Film Review

Not much happened.

Not much happened.

Early in the film, the young man back-from-the-war leans in to kiss his brother’s wife. The young man back-from-the war is very young. He has a long beard with split ends, but his skin is ruddy, and his lips are red and his teeth are thick and strong. His brother and wife are even younger and in the parlance of Hollywood, you wonder how young they can be? Are they still teenagers? We don’t know the actors in this film, a search in IMDB yields credits and the credit themselves point to credit films but they are things you have not seen. The young man kisses his brother’s wife while his brother is having a tantrum in the forest. The younger brother stands in the middle of a field of wild daisies with a stick. He taps the head of each plant. The Ford broke down and rather than fix it — which is beyond these mechanically inept brothers — and get back to civilization, they continue into the forest as planned. The forest is wilderness although it is a Federal Park. There are portions of the federal park where people have not been for many years. Moss hangs from trees. There aren’t even garbage cans. The absence of Port-a-potties indicates an absence of people. The clean-shaven younger brother is beset by responsibility. He yells at his wife. He yells his brother. “You don’t care about the what is real out here. We are stranded, and I have to back at the grill in a week.” The younger brother works at a grill. The younger brother is a drag. His older brother and wife laugh at him. He stamps into the forest. As they watch him go they are still laughing, and the laughter is in the shadow under the spruce boughs, in the moss, and the older brother kisses the wife and she draws back and shakes her head. You realize a xylophone has been playing a single note over and over again for a sometime. “Too late, my friend. You snooze you lose,” the wife says. She wears a white dress and hiking boots, and so the white fabric is nearly glowing in the dark shadow of the spruce and maple trees. She stands in the grey, leafy darkness. Her dress is a glowing triangle because it catches the ultraviolet light. She walks rapidly after her husband who is still hollering in the distance. It is difficult to hear what he is saying except for the tone. It is harsh. The xylophone tap gets louder, and then you watch them in three minutes of quick cuts cross flowing rivers of water that is silver and black, pass through dark green, and black stands of trees, sit on a blanket in a crowded thicket of brilliant white birch trees with black scabs and long spirals of peeling bark. At long last they arrive at a cabin on top of a mountain overlooking a wild valley with a massive mountain and white, glittering glaciers. Tiger lilies crowd the meadow in front of the cabin; tiny fluttering red moths dance in the sunlight. “Maybe we never need to go back,” the young man says, the grill worker. “We’re here now,” his wife says.

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