Here

Director: Robert Zemeckis
Starring: Tom Hanks, Robin Wright, Paul Bettany, Kelly Reilly, Michelle Dockery, Gwilym Lee, Ophelia Lovibond, David Fynn, Daniel Betts, Joel Oulette, Dannie McCallum, Nicholas Pinnock, Nikki Amuka-Bird
Running Time: 104 min.
Rating: PG-13

★★★ ½ (out of ★★★★) 

It's safe to say that among universally beloved filmmakers, Robert Zemeckis' recent career trajectory might sting the most, with 2012's Flight frequently cited as the last real success. Because of this, he joins a long list of great directors who discovered their fiercest competition is themselves, or more accurately, their most remembered work. And while holding nothing against Forrest Gump or the idea of its stars reuniting, we all know Back to the Future will always be the first title everyone associates with Zemeckis. So it's ironic that even when again engulfing himself in cinematic technology, his latest, Here, marks a return to those roots by revolving around a similar theme. 

Based on Richard McGuire's 2014 graphic novel of the same name, the non-linear film takes place in a single location, simultaneously tracking its various inhabitants over different eras. And if it's disheartening to see something this experimentally ambitious get unfairly clobbered by critics and audiences, there's at least an explanation. It's that Zemeckis' current track record and a trailer filled with jarring, out-of-context shots of a de-aged Tom Hanks and Robin Wright caused many to declare it dead on arrival before viewing a single scene.

In a perfect world, Zemeckis could have utilized practical effects and makeup to film this directly following Gump, only substituting McGuire's original 1989 comic as its source. But after watching it, the best news is that the result wouldn't necessarily be better, with this standing as the first of his modern films where the effects mostly inform its story, quelling fears of another Polar Express or Beowulf. Employing a fixed camera angle, we're granted unlimited entry into the victories and disappointments of life, spanning from when dinosaurs roamed the Earth to present day. Characters are born, they die and the cycle repeats, but what happens in between is where Zemeckis and co-writer Eric Roth create flashes of magic. 

Taking place entirely within the confines of a New England home that was formerly a part of Benjamin Franklin's son's estate, John Harter (Gwilym Lee) and his wife Pauline (Michelle Dockery) move in shortly after its construction at the turn of the 20th century. They'll have a daughter, but his obsession with piloting planes causes a strain on their marriage that may prove insurmountable. Future inhabitants of the house include eccentric La-Z-Boy recliner inventer Leo Beekman (David Fynn) and his pin-up model wife Stella (Ophelia Lovibond) and married couple Al (Paul Bettany) and Rose Young (Kelly Reilly), who purchase the property following World War II. 

The Youngs raise their three children in the suburban home until 18-year-old son Richard's (Hanks) girlfriend Margaret (Wright) becomes pregnant with daughter Vanessa. As both generations attempt to co-exist under the same roof, Richard makes personal sacrifices to support his family while Margaret grows antsier for them to move out and start a life of their own. Various triumphs and tragedies occur, along with smaller moments that grow in importance for both as they drift apart and age, forever linked by their shared experiences and memories.

While none of the events take place in what we'd strictly consider chronological order, Zemeckis alternates between periods and characters for the first 45 minutes or so before spending the bulk of his time on Richard and Margaret. He also employs these boxes or comic book-like panels on screen to signal shifts between time periods within this living room and dissolve into another scene. It's initially jarring, but after a while you just settle in, grasping its larger purpose as the separate segments play out. 

For all the de-aging complaints, this attempt is more cleanly executed than in 2019's The Irishman, the latest Indiana Jones and even some of Disney's latest Star Wars offerings. And that's coming from someone who's no fan of the approach and thinks we're still years away from being able to rely on it to such an extreme. But having actors of this high a caliber tackling an ingenious conceit softens that blow considerably, relegating the only lackluster digitization to opening CGI shots of nature, dinosaurs and deer. 

Luckily, we get into the house quickly, and despite the fixed camera angle throughout, it never feels as if we're merely watching a filmed stage play. Characters come in and out of the frame while Zemeckis crafts some clever transitions that bridge the gap between eras, like an inspired cut from colonial times to a current day Mayflower moving truck. And while Ashley Lamont's production design for the living space has to span decades, it's filled with rich, precise period detail that joins Alan Silvestri elegiac score in supplementing a script that hops back and forth between years, often within minutes. 

There comes a point almost midway through where any justifiable skepticism disappears, resulting in not only the film's strongest stretch, but the kind of storytelling we hoped Zemeckis still had in him. And all of that begins and ends with the Youngs, as we see Hanks' Richard abandon his early painting passion for a more monetarily stable sales job to support his family. This while Margaret also puts her law aspirations on hold, desperately wanting for them to move out despite all his financial excuses not to.

