“A suicide widow with a half cooked son” seduces Phil Burbank’s brother, George, in Jane Campion’s rousing return to the cinema, THE POWER OF THE DOG.
Based on the novel by Thomas Savage, THE POWER OF THE DOG is set in Montana in 1925, “25 years after the year nineteen hundred and nothing”, to quote Phil.
Phil and George were practically brought up by Bronco Henry “the wolf who raised us” toasts Phil, a classicist who cites Romulus and Remus in reference to he and his brother, and who reveres the long gone Bronco Henry, and the saddle he sat in, a spit and polished shrine worshipped at and administered by Phil.
The Burbank brothers are wealthy ranchers. Phil is hands on, George does the books. The brutally beguiling Phil Burbank is also a bit of a bully. He calls his brother Fatso to his face, accuses his bride of being a gold digger and is openly homophobic to her son, Peter. Desperate to maintain their familial bachelor arrangement, Phil bullies his brother, his new wife and her effete son.
Then Phil appears to take the boy under his wing, as determined to mentor him as he was to torment him and his mother, Rose.
The title “the power of the dog” comes from the bible, Psalm 22:20: Deliver my soul from the sword; my darling from the power of the dog. It’s a visceral, savage and blistering plea about passion in a very gutsy, animalistic way.
THE POWER OF THE DOG is concerned with that sort of passion — an animal-inspired instinct that’s sexual and vicious and strong and dangerous. And in Phil’s case, caged.
The power of the dog could also allude to Phil as leader of the pack, captain of his cowboys, capable of leadership by action, attributes and accomplishments – his craftsmanship, his horsemanship, his braiding, his whittling, his iron-mongering, his musicality, his alacrity for castration. He takes the bull by the horns and by the balls.
Benedict Cumberbatch gives a complicated and cruel characterisation as Phil, mean and unkind but also the tormented lonely lover safe only by treasuring feelings from a long gone past, conveying the conflict of his impossible situation of being an alpha male who is homophobic and also homosexual.
Jesse Plemons as George is the total opposite, a contrast in conflict management, genteel and gentle, passive, but not entirely impotent in standing up to his brother.
Kirsten Dunst is superb as Rose, dedicated to her son, devastated by her first husband’s death by his own hand, and demolished by the continuing undermining of her new brother-in-law. It’s a heart wrenching and heart breaking performance.
As the put upon Peter, Kodi Smit-McPhee, by stealth and skill, almost steals the show. At first, seemingly dissolving into victim-hood, Smit-McPhee’s Peter proves resilient and steadfast, with glorious result.
The primal force of sex is front and centre of THE POWER OF THE DOG, but if we’re talking scene stealing in this picture it’s the cinematographer, Ari Wegner, who stands accused and guilty as charged. Her lensing of landscapes and interiors alike are awesome, the scope and range and composition as good as any classic Western you’d care to mention.
A cracker score by Jonny Greenwood, production design by Oscar winning Grant Major, costumes by Kirsty Cameron and supporting roles by Genevieve Lemon, Keith Carradine and Frances Conroy all contribute to an A class act.
THE POWER OF THE DOG is now screening at selected cinemas and streaming on Netflix from December 1
Featured image; Benedict Cumberbatch and Jesse Plemons in THE POWER OF THE DOG.
Richard Cotter