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My take on the ending:

Spoiler

I view the ending as existential. The settlers try to find/regain paradise (alluded to by bible readings earlier on), and succeed. Except that the tree of life they find is pretty much barren. So paradise has been abandoned, not only by the expelled. This ends the quest of the settlers, but also frees them from previous preconceptions: They now can choose to follow the Indian.

I found this picture to be promising, yet ultimately frustrating.

The mise-en-scene is the film's strongest suit, great locations nicely photographed with an almost Bressonian edge, yet ultimately simply functional, lacking the ecstatic master's touch that such minimalism surely demands. Performances are uniformly strong, yet none are striking. The film suffers from heavy-handedness, signaled at the off by Dano's banal carving of the word 'LOST' onto a tree trunk (so that, on the one hand, spoken dialogue can be artistically delayed for a few more minutes whilst, on the other, risky confusion amongst the idiots in the audience is averted!), an approach that is repeated throughout ("working all day just like niggers" mutters Williams a few minutes later, just in case we missed the point).

Whilst it is welcome to see a western depicted explicitly from a female viewpoint, one wonders sometimes if Reichardt was the right person for the job, given the well-documented chip on her shoulder. In the accompanying notes, the director remarks of the period that "the only companionship these women had was between themselves" - genuine affection between husband and wife in such repressively patriarchal times clearly an utter impossibility! She does thankfully avoid the pitfall (just!) of depicting all of the men as idiots and all of the women (and Indians) as wise, yet is too scornful of the titular Meek for the character to ever be interesting - let alone frightening - a huge disappointment, considering that he was supposedly modeled on one of the rogues from Cormac McCarthy's infinitely superior Blood Meridian. In her desire for female empowerment against the odds, Reichardt also oversteps the mark in the third act, when Williams takes control of the situation by pointing a rifle at Meek like Joan Crawford in Johnny Guitar (Meek, of course, instantly backs down, macho coward that he is...). If we follow the analogy suggested earlier in the film, that the womens' lives during this period in time were not so far away from the lives of women under the Taliban, condemned to follow after their husbands, doing all of the menial work, their right to vote unacknowledged, then the anachronism of Williams' behaviour in this scene becomes all the more obvious and hard to forgive.

But the biggest flaw in the picture comes right at the close. Much has been made of the supposedly 'oblique' finale, yet I was surprised to discover that Reichardt's admission to have run out of money on the final day of shooting rings depressingly true. For this isn't an enigmatic minimalist work with an open-ended conclusion but, rather, a traditionally structured genre narrative that simply lacks its denouement. That they released the film as-is smacks either of desperation or casual pretention, I'm not sure which (perhaps both). By slicing off the finale, the film does of course present journalists with a post-modern talking point: since there are only two possible outcomes here, the film seems to announce, why bother to shoot it when the audience can imagine the ending for themselves? Yet in practice this question simply off-balances and overshadows the more interesting revelations that have come before - the exploration of female perspectives on the period, the tactile, detailed, convincing depiction of trail life, the traditional and well-managed tension of the scene in which the wagons are lowered into the valley - instead underlining Reichardt's ambiguous, tentative, arguably hostile attitude towards the genre she has chosen to work in (no doubt the reason Tarantino refused to recognise the picture at Venice). It is also ultimately just a cop-out, given that it lets the audience off the hook and allows them to indulge in the fanciful liberal notion that the Indian captive was leading his enemies towards salvation (something that would make even Kevin Costner blush!)...

In conclusion then, Reichart remains an interesting and, in the present climate of American filmmaking, fairly unique director, albeit one who has yet to reach anything close to her full potential. Old Joy remains her signature picture.

Giap wrote: Whilst it is welcome to see a western depicted explicitly from a female viewpoint, one wonders sometimes if Reichardt was the right person for the job, given the well-documented chip on her shoulder.

Could you point out some of this documentation, or what you mean by a chip on her shoulder?

In the accompanying notes, the director remarks of the period that "the only companionship these women had was between themselves" - genuine affection between husband and wife in such repressively patriarchal times clearly an utter impossibility!

Given that Williams' character and her husband actually do have a significant bond, that seems like an obvious misreading of what Reichardt was saying- I think the point is that, however close husbands and wives may have been, the societal pressures of the era separated them both through unequal treatment and segregated peer groups- which is illustrated in the film.

