” in its own way, becomes heartbreaking in these scenes.

That the majority of accolades “Monster” received focused on Theron is not surprising. It's a titanic performance and she deserved every award she won. While Theron is the center that holds all of “Monster” together, it's a very good motion picture in most every other way too. By asking the uncomfortable question of considering the elements that made a killer a killer, it causes the viewer to feel empathy for a remorseless murderer. With a strong supporting cast, including memorable turns from Bruce Dern and Scott Wilson, and well utilized direction, it's a film with more to offer than just a “uglied-up” lead performance. [Grade: B+]

Director Report Card: Kelly Reichardt (2020)

7. First Cow

It was probably inevitable. Kelly Reichardt is among America's mot acclaimed independent filmmakers these days, creating critically beloved little pictures that are distinctly her own and largely non-commercial. A24 is a studio that has gotten big by catering to a hardcore cinephile demographic and selling small pictures in smart ways. The two were going to cross paths eventually. So, for her seventh feature, Reichardt would hitch herself to the A24 train. The studio clearly believed in “First Cow,” her oddly named latest. They were determined to release it in theaters for quite a while, before the encroaching reality of the pandemic made a video-on-demand release the most logical route. The upside of this is I am able to enjoy “First Cow” much sooner than I probably otherwise would have.

The year is 1820 and the Oregon Trail has opened the path to the Pacific Northwest for many pioneers. Otis Figowitz, “Cookie” to his friends, operates as the chef to a group of rowdy fur trappers. He saves the life of King-Lu, a Chinese immigrant on the run after killing a man in self defense. Some time later, Cookie and Lu reunite at the nearest outpost, quickly becoming close friends. Cookie hopes to open a bakery some day but the only cow in the area is on the property of a rich Englishmen. Lu encourages Cookie to sneak up to the cow at night and take some of its milk. He uses the milk to cook delicious doughnuts, which are then sold in town to great success. As their business grows, Cookie and Lu receive more attention. And not all of it is going to be good...

“First Cow” sees Reichardt returning to a theme she hasn't touched on too much since “Old Joy.” That would be a close friendship between two men. Cookie saves Lu's life because he's a decent human being but also because he sees himself, a quiet outsider, in the persecuted immigrant. The duo's mutual outsiderdom is the foundation for their friendship but it's not why it lasts. Lu supports Cookie's dream of becoming a cook. Cookie supports Lu's dream of opening an inn. Their conversations are quiet but confidential. They have an understanding of each other. The bond between them is comfortable. It's the kind of friendship everyone dreams of, really. “First Cow” leans into that mood of relaxed companionship.

“First Cow” opens with a quote about friendship but this is not the movie's only concern. While the idea has bubbled under the surface of Reichardt's films from the beginning, this is the filmmaker's most searing indictment of the capitalistic system. Cookie and Lu have humble ambitions, of making delicious food and creating a place where people can rest. Yet Lu also notes that someone can make a lot of money running an inn. There's a sharp sense of the divide between people like the two and the rich man who lives on the island. The two, or Lu at least, wants to become like that. Yet a barrier – literal ones, like the fence around the cow, but mostly societal ones – keep them away from that status. They make money cooking but it's still not enough to grant them access. The veneer the Haves create is designed to keep out the Have-Nots, which is simply anyone deemed unworthy.

Through this theme of class division, Reichardt gets a chance to return to her favorite idea: People trapped in situations they have no control over. In a key moment, Lu says that the two of them don't have enough money to go but are too poor to stay. Cookie is very nervous about the idea of stealing the cow's milk, sneaking over to the rich man's property every night to milk it. Yet what other options do they have? You need milk, a commodity in this setting, to bake. The two are drawn further into a situation that will reveal their crime. At the same time, they can't turn back either. Inevitably, this turns out badly for them. Cookie and Lu are trapped by circumstance and eventually it dooms them.

