The movies made by women film-makers often get caught up in
gender politics and feminist readings that viewers and critics alike tend to
talk less about the distinguishing attributes of the films itself. In turn,
audiences sometimes get surprised when female directors deliver a cinematic
flavor which has nothing to do with women’s world. The implicit meaning behind
questions like: ‘how did a woman make this?’ is definitely a roundabout method of belittling the
director’s talents. The Rider (2018), made by Chinese film-maker Chloe Zhao,
would incite such surprised reactions. Primarily, because the movie is about an
angst-ridden professional rodeo, hailing from the indigenous community of Pine
Ridge Reservation. Chloe Zhao takes up the classic American Western character
-- the cowboy -- and reconstructs his hobbled masculine persona in a tender and
poetic manner rarely experienced in cinema.
The film opens with the 21-year-old protagonist Brady Blackburn (Brady
Jandreau) waking up and removing his stapled-bandage to reveal a nasty head
injury. He covers his half-shaved head with a polythene sheet and takes a
shower bath. We soon learn that Brady is a gifted rodeo cowboy and horse
trainer, living with his financially stricken father (Tim Jandreau) and mentally-challenged
15-year old sister Lilly (Lilly Jandreau) in a trailer in South Dakota’s Pine
Ridge Reservation. Now with the metal plate in his head, Brady’s bronc riding
days are nearly over. At home, he often clashes with his father who sells
Brady’s beloved horse to pay off debts. He receives love and support from his
sister and rodeo pals. But giving up the one thing that brings meaning to his
life deepens Brady’s inner turmoil. The alternate to abandon the dream of being a cowboy and
horse trainer is getting committed to a soulless low-end job at the local supermarket. One
of the symptoms that reveal the extent of Brady’s brain damage is the way his
right-hand fist gets clenched unconsciously, making it hard to let go of
whatever thing he’s holding onto (of course, a clever metaphor for Brady’s
quandary over letting things go). Subsequently, forging a new identity and conquering the
sense of incompleteness is nearly impossible in this land of limited opportunities.
What’s wondrous about The Rider is that the cast members are
full of non-professional actors who have been recruited to play a variation on their own lives. There’s
not much difference between off-screen Jandreu family and the on-screen Blackburns.
Brady Jandreau has suffered a head injury in 2016 and the seizures, metal
plates are all taken from his reality. Surprisingly, there’s not a single amateurish note in
the acting. Moreover, the unsensational approach and sensitivity director Zhao
brings to the docu-fiction reminds us of Abbas Kiarostami’s Close-Up (1990) and
Koker Trilogy (very recently Italian film-maker Jonas Carpignano hired members
of Romani community to play a fictionalized version of themselves in his tender
coming-of-age tale ‘A Ciambra’). Zhao studied film-making in US and her debut
feature, “Songs My Brothers Taught Me” (2015) was about a Lakota Sioux girl,
Jashuan and her older brother living in the stark yet beautiful reservation
lands. In fact, Zhao’s acquaintance with many tribes in the Indian reservation pushed
her to present a version of Jandreaus’ story.
The Rider largely works due to Zhao’s astonishingly
restrained and mature film-making style. There’s none of the extraneous efforts
to tug your hearts, just for the sake of it. In her effort to put together a
version of Jandreau’s real-life, Zhao includes fellow professional rider/big
brother Lane Scott in the narrative. Lane, once a rising rodeo star is now
confined to wheelchair after his grave on-the-arena accident. Brady often visits
Lane at the rehab center and the two watch YouTube videos of Lane’s bronc riding
days. Zhao smartly steers clear from the melodrama in these scenes and deftly focusing on the camaraderie shared by these two guys (Brady communicates with Lane in sign
language, which he must have learned after Lane’s accident; a detail that’s
sprinkled casually). Director Zhao conveys much of Brady’s emotions through
detailing. The affectionate close-ups employed to capture Brady dressing up in
cowboy costume (tying up kerchief and wearing the perfect cowboy hat and all)
before meeting Lane painstakingly conveys the character’s emotional connection
without any expository dialogues.
Teaming up with cinematographer Joshua James Richards ('God's Own Country'), Zhao
scores high on weaving gorgeous visuals. They render the plains of South Dakota
in an innately compelling manner which reminded me of Terrence Malick’s Days of
Heaven (cinematography by Nestor Almendros). Much of the picturesque vista
showcases the dusk, gently hinting at the possible twilight of Brady’s rodeo
career. Although Zhao has meticulously arranged the series of indelible images
to zero-in on Brady’s inner conflicts, the film’s greatest scenes are the
unscripted ones; especially, Brady’s horse-training sessions (the camera’s
lingering gaze is fortified with empathy). Filmed in graceful, long-takes, the
director simply observes the central character’s spiritual liberation while
being with the horses. Interestingly, only in these moments we know for sure
that Brady isn’t an actor. We understand this is a guy whose identity is
entwined with the lives of these animals. At other occasions, Brady Jandreau
expertly conveys the anguish of his severed connection with nature. But it’s
not acting as much as being himself. And, it’s not just Brady, sister Lilly and
father Tim also instinctively express their feelings (in the case of Lily it is
very natural). The scenes between Brady and Lily are poignant to the core (the
girl making up songs with a spontaneity and singing it in an angelic voice are
inherently charming). In fact, Brady’s care and love for Lilly provides the
strong reason for why he needs to re-discover himself.
Some might find the social context (compared to the other
brilliant ‘horse-and-boy’ film Lean on Pete) to be very thin. That’s not a
problem, since The Rider is largely a personal journey and a poetic expression
of crisis-ridden masculinity. Its biggest achievement is balancing the cinema
verite style of documentary mode and lyrical constructions of fictional mode.
It’s authentic as well as fabricated, and both these facets incredibly mix
together to offer a deeply moving experience. Eventually, The Rider (98 minutes) is universal
as well as specific: on one hand, it’s about the irreparable gulf between a
man’s desire and his stark reality and on the other hand, it observes the rodeo
cowboy’s way of life without either exaggerating or downplaying their inner
turmoils and difficulties.
Trailer
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