In her desire for female empowerment against the odds, Reichardt also oversteps the mark in the third act, when Williams takes control of the situation by pointing a rifle at Meek like Joan Crawford in Johnny Guitar (Meek, of course, instantly backs down, macho coward that he is...). If we follow the analogy suggested earlier in the film, that the womens' lives during this period in time were not so far away from the lives of women under the Taliban, condemned to follow after their husbands, doing all of the menial work, their right to vote unacknowledged, then the anachronism of Williams' behaviour in this scene becomes all the more obvious and hard to forgive.

Bullshit. Societal roles, however strong, break down in situations where society itself has broken down, as it has here- it is neither anachronistic nor unbelievable that Williams' character would be willing to break through whatever pressures were upon her when it was a clear matter of life and death. Reichard's characterization of the relationships and inequality between men and women demonstrates that it's a decision that requires a great deal of moral courage and force of character, both of which we've seen that Williams has.

But the biggest flaw in the picture comes right at the close. Much has been made of the supposedly 'oblique' finale, yet I was surprised to discover that Reichardt's admission to have run out of money on the final day of shooting rings depressingly true. For this isn't an enigmatic minimalist work with an open-ended conclusion but, rather, a traditionally structured genre narrative that simply lacks its denouement. That they released the film as-is smacks either of desperation or casual pretention, I'm not sure which (perhaps both).

Pretension? What pretense does the film hold here that it cannot fulfill? Is it pretentious merely by refusing to close the narrative arc? You can argue, as you do, that its ending is not successful, but I don't see how that could be read as pretentious.

By slicing off the finale, the film does of course present journalists with a post-modern talking point: since there are only two possible outcomes here, the film seems to announce, why bother to shoot it when the audience can imagine the ending for themselves? Yet in practice this question simply off-balances and overshadows the more interesting revelations that have come before - the exploration of female perspectives on the period, the tactile, detailed, convincing depiction of trail life, the traditional and well-managed tension of the scene in which the wagons are lowered into the valley - instead underlining Reichardt's ambiguous, tentative, arguably hostile attitude towards the genre she has chosen to work in (no doubt the reason Tarantino refused to recognise the picture at Venice).

I don't know what you're saying here. Denying narrative closure demonstrates hostility to the Western as a genre? Does that mean that No Country for Old Men is equally hostile? Obviously it's not a movie willing to operate in the traditional Western mode- which is clear throughout- but I fail to see how following through on that refusal constitutes a failing of any kind.

It is also ultimately just a cop-out, given that it lets the audience off the hook and allows them to indulge in the fanciful liberal notion that the Indian captive was leading his enemies towards salvation (something that would make even Kevin Costner blush!)...

Were you actually watching the movie? The relationship of the Indian towards the settlers is not simple enmity, as the film is at pains to demonstrate- Williams' whole strategy is to coax him to be, if not an ally, than at least someone who is willing to aid them if it means his death if he fails to do so. We, as the audience, do not know whether this strategy is successful- or, indeed, if the Indian has any means to find water in any case- but I fail to see how that possibility would represent some unbelievable Kumbaya fantasy.

Giap wrote:It is also ultimately just a cop-out, given that it lets the audience off the hook and allows them to indulge in the fanciful liberal notion that the Indian captive was leading his enemies towards salvation (something that would make even Kevin Costner blush!)...

Well, that's kind of like what actually happened, except that it seems the Indian was never really a captive:

Once they reached the long hill's summit, the exhausted groups set up camp for the night and prepared supper. During mealtime, an Indian walked into camp. The Indian and the emigrants eyed each other warily before someone presented the guest with food. After eating hurriedly, Meek and Tetherow, using jargon and hand signals, asked the Indian where they were and how best to get to the Crooked River and on to The Dalles. The Indian, a member of the Warm Springs tribe, showed them where water was and how to get to the Deschutes River.

An Indian came to us, pointed out the course to [The Dalles] to which he said it was 5 days journey, and so far from refusing to follow the advise of the Indian, at my request he was employed by Mr. Meek to pilot us to Crooked river, which he did for a blanket.
Solomon Tetherow

When they reached the summit of the mountains they camped on a meadow, and while there some Warm Springs Indians came to camp. One of the Indians could speak a little English. He told them that if some of them would go with him to a high ridge near by they could see down into the Deschutes and Crooked River valleys. He showed them some buttes that lay south of Prineville and said that they would find water there, but no water between there and the Deschutes. He also showed them what is now called Pilot butte, and told them if they would steer straight for that butte they would find a place in the bend of the river where a man could cross it, go down on the west side, through by way of the Metolius and Tygh valley and that they would eventually reach The Dalles.
W. H. Herren

I didn't see any love between Williams and her husband, who is also notably older than she is.