“First Cow” is also about simpler things too. Despite playing a somewhat incidental role in the story, Evie the Cow gets the title spot. As Cookie sneaks over every night, he talks gently to the animal as he milks it. We learn the cow's mate died, that it's alone in this territory. This makes the animal something of an outsider too, so it's easy for Cookie to relate to her. It's not like the cow minds Cookie milking her. She happily gives what he needs, unlike the rich man who owns her. The understanding is intuitive. Just like Wendy's bond with Lucy,  the two don't need words to understand the comfort they give each other.

If you are making a movie about food, even partially, it's important that the food looks appetizing.  Cookie and Lu's trademark dish are oily cakes: Fried batter topped with cinnamon and honey. It's a simple enough recipe but, goodness, does it ever look tasty. Yet the film doesn't linger on its appealing snack just because it looks good. As their customer bite into the warm food, they note how it reminds them of the simple meals they had in their childhood. The stuff their moms use to make. Food is nostalgic. It links us with happier, easier times that we've experienced in our past. “First Cow” recognizes the power of food to connect people.

“First Cow” also sees Reichardt returning to “Meek's Cutoff” territory, in making a period piece from America's frontier days. Yet you wouldn't exactly describe the film as a traditional western either. Not just because it's wet, lush Pacific Northwest setting is so different from the dusty plains we usually see in this genre. Also because Reichardt depicts a past different from what we usually see in the lily-white western. Lu is Chinese, obviously. While visiting the rich chief's house, we see a group of Native Americans joining him. There are accents of many different types in this setting. This west is full of dusty, lived-in, and natural seeming homes that aren't exactly comfortable but provide shelter. “First Cow” depicts a more culturally diverse and down-to-Earth past, that is probably closer to reality than the sanitized version we usually see.

Once again, Kelly Reichardt foregoes a known movie star to play the main role in “First Cow.” John Magaro, an actor best known for various television roles and stage work, plays Cookie. Magaro has a quiet confidence in the role. He speaks calmly, rarely raising his voice above a whisper. Yet the audience always clearly understands where he comes from. You can see it in his eyes, in his posture. You're lucky when you can find an easily appealing actor like that. Magaro makes an easily watched star, someone you enjoy spending time with.

Co-starring alongside Magaro – as “First Cow” really is a two-hander between the two men – is Orion Lee. As Lu, Orion Lee speaks calmly but always makes himself understood. He observes the word and sees the truth around him. As with Magaro, Lee does not give a showy or overly self-conscious performance. Yet he speaks volume with a simple nod or a quiet turn-of-phrase. As the more active of the two men, Lee probably makes an even bigger impression on the viewer than Magaro does. Lee has appeared in some huge movies, though usually in small parts, so he probably has a good career ahead of him.

The most recognizable faces in “First Cow” are in the supporting cast. Toby Jones, with his erudite turn-of-phrase, could not be more perfectly cast as Chief Factor, the rich man who owns the cow and eventually turns into the film's antagonist. It's notable that Jones adds enough depth to the role to prevent the guy from coming off as nothing but a heartless aristocrat, even if that's basically what he's playing. Ewen Bremner has a memorably loud role as – what else? – an energetic and slightly unhinged Scotsman. Scott Shepherd is well utilized as the Captain, another authority figure determined to keep the characters in their place. Reichardt also throws in cameos from some of her regulars, with Alia Shawkat and Rene Auberjonis having bit parts.

Considered the animal on the poster and the forested location, you'd expect “First Cow” to look like Reichardt's other movies. By which I mean, you'd expect lots of shots of people walking through tree-filled natural vistas. Yeah, there definitely is some of that in the film, the warm, autumnal colors really popping in the last third. Surprisingly, the movie that “First Cow” most resembles visually is “Night Moves.” It's a more intimate affair, focused on the cast member's faces and the cramped interior locations they inhabit. Amusingly, Reichardt even zooms in on the face of Evie the Cow during the milking scenes, which feel as much like cozy conversations as any other of the other discussions in the film.