Hanks and Wright are again extraordinary together as a couple frustrated by an inability to reach their respective potentials due to a combination of fear, gender expectations and monetary realities. Unfairly labeled by detractors as a schmaltzy, life affirming fable, the film's more accurately viewed as the slow decay of the American dream with two generations battling to deal with the hands they're dealt. And hanging over it all is the familiar specter of illness and death, like in one scary scene where a friend face plants on the floor following a fatal heart attack. 

As Richard, Hanks creating a complicated portrait of an everyman whose fear of moving past childhood keeps them in this house, even remarking at one point that he actually thought his constant worrying would stop bad things from happening. And though Wright imbues Margaret with a glowing, youthful optimism, that too will gradually fade under the weight of insecurity and societal pressures, leaving her to find the joy in tinier, seemingly throwaway moments that will grow monumental in retrospect.

Paul Bettany gives the film's best performance as Al Young, a flawed, cynical war veteran with a rock hard exterior that seems impossible to crack, making it easy to see how his stubborn traits influence and even traumatize son Richard when he starts a family of his own. Very much a product of his era, Al drowns his pain with booze and smoking while keeping a firm, overprotective grip on Kelly Reilly's Rose who, like Margaret, put her own goals on the backburner.

As Rose and Al advances in age to the point that his son and daughter-in-law become their caretakers, Bettany's turn grows even more interesting, displaying a vulnerability that provides valuable insight and justification into his more prickly behavior. And of everyone, Zemeckis really hits it out of the park with this character's visual presentation, believably aging him on screen from a young man in his twenties to an ailing senior citizen.

Despite feeling epic in scope, the film clocks in at just over an hour and a half, carried by Jesse Goldsmith's seamless editing and the fact Zemeckis moves so fast, with years and decades passing in the blink of an eye to replicate the experiences of these characters. As time flies, we're transported to the near-present where the home's latest occupants Helen (Nikki Amuka-Bird) and Devon Harris (Nicholas Pinnock) confront the issue of police violence and deal with the COVID pandemic. Inevitably, side stories like that, the The Franklin vignettes and a subplot involving Indigenous Native Americans receive less attention due to the unusual structure. But while the overall narrative may lack the unity of The Tree of Life, it's still hard to complain when so many of its scenes still manage to  powerfully register.

If nothing else, Here is a brutally honest, unapologetically melodramatic look at the passage of time that uses its unique, experimental single location narrative to magnify the minutia of human experience. It's not for everyone, but even those who consider it a failure would be forced to admit Zemeckis takes a huge risk in giving audiences this much to unpack. With a format that practically invites repeated viewings and reevaluation, it'll be fascinating to gauge how it ages once the vitriol dies down, leaving us to appreciate the reality we at least have a director bold enough to try.                    

Yellowstone (Season 3)

 

Creators: Taylor Sheridan and John Linson

Starring: Kevin Costner, Luke Grimes, Kelly Reilly, Wes Bentley, Cole Hauser, Kelsey Asbille, Brecken Merrill, Jefferson White, Gil Birmingham, Josh Holloway, Ian Bohen, Denim Richards, Jennifer Landon, Eden Brolin, Forrie J. Smith, Wendy Moniz, Ryan Bingham, Karen Pittman, Q'orianka Kilcher, Michael Nouri, Gretchen Mol, Josh Lucas, Will Patton

Original Airdate: 2020

 
★★★ ½ (out of ★★★★)    

 

**The Following Review Contains Major Spoilers For The Third Season of 'Yellowstone' **

 

It was only a matter of time. For the past two seasons the threat of the Yellowstone Dutton Ranch being targeted for purchase by land developers has become increasingly imminent, whether John Dutton (Kevin Costmer) likes it or not. And of course, as we've come to know the character it's been no secret that he'd rather die than give up the ranch left to him by his father and he spent decades operating. Now, it may come to that, as Montana's powerful influential Livestock Commissioner is experiencing somewhat of a fall from grace in the third season of Paramount Network's Yellowstone. Having exhausted nearly every political loophole, bribed politicians and law enforcement and vanquished most of his enemies, it seemed at the end of last season that he'd finally cleared the board and could take a long, deep breath. 

 

You could almost say that peaceful calm appears to have washed over the Dutton patriarch as we start a season that could lead to his ultimate "unraveling," to borrow the title of the two-part first season finale. John's on a downward trajectory, even if he doesn't know it yet, and the rest of the family are fighting their own individual battles, which in the end will converge as one. As they always do. After an action-packed twenty episodes, this season is more of a slow burn, but an equally rewarding experience that results in its most jaw-dropping cliffhanger yet. 

 

We should have seen it coming since every piece of business was leading there, but when the moment does finally arrive, it still somehow lands like a punch to the gut. Everything was leading to this single event, or even more accurately, setting up the big question: "Who Shot John Dutton?" There's no need to mince words or avoid spoilers since the season can't possibly be discussed without acknowledging the giant-sized elephant in the room. All roads lead there since so few of his foes, family or supposed friends have managed to get at him until now. 

