Diamonds of the Night [1964] – A Startling Exploration of Distressed Minds

Jan Nemec’s Diamonds of the Night (Demanty noci, 1964), one of the marvelous original works of Czech New Wave, is a purely visual cinema. There are very few lines of dialogue in this 64 minute movie. Yet, we can comprehend the stark emotions on-screen and harvest its devastating impact without the need for subtitles. Diamonds of the Night is based on Arnost Lustig’s autobiographical short novel ‘Darkness has no Shadows’. It chronicles the tense journey of two Czech Jewish teenagers fleeing from a train that's bound for a concentration camp. Twenty-eight year old Jan Nemec just chose the central scenario as the subject matter of his directorial debut and said to have cast aside all the other details from the novella. The result is a magnificent expressionistic work, similar to old German silent films. The rough, dynamic monochrome cinematography, dazzling sound design, and disorienting but wondrous juxtaposition of the imagined past doesn’t allow for any sort of refuge to be taken in this bleak world.

Unlike the Czech New Wave directors like Milos Forman or Ivan Passer, Jan Nemec didn’t make slice-of-life dramas to showcase the realities behind the Iron Curtain. He rather took a metaphorical approach and employed unique expressionistic film-form to achieve the same result. In Diamonds of Night, Nemec approaches the objective reality regarding the Jewish boys’ survival through a narrowly focused subjective perspective. Director Laszlo Nemes was recently hailed for using the portrait-like narrow field of vision to explore the holocaust in Son of Saul. This approach narrowed the subject’s world down to his immediate surroundings. The constricted world-view, ironically, creates depth of feeling as opposed to the sweeping but eventually meaningless or annoyingly sentimental Holocaust-themed Hollywood films.  The agonized hand-held camera movements of the renowned Czech New Wave cinematographer Jaroslav Kucera (Daisies, Fruit of Paradise) in Diamonds of the Night, made five decades before Son of Saul, places us in such a forced perspective, giving the space to both empathize and deeply reflect on the boys’ predicament. Miroslav Hajek’s editing and Bohumir Brunclik’s sound effects also plays a important role in laying bare this extreme human experience.

The film opens with the shot of two boys (Anotonin Kumbera and Ladislav Jansky) running into dense woods as the sounds of moving train and gunshots are heard. The jittering hand-held shot (a single, continuous shot) commences from objective point-of-view and slowly gets closer and closer to the boys (running with labored breathing), bringing their exhaustion, fear and hunger as the foremost elements. Except for the letters ‘KL’ -- Konzentration Lager or Concentration Camp – painted in white on the backs of the boys’ black coat and odd shots of men in Nazi uniforms and Jews in striped pajamas, much of the details about the historical period is eliminated. So, Nemec’s film isn’t just a vital work in the Holocaust cinema, but also becomes a great abstract story of young ones, repeatedly condemned by the grim world, run by jubilant and apathetic old men (the local hunting squad, full of old men boasts enormous power over the two helpless teenagers). Director Nemec briefly and repetitively mixes images and sounds from the boys’ memories and possible imaginations. Unlike the traditional flashback methods, these brief sojourns to the past don’t give us any clear idea about the boys’ life. The small beams of brightly visualized memories contrasts from the dark shots of the escape and survival in the woods. The sunny shots of calm neighborhood and streetcars seem to represent the daydreams or possible hope for the boys that keep pushing them to survive the bleak situation. These fragmented images are also perfect representation of the escapees’ psychological state (an attempt to keep away harsh experiences of cold and hunger through fragmented recollection of memories). 

Apart from ambiguous flashbacks, Nemec also spectacularly employs flash-forwards, which alternately confuses as well as illuminates about the boys’ mindset. In one scene, the boy looks at a woman, standing in her kitchen, looking forward to attain some food. Nothing is spoken, but the boy repeatedly imagines on what to do with the woman, who may report him to the brutish authorities. His mind conjures up the idea to accept the bread and strike her down. We are kept in a tense state, wondering whether the boy will succumb to the basest of instincts (the reason that he doesn’t surrender to the instinct works against him). Then there’s another interesting flash-forward sequence towards the end, where we aren’t sure about the boys’ fate. Altogether, the surrealistic use of memories and imaginations serves in opposition to the boys’ bodily movements through the thick forests. While the memories fleetingly free them from agonized existence, the perpetual motion through the woods only keeps them in perpetual confinement. Their walk into the expanse of darkness, brushing off thicket of dead tree branches doesn’t diffuse strength and hope as compared to bright flashes of the past.

Cinematographer Jaroslav Kucera and director Nemec primary intention is to trap the viewers inside the boys’ feelings. It’s a precise, subjective reconstruction of what it must have been like for the Jewish boys on the run from the humanity’s worst. Nemec conveys the characters’ ordeal in vivid, small details: the pitiful state of their shoes; clumsy brushwood shelter; the coarse bread hurting their sore mouth; a colony of beetles swarming over a boy’s hand that leads to his confusion over reality (a sort of Bunuelian touch). Nemec’s portrayal of the drunken posse, full of old men, speaks of the true horrors of Nazism. It portrays the beastliness of ordinary people when confronted with fascist ideals. The ruthless old men enjoying power could also be seen as a commentary on political establishment (all over the world), run by men with archaic views, and one which repeatedly persecutes young people.

Diamonds of the Night (64 minutes) is one of the audacious directorial debuts in the history of cinema. It’s a subtle exploration of Holocaust themes, without ever placating its solemn tone with sentimental refashioning. 

Demanty noci (1964) -- IMDb 

The Wall aka Die Wand [2012] – Existential Musings in an Mesmerizing Locale

                                      
                                           “I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived” says the American philosopher & naturalist Henry David Thoreau, when he made an experiment of simple living at Walden pond. Thoreau’s social experiment and spiritual discovery, as elucidated in “Walden” gives us an instant to escape for an idyllic land of solitude. In this digital age, we might have had a fleeting desire to distance ourselves from material pleasures and to find, communicate with our inner self. It is said that only in solitude our inner freedom can grow. But, even if we attain that level of freedom, will it be a destination or just another milestone in life, making us to contemplate ‘what next?’ In Julian Polsler’s Austrian-German production “The Wall” (aka ‘Die Wand’, 2012) a middle-aged, unnamed woman begins a journey of solitude and freedom in a Walden-like environment. The only trouble is that she can’t go back to the society to seek some form of connection. That luxury is cut off from her because she is trapped inside an invisible wall, doomed to live alone in the resplendent Austrian Alps.

                                          Based on the 1963 novel by Austrian novelist Marlen Haushofer, Julian Polsler’s movie is rife with symbolism and screams for metaphorical readings. It never offers conventional narrative delights and reflects on the human condition for an extended period of time that may irk viewers, expecting some kind of resolution. Those who are interested with the themes of isolation, memory, and human’s relation to time & nature could connect with the glacially paced narrative. The visual tone is consistent and the stunning landscapes are a delight to behold. Martina Gedeck’s (“The Lives of Others”) performance as the disconnected is riveting. However, the script and direction falters in the latter part of the woman’s emotional journey. The abundant explanations given in the voice-over do truly elucidate upon the woman’s feelings about isolation, but something blocks us off from really connecting to those expressed feelings. I’d have had a more cathartic experience, if director Polsler had more imaginatively used the silence and less of the redundant words.

                                            The film is mostly narrated in flashbacks as the unnamed woman in a remote alpine hunting lodge, writes on few bits of paper to recollect the strange incidents that has trapped as well as offered her a freedom. On one fine day in May, Gedeck’s nameless woman arrives with an older couple to the hinterlands, exuding postcard beauty, for a weekend. An upbeat song plays in the radio, which was written by the film’s director (thanks to the user who noted it in the IMDb discussion boards) and the song’s English title as noted in the end credits is ‘Freedom is a Journey’. So, as the car cruises through the open road, it’s alluded that she is going to have all the liberty, available in the world. But, when we see the disoriented look in the face of woman, writing the journal by diving into old memories, we wonder ‘Is this how true freedom looks like?’ The elderly couple, who had brought her to the lodge set off to a nearby village, leaving their beloved dog Luchs.

                                             In the morning, she is surprised to see that the couple hasn’t returned yet, and so decides to visit the village. The dog runs before her and at the turn she hears the dog, yelping in pain, as if it has hit something. Everything looks as usual, but at one point in the narrow road, she is blocked off by an invisible wall. With confused looks, she tries to reach her neighbor’s cottage, but once again the invisible wall halts her and the cottage’s occupants remain inanimate, frozen in an immovable realm. As the woman can’t find a way out of this strange confinement, she arms herself with hope and learns to live alone in the wilderness. The beguiling Alps winds up its clock, while she cultivates, harvests, hunts, chops wood, and ruminates upon her feelings, human nature and nature. Although, the woman is shunned from human connection, she is bestowed with the companionship of a pregnant cow, a stray cat and the loyal friend Luchs.