“First Cow” didn't work for me as well as some of Reichardt's other films. In its last act, it meanders somewhat aimlessly towards a typically blunt conclusion that, admittedly, works pretty well. Still, the film is highly likable and continues the clear interests and fascinations that the director has shown in the past. It's been warmly received by critics, earning some of the best reviews of the year. There's even been talks of Oscar buzz. Normally, I wouldn't expect a low-key film like “First Cow” to appeal to the Academy but, considering how weird award season is going to look next year, I guess we'll find out. [Grade: B]

Heading into this Director Report Card, I considered myself touch-and-go on Kelly Reichardt. I found some of her films brilliant, while others struck me as painfully slow. Watching all her stuff in the context of her whole career, even her more slow-paced features work better for me. Reichardt's definitely has a style, that's not for sleepy or hyperactive watchers. But sometimes you really do just want to see some people quietly wandering through a forest, ya know? Just reflecting on life and stuff. She has yet to make a bad film and, considering her valued position in the current independent film landscape, I imagine she'll probably get to make more. As always, thanks for reading.

Director Report Card: Kelly Reichardt (2016)

6. Certain Women

The majority of Kelly Reichardt's movies, at least those made after her comeback in 2006, had been set in her adopted home of the Pacific Northwest. Yet perhaps the director, like so many of her characters, was starting to feel a little trapped in her usual setting. For her sixth feature film, Reichardt would draw inspiration from the short story collection, “Both Ways Is the Only Way I Want It” by Maile Meloy. Meloy largely writes about her home of Montana, bringing Reichardt some new scenery. The resulting film, “Certain Women,” would be another critically acclaimed motion picture from the director, seeing her pet themes and favorite ideas continuing to evolve.

“Certain Women” tells three tales, adapted from Meloy's writing, each set in and around a Montanan small town. “Tome” follows Lauren Wells, an attorney struggling to make a client, Mr. Fuller, understand he can't win his lawsuit. After finally grasping that, he takes a security guard hostage, with Lauren stepping in as his negotiator. In “Native Sandstone,” a family – wife Gina, husband Ryan, and daughter Guthrie – live out in a tent while he builds them a new house. Gina and Ryan attempt to collect some sandstone from the yard of a near-by neighbor, an elderly man with dementia. In “Travis, B.,” ranch hand Jamie spontaneously steps into a night class teaching student law. There, she immediately forms an ambiguous bond with Beth Travis, the inexperienced teacher of the class.

Aside from the Montana setting and female protagonists, there's no direct collection between the three stories in “Certain Women.” However, certain ideas and stylistic touches recur throughout. The difficulty of communicating with people seems to concern each segment. Mr. Fuller's failing eyesight makes it difficult for him to read and his emotions often boil over. Gina and Ryan's neighbor, Albert, clearly doesn't seem to understand what is being said to him. In “Travis, B.,” Jamie and Beth long to say things to each other but neither can quite find the courage. Everyone could overcome their challenges, if only they were able to properly express themselves.

While almost all of Reichardt's films could possibly be described as containing feminist themes, “Certain Women” seems to be the first movie of her's to explicitly, directly address that idea. Something else that connects the stories is, in each one, men do not listen to the women in their lives. In “Tome,” Fuller only grasps his legal options after a man explains it to him, despite Lauren having told him the same thing multiple times. In “Native Sandstone,” Gina fears her husband undermines her authority with their daughter. In “Travis, B.,” Beth ends up in a position she's ill-suited for because someone – presumably a man – just sticks her in the role. “Certain Women” largely speaks to the frustration of being a woman, of living in a world where guys just naturally ignore your advice, options, and abilities.

What I found especially interesting about “Tome” is that it is a stand-off story without much danger. Even though Fuller has a gun and is holding a man hostage, he never has the intention of harming anyone. In fact, there's quite a bit of quiet humor here. Fuller has a civil conversation with his hostage, a Samoan man with a distant relation to the island's royal family. Once Lauren talks him into letting the man guy, Fuller frenziedly delivers a escape scheme to her... That doesn't take into account that there are cops on both sides of the building. Not only is Fuller not dangerous, he's not especially smart either. The drama of the story comes from whether Lauren can reach through his emotional denseness and make some headway with the loss and pain he's feeling.