 

Cool, calm and collected, John's not someone who can be easily rattled since everyone in his insulated orbit is eventually forced to fall in line and do things his way. Or face the consequences. This season everyone's facing the consequences, with characters that already seemed all figured out pulling the wool over our eyes or pushing past boundaries they weren't aware even existed. If nothing else, it's revealing, placing the Beth and Jamie feud front and center with some big developments that explain a lot, while still leaving us in the final minutes with more questions than answers. But with this series at least we know they will come, and rarely do those revelations ever disappoint. 

After disposing of the Beck brothers and rescuing kidnapped grandson Tate (Brecken Merrill) at the end of last season, John's (Costner) position as Livestock Commissioner is in serious jeopardy, informed by governor and girlfriend Lynelle Perry (Wendy Moniz) that the ambush he led alongside Kayce (Luke Grimes), Rip (Cole Hauser) and the rest of the gang led to an amount of bloodshed that simply can't be brushed under the rug.

 

Agreeing that questions will be asked and investigations conducted, John amicably agrees to resign in an effort for everyone to save face. But as usual, he has his motives, installing Jamie (Bentley) as his replacement after favored son Kayce forcefully rejects the offer, viewing the position as too political for his liking. Priorities soon shift when Beth (Reilly) and Chief Rainwater (Gil Birmingham) agree to team up after uncovering that there are already plans for a new development in the valley spearheaded by the charismatic Roarke Morris (Josh Holloway) of Market Equities. 

 

After a local Native American girl goes missing, Rainwater appeals to Monica's (Kelsey Asbille) commitment to her people, as she dangerously accepts a new mission that concerns Kayce. As the arrival of an old nemesis of John's stirs trouble for Rip and the ranch hands, Roarke starts closing in on the purchase, forcing both Jamie and Kayce to take on new roles to help the family. But with Beth's relationship with Rip moving to the next level, she finally unloads the soul-crushing baggage at the source of her hatred of Jamie. If that doesn't fully rip the Duttons apart, then the secret Jamie discovers about his own past surely will, just as the family are at their most vulnerable. Roarke definitely smells blood, and no one may be able to stop him from going in for the kill. 

There's a lot of maneuvering this season, and at points you could almost literally feel the characters jockeying for position within the family, as writer/creator Taylor Sheridan introduces a new threat, albeit one who initially seems rather innocuous comapred to past baddies. In what must be his most memorable TV role since Lost ended over a decade ago, Josh Holloway brings his sarcastic charm to the role of Roarke, initially presenting himself as someone Beth mistakenly believes can be easily outsmarted, if not for the fact that she's doubting whether the ranch is still even worth fighting for.

 

The Duttons are far from presenting a united front, making it a bit easier for Roarke and his ruthless corporate attorney Willa Hays (Karen Pittman) to chip away at them. In response, John has his players perfectly aligned in the exact positions he needs with Beth on the legal offensive and Jamie installed as Attorney General, which leads to Kayce reluctantly stepping into Jamie's short-lived role as Livestock Commissioner after much coercing. 

 

Ironically enough, Kayce is a natural as Livestock Commissioner, connecting with ranchers in that way Jamie, or even John, couldn't dream of. That he manages to do all this while still upholding the law speaks volumes, especially under these circumstances. While they barely share so much as a scene together, it's still almost impossible not to draw comparisons between Luke Grimes and Josh Holloway, as there are definite similarities in not only their acting style, demeanor, appearance, but the sarcastic, anti-hero characters they've played. Kayce's more of an idealistic straight-shooter than the rougher-edged Sawyer was on Lost, but there's otherwise a lot of overlap there. And now, with Holloway getting the chance to play this full-fledged villain, it'll be intriguing to see Kayce and Roarke eventually cross paths in what's sure to be a memorable acting showdown.  

 

If Kayce truly comes into his own this season and thrives in his new position, Beth seems more vulnerable than ever, still obsessed over her hatred of brother Jamie.  And after much build-up and speculation, we do find out the source of all that resentment in a shocking, powerful flashback that pulls back the curtain on the defining event that triggered the fractured, toxic relationship between the two. 

 

Revealing more about Jamie than we had previously thought possible, episode 3.5, "Cowboys and Dreamers" establishes him at an early age willing to do anything to protect the family name or please his father. Or at least that's what he tells himself when as a teen he not only pressures sister Beth into aborting Rip's baby, but doesn't bother telling her the decision to do so will leave her unable to again conceive. 

