Winter's Bone
Ice and gloom in the mountains
I never want to live in Missouri. Not even close. And if, for some strange reason, I end up being forced, I never want to live anywhere near the Ozark Mountains. Because Winter’s Bone is set there, and it’s the bleakest landscape I’ve seen in a while.
Winter’s Bone has a fairly simple plotline; Ree Dolly needs to find her father, or she loses her house. Nobody will help, for reasons that aren’t totally clear, except that it’s too much like snitching. And snitching is not done, here. Really, really not done (Guess what Ree’s father did just before he went missing).
The story in itself though is mostly overshadowed by the feel of the whole thing. It’s grey, and cold, and dirty. There’s almost always something rusty and broken in the background. You feel chilly when you’re watching it. The gloom isn’t helped along much by how unlucky Ree seems to be; it’s almost overwhelming, watching one bad thing after another, after another. We get the message. Bad shit happens in the mountains.
Still, though, it’s mostly a quiet film. There’s a lot of soft jangly country music to drag it along, and wide views of hills and trees. It’s understated enough that you can slip into it – almost to the point where you’re not quite sure what to do when it ends. Should I be tramping home through the dark foothills, now? Should I be teaching my younger siblings how to shoot squirrels? Going home and microwaving some pasta doesn’t feel quite right. My reaction to most difficulties in life after watching it has
mostly been, well, at least I’m not stuck inside Winter’s Bone.
Not to say it isn’t a great film, because it is, and it stays true to the book in a way that’s enjoyable, but not stifling. I just wouldn’t want to live in it, at all. Not for all the banjos in the world.
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