You say that: "Societal roles, however strong, break down in situations where society itself has broken down" but we come back to the analogy made to the Taliban- try and imagine a burkha-clad Afghan woman pulling a shotgun on another man in front of her husband and in front of her peers, all of whom, women included, would see her behaviour as absolutely beyond the pail in both religious and social terms - it's unthinkable, surely, regardless of whether or not they are running out of water.

Pretension then because Reichardt knew that the ending simply wasn't there for financial reasons (as stated in interviews) yet decided to release the picture without it anyway, in a form that was entirely unintended (and which does the picture no favours), in the hope that the resulting 'ambiguity' would become a talking point and cover up the faux-pas... There is no comparison whatsoever to No Country for Old Men, in which Moss' premature death is absolutely integral to the point McCarthy is making (nor say Hellman's The Shooting).

Thinking of the latter, you say that "it's not a movie willing to operate in the traditional Western mode- which is clear throughout", but, depending on your interpretation of the word traditional, I don't think this is really true since, other than the ending, there is little to differentiate it from any number of revisionist westerns besides the explicitly female viewpoint.

Kirkinson, your reference to the original history is very interesting - of course, it would be a completely different scenario if the Indian had not been violently abducted. The writer has rather painted himself into a hole in that case.

Giap wrote:I didn't see any love between Williams and her husband, who is also notably older than she is.

Obviously, that's a personal matter, but they clearly have a rapport and trust in private that they cannot show in public.

You say that: "Societal roles, however strong, break down in situations where society itself has broken down" but we come back to the analogy made to the Taliban- try and imagine a burkha-clad Afghan woman pulling a shotgun on another man in front of her husband and in front of her peers, all of whom, women included, would see her behaviour as absolutely beyond the pail in both religious and social terms - it's unthinkable, surely, regardless of whether or not they are running out of water.

Not really, no. First, it's your assertion that the social situation we see is best comparable to Afghanistan, which I don't agree with- women in Meek's Cutoff are denied power, but the social repression we see is not so extreme that, for instance, Williams' character may not speak in front of other men. Moreover, I really don't see why it's unthinkable that someone would violate social order in defense of their life- people eat one another in such circumstances. Surely breaking out of gender roles is less shocking than that.

Pretension then because Reichardt knew that the ending simply wasn't there for financial reasons (as stated in interviews) yet decided to release the picture without it anyway, in a form that was entirely unintended (and which does the picture no favours), in the hope that the resulting 'ambiguity' would become a talking point and cover up the faux-pas... There is no comparison whatsoever to No Country for Old Men, in which Moss' premature death is absolutely integral to the point McCarthy is making (nor say Hellman's The Shooting).

Oh, that's like arguing that Shelley releasing Kubla Khan 'incomplete' is pretentious- the movie works perfectly well with the ending it has, whatever caused it. You're making a totally unwarranted assumption in arguing that the only reason it was released in the form it has was a 'talking point', I see no reason to believe that and I don't think you've presented anything that demonstrates it.

Thinking of the latter, you say that "it's not a movie willing to operate in the traditional Western mode- which is clear throughout", but, depending on your interpretation of the word traditional, I don't think this is really true since, other than the ending, there is little to differentiate it from any number of revisionist westerns besides the explicitly female viewpoint.

So, besides the things that are different, it's the same?

I really don't think they've reached the point at which cannibalism would set in... Crucially, her husband is there, present and healthy, therefore in the terms of that society it remains his place to point the gun, not hers. She humiliates and undermines him through her actions. Also, her husband's sudden reticence to take charge in this scene seems rather out of character (rather convenient), since he is not otherwise presented as indecisive or cowardly in earlier scenes.

You know, I don't think it's a coincidence that the picture's most effective and gripping scene, the wagons being lowered into the valley, is also its most familiar. And, running with that thought, if Williams' husband were to have died midway, this would have given her the natural impetus, both practical and emotional, to face off against Meek for leadership of the group - but then Reichardt refrains from killing off any of her characters, for no good reason one can think of other than her afforementioned suspicion of the genre in which the picture resides, even though in other regards the film plunders that genre chest shamelessly, for example the central tension and conflict over the fate and intentions of the captive, which have nothing to do with the original history as Kirkson pointed out.

