3.5 stars. Rated R, for strong gory violence, dramatic intensity, sexual assault and profanity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 1.8.16
Rarely has the rugged American
West been portrayed with such grim, unforgiving brutality.
Hollywood seems to view the
holiday season as the time for historical sagas of astonishing survival. Unbroken opened on Christmas Day 2014; In the Heart of the Sea occupied
movie theaters during much of this past December. To their company we now add The Revenant, based in part on the gruesome event that defined the life — and
legend — of early 19th century American fur trapper and frontiersman Hugh
Glass.
This incident, and its aftermath,
first hit the big screen in 1971’s Man in the Wilderness, with Richard Harris
starring as “Zachary Bass” (the sort of dumb name-shift that made eyes roll,
back in the day). Author Michael Punke subsequently employed Glass’ experiences
as the backdrop for his fictional 2002 “augmentation” of the trapper’s life, The Revenant; director Alejandro González Iñárritu and co-scripter Mark L.
Smith have based this new film on that novel.
While the bloodthirstier elements
of Glass’ saga have been heightened here (and in Punke’s novel) for greater
melodramatic impact, that isn’t as unreasonable as it might seem. Glass was
guilty of exaggerating his exploits during his own lifetime, so we really
aren’t able to separate fact from fancy ... except with respect to the seminal incident.
As the film begins, Glass
(Leonardo DiCaprio) is guiding a fur-trapping expedition led by Capt. Andrew
Henry (Domhnall Gleeson), commander of the trading outpost Fort Kiowa, located
on the Missouri River in South Dakota. The group is ambushed by an Arikara war
party — once-peaceful Native Americans who, at this point in their history, are
thoroughly fed up with having been repeatedly displaced by white settlers —
that decimates Henry’s company.
The fleeing survivors regroup,
with Henry accepting Glass’ suggestion of the safest — but hardest — route back
to the fort. This decision doesn’t sit well with the outspoken John Fitzgerald
(Tom Hardy), mostly because he neither likes nor trusts Glass. The latter
doesn’t regard Fitzgerald as worthy of concern, which of course enrages our de facto villain even further.
Fitzgerald also is a vicious racist
who despises the presence of Glass’ half-Native teenage son, Hawk (Forrest
Goodluck). Although father and son are devoted to each other, the boy is
withdrawn and fearful: forever traumatized by a childhood event that claimed
his mother’s life (and which we experience, in brief chunks, via flashback).
The remaining trappers also
include young Jim Bridger (Will Poulter), a name that should be familiar to
those who remember their grade-school American history; Bridger would become
one of our foremost mountain men and guides.
The secondary crisis strikes when
Glass, hunting for food, stumbles across two bear cubs. Knowing full well what
that means, he’s nonetheless unprepared for their mother’s savage assault.
This sequence is horrific,
unyielding and very hard to watch; Iñárritu doesn’t leave anything to the
imagination. The attack seemingly lasts forever, after which Glass is a mangled
and shredded mess ... but still clinging stubbornly to life.
The honorable Henry initially
insists that Glass be carried on a makeshift litter, but the harsh environment
and encroaching winter soon make this impossible. Henry therefore requests
volunteers to remain with Glass until he dies, at which point he’s to be
buried, after which his companions then can catch up with the rest. Hawk
insists on remaining with his father; Bridger does the same.
Improbably, Fitzgerald agrees to
chaperone this sad little group, insisting that he’ll “do right” by Glass.
We’re screaming at the screen by now, hoping that Henry won’t be hoodwinked by
this obvious liar ... but that’s precisely what happens. Henry and the rest
move on; Fitzgerald craftily assesses his two young companions.
The situation worsens, after
which Glass finds himself abandoned.
DiCaprio has the film’s lengthy
second act to himself: an impressive exercise under any circumstances, but even
harder when the storyline’s harsh weather necessitates exposing little beyond
his eyes. It’s the ultimate acting challenge, and we marvel when it’s handled
successfully, as with Tom Hanks in Cast Away, or Robert Redford in All Is
Lost.