                                            I haven’t read the original novel, but the existential dimensions of the narrative is somewhere between Stephen King and Kafka. The film moves best when the woman like Robinson Crusoe wanders through the mountains, connoting inexplicable situation. The philosophical musings about the animal and human self within her is well etched. She has the moral qualms about hunting & killing for food. When she hunts a deer, she can’t get rid of the disgust (the haunting shot of dying deer stays with us long after the movie’s end), and that same human feeling stops the woman from shooting a beautiful fox. As the nameless woman says in the journal that it would be better if she stop thinking like a human being. Like all of us, she too is bestowed with memory, fear, grief, mercy, and other humane feelings. But, does it stop or burdens the human race to gain the ultimate freedom or an ideal sense of solitude? Similar kind of questions hangs in that brooding atmosphere, which has haunted our sages for all the ages.

                                         It is also important to ask the questions of ‘why’ & ‘what’ regarding the sudden rise of an invisible wall. There’s no reference to sci-fi or mystery in the narrative and so it’s good to not expect a tidied-up resolution. Is her existence, a metaphor for the loneliness of our very own beautiful earth? Is her lonely existence, an exploration of depression and abandonment? Does her existence is symbolization for the microcosm of humanity? Is it about the ‘walls’ we erect around ourselves to ironically search for ‘freedom’? Or is it about our desire for seeking something ‘meaningful’ in life, but our inability to express that ‘meaningful’ thing'? We can interpret it any way (and I would have definitely failed to rise many questions) and each path would provide an abundance food for thought. In the tale, we see the positive force in the little pleasures life throws at us. A supper after a hard day’s work, a birth of life, warm sunlight brushing our face, lying on the soft bed of grass, the loyal companionship of dog, the bleating of a cow is what gives the woman a much-needed solace. Seen from this perspective, the message is clear. While we desperately cling on for a meaning, confront darkness, and seek unavailable pleasures, love provides the ultimate relief. But, then we can never escape from the dark, empty side of humanity. The woman learns (in the end) about the pains, a fellow human life is capable of imparting. As the savage man hacks at the woman’s beloved companions, it becomes a symbol for the nether side of being human – a stark desire to destroy all our small victories & simple pleasures.

                                         Director Julian Polsler imbues a bitter-sweet quality in framing the beautiful stillness of nature. He patiently allows setting in the appeal and anxiety of such a scenario. But, the isolation of the woman doesn’t fully settle into our heart & mind. The journal manuscript is ponderous, but those words aren’t accompanied by imaginative or magnetic visuals to pull ourselves in. The manuscript reading type of narrative is a good device for a novel, but in the visual medium it tires us after a period of time. Gedeck’s raw and steely performance is also affected by tiring narrative course. However, the fine philosophical questions even this partly good narrative poses at us would definitely kindle the urge to search and read the classic book. 

Trailer

                                          “The Wall” (108 minutes) is a fine introspective tale of loneliness, depression and the manifold uncertainties we encounter in life. Some of the ineffectual narrative strands, however, hold off the film from being the masterpiece it could have been. 

Die Wand (2012) -- IMDb 

The Shrinking World and Ever-Expanding ‘Rooms’

Spoilers ahead……….

                                                  Irish Canadian author Emma Donoghue’s novel “Room” is about a five year old boy with the name Jack, being held captive with his mother in a small room, a 10’* 10’ garden shed. Donoghue got the idea for ‘Room’ from the ‘Fritzl’ case in Austria. A man named ‘Josef Fritzl’ was discovered to have kept his daughter in his house’ cellar for nearly 24 years. However, the writer’s intention was not to showcase the vivid details of the case or to deal with aspects of sexual abuse. She rather unfolds the story from a 5 five year old boy's view. And gradually within the hostage story, we find universal themes of motherly love and the power of relationship between a mother and her child. The novel wasn’t also about how they escape from captivity; it takes further steps to show how they take on freedom that more or less confines them to fresh rooms. 

                                                 It is very tricky to adapt a novel that was entirely narrated in first person perspective, to a film. In the book, despite Jack’s innocent narrative we get a glimpse of 'ma' to grasp that everything isn’t as great as Jack says. But, still Ma is kept at a distance, which isn’t possible in a movie. Voice-overs could be done for the 5 year old boy, although Ma has got be in all the frames. She can’t be sketch of Jack’s viewpoint. Within the frames, the ‘room’ belongs to Ma as much it belongs to Jack. In writing the script for the movie, Donoghue perfectly understands this and along with excellent direction and editing, the world or the ‘room’ is organically realized without literalizing everything. Since camera is the default point-of-view for characters, we often see Jack overhearing conversations and glimpsing through slats in the closet, etc. It is a perspective that is an obvious cliche in movies, but director Lenny Abrahamson gets more subtle with his approach in the second part of ‘Room’, when Jack sees world from a vantage point. 

