The Mustang

Director Laure de Clermont-Tonnerre

one of the correctional inmates from the WHIP program

THE MUSTANG                   B                    

France  USA  (96 mi)  2019 d: Laure de Clermont-Tonnerre

There is no religion without love, and people may talk as much as they like about their religion, but if it does not teach them to be good and kind to man and beast, it is all a sham.

—John Manly from Black Beauty, Pt. 1 Chapter 13, a novel by Anna Sewell, 1877

Anyone who’s seen the devastating round-up scene of wild mustangs in John Huston’s The Misfits (1961) has an inkling of what’s happening here, as both take place in the emptiness of the Nevada desert, paying homage to the fierce independent streak of horses that continue to thrive on their own out in open country, with this film suggesting as many as 100,000 of them currently roam free.  With some impressive cinematography by Ruben Impens, an opening sequence registers a thrill of seeing horses in their element running freely through the vast openness of the desert, a symbol of the American West, yet in the backdrop of the snow-covered Sierra Nevada mountains off in the distance a helicopter herds them into a trap where they are stuck like sardines in a tiny pen, traumatized and vehemently frustrated by the tight restrictions, ultimately placed in a truck and driven away.  What this turns into, however, is an examination of our criminal justice system, as we herd people into similar psychologically traumatizing situations, warehoused into tiny prison cells, treated like animals, and then somehow “the system” expects them to turn into productive human beings.  While the metaphor may be blunt and heavy-handed, the assuredness of this first time director is surprisingly effective, drawing people into the heart of the matter without sermonizing.  Well-paced, with evocative music from Jed Kurzel, evolving from a 2017 story in The New York Times, Wild Horses and the Inmates Who 'Gentle' Them - The New York Times, at the center of the picture is Matthias Schoenaerts as Roman Coleman in one of the performances of the year, utterly brilliant in Michaël R. Roskam’s 2012 Top Ten Films of the Year: #6 Bullhead (Rundskop), The Drop (2014), and the more recent Racer and the Jailbird (Le Fidèle) (2017), but also Jacques Audiard’s Rust and Bone (De rouille et d'os) (2011), where his hulking physique often defines his roles.  Not usually much for small talk, he’s even more reticent here, where he appears damaged beyond repair, transferred from a lengthy period in solitary confinement to the regular prison population, yet in a screening interview with the prison psychologist (Connie Britton) his defiant resistance to communicate is remarkable, largely numb to the rest of the world, displaying an inner ferocity, with something angrily registering underneath his unwilling demeanor, basically suggesting he doesn’t do well with people.  With that understanding, he’s assigned to outdoor maintenance, basically shoveling horse manure all day in pens housing these captured mustangs, with a select group of inmates taming and grooming them before they’re auctioned off to ranchers and policemen, including border patrol duty.  But what captures Coleman’s curiosity is an unruly horse locked into tight constraints, repeatedly kicking at the walls, where he can’t help but investigate, as he and this horse appear to share a similar contempt for confinement.

