The history of pandemic cinema has yet to be written. The film industry did not shut down entirely over the past two years, but so many of the stories that emerge from the pandemic are still over-defined by their production. Montana Story, a new film from the indie duo behind Uncertainty, The Deep End and What Maisie Knew, is another film both shot and set in the middle of the pandemic, but the story it sets out to tell stands on its own. If history is kind, perhaps it may emerge as one of the best of the bunch.
Hearing that his father has suffered a stroke and is now receiving end-of-life care, Cal (Teague) returns to his Montana homestead to settle his affairs. His father – now in a coma – was a prominent local businessman, but an act of unspoken cruelty toward Cal’s sister, Erin (Richardson), following some moment of high school rebellion severed their relationship. Now Cal and Erin face an uncertain homecoming as they address their father’s final days and prepare to close an estate that is deeply in debt.
Most stories about the dying find their profundity in the survivors, and Montana Story is no different. We have seen versions of these siblings before, but Teague and Richardson embody the contradictions they’ve been asked to play. Both actors capture a younger generation who retains a certain fondness for open plains even as they reject the violence and exploitation that underwrites that mythos. This is Teague’s film; the actor – who so often appears to be playacting at normalcy onscreen – carries Cal’s burden well, never quite tipping the scales to melodrama even as the script gestures to bigger moments. Similarly, Richardson feels both of- and out-of-place, a tenuous balancing act that justifies a grand gesture toward her horse.
For their part, co-directors (and writers) Scott McGehee and David Siegel never try to do too much. The Montana of their film blurs the line between civilization and the frontier; so much of the tone of the film comes from how these characters are framed against the sweeping landscapes surrounding the farm. Westerns have always thrived on sweeping landscapes and off-center framing, and the visual language of the film – so empty, so beautiful – serves as a beautiful counterpoint to the two performances. We do not need dialogue explaining why these two siblings would cling so close to each other in youth. The emptiness of the world around them says everything we could hope to know.
There are a handful of filmmakers – Wind River director Taylor Sheridan comes to mind – who carry the torch of the American Western forward into the present. Like Sheridan’s films, Montana Story introduces an element of finality to the American West. The house is sold, the siblings return to their respective cities, and the mythos that drove their respective childhoods seems forever punctured by the violence of the men who idolized it. Perhaps Montana Story is part of a new wave of films that herald the death of the Western – movies that see the genre through to its modern, natural conclusion. For the Western, stories of death may be all that remains, but this proves they are still stories worth telling.
This article appears in May 27 • 2022.