The early passages of David Lowery’s full-length debut,
Ain’t Them Bodies Saints, flirt dangerously close with full-on neo-New Hollywood parody as they ruthlessly employ the movement’s formal devices without finding a new way to channel them. Drawing inspiration from the early-seventies work of Robert Altman, the open, naturalistic sound design and matter-of-fact presentation of the leads, which may come off as unsympathetic to some viewers, it does a fine job of replicating the feel of such movies. DP Bradford Young furthers the feeling by his craftmanlike employment of various lenses—he shows a knack for choosing when exactly when to use soft focus and when to bring out the wide-angle lenses. His shooting style is similarly academic and unfussy as he makes use of plenty of static shots and, when necessary, employs subtle camera movement. At the offset, I misjudged it as a good trick and little else, but then I soon realized that David Lowery and his crew of talented technical artists and actors really believe in their convictions.
“This was in Texas” (presumably around the middle of the 20th Century) explains the opening title card. A sinewy couple in Bob Muldoon and Ruth Guthrie (Casey Affleck and Rooney Mara, respectively) are on the run after an undisclosed event—Bob explains, “Me and Freddy did a bad thing”—has the law enforcement after them. Before his capture, in a stroke of fitful symbolism, Ruth revels to him that she is pregnant with his daughter. Now, the situation could not be more tragic for the would-have-been family. Daniel Hart’s forlorn theme for the interim between their eventual reunion is one of stirring fiddles, rushing violins and rhythmic clapping. It dances with romanticism, but it ultimately serves as a reminder of what a desperate situation this has become for them. After four years, Bob cannot stomach sitting idly by, so he seizes an opportunity to jump off a prison work truck. With law enforcement and bounty hunters on his trail, first, he collects his stash of buried money, then, makes his way to the refuge of an old acquaintance, Sweety (Nate Parker), where he will remain until he figures out what move to make to be reunited with Ruth and the daughter he has never met.
Ruth, meanwhile, bides her time (piercingly simple lines such as “I’m gonna wait for him” are indicative of the mythic prose in Lowery’s screenplay) and takes care of their young child, occasionally exchanging letters with the hunted outlaw whenever chance permits. However, the perceptive Sheriff in Patrick Wheeler (a wiry Ben Foster sporting a full mustache) makes creeping steps toward the young woman. His intentions are ambiguous: to what degree does he take pity for Ruth and to what degree is he just circling the bait that Bob will eventually pounce on? Most certainly it is a mix of both, but Ruth is so embittered by the last four plus years to seem to care.
Initially, these stretches of yearning come off as painfully contrived seeing as the film hadn’t developed Bob and Ruth past desperate shells, but the uncritical, often times detached, filtering soon takes precedence and it becomes clear what tone the film seeks to strike. Like the early works of Altman, they are exactly who they are. High-dramatic (melodramatic) involvement isn’t what Lowery seeks to invoke, but rather a chance to study a pair of half-broken lovers who pine for each other to such a great degree that they will embrace the damning hand of fate for another encounter. The soft-faced Rooney Mara anchors this feeling with the resigned way locks herself in her home, tending to her daughter—which along with the letters, is the sole physical reminder of his presence. She is an actress of great presence, as her academy award nominated work in 2011’s
The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo will attest, but here she is not entirely convincing as the “wandering wife”. Her twangy accent does feel a tad grafted-on (some may say that is only fitting because so is the style, but I will disagree to that). Also, the way she is written hampers the tension in much of the first half. It is somewhat implausible that such a beauty would have made such few compromises for the sustenance of her household.
Largely, these issues are extricated as the second half builds on the themes of the picture with conviction. Casey Affleck is often shot in damp, darkened interiors with only the light of a single incandescent light bulb illuminating his features. Even during the day scenes, his face, covered in dirt and grease, is darkened. The choice to use natural lighting often silhouettes his features rendering him a doomed, out of place figure. Ruth does not see this as her hopes remain unscathed. “Come find us”, she writes in one of the handwritten letters that are transposed onto the screen a few times. Largely, these simple emotions between the few characters that populate this spare mid-west backdrop are brought to life with hopeless, yet enlivened, musical themes and luminous lensing.
Ain’t Them Bodies Saints is a gorgeous tone poem that announces the talents of a great talent in David Lowery. I wouldn’t be surprised if his next film proves a quantum leap like Terrence Malick’s
Days of Heaven was to
Badlands.
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