Winter’s Bone (2010)

Winner of the Grand Jury Prize at this year’s Sundance Film Festival, Winter’s Bone is a grim and twisting tale, reflecting its stark rural landscape. It is a film about open secrets, of dirt in plain view and known to many but spoken of by very few. It is an authentic, fascinating, and uncomfortably familiar drama.

Winter’s Bone was filmed around the Ozarks of southwest Missouri, but don’t expect to see even a glimpse of the touristy rhinestone glitz of nearby Branson. This movie sticks to the outlying areas, the curving back-country roads, paved and unpaved, winding past failing farms, burnt-out remains of cars and structures, rickety houses, and poor, struggling people. This is the milieu of present-day “hillbillies”–not stereotypical barefoot, bearded cartoon characters, yet some of them still have to hunt for their food, most keep to themselves and mistrust outsiders, and too many are involved in the production and consumption of the modern substitute for moonshine: crystal methamphetamine, or “crank.” In fact, Missouri leads the United States in meth lab busts and meth-related incidents, with nearly 25 percent of the nationwide total. (And Jefferson County, south of St. Louis on the eastern edge of the state–and where I was born and raised–has the dubious distinction of leading the state in meth crime.)

The film centers on Ree Dolly (Jennifer Lawrence), a 17-year-old girl with burdens she shouldn’t have to bear at her young age. Her daddy is missing and her momma’s a semi-functional invalid, so Ree barely maintains a presence at the local high school while feeding and looking after her younger brother and sister. Living in a run-down cabin, they eke out a meager existence, accepting charity from neighbors but unwilling to beg. “Never ask for what ought to be offered,” Ree tells her brother. Her only hope of escape is enlistment in the Army, but her family situation makes that an unworkable solution. And her burden grows when the sheriff (Garret Dillahunt) comes to deliver some bad news: Ree’s daddy Jessup, out on bail while awaiting trial on a meth charge, put up their property as part of the bail bond, and now he’s disappeared. If he doesn’t show up for court in a few days, Ree, her momma, and the kids will lose their house and land.

So Ree has to add to her chores by becoming a private investigator, trudging on foot across the surrounding area to ask neighbors and relations if they know anything about the whereabouts of her daddy. She is met with indifference, violence, threats, and outright shunning. “Talkin’ just causes witnesses,” says Merab (Dale Dickey), a snarling woman who stands between Ree and a patriarchal blood relative who refuses to speak to her. With the reluctant help of her uncle Teardrop (John Hawkes), Ree doggedly attempts to pierce the wall of silence within this ragtag, interrelated community and discover the truth required for her family’s survival.

Although it takes place in the present day, Winter’s Bone often looks and feels like a period film because everything appears cluttered, and well-worn. On the few occasions when something modern appears on screen–a high-school gym, a bail bondsman’s car, an electric garage door–these hints of a wider world seem alien, tinged with menace and suspicion. Growing up in the region, I always felt like we were behind the curve of progress, with the majority of innovation, culture, and more urbanized civilization sprouting from the East and West Coasts and eventually working their way into the Midwest heartland. And though I lived somewhat comfortably on the fringe of the Ozarks region, with relatively easy access to more urban conveniences, we weren’t rich by any stretch and didn’t have to travel far to see families and locations just like those in the film. The “sets” are mostly real homes in the area, and the decorations and details are authentic; I was unnerved at seeing such familiar sights as a tarpapered wall of a house with an obvious outline of a former fireplace chimney long since removed.

Furthering the accuracy and crucial to the story is the way people don’t talk, or rather, how they talk about you but won’t speak directly to you. Ree asks a friend to ask her husband–in the next room–if they can use his car; the friend returns and tells her he said no. Nobody wants to tell Ree anything, but later she is seriously warned that “people are talking about her.” Merab runs Ree off her property, growling, “Don’t make me have to come out here and tell you again.” What is said and what remains unspoken forms a recurring theme in the subtle, perceptive screenplay by director Debra Granik and co-writer Anne Rosellini. “If you been listenin’, you already got your answer,” Merab tells Ree, and that applies to the audience as well; not everything is spelled out, but those paying attention can deduce the real story behind these characters.

This terrific independent film has just the right amount of professionalism. It generally avoids glossy Hollywood production values and enhances its naturalistic setting and story with simple, clear cinematography to capture the gray, overcast skies and detritus-strewn landscapes. The score is suitably sparse and uninvasive (and, just like in Deliverance, there’s even some banjo pickin’ on a porch). The cast is realistic and believable from top to bottom, anchored by the performances of rising stars John Hawkes and Garret Dillahunt (both from the cast of HBO’s Deadwood), as well as Jennifer Lawrence, who is heartbreakingly sad yet quietly compelling as Ree.

Winter’s Bone reminded me of the Sunday afternoon scenic drives my family used to take: mostly rolling hills and natural vistas, dotted with ruins, dangerous curves, and, occasionally, dangerous people. Some mysteries of the Missouri countryside are best left buried.

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