                                                  Donoghue wisely keeps the genuine childlike, filtered POV voice-overs to mark significant occasions, especially to show the horrors and pains experienced by ‘Ma’. Donoghue, the scriptwriter, must also be commended for not shifting the perspective to Joy; or for not trying to achieve an emotional arc for Jack. Opting for either of these elements would have made the film more sappy and saccharine. The editing in the ‘room’ sequences is impeccable. If we closely observe, we could see how Jack doesn’t get weary when days transform to night or vice-versa because his whole word is the room (and kids bounce back easily), whereas new days and nights wears upon ma, since she don’t know how much she could take. So, these little film-making tricks along with stupendous central performances (especially by Jacob Tremblay) doesn’t spoil the movie experience of those who read the novel and it may have imbued a great experience for those seeing it for the first time. 

                                                Obviously, there are quiet a few problems in the movie. It is easy to predict the outcome of mother and son’s plight in both the book & movie. But, since we shared more of Jack’s private world in the book, we can perfectly understand his initial dilemmas and subsequent anxieties. And, although the situation would only end in one way, Donoghue wringed enough tension out of the escape plan. Abrahamson’s “Room” somehow missed to built that tension (however, it is understandable). And, yes many incidents are left out here and there in the movie, which on the whole doesn’t damage the novel’s soul (in the book, I immensely liked the endearing Jack’s trip to the mall). If you had loved a story in its novel form, then it would be little hard for a movie adaptation to satisfy you (“Life of Pi” and “The Martian” are few of the recent movies that didn’t work for me as much as the novels). But “Room”, the movie, excels in three aspects: in not sensationalizing or wallowing in the misery of its characters; in contemplating the banality of a huge world alongside the complexity of a little room; and for being a universal (may be not-so-subtle) tale about parenting.

                                              For most of us, the world is a big room whose scope is getting shrinked with new innovations and technologies, and yet we all have/had these rooms which mean the world to us. For Jack, the world is room and room is the world. Ma uses TV as a linguistic coach; teaches him reading and writing (in the book, there is said to be five children books in the ‘room’); and exercises to prepare him for a day he will enter the outer world for real. But, in caring for the child within the limited world, she has lied/saved him the cruel truth of the world/room. All of our parents and we, to our children have/will tell things that in turn creates our vision of a world. And, at gradual stages, they/we re-explain the so-called ‘truths’ to fit into our current world vision or condition. “Room” takes that basic experience of parenting to create mother/son relationship entrenched in a dispirited world/room, which for Jack isn’t that bad at all. Towards the end of the film, during a little conversation with his grandma about ‘room’, Jack says “sometimes, I miss it”, for which Grandma asks ‘wasn’t it awfully small?’ Jack replies “It went every direction, all the way to the end. It never finished. And ‘ma’ was always there” These are one of the most genuine and beautiful words in the film, which implies our general desire to be in an enclosed place with our loved ones – the little place which becomes our perfect shared universe. The sense of expansion and love, the ‘room’ diffused on Jack is something he misses in the real, yet enclosed world (and, this only irks Joy aka ‘Ma’ because all she wants to do is forget is that room/world). Alas, we all must break free from our little universes/space (however good it is) to search for fresh experiences. Jack gets that truth in the end. With a sense of optimism and ‘Joy’, he says ‘goodbye’ to the objects in previous world/room (which now looks ‘shrinked’ for him), and like all of us, he might traverse through little world/rooms to live what’s called as real life.

                                                  Movies and literature generally tend to infuse copious amount of sentimentality in designing the parent-child relationship. Donoghue script as well as the book isn’t totally free of sentimentality, but it never be accused of being banal. The asymmetric nature of parent-child bond is finely etched out in both the forms. Ma is always worrying for Jack in the ‘room’ and that feeling isn’t reciprocated by Jack. As a child, we might have known or understood our parents, but we learn to love them as time stretches. The sense of love Jack shows in the ‘room’ (which arises from dependency too) and outside the ‘room’ essentially differs. In the outside, the symbiotic relationship between the two takes up a more emotional perspective, because in that world ‘Ma’ needs ‘Jack’ more than ever. The non-cutesy portrayal of Jacob Tremblay’s Jack is luminous source for keeping away ‘Ma’ from sinking into despair. And, vitally all these gleaming and contemplative elements in the film wouldn’t have had much of an impact if not for the acute direction, which apart from showing few tightening of a lip or stricken side-way glances, never tries to manipulate our emotions.