And if anyone could do that, it would be a character played by Laura Dern. “Certain Women” came right in the middle of our cultural reevaluation of Dern as one of our greatest character actresses. It's an opinion Dern continues to prove here. She plays Lauren as a woman with a lot on her mind. We get a glimpse of a relationship with a boyfriend but it's not a big concern for her. She sticks to her principals, such as when she insist Fuller stop talking about violence or get kicked out of her car. Yet she's empathetic too, coming to him in an hour of need. Dern's ability to display empathy, warmth, but a get-it-done attitude all combine perfectly in this character.

Aside from her debut, not many of Kelly's movies can be described as “funny.” Poverty isn't hilarious, ya know? Yet there is a quiet humor to “Certain Women.” This is most apparent in “Native Sandstone.” It's a comedy of such thoughtfulness, that I'm not even sure if it is meant to be funny. It might just be my weird sense of humor but I think there are laughs to be had in Gina's everyday frustrations. Such as the growing pains she has with her sarcastic daughter. Or a husband, whose rascally side she, perhaps, once found far more charming. There's definitely some rueful laughter in her attempts to get through to the senile, easily confused Albert. (Which definitely fits the theme of the difficulty in communication.) None of these are gut-busting laughs but “Certain Women” captures the challenges of every day life. And everyday life is sometimes funny.

If these scenes contain humor, then they also contain sadness. The great Rene Auberjonois plays Albert. At first, he seems fairly cognizant. He speaks in clear, complete sentences. He describes memories with certainty. However, inconsistencies soon appear. He contradicts himself. Memories conflict. He repeats phrases and information. It's soon apparent that the man's mind has betrayed him. This is a quietly heartbreaking moment, showing the insidious way dementia can cripple once bright, thoughtful people. Reichardt employs no melodrama, accurately capturing this sad fact of life. The final, ambiguous moment of the segment suggests Albert doesn't even remember having the conversation.

In her third collaboration with Reichardt, Michelle Williams plays Gina. This is not as severe a role as Wendy or “Meek's Cutoff's” Emily. Williams doesn't brave homelessness or the perils of the frontier here. It shows that she's just as good when playing everyday emotions too. Williams shows Gina's frustrations quietly, with a stern look or an easily missed sigh. There's also a warmth, towards her family and the pain Albert is feeling. We're never quite sure of Gina's thoughts but Williams certainly let's us see the gears turning, however subtlety.

In Meloy's original “Travis, B.,” the plot concerns a man and a woman. Reichardt made the decision to make both parts female. Whether Beth or Jamie are out lesbians remains totally ambiguous. Their relationship is obviously flirtatious. Jamie shows a clear interest while Beth happily hugs her during a surprise horse ride. “Travis, B.” lets its probably-gay characters exist as a matter-of-fact. Instead, it's a beautifully withdrawn romance. The flirting comes across through smile-filled meals together, polite conversation, and kind gestures. The doubts and uncertainty, familiar to any new relationship, appears through off-screen actions and snap decisions. The grand gesture – we don't know if it worked, since Reichardt loves her open-ended send-offs – does not draw attention to itself. It's quiet, adorable, and utterly engrossing.

The titular “Travis, B.” is played by Kristen Stewart, an actress I'm still largely indifferent to. Her previous attempts to shed the “Twilight' stigma, and bring her star power to indie favorites, did not impress me. I will concede that she's pretty good here. Her stutter-y delivery is well suited to a character totally over-her-head, thrust into a situation she was not prepared for. She doesn't seem like a movie star but a normal person, riddled with doubts. Lily Gladstone, as Jamie, is even better. She's an ideal Reichardt actress, as she can convey a lot with just a quiet glance and is compelling to watch even while simply existing. The two have calm but complimenting chemistry, a big reason why the segment works as well as it does.

After trying out a more intimate style in “Night Moves, “ Reichardt's trademark naturalistic approach makes a big comeback here. Long scenes are devoted to Jamie going about her business on the ranch, the camera watching her tend to the horses and bail hay. (An adorable corgi keeps her company.) Much attention is paid to the winding forest back roads that leads to Albert's house. The snowy and rocky Montana countryside is paid so much attention, it deserves star billing. Once again, Reichardt is establishing a sense of place. This is an isolated, normal town and isolated, normal people live there. The softly falling snow, mountains, and trees certainly add tot he film's likably quiet atmosphere... Even if we could've used one less ranching montage.