You say that the movie works perfectly well with the ending it has and I suppose that ones perception of its success ultimately rests rather a lot on this. For me, it is inconsistent with the rest of the picture, which as I said otherwise follows a traditional narrative arc, this being evidence enough for me, combined with the director's own admission, that the ending is a misfortune of circumstance rather than a strong directorial choice. There were other aspects that I did like about the picture, which perhaps I should have emphasised more (eg. the costume design is very striking), however I was ultimately disappointed, and because of the ending first and foremost. I feel that with a decent ending, a few more pinches of event and cut a little bit down to size, this could've made a good little Ranown-style western with a feminist twist. Or, alternatively, sure, give us 'Bela Tarr goes West', which is more what I was anticipating actually, but not an uncomfortable and indecisive confluence of the two. I can see why people want to like it - it's quite unlike any recent American film I've seen, and of course Reichardt showed great promise with Old Joy - but it sadly doesn't deliver imho.

matrixschmatrix wrote:

Giap wrote: Whilst it is welcome to see a western depicted explicitly from a female viewpoint, one wonders sometimes if Reichardt was the right person for the job, given the well-documented chip on her shoulder.

Could you point out some of this documentation, or what you mean by a chip on her shoulder?

After reading Giap's diatribe, my big question was "chip on whose shoulder?"

I think the suspended ending is perfectly in keeping with the material and the narrative (and Reichardt's previous work), as it puts the audience in the same position as the characters, at a decision point where we have to make a determination about the actions of the Indian on ambiguous evidence. And is there any evidence that the unshot 'original ending' actually offered traditional narrative closure and not merely a different point of ambiguity? (Considering how deeply unfashionable traditional narrative closure is nowadays, it seems unlikely.)

I also find the notion that pioneer women were so paralysed by timidity that they couldn't pick up a gun if their life depended upon it pretty laughable.

I see, not joining the fanboy chorus = diatribe.

Since the film otherwise follows a conventional genre narrative path, centered around the trope of the enemy captive who may or may not be hostile, with subsequent power struggle between the Good and the Bad over whether or not to side with the prisoner (none of which, as Kirkson pointed out, is a part of the original history), I fail to see how the (lack of an) ending is in keeping. Also, the question of whether or not to follow the Indian has been resolved at the point where Williams picks up the gun, so there is really no ambiguity, we've simply been awaiting the resolution of the narrative for about 10-15 minutes, at which point it abruptly ends. I don't see how this is in keeping with Reichardt's previous work either, given that her last two pictures have very tangible and final endings:

Spoiler

Mark and Kurt part forever, into two very different worlds; the same happens to Wendy and Lucy, as Wendy makes the decision to part with her animal and leave town.

Giap wrote:I see, not joining the fanboy chorus = diatribe.

Oh, honestly, is this ever a good defense?

Since the film otherwise follows a conventional genre narrative path, centered around the trope of the enemy captive who may or may not be hostile, with subsequent power struggle between the Good and the Bad over whether or not to side with the prisoner (none of which, as Kirkson pointed out, is a part of the original history), I fail to see how the (lack of an) ending is in keeping. Also, the question of whether or not to follow the Indian has been resolved at the point where Williams picks up the gun, so there is really no ambiguity, we've simply been awaiting the resolution of the narrative for about 10-15 minutes, at which point it abruptly ends.

I'm not really sure of what point you think you're making here. Yes, the conflict in the movie can be fit into the monomythic story structure system. No, that does not mean it's a conventionally made or worked out narrative. As Zedz pointed out, we never actually know who made the right decisions, any more than the settlers do, and ending on the note at which it ended preserves that aspect of Meek's Cutoff. As such, it actually refuses to determine good and bad, at least insofar as those relate to good or bad decisions- as far as we know, Meek could have been right all along. For someone who critiqued the movie for being overly obvious, you certainly don't seem to be comfortable with not having things spelled out for you.

As long as I'm pointing things out:

The Guardian wrote:"The sun went down before we got our final shot on the last day, and I came back home without an ending to the movie, which is really devastating. I had to rearrange it in my mind. We didn't have the money to go back out there, so it had to become something other than what it was designed to be. I have this little prayer I say, where I tell myself that the lack of means is somehow working in my favour. Often it's true, and it can lead you some place good. In this case, it led me to an ending which was more suited to the film."

Was the movie originally going to finish with a happy-ever-after, or a musical showstopper?

"Oh no," she laughs. "Even in its original form it wasn't an ending that would have left anyone feeling satisfied."