                                                  “Room” (2015) celebrates our amazing capacity to take care of each other. With love and hope we can create a world out of a small room. And, ‘love’ is definitely worth surviving for. 

 Room -- IMDb

Kajaki – A Lacerating Depiction of Contemporary Warfare

                                                Afghanistan is one of the most heavily mined countries in the world. A statistic provided by UN’s Office for Coordination of Humanitarian Assistance state that nearly 100,000 mines are still awaiting removal. Although different combatants in Afghanistan have employed the use of land mines, a majority of landmines were planted by Soviet occupying forces between 1979 and 1989. Civilians –most importantly children -- are the chief victim of these landmines. The full extent of Afghan landmine problem still shrouded in mystery as most of the civilian deaths & deformities goes unreported.

                                              Movies have often used landmines as a narrative device that step-ups the tension quotient. Bahman Ghobadi’s “Turtles Can Fly” (2005) is one of the authentic, moving portrayals of how a mined war-zone would be. But, most of mainstream war films shun the authenticity about landmines to give us a sustained drama. British film-maker Paul Katis in his debut film “Kajaki” (2014) has re-constructed the grueling minefield incident of 2006, near Kajaki dam (situated in Afghan’s Hemland province). It is hailed as one of unflinchingly realistic portrayal of how mines work. The big relief is that unlike his American counterparts, director Katis doesn’t often throw in words like ‘bravery’, ‘epic heroism’, and ‘patriotism,’ and also doesn’t employ the use of slow-motion shots to imbue tension. It provides a painfully realistic cinematic experience without engaging in grand political statements.

                                          The movie is set on September 6, 2006, where a group of British soldiers stationed near the hydro-electric dam named ‘Kajaki’ carry on with their base-camp routine. Viewers expecting a battlefield thriller may get tired by the initial sequences, because of the authentic portrait of soldiers’ routine and due to the heavy use of military jargon. The soldiers are part of British Army’s 3^rd Battalion, The Parachute Regiment (3 Para). The unit’s sniper, Lance Corporal Stuart Hale (Benjamin O’ Mahony) on that fateful day, spots hostile Taliban forces, setting an illegal road block. An airstrike would cause lot of civilian causalities and so Hale takes along two other paratroopers to get a closer look at the hostile forces. As the trio walk through a dried-river bed, Hale sets off a landmine, blowing his left leg. Fellow soldiers scamper to come to aid Hale, but then find out that entire river-bed is a deadly minefield, where a single unchecked step could result in explosions. All the factors are beyond the soldiers’ control, since even a rescuing helicopter could trigger a lot of mines.

                                        In aesthetic terms, especially after considering its limited budget, “Kajaki” was a well-made piece of work, which sometimes even exceeds the craftsmanship of American propaganda films on ‘war on terror’. This film would be compared with Katheryn Bigelow’s Academy-Award “The Hurt Locker” (2008) mainly because both these works declines to take any ethical stance on the conflict, people are involved. The script by Tom Williams exclusively focuses on the ground-level experience of soldiers, whom despite their painstaking training, come across new horrors. The screenwriter tries to genuinely show how a real soldier would talk. So, the first 30 minutes is mostly incomprehensible and the soldiers’ regional British accents exhaust us more.

                                        Williams and director Katis also take pains to depict how the chain of command between soldiers worked clearly amidst such unbearable chaos. Although the dialogues in the later part would have been subjected to heavy dramatization, they come off touching (especially the ‘Happy Birthday’ song) and keep us on the edge to learn about their fate. The belivable use of humor does bring down the insurmountable tension of the proceedings. Viewers who recoil from gory & clear images of detached limbs must keep themselves away from this film. The physical effects of each painful explosion, however, aren’t used in an exploitative manner or to generate a shock-effect. David Elliott (who played mark) and Stanley (played Tug) are the two most impressing performers of the ensemble as their tangible commitment somehow reincarnates the bravery of the real soldiers.

                                        “Kajaki” (108 minutes) is an unflinching and incredibly moving account of modern warfare that is devoid of jingoism and pro-military agenda. It avoids the glib romanticism of the recent American warfare films like “Lone Survivor”, “Fury”, “American Sniper” etc. 

