Typically, it takes about three films from the same director before I start to get a strong sense of not only their style, but their commitment to film. In other words, identifying patterns throughout a directors work can reveal motives. For instance, it wasn't until I watched Amour, Funny Games, AND White Ribbon that it became clear that Michael Haneke hits you in the gut by disturbing the audiences sense what constitutes intimate space (see earlier post of "intimate violations"). And like Haneke, I've developed a stronger appreciation for Alexander Payne's distinct take on human frailty. In Sideways (2004) The Descendants (2011), and Nebraska (2013), Payne uses visible landscapes to reflect the invisible mental states of his protagonists. For instance, in The Descendants the flora and fauna of Hawaii symbolize the delicate ecosystem that is extended family. Although selling the King family's 25,000 acre plot of pristine beach front property would benefit their finances, it would do so at the expense of the family's historic connection to the land. In Sideways, Miles' hapless travails through Santa Barbara wine country represent the state of his life: a region that is pretensious and over-intellectualized on its surface, concealing mundane lives of discontentment, unfulfilled expectations, and escapism through alcohol. Likewise, in Nebraska the rusted and decaying post-industrial landscapes that stretch from the Rockies to the great plains reflect the fact that Woody Grant (Bruce Dern) is an elderly man in decline. All three films explore the concept of entropy, or that all things are, in some fashion, decaying. While this outlook seems moribund, Payne's approach seems to suggest that it is how we react in the face of our frailty and decline that matters. In short, each film suggests that our shared frailty require empathy and an appreciation for a sense of place (which makes us who we are).
Woody Davis has never refused anyone a favor. At the same time he is a cantankorous alcoholic and a distant father. His naive belief that he has won a sweepstakes contest (for a million dollars) - that most of us would throw in the trash - demonstrates that he is also a man whose ultimate kindness and trust in others leads him to be exploited. Indeed, he is a complicated portrait of both our flaws and our humanity (sometimes what makes us kind is also what makes us vulnerable). His travels with his son David (Will Forte) through the rusting rural towns and postindustrial landscapes of the great plains (from Billings to Lincoln) is simultaneously a detour through a man who is also breaking down. That is to say that the decaying landscapes of middle America show that we too start our lives with the same promise and vitality but will all inevitably meet the same end. Industriousness and beauty give way to the forces of entropy. The beauty, however, is in how each of us relate to each other through the experience. Of course, Woody and David travels disrupt the myth that some great fortune can make us invulnerable. Instead, their travels confront the mirrored disarray of their own inner-scapes. Like the corroding towns and hamlets depicted in the film, we will also be absorbed back into the land. At the same time, we all share a connection to the places and spaces we inhabit. I, too, was struck with sentimentality as the camera panned across the rocky outcroppings of Billings and the stretches of I90 I traveled so often when I was younger. Payne helps audiences see the characters and even ourselves in the landscapes (both the picturesque and decayed) and the mis-en-scene. Nebraska is painfully beautiful, both comic and tragic.
"Have a beer with your old man, be somebody!" - Woody Davis.
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