If you’re familiar with terms like “women in film,” “female gaze,” or perhaps even “girlboss,” then you are probably aware of the director Jane Campion. Known for combining romanticism with violence, Campion makes films that are rooted and transformed through rich character development rather than narrative action. She often focuses her work on women, but unlike other canonical auteurs with similar aspirations such as Pedro Almodovar, whose chatty female protagonists ooze confidence, Campion’s women are often a combination of insecure, unheard, and deeply bothered. Their actions rather than their words speak volumes. In her first feature film Sweetie, the socially awkward Kay (Karen Colston) has few friends and is spooked by tea leaves, trees, and her overly expressive mentally ill sister; in The Piano, Ada (Holly Hunter), the film’s mute protagonist and mail order bride, literally cannot speak but communicates passionately through her piano keys; while Frannie (Meg Ryan) from In the Cut feels a deep sense of guilt because she has the best sex of her life with someone she thinks murdered her sister. None of these women read as your typical pillars of strength, but Campion gives them space and examines them with a voyeuristic eye.
Although not a woman, Phil Burbank (Benedict Cumberbatch) from Campion’s newest film The Power of the Dog fits into the director’s milieu. Based on Thomas Savage’s novel of the same name and set in Montana during 1925, the film spends a lot of time examining Phil, a cowboy and wealthy ranch owner who is obsessed with his masculine presentation. Always wearing his flappy chaps and never far from a homemade rope, Phil is the type of man with a domineering presence who enjoys asserting power. He either bullies or flat out ignores almost everyone at the ranch including his younger and kinder brother George (Jesse Plemons), who mostly waves away his constant insults as a survival tactic. Cumberbatch, who has made a career of playing prickly characters such as Doctor Strange and Sherlock Holmes, plays the role well, but something ain’t right. Despite his uber-masculine front, Cumberbatch seems like a lizard sunbathing on a rock rather than a cowboy from Montana. The actor’s posh roots stand out and help guide his characterization. In the film, Phil is a Yale educated man masquerading as a down and dirty cowboy. He’s trying to be “one of the guys,” but If you watch him closely, his facade is obvious, which is exactly why Cumberbatch’s casting works. Phil’s wrath combined with his wealth and power provides him with a disgusting socially acceptable shield that leaves him untouchable, but his deep admiration for his former mentor Bronco Henry, who was apparently the literal embodiment of the Wild West, is suspect. As the film progresses it becomes obvious that Phil is hiding behind a veneer, but that’s only one piece of this ongoing puzzle.
Similar to Sweetie, The Power of the Dog is deeply rooted in the nuances of family dysfunction. Phil’s already fragile relationship with his brother frays when George forms a genuine connection with Rose (Kirsten Dunst), who is your typical Campion woman. Mostly silent yet pretty, exhausted, and sad, she owns a destitute hotel in the middle of nowhere Montana, where her son Peter (Kodi Smit-McPhee) helps keep shop. Campion makes it known that mother and son are bonded through small sentimental acts. During these moments it’s clear that Peter does not fit into a box. He enjoys making delicate paper flowers for his mother and does not present masculinely like the other Montana men, yet his mother accepts him lovingly as a parent should. When Phil meets Peter for the first time during a group dinner, he senses the young man’s queerness and simply must dominate leading him to not only insult Peter’s lisp but also his effeminate manner. It’s brutal and mean, but Peter is perhaps one of the most courageous characters ever seen on screen. He will have the last word in a film that consists of very little dialogue.
Eventually everyone’s dynamics change. Rose and George marry, Peter pushes onwards towards medical school, and Rose wilts dramatically as a result of Phil’s constant abuse. To some viewers, Dunst’s unraveling almost doesn’t make sense, but please remember that she’s suffering. Rose hits the bottle steadily as a way to cope with the pain, and to some this may come across as a caricature of a drunk woman, but Campion is smarter than that. In a movie so steadily quiet, there is a reason for Dunst’s hamminess. Enter the piano. Not only is it the instrument that helped Campion win the Palme d’Or at Cannes in 1993, but the piano also possesses specific classist overtones that frequent Western schools of thought. Anytime it's present on screen, assume its significance and what it does for a character. Unfortunately, Rose unlike Ada, cannot play the damn thing much to her husband’s ignorance. Dread is written allover her face anytime she has to practice. This gift feels like punishment rather than an act of love, and Rose is already a fish out of water in her new home. She feels more comfortable in the kitchen rather than the foyer despite the ease of her newly found wealth. George is well meaning, but he has no idea of his wife’s insecurities, so when he innocently asks his wife to perform for an audience that includes not only his uptight parents but also the Governor of Montana, she chokes. It’s devastating and no one comforts Rose in the moments afterwards. Sensing her humiliation during this failed recital, Phil almost immediately starts a war of attrition with a lot of ammunition. In his eyes, she has got to go, so why not have some fun with it?
However, Phil’s achilles heel is that he underestimates Peter. He fails to realize that Rose is Peter’s mom and Peter loves his mom. When he returns from school, he assesses the situation and does what he needs to do. During the last act of the film, we simply watch. Grooming is present in the Montana foothills that are just as stunning as Middle Earth, but Peter holds his composure unlike his mother’s adversary. Campion lets the semantics do their thing. A saddle, a pair of gloves, and a rope are laden with meaning. The outcome of the film is obvious if you read closely.
Like any Campion joint, The Power of the Dog is layered especially in terms of genre, so you can pick and choose which one feels best for you. The film is obviously a Western with its cowboys and their hats and leather whips, but it’s also incredibly queer (honestly what Western isn’t?) Toxic masculinity makes a bold showcase, but it’s also a film that touches on deeply felt female suffering that is typical of a Campion film. To me, The Power of the Dog is a family film. The ending serves as a homecoming for everyone except the mean SOB uncle who thankfully doesn’t show up. The rings are passed along for a reason.