The reason I bring this up is so that it's clear that if one wants to talk about the narrative lacking its denouement, it's more than stretching to blame that lack on the incomplete shoot, which amounts to the omission of only one shot, the contents of which are totally unknown to us, and which Reichardt (our only source of any knowledge of these circumstances whatsoever) claims would not have been narratively satisfying anyway.

In fact, when the writer, Jon Raymond, was asked about the ending in this interview, he didn't even mention that the film diverges from the script at all:

Jon Raymond wrote:Yeah, the ending. I always knew it was going to bother some people. But for me, the story has really come to an end at that point. What happens next is on a certain level obvious: these people, or people like them, make it to Oregon; the Indians are decimated; a hundred-fifty years later some yuppie asshole like myself names a golf course after them (which is in fact true; it’s how I came across the story in the first place). In my mind, the main question isn’t one of the emigrants’ survival here, but rather of whether they kill the Indian. We’re in Camus country, not Jack London territory, you know? And by my reckoning, the question has been answered: at least for now, they’re not killing him. They are making a leap of faith toward nonviolence, for better or worse. They are accepting the limitations of their knowledge and choosing to trust someone they wouldn’t otherwise trust.

That said, they might be wrong, too. They might get killed. In 1845, we are about two years out from a really infamous massacre of missionaries by Cayuse Indians. Meek, for all his unpleasantness, might actually have a point. That’s the worry I hope people leave with, which is to say, I hope they leave with their own predispositions toward the unknown in mind. Where do I place my own blind faith? When do I cede my own moral instincts to someone else? The story revolves very much on how a community makes decisions based on incomplete information, and concluding on a note of incompletion and unknowing always just struck me as appropriate.

That might be an incredibly pretentious effect to go for. Clearly that lady at Film Forum didn’t care about any of that. And that’s cool, I guess. A part of me also just relishes the thought of people walking into this movie thinking they’re in for a big Michelle Williams Western, whatever that might be, and then getting hit by a genuine art film. If they’re that hung up on tidy closure, I can’t help them anyway.

That last comment of Raymond's is kind of odd. It's not like Michelle Williams is some huge box-office draw for the EW-crowd or something. She's been pretty firmly committed to frowny-face arthouse since Brokeback Mountain.

matrixschmatrix wrote:As Zedz pointed out, we never actually know who made the right decisions

Only because we're missing the ending! Although of course it would be quite possible to provide narrative closure without making any absolute determinations about who was right or wrong. Redmond says that "What happens next is on a certain level obvious" - but then everything that happens in the picture relates to known historical events, so why make it at all in that case? Or rather, why indulge in genre schematics for the duration of the picture and then throw it all away in the final seconds? It's this inconsistency, this desperate last-minute reaching for aloof post-modern affect that grates. But the filmmakers can, and of course will, justify it all they want (the 'journalistic talking point' I was referring to).

What do you think that the one shot could contain that would so drastically change the ending?

We've gotten a number of excellent explanations of how the ending functions as is, and all you've managed to put forward for why you don't think it works is a.) that you heard the movie was printed unfinished (which, though true, is irrelevant) and b.) that you think it's an otherwise adhering-to-genre-conventions film that then takes a daring leap into the postmodern by failing to provide closure. Which, evidently, is totally different from No Country for Old Men, and here is somehow offensively pretentious. And probably just bait for critical discussion.

Even if the rest of the movie were a strict by-the-numbers genre piece, which it isn't, how exactly would that demonstrate that the ending doesn't work?

McCarthy is clearly making a philosophical point with NCFOM. He provides closure (absolute closure...), just not the kind one would usually expect from a work of fiction. And there's an awful lot you can do in one shot (eg. Russian Ark). If it wasn't significant, Reichardt wouldn't have been, at least initially, "devastated". Anyway, I've said my piece, thank you for listening.

Meek's Cutoff review in smilie format: :-"

In word format: Meh. As someone who steeped himself in a couple hundred Westerns about this time last year, I can't say this one is nearly as groundbreaking or "outside the genre" as its defenders claim. Maybe any random ten minutes shows some realistic use of the period and locale and the hardships inherent. Okay, nice. And perhaps if the meandering had been protracted to a level of formal excess, with an endless repetition selling the unending futility, I could see defending the film on that ground (for which it would need to be at least twice as long-- I know I know, I wish the film I didn't like was longer). But this is just another art house film that sacrifices narrative functionality for aesthetics, as though the two had to be separated.

domino harvey wrote:Meek's Cutoff review in smilie format: :-"

In word format: Meh. As someone who steeped himself in a couple hundred Westerns about this time last year, I can't say this one is nearly as groundbreaking or "outside the genre" as its defenders claim. Maybe any random ten minutes shows some realistic use of the period and locale and the hardships inherent. Okay, nice. And perhaps if the meandering had been protracted to a level of formal excess, with an endless repetition selling the unending futility, I could see defending the film on that ground (for which it would need to be at least twice as long-- I know I know, I wish the film I didn't like was longer). But this is just another art house film that sacrifices narrative functionality for aesthetics, as though the two had to be separated.