Shot at the abandoned Nevada State Prison in Carson City that shut down a few years ago as a new facility was built nearby, it initially feels weird that they literally throw inmates into the pen with untamed horses without an ounce of training, as if they’re supposed to pick it up on instinct, yet a crusty old-timer, Myles (Bruce Dern), the civilian head of the program (aka WHIP, Wild Horse Inmate Program, which exists in 6 Western states), noticed Coleman’s earlier interest in the obstinate horse, thinking maybe these two intractable minds think alike, yet he shows little aptitude.  Encouraged by one of the prisoners, Henry, Jason Mitchell from Mudbound (2017) and Straight Outta Compton (2015), who views himself as the best horse trainer in the facility, offering quick instructions on the fly, telling him to move in sync with the horse, like dance moves, but no progress is made.  When Myles shouts out instructions to take control, rather than move into the horse’s space, Coleman sends a flurry of punches directly at the animal, which gets him quickly kicked out of the program, with Myles spewing he’ll add ten years to his sentence if that ever happens again.  Nonetheless, he spent some quality time with the animal, more than anyone else, with the horse remaining proudly defiant.  There are other narratives within the prison, which includes a visit from his daughter, Martha (Gideon Adlon, impressive), who remains standoffish, clearly having unresolved issues with her father, but his signature is needed to sell the house, as he certainly has no use of it, yet whatever the cause of their underlying friction remains unspoken, providing no backstory.  Nonetheless, the tension between them adds a dramatic extension to the film, broadening the gap of his dysfunction.  Martha offers no sympathy whatsoever, is stone cold, herself, playing it dead serious throughout, never giving her father even an inch.  Similarly, there is a drug smuggling ring inside the prison stealing Ketamine, an animal tranquilizer drug kept for the horses, which some prisoners use to get high (and has other effective uses, none more startling than this story, Thai cave rescuers, who sedated boys, coach to get them out ...), coercing others, including Coleman, implying something sinister could happen to his daughter if he doesn’t go along, as they know where she lives.  This kind of extortion runs rampant in prison systems, with inmates constantly under threat, with outside gang connections used to establish advantages inside, applying common terror tactics when needed to amp up the pressure.  In addition, there is underlying racial friction, with blacks and whites maintaining their own separate space, seen constantly antagonizing each other out in the prison yard, like a powder keg about to explode.  This is the real beauty of the film, an examination of a toxic male culture, where it’s an astute and intriguing analysis of what happens inside American prison walls, particularly coming from a European director.       

External circumstances create a diversion, as a huge wind storm erupts, spooking the animals, with all hands on deck bringing them to covered shelter, including Coleman and his recalcitrant horse, raising the eyebrows of Myles who offers him another chance afterwards.  Still, the horse refuses to respond, exhausting the patience of Coleman, who’s never tasted success inside the pen, thwarted at every turn, encouraged by Henry who reminds him, “If you want to control your horse, first you gotta control yourself.”  This may as well be the mantra for altering the direction in his life, as up until now he’s continually been banging his head against the wall, exerting his will, but the wall never budges.  Only once he’s finally stymied, reduced to a man stewing in his own personal failures, sitting alone on an upside down bucket literally talking to himself does the horse finally come around and acknowledge his presence.  Pent-up rage and macho gesturing got him absolutely nowhere, but once he finally settled down and allowed the horse to come to him, this established some mutual trust.  After a few minor mishaps, Coleman was assigned to the program, one of the selected few allowed to participate, where the underlying principle is the developing relationship with the animal helps teach empathy, with brutish men often feeling more at ease with their horses than any of the people within the prison compound.  At the same time, more meetings with the psychologist leads to group sessions, some of which are interesting, especially when she asks each of them how long it took to make the decision that ultimately led them into prison.  With most it was no more than a few seconds, and in Coleman’s case, a split second.  It’s an agonizing road to realize how much has been lost by that split decision.  However, in the next visit with Martha, Coleman is eager to make amends, excited to tell her about the progress with his horse, acknowledging his crimes and trying to painfully accept responsibility, offering the first signs of reconciliation, and while it’s among the more moving scenes of the film, she’s not easily moved, reminding him in graphic detail what he forced her life to become, leaving him a shell of himself afterwards, as he simply has no answers.  Yet it’s moments like this that make this film relevant, as there’s no right way or wrong way, and no easy path, but at least it’s a beginning.  There’s a stirring sequence when we hear Martha in voiceover read aloud letters she wrote to her father when she was much younger, when she still had hope, when he was still her father, when he meant something to her, but that was long ago.  Since then much time has passed, leaving him with an open wound that may never heal, and he has no one else to blame but himself.  It’s a startling revelation that must happen to so many men locked up for lengthy sentences, like a light bulb finally turning on, and perhaps for the first time they realize the full extent of what’s been lost.  While there are other stirring moments, even a kind of mythical Black Beauty kinship established with the horse, they feel more contrived and of lesser value, though the WHIP program itself has helped significantly reduce the rate of repeat offenders, yet what seems to matter most is taking an honest assessment of yourself and the crime you’ve committed.  The sad fact is there are plenty more like Coleman, a revolving door of new faces filling the prison cells while he slowly works through his issues in a tiny rectangular cell out in the middle of nowhere, where redemption only happens with a thorough cleansing of the soul. 

Mudbound

MUDBOUND            B                    

USA  (134 mi)  2017  ‘Scope  d:  Dee Rees

They’re just gonna win every time.

