The Power of the Dog

Set amid sumptuous landscapes and quaint ranch houses, The Power of the Dog is a vivid and intimate exploration of the harsh psychological toll of life on the American frontier.

The first film in more than a decade from Kiwi director Jane Campion (The Piano) is a handsomely mounted Western drama about isolation and unresolved grief that’s sometimes difficult to watch but even harder to shake.

The story opens in 1925 in small-town Montana, where Phil (Benedict Cumberbatch) is a veteran rancher who toils every day in arduous physical labor, defiantly hurling insults toward anyone within earshot while his brother, George (Jesse Plemons), is more polite and businesslike.

After Phil’s embarrassing outburst during dinner at a local restaurant, George’s apologetic attitude toward the insulted owner, Rose (Kirsten Dunst), eventually evolves into romantic feelings. They marry and the outspoken if vulnerable Rose moves in with her timid teenage son (Kodi Smit-McPhee) whose passion for floral arranging makes him an easy target.

At first glance, Phil embodies toxic masculinity — filled with bitterness and hostile rage, insistent that his gang of enablers shares in his malaise — and is due for an epiphany or a comeuppance, or both.

It’s only during a private moment of compassion, when Phil polishes a saddle belonging to his late horseman mentor, that we get a sense of the demons that haunt him, or the secrets he might be concealing.

Evocative and richly detailed, the film adopts a leisurely paced appropriate for its setting, yet abundantly rewards viewer patience with its powerful moments both confrontational and contemplative. The four emotionally scarred characters speak as much through subtle glances and body language as they do through actual dialogue.

Indeed, tension simmers beneath the surface of Campion’s melancholy screenplay, adapted from a Thomas Savage novel, which generates intriguing character dynamics as it examines gender politics and shifting loyalties within its confined locale.

Even if the setup seems familiar, the film subverts traditional Western mythology about cowboys, outlaws, shootouts, bar fights, and the like. The technical contributions are top-notch, from Ari Wegner’s cinematography to Jonny Greenwood’s haunting stringy score.

Cumberbatch’s caustic and committed portrayal ultimately drives The Power of the Dog, which tightens its grip during a climax with bark and bite.

Rated R, 126 minutes.