“Certain Women” would become Reichardt's most financially successful film yet. Meaning it still only grossed a little over a million dollars. Critics – not to mention Dern and Stewart's adoring fans – would be enthusiastic, many declaring it one of the best films of the year. I wouldn't go that far. “Certain Women” is intentionally minor, laid-back in its presentation and humble in its goals. Yet it's certainly an engrossing, wonderfully made collection of stories with some strong performances and that unforgettable atmosphere. Lastly, Reichardt dedicates the film to the memory of the real life Lucy, in case you were wondering if this one was going to make you cry or not. [Grade: B]

Director Report Card: Kelly Reichardt (2013)

5. Night Moves

Throughout Kelly Reichardt's last two features, there were occasional scenes of tension and quiet unease. A disturbed vagrant hovering over a sleeping Wendy or a stand-off between Emily and Meek left audiences uncertain of what would happen next. These moments suggested Reichardt could make a top-tier thriller, if she ever did something like commit to a genre. With her fifth feature, Reichardt would do just that, bringing her naturalistic approach to a story of criminals sneaking around and risking discovery. “Night Moves” would also, perhaps not coincidentally, feature the most recognizable actors the director had worked with up to that point. The film would win more critical raves, continuing the director's positive streak.

A pair of radical environmentalists, the intense Josh and the young but knowledgeable Dena, believe that the rich and powerful are hoarding water in the mid-west, as just an another example of how modern industry is destroying nature. They plan to blow up a dam, flooding the valley. They buy a boat, called Night Moves, and team up with another environmentalist (and former veteran) named Harmon. Packing the boat with fertilizer, turning it into a bomb, they sneak in under cover of the night and complete their mission. Soon afterwards, it's discovered that a camper was killed in the flood. Fear, paranoia, and guilt begins to tear the trio apart.

From its opening frame, a quiet tension infects every moment of “Night Moves.” A sense of unease exists in every interaction, a feeling that our protagonists are never more than one foul-up away from being discovered. It's a feeling that only increases after the dam is destroyed, a moment Reichardt masterfully keeps entirely off-screen. Now, “Night Moves” reveals itself as a movie about paranoia. A passing glance in a crowd, headlights in the rear-view mirror on the freeway: Normal, every day events are now fuel for fear. The view can't hear James' thoughts but we know they are. “Do they know?” “Am I I being followed?” “Will I get caught?” All followed by a sea-sick certainty that the answer is “Yes.” It's a mood Reichardt and her team expertly created, further aided by Jeff Grace's quivering, unsettling score.

Perhaps it's so easy to enter “Night Moves'” paranoid head space because the characters really do come close to screwing up several times. The script throws many inconveniences in their path as they race towards their goals. Buying the fertilizer needed to create the bomb is stymied when the seller asks for Dena's social security number, which she's obviously reluctant to give. The night of the detonation, campers are spotted by the dam, forcing a frenzied attempt at a defusing. James and Dena are stopped by cops after driving away from the scene of the crime. Each moment is rift with dread, Reichardt following those rules of cinematic suspense. The audience knows what's at stake, we're not sure what the characters know, and the suspense lies in the uncertainty of what may happen next. The repeated close-calls also reveals the radical protagonists' inexperience, making them more relatable and sympathetic.

Because Reichardt, ultimately, does want us to sympathize with these characters. The film clearly aligns with the characters' philosophies, which it makes apparent by showing a reasonable nature documentary early on. Blowing up a dam is extreme but anyone paying attention knows industry is out-of-control, at nature's expense. The conflict of “Night Moves” arises when ideology meets morality. None of the three are comfortable with taking a human life and, when it happens, they all find their commitment to the cause flattering. Josh's refusal to do the right thing leads him down a path of further misery. While the film is arguing for moderation in beliefs, a leash on ideology before it becomes fanaticism, it's as much about people in over-their-head, trapped by their own commitments. Reichardt transfers her favorite theme to a new level. Here we see people trapped not just by places and circumstances but their own ideas and beliefs. 