 

It's pretty low, even by Jamie standards, completely reframing how to view the enormity of their feud, Beth's bond with Rip and the equally shocking discovery Jamie makes about being adopted. That he accidentally discovers this decades-long secret rather than hearing it from John, sends him into a tailspin, and a mission to track down his birth father, Garrett Randall (played by Costner's The Postman co-star Will Patton). Coming face-to-face with the grizzled ex-addict sent to jail for murdering his biological mother couldn't come at a worse time for Jamie, whose current identity crisis is trumped only by his blinding hatred for step-dad John. 

For Jamie, having another bomb dropped on him that he'll soon be a father as well couldn't come as worse news for someone so incapable of functioning as a responsible human being. Of course, Bentley's excellent as usual at portraying this tortured personality that we still somehow root for him to turn things around, for everyone's sake. But this is the first time where it's gotten so bad for him that the ship may have finally sailed on his potential redemption. Judging from the final few episodes, it seems more likely that his situation will only worsen from here. 

If the season's going to remembered for a single image, it would be a creepy and disturbing scene involving Rip that comes in the finale, the culmination of him proving his loyalty to Beth. I guess. The cemetary-set sequence really has to be seen to be believed, as it's difficult to extrapolate what exactly Sheridan was going for with it. In a lesser series without this one's stellar track record or an actor as talented as Cole Hauser there's no telling how awkward it would have come off. Still, there's no denying that it looks like something you'd sooner see on an episode of The Walking Dead than Yellowstone. 

While that's an extremely odd tonal departure for a show not at all known for it, Jimmy's recuperation from his bronc riding accident and growing relationship with new girlfriend Mia (Eden Brolin) becomes a major focus, as does John's ultimatum that he can't ride rodeo again. It's a decision he wrestles with, right up until the show's final moments, which again place him in a potentially fatal scenario. This guy just has the worst luck, as do Rip and Lloyd (Forrie J. Smith), who are shocked to discover that Walker (Ryan Bingham) is not only still alive after Kayce took him to the "train station," last season but still hanging around performing in bars. This realization, and how he's absorbed back into the ranch with a new mutual understanding of his arrangement is one of the season's biggest highlights. 

After the departure of the only female ranch hand, Avery (Tanaya Beatty) last season, the considerably rougher and tougher Teeter (Jennifer Landon) is brought in to fill that void. While the character gets off to a shaky start as an obvious redneck stereotype, the writers do eventually flesh her out after she and Colby (Denim Richards) are viciously attacked by Roarke's henchmen. But a potentially more interesting and higher stakes character is introduced with the arrival of Rainwater's cold, calculated lawyer Angela Blue Thunder (Q'orianka Kilcher), a mastermind dead set on doing anything to stop Roarke from developing on that land and extracting revenge for her people. 

If this season picks up steam more gradually than its preceding ones, an argument can be made that precipitates from the necessity to do a lot of table setting for the characters as the story gains momentum. By the time we reach the finale, it becomes glaringly clear that Sheridan's blueprint worked. In the ultimate cliffhanger, there's reason to fear at least three of the series' major characters' lives are in serious danger, most especially John, who we last see on the side of road after being shot multiple times. If anyone could survive this, it's undoubtedly him, having already defeated a bleeding ulcer and numerous other threats against his life by a variety of enemies. He's just too stubborn not to, even as he's unaware that the fates Beth and Kayce also hang in the balance, both having also been targeted.

 

There's this already established sense that Yellowstone is unpredictable enough to never discount the idea of a major character or two being sacrificed to serve the story's larger purpose. But when it comes to these three, any of them drawing their last breaths seems unlikely if the series it to continue at the level of quality viewers are accustomed to. Instead, with a rogues gallery of potential suspects lined up, Sheridan will likely spin this yarn around the themes this series' foundation has long been built on: loyalty and revenge. The Duttons will come looking for the latter, and when they do, business promises to pick up.          

Yellowstone (Seasons 1 and 2)

Creators: Taylor Sheridan and John Linson

Starring: Kevin Costner, Luke Grimes, Kelly Reilly, Wes Bentley Cole Hauser, Kelsey Asbille, Brecken Merrill, Jefferson White, Danny Huston, Gil Birmingham, Ian Bohen, Denim Richards, Forrie J. Smith, Wendy Moniz, Ryan Bingham, Michael Nouri, Gretchen Mol, Josh Lucas, Neal McDonough, Terry Serpico

Original Airdate: 2018-2019

 
★★★★ (out of ★★★★) 

It's become almost a cliché to call a any overlooked series "the best show you're not watching," but in the case of the Paramount Network's Yellowstone it's an especially odd designation given that it's steadily become cable's most watched drama. It isn't overlooked as much as just critically underappreciated, since you hardly hear anyone talking about it nearly as much as they should. Or maybe, the show's quality just speaks for itself in a streaming era where everything has strong buzz for a week or two before fading from the public consciousness. Having premiered in 2018 and just wrapped its third season, Taylor Sheridan and John Linson's modern-day western focusing on a family-owned cattle ranch in Montana has quietly solidified its staying power by delivering some of TV's best storytelling.

