Land

In cinema, as in life, it’s best to go about it removed of preconceptions. Things just tend to work out better that way. Besides assuaging potential disappointment, it can keep afloat that sense of healthy optimism, which, let’s be honest, is fleeting in the best of times. And yet, I look at the credits for this film called Land. I see Robin Wright, I see Demián Bichir and Kim Dickens. I note this is Wright’s debut as a director, and I begin to think that this film might be something more substantial than what it appears to be at first glance. I like these actors. Wright’s been in the business for almost 40 years, surely she has picked an interesting project worth her time. I begin thinking this film may transcend the “grief-stricken character moves to a remote environment and comes to terms with loss” premise it seems to be trafficking in. Perhaps the tale is in the telling, and deeper insights lie ahead.

And yet, Land begins with a woman in crisis. Edee (Wright) wanders urban streets and spends sleepless nights staring forlornly at nothing, while snippets of her sister Emma (Dickens) splice in, warning Edee not to do “this.” The “this” is packing up supplies in a U-Haul and driving to a cabin in the middle of Wyoming. She needs isolation; she needs to get away from humanity. And she gets what she needs, as she has the man who sold her the property return the rental, and leave her be, alone in the wild. There follows the “six steps forward, two steps back” section of the film, as Edee, ill-prepared for the harsh life she has thrust upon herself, suffers setbacks (mostly weather related, but a bear also diminishes much of her food supply), and celebrates milestones (she learns how to chop wood properly). She sees images of a boy and a man appearing here and there, a husband and a son lost, the root of her grief it seems, and glances painfully at a shoebox high on a shelf, the memories of her past. And just when it appears that the film will become a variation of “To Build a Fire,” with Edee in the throes of hypothermia, eating her last can of chili, frozen from the elements, help arrives. A hunter, Miguel (Bichir) and his friend Alawa (Pledge) happen upon her, and revive her. Allawa is a nurse, and Miguel is an adept mountain man. Tentatively, oh so tentatively, Edee and Miguel form a friendship, for Miguel also carries sorrow in his heart. A sample of the sparse dialogue woven throughout the film, which also acts as a banality threshold litmus test: “Why are you helping me?” asks Edee. “You were in my path,” answers Miguel.

And yet, Wright’s performance is quite good. She’s in almost every frame of the film, believably conveying Edee’s internal struggle, and when Bichir’s Miguel shows up, he brings a much needed redirection from Edee’s solo battle with Mother Nature. But this is a well-worn path, where many others have successfully found less travelled avenues. But not here. No new facet of grief is illuminated, except perhaps that the film's title is both noun and verb. And when, in the final moments of the film, when the last piece of this very lovely looking landscape puzzle is placed, I couldn’t help but feel that the film was a missed opportunity for something more intriguing, profound. But, once again, I was hoisted with my own petard of expectation. And yet, hope springs eternal, n’est-ce pas?