That's a pretty meek review, Domino. You were just not in the right mood for it.

Der Müde Tod wrote:That's a pretty meek review, Domino.

Surprised you read it all. I couldn't even get through it: "meandering had been protracted..." was my cut off.

:-"

Right. Whatever you do, don't read one more sentence to finish it

Sorry, I stopped reading your last post after "Right. Whatever..." TLDR

First post from a longtime lurker here... Agreeing completely with Domino's assessment of Meek's Cutoff seems as good a reason to join as any. Especially when I feel like our opinion on this film is very much a minority one. If there's a target audience for slow arty Westerns with claims to period authenticity, I'm it. But the film doesn't work for me as an art film or a Western and pales in comparison both to what it could have been in other more capable hands and to the huge body of Western films that have come before it.

Just one small example for me of how the film allows its imagined aesthetic strategy of rigorous minimalism to undermine the narrative is the question of the group's water supply. We're supposed to believe that everybody's dying of thirst, but the film seems afraid to dramatize this in any significant way until it's practically irrelevant and the story is almost over when somebody faints near the end. As if simply establishing the stakes would be somehow too conventional.

Then there's the characterization of Meek himself, wasting a great actor in Bruce Greenwood (one of at least three great actors wasted here), where the director seems to think it's daring to play against type somehow, having the key driving force for the entire story, the main source of conflict without which none of these events would be happening just kind of mumble and politely disagree with everyone else in the group and then they acquiesce to him without much to-do until they suddenly don't when they get a new Native American guide who by disagreeing with him completely should provoke Meek into being, er, not so meek, but doesn't.

And the question of the cinematography: Holding a shot for a long time isn't the same as creating an image that's worth holding on, that has its own tension, grace, surprise and delight.

It's almost as if the director has taken the ideas of "minimalism" and "contemplative cinema" slavishly literally to guide her every choice -- even when it otherwise makes no sense -- and the film feels very calculated intellectually but has no organic life to it.

As for the suggestion above that anyone who doesn't like this film just wasn't in the right mood, well, I'm always in the right mood to see a great version of this kind of thing -- the slow minimal survival procedural as high art. Last night, it was a Bresson double feature at LACMA. Reichardt's just not anywhere near this good (but , fair enough, who is?).

I don't think the implication is that they're dying of thirst, they have a water supply with them for most of the film- the tension hangs on whether or not they will be able to renew that supply because it gets dangerously low. Thus, when someone faints from dehydration, that is a sign that things are immensely more dire than they have been throughout the rest of the movie. Had the movie established that level of danger earlier, the amount of work the group does after that would be absurd- they'd be dead within a couple of days, and totally unable to function well before that.

matrixschmatrix wrote:I don't think the implication is that they're dying of thirst, they have a water supply with them for most of the film- the tension hangs on whether or not they will be able to renew that supply because it gets dangerously low.

Okay, but then I guess for me that doesn't seem very story-worthy. The precise difference between "running out" and "running dangerously low" is perhaps also left somewhat ambiguous by the filmmaker either as a deliberate and I'd argue failed aesthetic/narrative choice or out of a sloppy misunderstanding of the nature of her minimalist endeavor.

Not to be unfair again with comparisons to Bresson or anything, but A Man Escaped is fresh in my mind, so here goes, considering that it fully achieves the perfect balance of arty minimalism and gripping narrative that I imagine a film like Meek's was aspiring to. Fontaine begins planning his escape well in advance of discovering his fate at the hands of Nazi officials. Yet Bresson constantly reminds us of the volatile and precarious nature of life in the prison, where other prisoners are routinely beaten, shot or summarily transferred to other cells and prisons. And even so, Fontaine is not absolutely impelled to escape until he knows he's going to be shot.

I never had to ask myself why I should care about the stakes in A Man Escaped or even in Gus Van Sant's Gerry another thirsty wrong-turn, long-take, desert-walk film that didn't mistake its simple story for an excuse not to tell one.