Montana, 1925.  Phil Burbank (Benedict Cumberbatch) and his crew of cowboys come across a small town while on a job.  Needing a place to eat and sleep for the night, they ride up to an inn run by mother and son Rose (Kirsten Dunst) and Peter Gordon (Kodi Smit-McPhee).  Phil’s softer-spoken brother, George (Jesse Plemons), begins to court the widower and eventually marries her.  Phil is distrustful of his brother’s new wife, and tensions continue to rise when Peter returns to the Burbank home on summer break from school giving Phil another victim to his psychological torture. 

The Power of the Dog is a western drama directed by Jane Campion for Netflix.  The quiet and reserved style packs a real punch behind it as Campion uses her camera to pick and pry at the troubled cast of characters.  She is unafraid to show us some of the worst, most troubled aspects of the characters and we truly feel like we are bearing witness to private moments.  Johnny Greenwood delivers another masterful score, creating suspenseful western-inspired themes that are unsettling and fit the tone of the film perfectly. 

Cumberbatch fills the role of Phil quite well.  He is clearly a troubled man obsessed with the concept of masculinity.  It is hard to determine his reasoning for this persona he wears, especially in the earlier chapters, but as the film goes on and we learn more about Bronco Henry – a man that taught Phil everything he knows and is talked about like he is a piece of legend – we begin to understand his past and how it informs his equally troubled present.  Content to wallow in the status quo and possibly shaded by jealousy, if not just the distrust, he has from his brother’s relationship, Phil moves through the mansion like a malevolent spirit, always stalking Rose from the farthest reaches of the frame making sure she never feels quite at home.  A peculiar casting choice at face value, Cumberbatch occupies a darker headspace mostly unseen in the more glamorously lit and traditionally structured entries in his filmography resulting in what is arguably a career-best performance.  

Dunst has a difficult and almost thankless role in this film as a melancholic woman.  Under the pressure of Phil, she retreats to alcoholism to dull his torment and as she continues to spiral deeper and deeper out of control, Dunst remains in total control of her character.  It is truly incredible to see how she deteriorates under Phil.  With each passing chapter, she appears more worn and tired; she is ill, and it is not just the alcohol that is taking its toll on this poor and powerless woman.  Her positioning in the house helps define masculinity for us as, despite George’s attempts at giving her agency and making her feel at home, his work is drowned out by his brother’s haunting whistling and ominous strumming of his banjo; the parallels to Deliverance (1972) here cannot be overlooked.  She remains sympathetic, though, as a woman trying to do her best for those she loves as is evident in the tender moments she shares with George and Peter.  Plemons is a great and welcome presence in the film and is the opposite of his brother.  His kindness and encouragement help to dilute some of Phil’s acidity as both Rose and we as the audience become acclimated to the world to the film.  While The Power of the Dog is not a traditionally rough and tumble western, the idea of machismo is what drives much of the tension and George’s rebuking of it adds an interesting dynamic because in his softness he manages to find happiness. 

Despite George’s counterpoints, Peter is the true foil to Phil and the one that begins to break down the cowboy that fancies himself as a beacon of manliness.  Peter and Phil do not get off on the right foot, the older verbally berating the boy when he waits on them back at the inn.  Through accident, Peter finds Phil in a moment of weakness, and it is hard to tell if it is a mutual understanding that brings the two together afterward, or rather if it is Phil trying to warm Peter up so that he does not spill his secret.  Smit-McPhee has an incredibly interesting role in the film as the effeminate medical student.  His confounding friendship with Phil is captivating and the driving force behind the second half of the film.  His motivations are kept even closer to the chest than Phil’s, that is, until the final shot when it becomes clear that this wallflower knows far more than he lets on and has thorns of his own. 

Much like the entire film, his dynamic does not follow the typical arc that would be expected.  The narrative constantly flirts with queer identity in masculine society but does not meet it head-on as it has been done before, especially in recent years as queer films have been getting more funding and exposure.  Campion, working from the 1967 novel of the same name by Thomas Savage, examines the topic in an unconventional and indirect way.  The film is far from an overt queer romance as it does not even focus heavily on the male gaze like in Beau Travail (1999) but follows an arc more like that shown in Tea and Sympathy (1956) as they both argue about the detrimental rigidity of societal expectations in testosterone-fueled circles.      

The Power of the Dog is a puzzle box in its subtlety that will clearly reward repeat viewings but be assured that it is not alienating in its initial experience.  While there is never a third act explosion and it subverts our ideas of where dramas like this will inevitably lead, it simmers away, never boiling over, until the pot has gone dry.  Do not let the concept fool you, as the film still delivers a cathartic ending.  Campion’s examination of toxic masculinity, much like Phil, takes its time to fully reveal itself, but by the time it lays itself bare to the audience, it has the same itching relief as picking loose a scab.