Most of the time when I see a great movie I know exactly what made it great – perhaps it was the writing (In the Loop), the acting (anything with Daniel Day Lewis), the artful cinematography (Raise the Red Lantern) or a mixture of everything (No Country For Old Men). But on occasion I’m left with the notion that the film I just saw was great and I can’t put my finger on why.
That was the case when I saw Robert Duvall’s The Apostle and that was the case when I saw Jeff Nichols’ Shotgun Stories. Don’t misunderstand what I’m saying, movies like The Apostle had fantastic writing, acting and cinematography, but there was something else there, a seemingly effortless revelation of Truth hidden between the words, between the frames. It’s as though there is this massive static electrical shock of reality and the characters, images and words are arranged in some potently conductive manner and… ZZZAP!!!
I’m gonna start off the Shotgun Stories-specific part of this post with the first few minutes of the movie itself. Here is the opening scene:
Years of backstory is told effortlessly in just a few minutes. Son is reading a note left by his wife/girlfriend who has just left him because he gambles. He’s got a shotgun wound on his back, a farmer’s tan, a two-bedroom house and a brother who lives in a tent in his backyard because he was obviously kicked out by the wife/girlfriend. The scene is dark and serious but at the same time comical. At this point I wasn’t sure if the movie was going to be hilarious or horrifyingly stark. I didn’t even conceive of the potential for both.
It’s clear Nichols comes from the William Faulkner/Flannery O’Conner school of thought as far as the importance of a story taking place in a particular time and particular place. In the case of Shotgun Stories it is the rural South – Arkansas to be specific. Those wonderful panoramic scenes of cotton fields, harvesters and trucks passing on a two-lane highway couldn’t be more perfect. As a viewer I’m instantly right there in England, Arkansas.
Further into the movie there are scenes of Son at work on the catfish farm that are perhaps the best representation of the tortuously slow-paced reality of a manual labor job captured on film in the last 20 years. Everything from the repetitive tasks to the hours of silent self-reflection to the small talk between bites of white bread sandwiches instantly transported me back to my younger days living in the South working at a marina, working construction and even when I worked at a driving range driving the little metal cart that picked up the balls as people tried their damnedest to hit me. All you can do is work hard and push your brain to figure a way out.
Without giving too much away about the movie, Son, Kid and their brother Boy were left by their father at a young age and raised by their spiteful mother. Their dad remarried, found Jesus and “settled down” with his new family and new sons. Years of resentment and pride boil over after the death of the father when the two families come together at the funeral. The result is a storyline right out of Aeschylus as familial burdens and a desire for vengeance over past events overpower the present day-to-day lives of the half-brothers, inevitably culminating in violence.
For word of hate let word of hate be said, cries Justice. Stroke for bloody stroke must be paid. The one who acts must suffer. Three generations long this law resounds. – Aeschylus “The Libation Bearers”
If the glimpse of reality Shotgun Stories offers is that big bolt of static electricity I mentioned earlier, then I think the most conductive thing about it is Nichols’ understated approach. Son, Kid and Boy are downright lethargic in their mellowness and they vary in their willingness to give in to what they feel must be done to defend their honor and dignity. The characters and the scenes have a quietness about them that amplifies the ugliness of vengeance and violence-as-justice without being preachy or judgmental.
I have to confess that when I first watched Shotgun Stories and saw the name Jeff Nichols I wasn’t sure if he was an established director or not. The movie felt like it was made by someone who has spent a lifetime in film but wanted to do a project where they could “get back to their roots” in the same vein as David Lynch’s The Straight Story, Bob Dylan’s World Gone Wrong, Bruce Springsteen’s Nebraska or Willie Nelson’s Spirit. As it turns out this is Nichols’ directorial debut, although he has worked on projects like Be Here to Love Me, A Film About Townes Van Zandt. Here’s an interview with Jeff Nichols about Shotgun Stories from Premiere France:
In addition to Nichols’ understated approach, another another big reason the film succeeds is the conductibility of the main character Son Haynes. Actor Michael Shannon does an Oscar-worthy job of breathing authenticity into Son, a stoically tough father figure with enough intelligence and self-awareness to comprehend his predicament and his own shortcomings.
Ugh – I feel like this post is turning into a rambling fawnfest. Let me wrap it up by saying Shotgun Stories is beautifully believable. It’s simple and sincere and delivers a heart-jolting dose of the human condition without the distraction of sentimentality or exploding vehicles. Unless you suffer from an intolerance of everything Southern, go buy it now.
I’ll leave you with the lyrics from Bruce Springsteen’s “My Father’s House” from his Shotgun Stories album Nebraska followed by the trailer for the movie:
Last night I dreamed that I was a child out where the pines grow wild and tall
I was trying to make it home through the forest before the darkness falls
I heard the wind rustling through the trees and ghostly voices rose from the fields
I ran with my heart pounding down that broken path
With the devil snappin’ at my heels
I broke through the trees, and there in the night
My father’s house stood shining hard and bright the branches and brambles tore my clothes and scratched my arms
But I ran till I fell, shaking in his arms
I awoke and I imagined the hard things that pulled us apart
Will never again, sir, tear us from each other’s hearts
I got dressed, and to that house I did ride from out on the road, I could see its windows shining in light
I walked up the steps and stood on the porch a woman I didn’t recognize came and spoke to me through a chained door
I told her my story, and who I’d come for
She said “I’m sorry, son, but no one by that name lives here anymore”
My father’s house shines hard and bright it stands like a beacon calling me in the night
Calling and calling, so cold and alone
Shining ‘cross this dark highway where our sins lie unatoned