A throwback in every sense, the series gives the legendary, long underrated Kevin Costner the role of his career, if not necessarily an unexpected one, given the actor's rich, on screen experience in this genre. While joining a long line of recent television anti-heroes, it still seems like the part he's been preparing for decades to play if only he was a given the chance. Now, with a character he can really sink his teeth into, that opportunity's finally here.

 

The Dances with Wolves, Waterworld and The Postman star casts a John Wayne-like presence over the proceedings as the show's grounding force, accompanied by a supporting cast that's just as strong, unspooling this family's story at a rapid but controlled pace that has you on pins and needles awaiting how the next threat or betrayal that takes everything in an entirely new direction. That old adage that you don't choose your relatives has never been more apt, with each having wildly competing, often selfish motivations that are not only tearing this unit apart from the inside, but frequently placing them in the line of fire, both literally and figuratively.

Set against a Montana landscape majestically shot by Beasts of the Southern Wild cinematographer Ben Richardson, the push and pull between those who want to protect the integrity and heritage of the land and developers looking to cash in with massive commercialization projects is a constant theme. But on either side, motivations are rarely what they appear, even as the show navigates the plight of Native Americans who still must deal with the ugliness of discrimination. In the narrative tapestry Sheridan weaves, life is a vicious cycle wherein the more things change, the more they'll stay the same. Until they don't.

Family patriarch and Bazemore's influencial, respected Livestock Commissioner, John Dutton (Costner) controls and operates Dutton Yellowstone Ranch, the largest of its type in the country, ruling over his family and employees with an iron fist. His oldest son Lee (David Annable) is a Montana Livestock agent while also working as the ranch's head of security. Youngest son Kayce (Luke Grimes) is a former Navy SEAL estranged from his father after leaving to live on a Native American reservation with wife, Monica (Kelsey Asbille) and their young son Tate (Brecken Merrill).

John's daughter Beth (Kelly Reilly) is a feisty, foul-mouthed alcoholic financier emotionally scarred from guilt over their mother's accidental death over twenty years earlier, as well as other traumatizing childhood events. She's extremely loyal to her father while and has been in and out of a relationship with the ranch's foreman and John's right-hand man, the intense Rip Wheeler (Cole Hauser).

Jamie (Wes Bentley) is the family's attorney and aspiring politician, but also the black sheep, torn between his unhealthy obsession with winning his father's respect and his increasing discomfort with the way the Duttons illegally conduct business. He's also the subject of sister Beth's hatred and scorn, as the two siblings are embroiled in a blood feud that frequently erupts in verbal and physical confrontations, during which she frequently gets the better of him.

The threats to the ranch come from all sides, as Chief Thomas Rainwater (an appropriately stoic Gil Birmingham) is determined to take back what he believes is stolen land for the Native Americans who originally inhabited it, planning to expand the reservation to include a casino. Meanwhile, billionaire land developer Dan Jenkins (Danny Huston), wants to drive the Duttons out, and isn't above resorting to threats and illegal activities to achieve his goal. From the series' opening scene we see the levels he's willing to sink to destroy John, proving he hasn't done his homework on the man who wields enough power in Montana to have both the state's entire police department and its governor, Lynelle Perry (Wendy Moniz) in his pocket. That is if he can trust them, or even his own family.

The Duttons are immediately rocked by tragedy, as the war over land and cattle leads to the death of oldest son, Lee, with Kayce caught right in the middle. Torn between his loyalty to Native American wife Monica and their son, he realizes the battle lines have been drawn and he may have to leave the reservation to return "home" to his estranged father, whether he wants to or not. Or at least before people start making assumptions about his allegiances. 

 

This inner struggle drives Kayce's arc throughout these twenty episodes, resenting his dad for disowning him when he had a child with Monica, while also realizing his ties to the family ranch give his young son Tate the best shot at a secure future. But it isn't necessarily a safe one, which causes a massive rift in his relationship with Monica, who already feels like an outsider due to her heritage. 

Like Kayce, Monica's prideful and stubborn, justifiably unwilling to take handouts or help from anyone, especially father-in-law John, whose initial objection to their union was well-documented. The feeling that as viewers we've been tossed into a story that's already logged in years (if not decades) is perhaps the series' greatest attribute, allowing us to gradually form judgments about these characters based as much on their current actions as their tangled histories. The relationship between Kayce and Monica burns slowly in that regard, with Grimes and Asbille bringing an understated power to their roles, as their story shifts and surprises with each new, seemingly insurmountable challenge.

