Vulnerability

Wendy and Lucy is the second film I have seen this year that explores life on the road. In both Into the Wild and this film, the perspective is that of a young American going north. I hadn’t been much interested in Into the Wild until a friend told me how much he’d loved it. That film followed the real life of Christopher McCandless who left home after graduating, heading towards Alaska, without telling his family of his plans. His plans. He didn’t seem to have plans, more a sort of disgust about the material and pressured life that seemed to be laid out for him as a young lawyer. In contrast, Wendy (Michelle Williams, Brokeback Mountain) has plans. She is also headed for Alaska, seeking work. The film begins with a long shot- we see her playing with her dog Lucy and humming tunelessly. The long shot feels voyeuristic and sets up the ongoing feeling that people with nastier intentions than the film audience will also be watching Wendy who is young and vulnerable. She is on the margins; the next shot takes us to a campfire of people who are passing though a town on Oregon. It’s a little bit scary but she gets some good advice about possible work in Alaska and is able to move on.

McCandless took on the name of ‘Alexander Supertramp' and shrugged off any trappings of comfort pretty quickly. When his car was wrecked in a flood, he burnt the number plate and all his remaining money and started hitchhiking and jumping trains. What he does is sort of shocking. His journey is set against the background of the most fabulous North American scenery; big skies, rivers, bird and animal life. You get a real sense of the attraction for him of being on the road. In Wendy’s case, she gets stuck in a town in Oregon and we linger with her as things get more and more desperate. In contract to the Supertramp character, her shrinking money is a real issue for her. I could describe the plot in about two sentences so the real skill of the film-maker is in taking time to let us feel her vulnerability and strength of character. I’m really interested, in this MIFF, in films which try to stay with the painful moments for characters, in how film makers create the space for us to feel what they are feeling. I’m not so interested in crying when there is a painful moment as in really being forced to sit in the horribleness of whatever is on the screen and feel it.

The director, Kelly Reichardt, does this in a couple of ways. There is no music to distract or artificially build emotion. The film is slow; we experience Wendy’s panic when she discovers her dog is missing in excruciating slow tension. Wendy is never melodramatic; she is tightly contained, like Supertramp, but so so vulnerable. And the film feels like real life because it is just a fragment from Wendy’s life. I loved the director’s willingness to have us sit with the pain and fear and loneliness of Wendy. It was hard to sit through but very real.

Supertramp’s sister provides part of the narrative voice of Into the Wild; through her comments we hear what the family is going through as their boy has effectively disappeared. The film is quite interested in exploring the pain for the family of his decision to disappear and the extent to which he can no longer really connect with anyone that he meets. Some film footage makes us wonder about his relationship with his parents, particular his father, and to think about what you owe you family in terms of communicating with them. When is it OK to say “enough is enough” and to simply drop out of a family? Is it ever OK? Is it OK to punish the whole family for the sins of some? In Wendy’s case we are exposed to a little of her family but it’s clear that there is a disconnect. We’re left to wonder about what has happened in her life. She and the dog are alone on the road and this small lovely, painful film is also a film about the love which Wendy and her dog share. And about vulnerability and choices – or lack of them. And about making brave choices - It’s a difficult film for dog-owners.