It only makes sense that Reichardt would make a film about environmentalism, considering the clear interest she showed in the natural world in her previous work. Once again, the trees and forest play a key role in establishing the particular mood she is after. As in “Old Joy,” the forest is a place of beauty and quiet, as opposed to the noisy and crowded urban areas. Yet this contrast serves another purpose. Her human characters aren't just figures in a landscape here. Close-ups on their faces are used more often, bringing us into their worlds, their inner thoughts and fears. This more intimate approach, when paired with Reichardt's trademark isolation, creates the chilly atmosphere of unease that propels the story's paranoia.

“Night Moves” is also home to three fantastic performances. Jesse Eisenberg stars as Josh. It's a part that makes good use of Eisenberg's skills. The nerdy resentment of “The Social Network's” Mark Zuckerberg morphs into an unnerving intensity here. Eisenberg says most of his early dialogue in a gruff, stern whisper. Josh is dead fucking serious, Eisenberg transforming that focus into an intimidating energy. Yet, as Josh's conscience starts to get to him, Eisenberg taps into that neurosis visible in most of his comedic roles. The proud eco-warrior facade fades, revealing the scared boy underneath. It's a transformation that draws the viewer in, more and more, as the film progresses.

Starring opposite Eisenberg is Dakota Fanning, as Dena. Fanning is similarly well-cast. In her early scenes, she's almost bubbly, joking around in a girlish manner. Yet Dena is no less serious about ecology than Josh is, Fanning affecting an impressive grimness during several frank moments. Dena also cracks up eventually though, Fanning getting a chance to exercise her well-known ability to cry and panic. The combination creates a fully-formed character, sometimes bratty, sometimes scared, always human.

Peter Sarsgaard rounds out the central trio as Harmon. It's a performance that, honestly, makes me uncomfortable. While everyone else around him is grave, Sarsgaard is casual. He chats with friends, talks about fishing, and jokes around. Perhaps I feel that way because I relate more to Josh and Dena. Yet Sarsgaard goes through a change before the end too. While Josh and Dena begin to crack up, Harmon remains calm and almost calculating. It's another way the film keeps up guessing. (Also, watch out for Alia Shawkat, in a small supporting role. It's always nice to see her.)

Reichardt's first four films shared an almost complete disinterest in traditional dramatic elements, like romantic subplots or on-screen violence. “Night Moves” swerves with these ideas in interesting ways. One moment in particular sticks in the mind. Josh is out gathering firewood and returns to the camper. He pauses at the window, Dena and Harmon's erotic moans audible from the outside. The scene is never brought up again. There's no real hints of attraction between Josh and Dena. Yet you can't help but read his face in that scene as one of disappointment. The two had pretended to be a couple in an earlier scene and you wonder about Josh's thoughts concerning that. It's an interesting, if perhaps superfluous, sequence.

If we suppose Josh does have a crush on Dena, the film's climax plays in a much different light. In one of the most upsetting moments of Reichardt's career, Josh chases Dena through a steamy bathhouse before strangling her. Was Josh's initial reluctance to track Dena down just based on him not wanting more blood on his hands? Or did he have feelings for her? If so, did his jealousy over her dalliance with Harmon contribute to his decision to kill her? I might be completely imaging this but the subtle suggestion adds to the film's overall depth.

“Night Moves” features another trademark, non-conclusive Kelly Reichardt ending. Yet the ambiguity comes with more implications this time. The final image of the film is Josh looking into a mirror at a man over his shoulder. Is this a plains-cloth cop? More likely, the last shot represents how Josh will be looking behind himself for the rest of his life. And what do we make of his decision to get a job in a camping goods store, after being told to disappear? Perhaps Josh is hoping to get caught, having already had enough of the guilt. That “Night Moves” suggest so much with so little, leaving a viewer with such beguiling questions, is another testament to its strength.