 

At least on the surface, Costner projects John Dutton as a laid-back, easygoing guy who puts family first, which of course sharply contrasts with the meglomaniacal tyrant everyone views him as. Or does it? With this complicated individual, many things can all be true at once, with the actor proving himself brilliantly adaptable at summoning up all these various facets of his personality, the layers of which are continuously being peeled away. Full of complexities and contradictions, he'd just as easily blackmail or murder anyone that crosses him or his family as he would spend the day fishing with his grandson. 

 

Having his world turn upside down following the the death of wife, Evelyn, John's had rough, unexpected on-the-job training as a single dad, the results of which his adult children are still experiencing the fallout from. A reconciliation with Kayce and a chance to bond with young Tate feels like his way of making amends and reclaiming, and therefore extending, his family legacy.

 

As resistant as the angry but quietly noble Kayce is to returning to the fold, he's still easily the stablest of the siblings, if not necessarily the most loved. That designation easily goes to "daddy's little girl" Beth, who's had to live for years feeling responsible for her mom's death and the family setbacks that followed, uses older brother Jamie as her punching bag, letting all her rage out on him for reasons that won't be fully revealed until later. 

 

Kelly Reilly plays Beth as a fearless, take no prisoners pariah, who's more than happy to let Jamie know how worthless he is, or threaten anyone who even thinks they're taking this land. In playing the series' most exciting wildcard, Reilly rarely engages in the types of choices that would brand the character as a strictly one-dimensional psychopath. Like Bentley, she has moments where it's not clear whether we're looking at a grown adult or scared little girl still reeling from the fallout of her mother's death. And because of the circumstances surrounding that, she's had as tough a time coping as anyone, including her father. And besides constantly drinking herself into a stupor, she's taking it out on anyone and everyone who dare come near her daddy's ranch.  

 

Wes Bentley's performance as Jamie really is something else, as the actor primarily known for his acclaimed supporting work as the disaffected teen neighbor in American Beauty over twenty years ago completely reinvents himself here as weak, petulant man-child Jamie Dutton. Since receding from the spotlight, he's taken many parts since, but this feels like a full-fledged comeback for an actor whose low-key intensity is exploited to maximum effect. The harder this outcast tries live up to his dad's expectations, the more spectacularly he seems to fail, as evident during his clumsy pursuit of the state's Attorney General position, further establishing him as the family's expendable pawn. 

 

If only Jamie's heart or conscience was able to go along with it, as he's constantly attempting to take the moral high ground in the face of their illegal activities, all while denying himself the strength to avoid getting sucked back in. Bentley's so skilled at conveying fear and insecurity you can almost literally feel the character's nerves every time he's sharing air space with his dad or sister, both of whom reap a certain satisfaction from bullying a willing doormat. Even they start to realize he's so self concious that his intended help often puts everyone in danger's path. The sight of this grown man running and hiding from his father and kicked in the crotch by his adult sister should be a bad joke, if only it was, and Bentley didn't bring a sort of tragic pathos to the role that almost makes you sympathize with him. His future was carved out a while ago, molding him into the dysfunctionally stunted dope he's become. 

 

Unable to take a stand or make any kind of firm decision, Jamie's even taken advantage of by his girlfriend and campaign manager Christina (Katherine Cunningham), who's more intrigued by what he could potentially do for her than the man himself. But "potential" is Jamie's most dreaded word, as we discover in the second season the pathetic lengths he's willing to go to please his disapproving dad, mainly due to fear of how badly he'd falter on his own.

 

If Kayce and Rip comprise the muscles of the ranch operation then Beth is often that, plus the brains, consistently proving herself as not only the most dangerous and reckless of the Dutton clan, but the most cunning. Her relationship with Cole Hauser's Rip is among the show's more fascinating aspects, as are the wisely parsed out flashbacks depicting his arrival on the ranch as a troubled teen taken in by John and falling for the rebellious Beth. At first, it's tough to get a read on him, but with each passing episode his tough, humorless exterior gives way to the humanity underneath, with Cole Hauser expertly navigating all of it.

 

Sheridan's impactfully placed use of flashbacks accomplish exactly what's needed to enhance the present-day story. In his hands, it's not a device, but rather an essential, completely organic extension of the show's character building that never overstays its welcome. It also features some good, believable performances from Josh Lucas and Gretchen Mol as young John and Evelyn Dutton and Kylie Rogers and Kyle Red Silverstein as the teen Beth and Rip. Toward the end of season two, there's a flashback with Costner as John opposite the great Dabney Coleman as his dying father, John Sr., that's probably the most beautifully shot and performed piece of storytelling the show's done, emotionally but subtly cutting to the core of the legacies and bonds forged between fathers and sons through the generations.   

