The Power of the Dog (dir. Jane Campion), 2021

Ever-shifting power dynamics are at play at Montana in the year 1925. The central characters in The Power of the Dog are not battling for land or wealth or material goods, rather a more personal power: the power of identity, the power of happiness, and the power of freedom. With recent prestige television phenomena of the past decade (Game of Thrones, Succession) circling the subtleties of power dynamics, it’s not surprising writer-director Jane Campion found studio backing for her adaptation of the 1967 of the same name by Thomas Savage. And, perhaps The Power of the Dog has the ability to become a surprise crowd pleaser if Netflix abstains from burying the film among its overloaded catalog.

Born into wealth, brothers Phil and George Burbank have been in the ranching business for roughly twenty-five years. Whereas Phil has a rough exterior, George is more polished and sensitive. The only lightness Phil exudes is when reminiscing about his late mentor, Bronco Henry. During a cattle drive, the brothers and their ranchers lodge at the Red Mill, a small hotel operated by widowed Rose Gordon and her teenaged son, Peter. At dinner, Phil taunts Peter for his lisp and effeminate nature to the roaring laughter of his table. George remains quiet and, once the others leave, comforts a distraught Rose. This shift in allegiance from his domineering, yet incredibly needy, brother is the first of several power moves and evolving dynamics. George soon weds Rose and Peter is sent to medical school. Believing Rose is after their money, Phil taunts her endlessly. Rose, perhaps having lied about playing for moving pictures, is gifted a piano and asked to play for the governor, his wife, and her new in-laws after a dinner party. Rose attempts to practice a single showtune, but is distracted by Phil playing his banjo with every strike of her key. When she ultimately fails to master the song at the party, Phil returns just to verbally humiliate her in front of the crowd. For almost twenty-five years, Phil has had George to himself and too often relives their glory days with Bronco Henry, who passed more than twenty years prior. The arrival of Rose, and later Peter, threatens his sense of livelihood and connection to his revered past life. For some reason, his brother is the only tangible strand to their years under Bronco Henry. The strand has been broken and Phil torments Rose until she turns to the bottle to cope. When Peter returns on break from medical school, Rose asks if he would like to bring a friend to the ranch. “No,” he responds. “I’d rather spare them from him.” Peter is well-aware of Phil’s cruelty and, perhaps, already notices a change in his mother’s demeanor.

The Power of the Dog takes place over five chapters, each sequentially growing more tense and subtly combative. While the first three chapters largely are world-building, they retain the foundational edge and eeriness that weaves through the final two acts as Rose fears losing her only son to the influence of Phil, now acting as his mentor. Plucks of string instruments and clanging piano keys play like a horror-score highlighting both the isolation of the rural Montana landscape and the rugged masculinity required to belong there. The film has been credited with “deconstructing masculinity”, but I’m not sure that is the case. Rather, Campion explores masculinity more broadly as a desired or reviled trait: Phil wants to appear masculine to mask his own homosexuality whereas Peter has attempted to shed such masculinity and coldness in the wake of his father’s suicide. The film, in turn, appears to embrace a compelling masculine horror-thriller genre. And, the scenic landscapes of Montana (though filmed in New Zealand) are a perfect backdrop enhanced by the carefully curated lighting and camerawork.

Prior to this film, I never have fully enjoyed the work of Jane Campion, leaving me hesitant. However, The Power of the Dog surprisingly is one of the best films I have seen this year. Not only is the film so meticulously crafted, but the story and themes are perfectly overlaid. Benedict Cumberbatch, Kirsten Dunst, and Kodi Smit-McPhee encapsulate roles often requiring more work behind the eyes than from the mouth. The isolation of Montana feels like an escape for these characters, yet manifests into a prison. Particularly, Phil, Rose, and Peter sense that their own freedom is dependent on the undoing of the other, playing moves of power for their own dominance and survival.

Rating: 10/10