Of the many things to admire about Debra Granik's thrilling sophomore effort Winter's Bone, the most welcome is the absence of the manipulative stereotypes that have hindered countless independent features set in the poverty-stricken fringes of American society. Liberal guilt has become as irritating a narrative theme as any of Hollywood's longstanding misogynist or xenophobic trends.
But Granik's Ozarks-set noir is unique in its refusal to condescend or urge false sanctity onto its subjects, a close-knit community of methamphetamine cookers, dealers, murderers and minimum-wage day-laborers in rural Missouri. 17-year-old Ree, played with startling presence and intensity by Jennifer Lawrence, has been brought up around these professions and no longer is shocked by the sight of a twitchy addict; receiving a joint for the walk back home is seen as common courtesy. But the tight-lipped codes of honor that surround her community become null-and-void when Ree's father skips out on his bond and puts the family home up for foreclosure.
Traversing through hills and backwoods, snooping around shacks, rodeos, and run-down farmhouses, Ree's search for her father rustles quite a few feathers, including her uncle, Teardrop (the reliably great John Hawkes), local crime lord Thump Milton (Ron "Stray Dog" Hall) and Thump's wife Merab (an exceptional Dale Dickey). When Ree asserts that her father is dead in a ditch somewhere, she learns that if she wants to keep her house, she needs to find proof. Otherwise, she, her invalid mother, and two younger siblings (Isaiah Stone and Ashlee Thompson) will find themselves homeless.
Winter's Bone builds on similar themes that Granik explored in her debut, Down to the Bone, but the filmmaker's focus has tightened and, thanks to her work with the talented cinematographer Michael McDonough and the RED camera, her use of landscapes has become spellbinding. The exterior shots of dilapidated chicken coops, frost-ravaged forests and abandoned wastelands filled with rusted cars and appliances are comparable to the surreal, rural Russia of Ilya Khrjanovsky's 4. In fact, the only negative thing that could be said about Winter's Bone is that it never lingers on these evocative landscapes for long, quickly realigning its focus squarely on Ree's search.
This isn't to say that the narrative is at all lacking or that Granik should drop everything and become James Benning. The script, written by the director and her producing partner Anne Rosellini, peppers the community with nuanced minor characters, including Ree's best friend from high school and a bumbling, self-serious sheriff, while providing a handful of superb set-pieces. One of these late scenes, wherein Ree is blindfolded and led to where Merab claims her father is buried, shows off Granik's exceptional ability to build tension. More than that, it secures the fact that Ree is not an enemy of Thump and his ilk but merely a liability that they are weighing.
To be honest, there are arguably no enemies in Winter's Bone, which won the Grand Jury Prize and the Waldo Salt Screenwriting Award at this past Sundance, and no easy character flaws either; racism and homophobia are never expressly invoked from any of these "hillbillies." Granik's film has its flaws, most of them quite minor, but for many who thought that American independent filmmaking had been reduced to legions of awkward romantic comedies, bleeding-heart documentaries, and stiff, monotonous dramas, Winter's Bone represents something of a minor miracle.
But Granik's Ozarks-set noir is unique in its refusal to condescend or urge false sanctity onto its subjects, a close-knit community of methamphetamine cookers, dealers, murderers and minimum-wage day-laborers in rural Missouri. 17-year-old Ree, played with startling presence and intensity by Jennifer Lawrence, has been brought up around these professions and no longer is shocked by the sight of a twitchy addict; receiving a joint for the walk back home is seen as common courtesy. But the tight-lipped codes of honor that surround her community become null-and-void when Ree's father skips out on his bond and puts the family home up for foreclosure.
Traversing through hills and backwoods, snooping around shacks, rodeos, and run-down farmhouses, Ree's search for her father rustles quite a few feathers, including her uncle, Teardrop (the reliably great John Hawkes), local crime lord Thump Milton (Ron "Stray Dog" Hall) and Thump's wife Merab (an exceptional Dale Dickey). When Ree asserts that her father is dead in a ditch somewhere, she learns that if she wants to keep her house, she needs to find proof. Otherwise, she, her invalid mother, and two younger siblings (Isaiah Stone and Ashlee Thompson) will find themselves homeless.
Winter's Bone builds on similar themes that Granik explored in her debut, Down to the Bone, but the filmmaker's focus has tightened and, thanks to her work with the talented cinematographer Michael McDonough and the RED camera, her use of landscapes has become spellbinding. The exterior shots of dilapidated chicken coops, frost-ravaged forests and abandoned wastelands filled with rusted cars and appliances are comparable to the surreal, rural Russia of Ilya Khrjanovsky's 4. In fact, the only negative thing that could be said about Winter's Bone is that it never lingers on these evocative landscapes for long, quickly realigning its focus squarely on Ree's search.
This isn't to say that the narrative is at all lacking or that Granik should drop everything and become James Benning. The script, written by the director and her producing partner Anne Rosellini, peppers the community with nuanced minor characters, including Ree's best friend from high school and a bumbling, self-serious sheriff, while providing a handful of superb set-pieces. One of these late scenes, wherein Ree is blindfolded and led to where Merab claims her father is buried, shows off Granik's exceptional ability to build tension. More than that, it secures the fact that Ree is not an enemy of Thump and his ilk but merely a liability that they are weighing.
To be honest, there are arguably no enemies in Winter's Bone, which won the Grand Jury Prize and the Waldo Salt Screenwriting Award at this past Sundance, and no easy character flaws either; racism and homophobia are never expressly invoked from any of these "hillbillies." Granik's film has its flaws, most of them quite minor, but for many who thought that American independent filmmaking had been reduced to legions of awkward romantic comedies, bleeding-heart documentaries, and stiff, monotonous dramas, Winter's Bone represents something of a minor miracle.