DiCaprio does even better, in
terms of raw intensity; Glass is fueled by primal rage, and we believe it. His
gaze is unyielding, his determination unquestioned; we readily accept that this
man is sufficiently tough, smart and resolute. The means to continued survival
at times become as harsh as the initial bear attack; Iñárritu makes the process
persuasively credible.
Indeed, he and cinematographer
Emmanuel Lubezki — Academy Awards for both Gravity and Iñárritu’s Birdman —
make a supplementary character of the harsh landscape. They favor a rotating
camera shot that swings around a central subject, granting a full-circle view
of the surroundings, and often concluding with a vantage point that yields a
hitherto-unglimpsed detail. It’s both exhilarating and somewhat unnerving,
because at times the final reveal signals more bad news.
We’re wholly drawn into this
environment, feeling the punishing weather, practically smelling the stink of
long-unwashed men forced to wear bulky clothing in order to stay alive. As was
the case with In the Heart of the Sea, we’re reminded that the men drawn to
such difficult and dangerous jobs, aren’t likely to be individuals worthy of
much trust. The larger group dynamic is fragile at best, and Henry’s hold on
his men always seems just one squabble away from full-blown mutiny.
The closer interpersonal
relationships are equally wary, particularly the bond of necessity that forms
between Fitzgerald and Bridger, once left with the badly wounded Glass. Young
Bridger is a callow farm boy, wholly out of his element and unaccustomed to
duplicity; Poulter plays him as the ultimate innocent, initially drawn to
Glass, with puppy-like devotion, as a resourceful father figure.
In great contrast, Bridger
regards Fitzgerald with a blend of horror, anger and bone-deep terror:
absolutely the last man on which to rely, and yet necessity eventually forces
as much. Poulter deftly shades his performance, demonstrating the acting chops
I expected after seeing his spunky youthful debut in 2007’s charming Son of Rambow.
Hardy has the showpiece role: as
quietly nasty a piece of work as we’ve seen in awhile. Fitzgerald is motivated
entirely by greed and preservational self-interest; he’s entirely soulless,
more animal than man. His cunning gaze often looks feral, his bestial comportment
so intense and absolute, that we’re often surprised when the man speaks.
The scariest part: It’s not
necessarily appropriate to tag Fitzgerald as “evil” per se. He’s simply and
utterly amoral.
Gleeson shines as the weary,
overwhelmed Capt. Henry: an ethical man aware of his precarious position, and
surrounded by brutes who’d likely cut his throat over a minor disagreement.
Arthur Redcloud makes a strong impression as the dignified Hikuc, a solitary
and mostly silent Native American who encounters Glass when the latter is in
desperate need of help.
Goodluck exudes vulnerability as
the emotionally damaged Hawk, and the bond he shares with DiCaprio is palpable:
Each is the only thing the other has, in this hostile and unforgiving world.
Duane Howard, finally, is imposing and ominous as the Arikara war party leader
Elk Dog; he’s on his own mission of vengeance, determined to find his kidnapped
daughter Powaqa, and kill all those responsible for her capture.
Having spent time with the likes
of Fitzgerald and an equally motley crew of rival French trappers, our
sympathies naturally lie with Elk Dog, Hikuc and the various other Native
peoples in this story ... even when some of them behave viciously themselves.
This is a bleak, nasty story: a
saga in which even our core protagonist, Glass, is far from untarnished. While
the drama is fueled by Glass’ quest for vengeance, it’s perhaps more important
to focus on Bridger: He’s the character who undergoes the greatest change.
Ultimately, though, this
156-minute film is much too long. It lacks the visual pizzazz that made Birdman so exciting to watch; the narrative and execution here are much
slower and more grindingly methodical, mirroring the undeniably gorgeous and
yet quietly foreboding environment itself. The Revenant doesn’t quite become
boring, but it is self-indulgently slow; Iñárritu should have let editor
Stephen Mirrione trim at least half an hour.
Once
again, though, we’re given a movie that demands subsequent research into its
primary characters. The actual Hugh Glass was quite a figure, and I suspect
he’d be pleased by his depiction here ... factual, fictitious or otherwise.
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