Though by far Reichardt's most accessible film, “Night Moves” did not break through to box office. It remained an indie darling. The film did, however, attract some legal attention. (And, no, not because it shares a title with a Gene Hackman/Arthur Penn movie.) A lawsuit claim the film plagiarized Edward Abbey's novel, “The Monkey Wrench Gang.” I haven't read the book but the plots seem similar, with wildly different tones. Ultimately, the matter was settled out of court. Regardless of its originality, the execution makes all the difference. “Night Moves” is the engrossing, disquieting thriller we all know Kelly Reichardt had in her. [Grade: A-]

Director Report Card: Kelly Reichardt (2010)

4. Meek's Cutoff

Her indie cred long since established, with a considerable amount of critical respect under her belt, Kelly Reichardt was ready to tackle her most ambitious motion picture yet. The director would draw inspiration from a true, strange story from history. Meek's Cutoff was a wagon trail leading west branding off from the Oregon Trail, an alternate path designated for emigrants and so named for nature guide and fur trapper Stephen Meek. The trail was notoriously troubled by harsh conditions and illness. From these historical roots, Reichardt would weave another critically adored, low-key motion picture of quiet tension.

The year is 1845. A small group of emigrant settlers head across the Oregon desert, lead by a guide named Meek. Meek doesn't know the territory as well as he claims to and what should've been a standard two week journey stretches into two arduous months. Supplies run low, water especially becoming scarce. Paranoia and tension arise among the men, especially once an Indian is forced to join the group. Emily, wife of one of the settlers, attempts to be the voice of reason in the increasingly bad situation.

“Meek's Cutoff” falls into the western genre, with its tale of the wild frontier, terse men with six shooters, Indians and covered wagons. However, it's more accurately described as a survival story. Reichardt returns to her favorite theme for its most brutal variation yet. She introduces another protagonist that's trapped, as much by the circumstances around her as the physical environment. Yet the stakes are higher than ever before. Bad luck waits around every turn. Simple necessities like food and water are at risk. People die on this journey. “Meek's Cutoff” shows, in all too harsh details, how difficult the frontier life actually could be.

More than ever before, Reichardt focuses on the struggles women face. Emily, it often seems, is the only reasonable person on this entire journey. She is visibly unimpressed with Meek, as he tells blustery tales of killing Indians. She's the first person to see through his bullshit, foreshadowing that his knowledge of the trail is unimpressive too. As the story goes on, Meek growing more unhinged, violence nearly erupts between the two. In a key moment, Meek explains his expertise on women and Emily practically rolls her eyes. This is an apt summation of the entire film: This woman sees the truth but nobody listens to her, due to the sexism of the time. And all times.

If “Meek's Cutoff” is a examination of how sexism has crippled American progress, it has similar thoughts about frontier racism. In real life, the Meek's Cutoff path was chosen by settlers due to fears of an attack by the local tribes. In Reichardt's “Meek's Cutoff,” at least one of the women on the trail is driven into a fit from fear of the Indians. When the actual Indian joins the party, these fears only increase. Meek is belligerent to the man constantly, referring to him only as the heathen and talking about how all Indians are savages and killers. Yet he's the only one that's violent. The Indian quietly keeps to himself. He respects the dead. Moreover, he's the only one who actually seems to know where he's going. The reasonable peaceful indigenous people being hassled and attacked by white settlers that think they know better: The entire history of American expansion in miniature.

Yet Reichardt is not just commenting on America's general history in “Meek's Cutoff.” Her concerns, in fact, where on something far more recent. The film was, apparently, largely inspired by the George W. Bush administration. Once this knowledge is present, it becomes impossible not to see parallels. A head-strong but ultimately clueless man, a self-professed cowboy, leads all-too-trusting Americans into the desert. He's antagonistic to the local population, who know the territory much better than him. A character even utters the line “Stay the course” at a key moment. If the macho bullshit of the Bush II era pushed Reichardt to such frustration and anger, I can only imagine what her thoughts on our current ego-driven political quagmire is.