 Trailer

Kajaki -- IMDb 

Meek's Cutoff -- A Unique and Spellbinding Take on a Age-Old Theme

                                                The ‘Western’ genre imparted us with great adventurous stories filled with bounty hunters, wagon fights, and mysterious Native American. But, ever since the mid 1960’s the traditional elements of Western has taken a more darker and misanthropic tone, focusing more on the lawlessness of the land. The romanticized gun-toting heroes found themselves shrouded in realism, while the Indians and Mexicans were depicted in a balanced manner. The women also had some strong roles to play, but only in the last few years, film-makers have started to explore the Western genre from the perspective of women. Director Kelly Reichardt’s “Meek’s Cutoff” (2010) is one of those flicks that reverses the genre’s traditional form to create something astounding.

                                              Director Reichardt was best known for her critically acclaimed 2008 indie picture “Wendy and Lucy” (2008). She employed the tropes of Neo-realist cinema to exhibit the other side of America. With “Meek’s Cutoff” she takes us to the Wild West Oregon trail of 1845. The movie doesn’t have a grand narrative and moves very slowly. Since not much happens in the long stretch of time, many viewers may process this film as ‘one of the most boring flick they ever seen’, but those who get themselves immersed within the travelers’ experience that emphasizes their frustrations and failures, may find it quite engrossing. A embroidered opening title card establishes the period and place in which three families are walking along Oregon trail with all their possessions bundled into wagons.

                                            The families are led by Stephen Meek (Bruce Greenwood), a wilderness scout with scraggly locks and long beard. By the movie’s start itself, we know Meek has led the families astray. The rugged terrain doesn’t look like a good place to get lost as apart from the natural threat there’s also the threat of Indian attack. The families gradually gets frustrated with Meek as he talks like he knows everything about the land and its people, but still haven’t led them to their destination. As the water supply is dwindling, and wagons go deeper and deeper into the dangerous land, Mrs.Tetherow (Michelle Williams) loses confidence in the cocksure attitude of Meek. She’s tough, resourceful, and more direct than other men. Meek’s authority gets challenged when a lone Native American is captured (Rod Rondeaux). Emily comes to his defense and the men spare him, but it remains mysterious whether he will lead them to water and land.  

                                           Don’t’ be misled by these plot details because “Meek’s Cutoff” is a very slow-moving film with sparse dialogues. The gun-fires of the genre are totally replaced by eerie silence. Rather than widescreen the movie was shot in 4:3 aspect ratios that infuse a claustrophobic feeling even within those baronial environments. Reichardt mostly goes for long and medium shots rather than those expressive close-ups that could exploit the turbulent conditions of women. When the men talk we only overhear them because the camera often remains as the eyes of the pioneer women. These shots establish how the women are very important members of the band, yet have no decision-making power. If you get engulfed by this deliberate vagueness, stripped-down scenario and introspection, then “Meek’s” will be an invigorating movie experience.

                                            Director Reichardt is more dependent on her unhurried aesthetics rather on the plot machinations. Starvation, stand-off, mutinous sparring looms over the narrative, but the film-maker isn’t largely interested in these traditional intrigues (like a rifle-showdown). She imbues the required edginess through those wonderful compositions, where women patiently focus on their daily labors in a menacing atmosphere. The sparse story is a minimalist approach to the themes of faith, sacrifice, fear, and trust. It’s also seen as a political allegory that examines the American political nature which quickly responds to fear and pre-conceived notions. The uncertain responds with dread while encountering the Indian, while Mrs. Tetherow dares to show a deeper faith in human nature.

                                            The ending will definitely infuriate many viewers as no easy answers are provided to the conflict of faith vs fear. The masterful, haunting closing shot is both terrifying and hopeful. The uncertainty in the end depicts the complex nature of truth. Of the actors, Michelle Williams’ Emily Tetherow remains as the heart and spine of the movie. She perfectly depicts her character’s complex emotional turmoil that’s born out of wariness for Meek and compassion for the Native American. Her understated acting abilities eventually remain as one of the movie’s life-giving force.

                                         “Meek’s Cutoff” (104 minutes) provides a unique female perspective on the American frontier tales. Its glacial pace may test the patience of many 21^st century movie-watchers, but those movie-lovers who likes to get drenched with tales of moral ambiguity and haziness may get rewarded.  

 Trailer

Meek's Cutoff - IMDb