Violence is a big part of this world, often graphically depicted, but to the series' benefit because so much of it feels true to the environment these characters have inhabited their entire lives. Slick California billionaire Dan Jenkins thinks the Dutton Ranch is his for the taking, gravely underestimating the lengths this family will go to keep it, especially Beth, who plays him like a fiddle. Dan's business partnership with Chief Rainwater (whose motives at least don't seem as outwardly slimy) are similarly driven by profit and expansion, even as he realizes the trust of his people are at stake with a move that's drawing as much skepticism as praise from his contingency, still unjustly viewed as expendable. 

 

But the the most dangerous threat to all comes from Malcolm Beck (Neil McDonough), a ruthless businessman who, along with his brother Teal (Terry Serpico) intimidates and threatens to get in on the action, in the process crossing a line you don't dare go near with the Duttons. The result is an altercation with Beth and his men that should have netted Kelly Reilly an Emmy, as she delivers a painfully realistic, gut-wrenching performance as Beth fights for her life, emerging on the other side permanently scarred and changed from the experience.     

Far from exclusively peddling in gloom and doom, much humor comes from the supporting players, or more accurately, John Dutton's ragtag crew of rotating ranch hands taking up residence at Yellowstone. Jimmy Hurdstrom (Jefferson White) is among the most memorable, given an arc that isn't entirely dissimilar to Breaking Bad's Jesse Pinkman in that he starts as a low level, Eminem-looking thug whose criminal screw-ups land him on the ranch. 

The butt of nearly all the show's jokes, Jimmy's evolution toward becoming both competent at his job (and even at one point a successful rodeo star) mark one of the show's more fascinating character trajectories, growing into someone viewers can truly like and root for. Even as we worry what ridiculous predicament he'll find himself in next. But Sheridan balances that aspect nicely with the deadly serious code that comes with a job that most literally has you branded for life. Once you're in, there's no way out, unless you plan on taking a trip to the proverbial "train station," courtesy of Rip and senior rancher Lloyd (Forrie J. Smith). 

Someone who soon uncovers the trappings of working at Dutton Yellowstone and wants to fight that system is Walker (singer-songwriter Ryan Bingham) a guitar-toting ex-con frequently clashing with Rip, who recruited him upon his release from prision. It's a decision he quickly regrets, as their explosive, slowly simmering feud makes for one the show's more compelling sub-plots, revealing so much about what both men stand for. 

 

In addition to Bingham's contributions to the show's soundtrack (further complimented by Brian Tyler's memorable score and music from Costner's own band, Modern West), he's a calm, steady screen presence who exudes laid-back cool, delivering one of the series' most slyly effective supporting turns and emerging as the perfect opponent for a tightly wound, trigger-tempered Rip. 

Timely as ever, the series may as well be a microcosm of America and the problems currently facing what's become an increasingly divided and fractured country, with the Duttons representing us at both our best and worst. Unfalteringly loyal but reprehensibly corrupt, the family lives in a world where favors and people can always be bought, while still frequently finding themselves on the receiving end of those operating at a moral level far lower than theirs. At his worst, John Dutton is beholden to his own strict honor code, even if it's one that sometimes makes sense only to him, and makes few concessions for anyone in its way. 

 

Like a much harder-hitting Dallas mixed with the finest of Costner's own westerns like Wyatt Earp and Open Range, the series isn't only a narrative accomplishment, but a marvel to look at, starting with an iconic opening credit sequence and theme that already feels like a modern classic, calling back to a TV era when shows were took the task of crafting their lengthy intros as seriously as the material itself. Yellowstone is about survival, and the extraordinarily destructive and sometimes surprisingly caring lengths all these characters will go to do that. Sins and mistakes pass down from one generation to the next, but at the end of day all that's left of any family is its legacy. And the Duttons will stop at nothing to fiercely protect theirs.  

Flight

Director: Robert Zemeckis
Starring: Denzel Washington, Kelly Reilly, Don Cheadle, Bruce Greenwood, John Goodman, Melissa Leo, Nadine Velazquez, Brian Geraghty, James Badge Dale
Running Time: 138 min.
Rating: R

★★★ ½ (out of ★★★★)

Remember that last section in Cast Away when Tom Hanks finally makes it home and is faced with the trauma of seeing how life just went on without him? His girlfriend's now married with kids. He's sleeping on the floor with a volleyball. That third act made the movie for me. It would have been so easy to stop and just call it a win when he got off the island, but director Robert Zemeckis just kept plowing through, knowing full well that the story was just starting and it would have been criminal to deprive viewers of at least a piece. Now with Flight, he's made an entire film about it. The script begins where most movies end, using its entire running time to explore an aftermath and dispense fascinating details we're unaccustomed to getting.