The quiet tension that occasionally took over “Wendy and Lucy” occupies all of “Meek's Cutoff.” Reichardt utilizes a number of tools to  increase this discomforting feeling. The film is shot in 1.33:1 aspect ratio, otherwise known as the Academy Ratio. The constricting black bars on both sides of the screen seems to squeeze the characters in, making them seem even more trapped than they appear. The night scenes are so dark, naturally lit, that you can barely see what's happening some times. Once again, the director places her characters as small figures in large, natural environments. The wagon train seems so small out in the desert, all the more vulnerable. The first scene in “Meek's Cutoff” shows the pioneers attempting to ford a river, setting up the atmosphere of hardship early on. The film is determined to make the viewer understand how hard this journey is for its characters, Reichardt's direction following suit.

Adding to this unsettling tone is the amazing sound design. Much like “Wendy and Lucy,” this film largely lacks a musical score. When music is heard, it's a low, throbbing, discordant note that only puts the viewer more on edge. Mostly, the aural landscape of “Meek's Cutoff” is devoted to the squeaking wheels of the wagons. It's a constant reminder of how uncomfortable this journey is for everyone. More than once, Reichardt assumes the perspective of the film's female characters as they watch the men in the distance, talking about something. Much like the women themselves, we can only hear far-off mumbling. Again, this puts the viewer right in the characters' position, of frustration and distrust.

After “Wendy and Lucy” proved to be such a fruitful collaboration, it only made sense that Reichardt would re-team with the actress here. If Wendy was largely a vulnerable character, Emily is much more driven. She's a deeply frustrated woman. Society dictates that women do nothing but take orders but Emily can only take so much of sitting and watching. Williams never raises her voice yet she gets across how forceful and strong a personality Emily is. As the reasonable P.O.V. into this doomed expedition, we couldn't have had a better one. Williams is, once again, fantastic.

For the first time, Reichardt teams with known movie stars in “Meek's Cutoff.” Aside from Williams, the supporting cast has several familiar faces in it. Bruce Greenwood plays Meek, adopting a gravelly voice and a huge, shaggy beard. If Meek ever has any doubts about his actions, Greenwood never let its show, creating a perfectly obnoxious wannabe leader. Paul Dano and Zoe Kazan appear as two of the would-be settlers, Kazan panicking well and Dano perfectly cast as a feckless man who just repeats what others say. Will Patton also reappears from “Wendy and Lucy,” as Emily's understanding but ultimately no-more-helpful husband.

The first time I saw “Meek's Cutoff,” I'll admit that I didn't like it. I had loved “Wendy and Lucy” and, perhaps, had gotten my hopes for Reichardt's follow-up too high. Mostly, my main contention with “Meek's Cutoff” is its glacial pacing. Running 103 minutes – normal by movie standards but long in comparison to Reichardt's first three features – not much really happens for most of it. With the lack of music, “Meek's Cutoff” becomes an especially stark and drawn-out viewing experience. This is, of course, exactly the point. The audience is meant to feel as frustrated and tired out as the characters. But it helps to know what you are getting into before seeing the film.

Similarly, don't expect an ending that wraps up loose ends. In real life, the settlers broke into two groups, suffered more deaths and hardships, but eventually reached their destinations. In Reichardt's film, she cuts it off just as they arrive at the fork in the journey. While Reichardt is clearly exercising her interest in simply dropping in on her characters' lives, this ending leaves “Meek's Cutoff” on an ominous note. As Emily watches the Indian wander off, and hears the rest of the settlers discuss continuing with Meek, a sense of dread settles in. This journey is doomed. While not satisfying on a narrative level, it sure does make an impact on an emotional level.

I think another reason I was disappointed in “Meeks' Cutoff” at first is that the A.V. Club, where I got most of my movie news at the time, hailed it as one of the best films of the year. Obviously, I did not get then what I was expecting. On the second viewing, I liked “Meek's Cutoff” a lot more. Functioning largely as a disquieting mood piece, and a commentary on American history old and more recent, it is certainly effective. After the emotional raw nerve of “Wendy and Lucy,” it pales a little in comparison. Yet I realize now that Reichardt and her film succeed at just what she set out to do. And she did it all with a PG rating too. [Grade: B]