The Power of the Dog

Screencap from Power of the Dog: Benedict Cumberbatch in cowboy hat and chaps sits on ground facing a standing young White man in white shirt and jeans, large tree in background. Overlay: Mediaversity Grade C+

“Campion’s cautionary tale on the dangers of toxic masculinity remains compellingly relevant to the present.”

Title: The Power of the Dog (2021)
Director: Jane Campion 👩🏼🇳🇿
Writers: Jane Campion 👩🏼🇳🇿 based on the book by Thomas Savage 👨🏼🇺🇸

Reviewed by Elaine 👩🏻🇺🇸

—SPOILERS AHEAD—

Technical: 4/5

Jane Campion returns to the silver screen after 12 years for The Power of the Dog. The Netflix original takes place on a 1920s ranch owned by the savage, mercurial Phil (Benedict Cumberbatch) and his mild-mannered brother George (Jesse Plemons). Their balanced dynamic is soon irreparably disturbed, however, when George marries and brings home Rose (Kirsten Dunst) and her college-age son, Peter (Kodi Smit-McPhee).

The film has all the markings of a classic Western, opening with arresting images of cowboys wrestling cattle and a beautifully framed shot of Phil walking by the window clad in wooly chaps. However, the film’s true purpose—and power—lies in deconstructing these well-worn genre tropes. Campion masterfully dissects toxic masculinity and social conformism not just with the story, based on Thomas Savage’s 1967 novel, but with every creative decision to create a chamber piece that provokes far beyond the credits.

Traditionally, the untamed land acts as an extra character in Westerns, and Campion certainly luxuriates in sunlight hitting rolling hills, a parade of horseback riders cresting the top of vistas. However, she thrives in tight, claustrophobic shots that turn the ranch house into a miasma of discomfort which slowly drives Rose to the edge when Phil wages psychological warfare on her.

It’s appropriate then that a movie about repression features striking visuals that avoid being excessive, like the extreme close-ups of Phil stroking a saddle or pulling a braided rope tight. Subtle performances by the film’s actors bring these moments to life. Cumberbatch renders Phil as a man of polar opposites: cruel yet compassionate, brutal yet intelligent. Smit-McPhee perfectly conveys the cold intelligence of a young Norman Bates-like persona. All the while, Jonny Greenwood’s soundtrack ratchets up the unease, never too obtrusive, and yet perfectly matching the tension of each scene.

Taken at face value, The Power of the Dog feels simple with just a few plot points that seem inevitable. But that misses the intent of Campion’s work. She goes from startlingly frank—Phil castrates a bull, as if to remind us that this movie is about neutering masculinity—to using lighting, angles, costume choices to bear on the story she’s woven.

Gender: 4/5
Does it pass the Bechdel Test? NOPE

Although Campion criticizes The Power of the Dog’s thoroughly masculine world, she fails to effectively utilize any of the women to do so, even when Rose exhibits complexity as a character. A single mother who has raised Peter on her own, she suffers from the oppression of Phil’s cruel jabs as well as the stifling expectations of her new husband George, who uses her to show off to his parents. It’s clear that when he buys her the grand piano, it’s not for her pleasure, but for his own benefit. In a way, both brothers reinforce the idea that she doesn’t belong.

Rose ends up privy to the whims of the men around her. She’s driven to alcoholism because of the stressful home situation, and it’s Peter who saves her from herself. Rose may be a product of her time, bound to the constraints of Savage’s novel as well as the social mores that determine she’s better off married than a single widow. Nevertheless, it’s disappointing to find her so helpless in her situation. Besides Rose, the two other women in the film, both domestic workers at the ranch, lack substantial lines or personality.

Where The Power of the Dog ramps up points in this section is the representation behind the camera. There’s of course writer-director Campion, the first female filmmaker to receive the Palme d’Or (for The Piano in 1993). In addition, Ari Wegner (Lady Macbeth, In Fabric) takes the helm as cinematographer. Campion forewent her previous collaborators, such as Adam Arkapaw who worked with her extensively on mystery series Top of the Lake, because of her insistence on working with a female director of photography, saying that she “know[s] it’s harder for women to be given a chance as a DP, even when they are very talented.”

Wegner is arguably as responsible as Campion for forming The Power of the Dog, with her decision to go handheld in Phil’s vulnerable moments to using light and shadow to emphasize Rose’s isolation in a dinner scene. Among others, these elements help combat the usual masculinity of Westerns, with their shootouts, bar fights, and riding off into the sunset with rescued damsels. Instead, Wegner uses the female gaze to concentrate on psychological devastation rather than physical violence. In short, it’s true that men dominate the screen in The Power of the Dog. But the hands that have shaped the story and viewpoint belong primarily to women.

Race: 1.5/5

Although The Power of the Dog has hardly any racial diversity to speak of, its isolated space limits its players to mainly Phil, Rose, Peter, and George. A few characters of color dot the cadre of ranch cowboys, all very much just background. Adam Beach (Ashinaabe) plays a brief role as a Shoshone trader who comes to the ranch with his young son (Maeson Stone Skuggedal) in tow. Beach’s tiny part consists of just two curt and untranslated lines in Shoshoni. While he isn’t stereotyped, shown matter-of-factly rather than leaning into tropes of Native Americans seen in Westerns as recently as The Ballad of Buster Scruggs (2018), the moment passes too quickly to make a significant impact.

Bonus for LGBTQ: +0.25

Savage himself was a “closeted gay man” and The Power of the Dog reflects that on screen through Phil, who has been in love with another man for most of his life and is now attracted to Peter. Phil’s repression comes across as homophobia, however, with his initial name-calling of Peter as “Miss Nancy” catering to the macho culture of the cowboys he leads. But by exploring how a queer man wields hate as a weapon to survive within a hyper-masculine environment, Campion reveals her film to be anything but regressive.

Crucially, The Power of the Dog shies away from forgiving Phil for his cruel behavior toward Peter when it could have easily strayed into a redemption arc for the bully, or gone the other direction and villainized Phil for being angstily closeted. Furthermore, while it’s not clear whether Peter himself is gay, he doesn’t seem too concerned either way. Nor is the film interested in limiting him as flatly “good” or “evil.” It would be easy to associate his coldness or his final act as an offensive stereotype of a queer-coded villain, but as film critic Juan Barquin says, “Peter’s choice … is calculated, but not unreasonable. Phil and Peter are both products of their environments and circumstances.”

Mediaversity Grade: C+ 3.25/5

The Power of the Dog brings us back a century in time, but Campion’s cautionary tale on the dangers of toxic masculinity remains compellingly relevant to the present.

Like The Power of the Dog? Try these other titles that tackle toxic masculinity.

Grade: CLiMarch 15, 2022Female/Nonbinary Creator