—Hap Jackson (Rob Morgan)

A blistering portrait of the Jim Crow South, yet also an excruciatingly slow-paced film that feels mired in the misery of being dirt poor farmers in the Mississippi Delta region following the Great Depression, adapted from the Hillary Jordan novel of 2006, emblematic of John Ford’s equally dour The Grapes of Wrath (1940), which was itself an adaptation of John Steinbeck’s infamous Pulitzer Prize winning novel.  Receiving a standing ovation at the Sundance premiere, this openly wears its heart on its sleeve, unfortunately, and is a more difficult film than it might appear, which includes how difficult it is just to find this film, screening for a single week in an obscure suburban theater in Chicago, otherwise only available to Netflix subscribers.  Using an unusual technique of introducing multiple characters through their own inner narration, the film balances a searing realism with a kind of inner poetry, offering different points of view, often altering our perceptions, as mouths are not necessarily in synch with the words being spoken, or musical interludes include the sounds of spirituals or quiet piano music, adding a hint of illusion to an otherwise reality-based film.  What this does is add a uniquely different sensory element to what we are watching, like the effect of music often transcending what we see, providing an alternate reality that is closer in spirit to the emotional realm being depicted.  The first half of the film sets up what happens long afterwards, as the central conflict takes over an hour to finally appear onscreen, with hints left along the roadside to help viewers find their way.  The film is an intersection of two proud families, one white and one black, initially revealing different customs, family bonds, and familial expression, revealing how they are uniquely and societally different, including their reaction to racial slurs and personal indignities, with the camera adding a black perspective inside their home when unwelcome white visitors arrive at their door, never with good news, personalizing the arrogance of white privilege, never questioning the system that keeps blacks down, as everything must come to a stop to appease the white folks, with both sides showing signs of empathy, which becomes a crime that must be ruthlessly punished in Jim Crow Mississippi, eventually becoming a full-fledged drama about grotesque race hatred and savagely inflicted KKK violence in the Deep South, showing its pronounced impact on both families, each torn apart in ways they could never anticipate.  Much like Jacques Audiard’s Dheepan (2015), the finale feels more imaginary than real, evading historical realities with a dreamlike sequence, creating an alternate epilogue that feels much more hopeful and optimistic, which appears to be a present day viewpoint tacked onto an earlier historical time period when a more dire outcome would have been inevitable.  That being said, this is a fictional view of one of America’s most deep-seeded problems which has its origins in the slave trade, where for hundreds of years no one lifted a muscle to stop the inherent cruelty of treating blacks as an inferior subspecies of the white race.  Mind you, despite all scientific evidence to the contrary, millions today currently believe in the superiority of the white race (from a recent poll in 09/2017, more than 2.5 million, or about 8% of the U.S. population currently believes in white nationalism, while 100 million, or 31% believe “America must protect and preserve its White European heritage,” from Most Americans Oppose White Supremacists, But Many Share Their ...).

 

The opening burial sequence in a deluge of rain is eye-opening for its minimalist suggestion, showing the tenuous line between life and death, and just how easily it can be broached.  It is a parable for the larger story ahead, serving as a cautionary warning.  Initially we are introduced to Laura (Carey Mulligan), an intelligent and well-read woman in her early 30’s from Memphis, Tennessee, a city slicker with a cultivated taste, who plays the piano, for instance, but is still a virgin, suggesting the first man she meets will be the one, introduced by her brother to his boss, Henry McAllen (Jason Clarke), at a jazz club (with a distinctly American black origin), though he’s hardly a charmer, but he’s a forthright and upstanding man who pursues her, asking for her hand in marriage, so she obliges, preferring not to die a spinster.  If their accents sound weirdly unsouthern, Mulligan is British while Clarke is Australian, never quite getting the inflections right.  Henry has a brother Jamie (Garrett Hedlund) who is everything he’s not, handsome and charming, something of a ladies man, who frowns on his brother’s dreams to live close to the land.  Coinciding with this romantic interlude is another close-knit black family arduously working the land headed by Hap Jackson (Rob Morgan), a local preacher and his wife Florence (Mary J. Blige), along with their family.  Hap angrily describes how easily blacks in Mississippi have been robbed of their own land, where deeds to property that took blood and sweat to accrue have simply been torn up by white families that basically took what they wanted, sending them away to fend for themselves.  As sharecroppers, the land they work is not really theirs, but is a reminder of a debt they constantly owe white owners, having arrived at this plot of land where they have been tenant farmers since slavery days, still trying to pay off their debt, vowing one day to own their own land.  Men exclusively make the decisions in these families, where out of the blue, Henry decides to tell his wife they’re moving to Mississippi, having bought some land there that he figures to farm.  Swindled out of the initial home he thought they’d live in, they’re forced to move into a broken down shack, a rude introduction to a primitive life with holes in the roof and no electricity or indoor plumbing, forced to live under the same roof as Henry’s virulently racist father, Pappy (Jonathan Banks), sharing the same farmland not far from where the Jacksons live.  This common land is defined by a bridge into town that washes out when it rains, stranding the families in a sea of mud.  Laura’s two children end up with whooping cough, sending for Florence to help nurse them back to health, offering her a regular job as their housekeeper afterwards.  What’s painfully obvious is how Henry talks to Hap, always expecting he will obey his every request, as if their passive servitude is taken for granted.  This dehumanization defines the times in Mississippi, as blacks who act otherwise typically end up dead. 

Perhaps the one that has it worse is Vera (Lucy Faust), a white sharecropper neighbor who lives in the same extreme poverty as the blacks, living pitifully close to madness, as her marriage is in shambles, devastated by extreme deprivation.  World War II calls two men into action, where Jamie becomes a decorated fighter pilot who completes harrowing bombing missions in Europe, while Ronsel (Jason Mitchell), the oldest Jackson, drives a tank in an all-black military unit known as the Black Panthers serving under the command of General Patton, one of the most effective combat units in the war despite their segregated status away from white soldiers.  Ronsel reveals that unlike back home, Europeans welcome blacks, where they are viewed as more human, including white women, thankful they are protecting their homes and communities, ending up in a relationship with Resl (Samantha Hoefer), a pretty German girl who welcomes him into her home.  While obviously taking a toll on both men, both return home under differing circumstances, as Jamie is a war hero, but he’s jittery and drinks heavily covering up symptoms of trauma, while Ronsel has newly discovered confidence in himself, as he’s backed away from no one, standing up to all enemies that stood in their way.  Upon returning back home to Mississippi, however, he’s just an n-word to the locals, who treat him as such, facing the same bigotry he’s known all his life.  “Over there I was liberated…Here I’m just another nigger pushing a plow.”  It’s Hap who tells his son not to stir up any resentment in white folks, to apologize even if he’s the harmed party, expressing the prophetic words, “they’re just gonna win every time.”  However, Ronsel and Jamie hit it off, as a black pilot once saved his back in the air, showing gratitude afterwards, allowing Ronsel to ride in the front of his pickup truck, sharing a drink, where they can get personal and share stories, spending secret time together away from all the rest, actually developing an unlikely friendship with mutual respect.  But this doesn’t go unnoticed, which does not bode well in this town, in this era, with the stench of blood and violence lingering in the air, where they are eventually outed by his own Pappy, who calls him a traitor and a “nigger lover.”  This escalates into a full-scale KKK assault on both men, beaten and tied up by dozens of men in white hoods, with Ronsel stripped naked, facing the sadistic onslaught of racial hatred, which is an abomination from which there is no return.  This level of cruelty is mirrored perhaps by the brutally harsh demands of the soil, creating a communal burden of unending poverty from harvesting cotton, a failed economy dependent upon slave labor, causing resentment towards blacks since the Confederacy days.  Filming this untold story offers a window into our own depraved Jim Crow era history, which is especially relevant today with a President of the United States that refuses to condemn white supremacist groups, as a surge of white nationalists make up much of his support.  Easily more ambitious than her earlier film, Pariah (2011), though not necessarily better, it has a broader historical reach and feels more impactive, though it still feels rough around the edges.  Beautifully expressed in wide vistas and close-ups on worn out faces by cinematographer Rachel Morrison, who also filmed Ryan Coogler’s Fruitvale Station (2013), where much of the raw material hits a nerve, but could use a subtler hand when it comes to achieving greater artistry.