The Power of the Dog

The Power of the Dog is a brilliant, oblique adaptation of Thomas Savage’s 1967 novel of the same name. Reinforced by an unpredictable premise, superlative performances, a modern view of weaponized masculinity in the dying Old West, and a complex dimensionality in its commentary of sadism, torment, and jealousy, Australian writer-director Jane Campion’s adaptation walks a fascinating line between deconstructionism of the Western genre while still holding the scope of such a renowned genre where her feminist sensibilities shake things up. Most audiences expect the Western genre to have accessibility in the genre trappings of good and evil, with escapism, shoot-em-ups, and one-dimensional villains to be a solid breakout with audiences on Netflix, especially where casual viewers are looking for thrilling spectacle in their genre expectations of the Western.

With such name talent in the cast as Benedict Cumberbatch and Kirsten Dunst in the cast, along with exquisite production values that hold the vision and scope that have also generated high critical acclaim, should position The Power of the Dog for some Oscar buzz, even though the inevitable and divisive social media buzz might be a detriment to the film’s overall success due to its deep ambiguity (especially in the third act) and some distressing subject matter that examines bullying and resentment.

Unlike in most westerns, however, the traditional story arc often involves a flawed cowboy or sheriff, with a strong moral compass and flaws, squared off against a menacing and villainous cowboy. That inevitably leads to a showdown or standoff with bystanders or other fellow cowboys or ranchers. Campion is a few steps ahead of the audience in what she’s attempting to do. The end result is an artful and ingenious western that defies many expectations, while Campion still delivers tension-building and anxious scenes that are fraught with psychology, emotional distress, and threats that stem from the brutal nature of the ranch owner and cowboy, Phil Burbank (Cumberbatch). But Phil’s brooding nature only worsens as the narrative progresses; he is so seemingly vile that even his younger brother George (Jesse Plemons) has become acquainted with his bullied ways. This leads to George’s new wife, Rose Garden (Dunst), and her only son, Peter (Kodi Smit-McPhee), must devise desperate and cunning strategies to combat his despotism. The film expands on Campions’ well-known themes about the toxic side of the male id and ego, as well as how they can be toxic and abused against others, as delivered by Cumberbatch in his most transformative performance to date.

Structurally, Campion divides the yarn into five chapters that are chronicled with Roman numerals. The first chapter we show the Burbank brothers, both are different in many ways as George is the more sophisticated and business savvy brother, while Phil is rougher and tougher brother who doesn’t have the education or elegance of his brother, and he often insults George, calling him “Fatso” as he’s always degrading him in front of his fellow cowboys, who venerate him on every level as they enjoy his stories about a folklore cowboy “Bronco Henry,” who supposedly trained Phil in how to be a cowboy.

The year 1925 is a fascinating year for Campion to explore. It’s perhaps the last decade of the western cowboy culture, as the West is in the early transitions of the automotive revolution, where we see wealthy citizens driving cars, yet there are ranches, stagecoaches, and old-fashioned bars and restaurants. In their very first encounter, George and Phil meet Rose and her son Pete, who is very artistic and crafts paper flowers and roses that Phil doesn’t like. Rose becomes enraged when Pete is ridiculed by Phil for being flamboyant and gay, which causes Phil to adopt a homophobic attitude. Rose ends up comforting Rose. They soon develop a romance, as young Peter goes off to school to study zoology.

In a subsequent scene in which both men are encouraging each other to be tougher cowboys, Peter appears to be very passive and intimidated by Phil. However, with enough attention by Campion, along with haunting imagery by Campion’s direction and Ari Wegner’s ravishing cinematography, and another evocative score by the great Jonny Greenwood, the film takes on new depths, clues, and layers of what’s truly going on. It will take another revisit to examine what’s truly going on with the motives and layers. The film unfolds with a lot of tension-building, along with some rich emotional payoffs, and some deep complexity and thought-provoking ambiguities that hold a tragic denouement with great dramatic impact. Part Western, part thriller, The Power of the Dog is an absorbing and brooding ride, with helpful contributions from Campion’s pure vision and rich artistry. Wegner’s and Campion’s thrust the camera into beautiful deserts and prairies, with elegant camera work that helps with the dramatic momentum of the yarn.

Both Cumberbatch and Smit-McPhee are complete elements of their performances, especially Cumberbatch, who often plays stoic and vulnerable characters, here showing the dark aspects of masculine confidence with his acuity and alluring charisma as the bad guy. Dunst and Plemons both embody the strengths and frailties of the families who are victims of Phil’s manipulative keeps, but they deliver this without sentimentality, and Smith-McPhee’s character earns notice by holding a lot of layers in what Peter’s true agendas and motivations are that never feel calculated. The eighth feature of Campion’s clings to your memory with its visceral approach, but the reward is a film that you can’t shake off.