What’s the point of a Western nowadays? At minimum, every filmmaker who decides to make one should have an answer to that question. If we asked Jane Campion, writer and director of The Power of the Dog, she would probably say she wanted to explore specific kinds of masculinity, and the West is best setting for them (which is why her film was the best, most recent example). Felipe Gálvez Haberle, director of the recent revisionist The Settlers, explored racism and European expansion in ways that were searing and quietly devastating. Meanwhile, the director of the new Western The Thicket does not seem to have an answer to that question. Elliott Lester has a familiar plot and familiar archetypes, and yet The Thicket has virtually nothing new to say. It is an exercise for its own sake, and now that Westerns have existed as long as the movies themselves, that simply is not enough.
Levon Hawke – son of Ethan – stars as Jack Parker, a young man and good Christian who does not wander into the frontier willingly. He leaves his homestead because his sister Lula (Esmé Creed-Miles) was kidnapped by Cut Throat Bill (Juliette Lewis), a ruthless outlaw. Now it is admittedly rare that the antagonist for a Western is a woman, and yet The Thicket has little interest in exploring this innovation, beyond a scene where Bill stops one of her thugs from raping her captive. All these scenes are perfunctory, seemingly done out of obligation rather than curiosity, and so these characters/performances cannot redeem the material. The only actor who gives the exercise any weight is Peter Dinklage, who plays the bounty hunter hired by Jack. Not unlike his Game of Thrones character, Dinklage uses his size to advantage, hiding a sharp mind and deft movement in a fight. Jack and the bounty hunter are an unlikely pair, and together they begin a journey to stop Bill in her tracks.
If you’re a student of Western films, or if you have seen any of the genre’s best, perhaps you recognize the agonizing familiarity of this plot. The Thicket borrows heavily from The Searchers and True Grit (both versions), and yet Lester somehow declines to acknowledge his obvious influences. Screenwriter Chris Kelley opts for cliches rather than specificity, to the point where the actors – all of whom do their best – cannot create any real sense of drama. An early scene, for example, where Bill wanders into a general store, murdering the owner before stealing his money and his candy, hits one obvious beat after another. That is the challenge and problem with making a Western nowadays: the team behind it cannot rely on archetypes, so there must be a deeper reason for its existence beyond the mere opportunity of it. Going through the motions is a persistent feeling in The Thicket, so even its mild accomplishments – including gorgeous winter vistas from cinematographer Guillermo Garza – barely register as such.
The Thicket is a tough film to pin down because its flaws are not immediately obvious. Everything looks and sounds like it should, right down to Hawke’s performance as an innocent who grows tough through his journey. Even Lewis, an underrated actor who uses her limited range as an asset, is a convincing villain. But in scene after scene, one mini-conflict after another, there is simply nothing new about how this familiar situation might resolve. The shootouts are appropriately bloody, yet filmed without much energy, so the film fails as an opportunity for suspense. In fact, every situation has an overwrought feeling to it, an attempt at realism that conflates a dour vibe with accuracy. The best Westerns use their genre trappings as a chance to explore human nature, to unearth specific personality types or make broader points about the nature of violence. Lester has none of those designs, and so while his film looks right and acts right, there is a persistent hollowness. The Thicket is worse than bad, it is boring and utterly inessential.
Photo courtesy of Samuel Goldwyn Films
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