There’s something about the combination of a repressed woman and a set of ivories that brings the best out of Jane Campion. It was true of her Academy Award-winning “The Piano,” and now, 28 years later, the Kiwi is at it again with her even more melodious, “The Power of the Dog.” It, too, will be in concert with the Oscars, both on the strength of her best writing and directing in years and for a lead actor in Benedict Cumberbatch, frighteningly good as a 1920s Montana rancher representing the very definition of toxic masculinity.
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Like “The Piano,” the movie is a gorgeous work of art, set in the spot where majestic mountains meet drab, dusty plains, a junction at which bovines outnumber humans by about 10-to-1. Standing above it all is a monster that wouldhave Frankenstein shivering in his size-18 boots. But Cumberbatch’s Phil Burbank isn’t your average raging bull. He’s brutally handsome, sharp with a castration knife, and plays a mean banjo. But get him riled … watch out. That’s when it’s time to hide from this Jekyll’s innermost demons, which neither man nor horse can escape.
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He’s your worst nightmare, a man’s man, with no empathy for the “weakness” of women and grown boys who’d rather create paper flowers than rustle cattle. The widow Rose Gordon (Kirsten Dunst) and her rangy son, Peter (Kodi Smit-McPhee), fit that description to a T. The night Phil steps into their modest diner in a tiny cattle town, life for all of them will never be the same, and that includes Phil’s plump-but-sweet brother, George (Jesse Plemons), whom he not-so-affectionately calls Fatso. Before dessert arrives and the last beer is downed, Rose and Peter are reduced to tears, quaking in fear. If they ever see Phil and his dozen or so sycophantic underlings again, it will be too soon.
While the “boys” all laugh, point and spit out homophobic slurs, George grows red with embarrassment. Kindly soul that he is, he stays behind and attempts to make amends by soothing the weeping widow. Days later, George reappears, down on one knee asking Rose to be his bride. The thought of living with George and his boorish brother gives Rose pause, but the money and opportunity afforded her and her wannabe-doctor son, is too tempting to resist. Besides, how awful can Phil be when he’s not drinking? Well, pretty awful. Worse, his “manly” ways appear to be wearing off on her son, who vows to be just like Phil. But appearances can be deceiving, and that goes double for Phil and Peter, who are drawn ever closer, bonding over the fashioning of a custom-made lariat.
Rose, being Rose, sees only what she wants to see, and what she sees is driving her slowly insane. Suddenly, she can no longer play the baby grand George bought for her. And is that booze she’s stashing in random places around the ranch to anesthetize her growing distress? Meanwhile, Phil struts around like he owns the place, which he does. But he does it in a menacingly Freddy Kruger-like manner that strikes unease even from a distance. It’s a welcome departure for Cumberbatch, who’s made a career out of playing nice guys in everything from the historical drama, “The Imitation Game,” to a Marvel superhero in “Doctor Strange.” Here, he’s full-on sinister, and what’s disconcerting is that much of Phil’s danger is manifested via churlish insults, not physical harm. But it's no less terrifying.
We feel it, Rose feels it, but George is seemingly oblivious, a cluelessness which Plemons (who is engagedto Dunst in real life) is marvelous at projecting. It’s a performance benefiting a movie that’s slow, deliberate and visceral in its build toward a shocking finale. To that end, Campion relies on a lope more than a gallop, and that will no doubt test the impatient. But if you stick with it and pay close attention to each unfolding detail, the two-hour-plus investment will be well worth the effort.
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Enhancing the tantalizing storytelling is the grandeur of the setting, sumptuously captured by cinematographer Ari Wegner (“In Fabric”), a likely Oscar-nominee who effectively juxtaposes the vibrantly colored mountains with the mud and dirt of a place that is neither morally clean nor godly. Ironic, since the title is culled from Psalm 22:20: “Deliver my darling from the power of the dog.” It’s God’s prayer wishing Jesus be delivered from his wicked oppressors. And that’s exactly what Campion’s adaptation of Thomas Savage’s novel is all about. The circumstance might not be biblical, but they are holy in the condemnation of certain men in our present political sphere who’d love to return us to a time when the nation was owned and operated by straight, white Christian men.
It’s a highly effective message that, in the current climate, will earn Campion and her benefactor, Netflix, plenty of support from Oscar voters. A nomination for Best Picture is almost certain, but it’s the impeccable performances of Cumberbatch, Smit-McPhee and Dunst that leave you reeling. There’s not a mutt among them in a period film that couldn’t be timelier. It’s resonant, rabid and snarling with a foamy bite. So consider yourself warned: Beware of “Dog.”
'The Power of the Dog'
Rating:R for full nudity, brief sexual content
Writer-Director: Jane Campion
Cast: Benedict Cumberbatch, Kirsten Dunst, Jesse Plemons, Kodi Smit-McPhee and Thomasin McKenzie
Running time: 2:06
Where to see it:In limited theaters Nov. 17. Streaming on Netflix Dec. 1.
Grade: A
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