The happy ending comes first, or so it seems. Facing massive equipment failure and diving fast, Airline captain William "Whip" Whitaker (Denzel Washington) rolls SouthJet flight 227 upside down before crash landing in a field outside Atlanta, saving almost all the 102 passengers and crew on board. The only problem: He was drunk and high on cocaine after having spent the night with a flight attendant (Nadine Velasquez). That his condition didn't cause the crash (we think) is one of the screenplay's most creative touches since going that route would have been way too easy and a lot less morally complicated. In fact, the film's quite clear in presenting the notion that there's a better than great chance no other pilot, sober or not, would have known what to do in that situation, much less been able to execute it. If not for Whip, everyone would likely be dead. The bad news is that six people still are, and he and the airline have to answer for it.

At its core, Flight is really an exploration of addiction and guilt. If an event like this can't get someone to stop drinking and using drugs, what can? For Whip the downward spiral is just starting. A deadbeat dad in full denial about the severity of his problem, he miraculously walks away from the crash with minor injuries, only to turn on the news and discover he's a hero. What's strange is that he mostly is. But the NTSB's investigation is heating up and the toxicology reports are coming in. His biggest ally in the battle is an old buddy named Charlie Anderson (Bruce Greenwood), a pilots union rep. Joining him is criminal attorney Hugh Lang (Don Cheadle), whose soften-spoken demeanor belies the fact that he's great at what he does and works tirelessly to keep Whip out of jail. They really want to help but he's having nothing of it, instead hiding out at his parents' abandoned farmhouse and drowning his sorrows in a bottle. His enters a complicated relationship with a heroin addict named Nicole (Kelly Reilly), whom he meets at the hospital and is trying to turn her life around following a near-fatal overdose.

I've probably already revealed too much, as the rest of the film is full of tiny details concerning the fallout from the crash and how those involved with it (directly or indirectly) view Whip's responsibility in it, which is anything but cut and dry. You can only imagine the amount of aviation research Oscar nominated screenwriter John Gatins had to put in to make sure all those details came out right and the work Zemeckis had to do the insure the crash at the beginning has the emotional impact it does. We've seen a lot of terrifying plane crashes on film but this is the first to literally take us inside the cockpit and give us a feel for what it must be like for the pilot and co-pilot when all possible options have been exhausted. And for the passengers certain they're all going to die and appear to be right.

Oscar nominated Denzel Washington gives one of most affecting performances in years as a tortured addict caught in a web of his own lies.Whip knows his silence is morally, if not criminally, reprehensible but he's too consumed by his own demons and false pride to admit a problem, much less accept help. What's most shocking is just how much damage it takes for him to get there, with Washington providing unflinching insight into how addiction grabs hold and doesn't let go, practically writing a person out of their own life. Matching him scene-for-scene in her first major co-starring role is relatively unknown English actress Kelly Reilly, who in addition to pulling off a really credible southern accent, is altogether heartbreaking as a junkie torn between trying to turn her own life around and salvaging whatever relationship she has with this total stranger. In a crowded year full of great female supporting turns, hers still stands out out from the pack, making it a bit of a mystery that she really hasn't been recognized for it.

The film is also filled to the brim with scene stealing cameos, the most memorable of which coming from John Goodman, who couldn't be more entertainingly insane as Whip's hippie best friend and drug dealer Harling Mays. His two appearances make a big enough impact that he even gets his own entrance music. Then there's James Badge Dale as a philosophical cancer patient who's either a twisted genius or has just watched too many episodes of Lost. He has only a single scene that can't be spoiled, but it's the film's because of his disturbing brilliance in it. Melissa Leo doesn't play the NTSB official as the villain she could have been, but instead as a fair, intelligent woman asking all the right questions to get to the truth. It's hard to dislike her. The same could be said for Cheadle's attorney, who at first appears to be a pushover but ends being tougher and more determined than anyone expects, even as he's constantly pushed away by his own client. We want to root for him because he's technically and legally right about the crash's cause but the means he uses to make his case are questionable. There are so many grey areas here, but none greyer than the situation involving Whip's co-pilot, well played by Brian Geraghty. When we finally do hear his take on what happened up there, that powerful scene definitely doesn't disappoint.

As we get closer to to the moment of truth for Whip, it's clear things can only end one of two ways. Dark or darker. Neither outcome can in any way be viewed as a win for the protagonist, though one is decidedly less bleak for the audience. The story is the very definition of hitting rock bottom and it's easily the edgiest, darkest thing Zemeckis has ever done. But most will just be happy that he's gone back to directing live-action, at least temporarily abandoning the motion capture CGI silliness he's been dabbling in with clunkers like Beowulf and A Christmas Carol. This picture demonstrates in full why that career diversion was so upsetting and he should have taken those complaints as a compliment. His real gift has always been in telling distinctly human stories and it's great to see the visual effects used more sparingly and effectively in helping to further that. A nearly two and a half hour, R-rated character study about an addict is probably the last thing anyone expected from the director of Back to the Future and Forrest Gump, but it couldn't have possibly been a more welcome departure. Leaving you with a lot to consider and never taking the easy way out, Flight ends up being anything but predictable.