The audience already understands Vivienne LeCoudy’s fate (played by Vicky Krieps) from the second scene of Mortensen’s second feature, “The Dead Don’t Hurt.” Her journey begins with a resilient French Canadian pioneer woman who gets left alone for years. She ultimately dies while weeping at home, which creates tears along her decrepit cheeks. Mortensen chooses to tell her story out of order for no particular reason, and subsequently, shifts back to her childhood to display the defining moment of her father, who was a fur trapper, disappearing. He then goes on to pursue the revealing of whether Vivienne’s absent partner, who is played by Mortensen, is able to take revenge for what transpired to her or not.
In terms of more straight-laced, meat and potato Western aficionados, that out-of-sequence decision in an otherwise understated art-house Western sets out to make things more confusing than clear. Mortensen’s sensitive take on a traditionally violent genre set against the backdrop of the Civil War but produced with sentiments that resonate more with the #MeToo era begins with Vivienne having a fantasy of a knight in shining armor rescuing her as she is dying, which can be seen as the opening of the film. That fantasy takes place two more times while the portrayal of Holger Olsen, who is a fellow immigrant and effectively Vivienne’s husband, signing up to fight for the Union is taking place.
The next time Holger appears as a knight, it is with his visor raised and revealing his eyes. Later, Vivienne imagines herself enclosed in the armor of a self-sufficient modern-day Joan of Arc. In one more feminist parody of the John Wayne trope, the film lets Vivienne save herself in one regard, she does. But that transcendence is preceded by Vivienne having to suffer a litany of indignity and disrespect from 19th-century men not only in her new home around Elk Flats, Nev. but back East too, where a wealthy man-who is exceedingly wealthy and accomplished-emits boredom-inducing stories.
It is there, selling fresh-cut flowers on the street, that Vivienne spots Holger, a Danish carpenter who attracts her immediately. Mortensen is sacrificing character development by portraying a more relaxed version of her character who, with feigned indifference, observes Vivienne berating her infatuated admirer. Both are immigrants and have a certain distrust of how citizens of the country act. (Later, in Elk Flats, she befriends a Mexican piano player whose “cluckety-cluck” lyrics in Spanish offend the racist sentiments of the town.) Krieps is perfectly cast as this uniquely tender-strong character. Confronted with the difficult choice of a secure life in a gilded cage or what Holger has to offer, Vivienne decides to accompany him westward, only to discover that the house is dilapidated and the town is riddled with crime.
How many partners have attached themselves to someone’s else dream and have worked hard to adjust themselves when they are blatantly feeling disappointed by effort? Films do not put this experience under the woman’s lens, and that is why Mortensen’s take is rather great although Vivienne’s independence is shown a little too broadly mildly reckless (and not only because there is a varmint trying to blow the saloon to pieces and riding out of the city at the start). With a goal of making her own money, Vivienne goes to work at the saloon where the same brigand, Weston, (played by “Tom Jones” as the infamous Solly McLeod) stalks her. Weston employs her on the spot and, much to her shock, achieves exactly what he wants.
These paragraphs also give off a scathing critique of gender norms, particularly the one that states that women are inadequate at handling technology. It must be submitted that this aura of gender hierarchy renders women completely incapable of living outside the bounds dictated by society.
Wearing his entitlement menacingly like his hat, Weston behaves as if he owns the bar which he does and everything in it, smashing anything he pleases. Once, the young pest drunkenly appears at Vivienne’s cabin and forces himself on her (a development that is to us a predictable one but shocks Krieps’ otherwise intelligent character). Mortenson sadly rests on rape as a plot device with all of the nuances employed this is quite unfortunate but Vivienne’s reaction illustrates the strength she embodies in Holger’s absence defiantly arriving at work the next day to raise the child that emerges from this aberration.
The film’s most resonant scenes happen in silence, like when Holger comes to terms with the boy and takes him in. Holger openly accepts the boy as his own. The scenes when the characters do speak, are rather unrealistic and overly dramatic, as if they’ve been glued to Deadwood and want to attempt blabbering like Milch. Schiller, the deceitful mayor that Danny Huston plays, gets involved with Weston’s father, Jeffries, in a land scam. He plays the role with so much enthusiasm. To jump-cut those scenes is aggravatingly tiring, but those are so banal that one can at least understand the outline. (The remaining bits are easy to comprehend on the second watch after we have the chronology.)
In his absence, Vivienne turns that barren, unkempt land into a beautiful garden with flowers all over the porch and a home worthy of praise. (While women probably setting up flower stalls all over the is a nice way to make money, this is something Mortensen uses to showcase the predator’s lurkers saloons where women ought to work for solace.) When Vivienne dies, Holger comes back to find the minute that opened the movie.
She was the heart of the film, its burning frontier wildflower, without whom the movie slumps into a soft sad stupor. Weston’s out there somewhere waiting to be taught a lesson, but Mortensen- and I mean, an actor who has broadened the western in “Jauja” and “The Road” seems to have other ideas.
To watch more movies visit Fmovies
Also Watch for more movies like:
