Camera pans into the tranquil creek. Sunlight rests on the water, inching forward, shy and nervous for what lays before it. It doesn’t know the exact imminence, but it can feel something eerie in the air, just like the anxious warriors of the 19th century frontier. The camera pans up revealing the skinny end of a gun barrel. The hunt is on. Closer, closer, until the first gunshot goes off and we dive headfirst into the battle cries of determined men and a furious tribe.
The opening of 2015’s The Revenant is everything that a viewer needs to be completely engaged in a movie. It sets the stage, raises the stakes from the jump, and shows off the brilliant camera work of Director Alejandro Iñárritu and Cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki. It all combines to display one of the greatest opening scenes in film history. Unfortunately, while The Revenant did receive multiple awards including a best actor win for Leo’s incredible performance, it seems as if this movie has dipped way below the radar and has not stood the test of time. In my experience, the film is constantly diminished to the “movie where Leo fights a big mean bear.” While this is a legendary scene, The Revenant is so much more than man vs. bear and a bargain bin purchase at Target for five bucks. I write this piece to present why The Revenant is one of my all-time favorite movies, and I’d like to highlight why this film and its multiple layers should be analyzed and appreciated for years to come. I do not say this lightly. I believe that The Revenant is a perfect movie. And each Winter that I pop the Blu-Ray into my player and snuggle up on the couch with a thick blanket and a cup of tea, I am reminded by just how “perfect” it is. I realize that I tend to place a lot of stock on the symbolism and sometimes ambiguous meaning in films (I’m not pretentious, I swear!), but even while The Revenant gives me my fill, other aspects of great storytelling are certainly prevalent throughout. Characterization is handled flawlessly. When we meet Hugh Glass, he plays the role of protector, keeping his son, Hawk, from harm’s way as much as possible in the grueling American frontier. Leader of the pelting crew, Andrew Henry, asks Glass, “Is it true you killed an officer?” Glass responds, “I just killed a man who was tryna’ to kill my son.” So much is said in this one interaction. We see a man who has not only experienced terrible things in his life, but is also trying to redeem himself, showing his half Native American son that at the end of the day, you must push on, even if they are grief stricken by the passing of the boy’s mother. We watch the ebb and flow of Glass. He’s attacked by the bear and on his last thread of life, while he can’t move and is barely conscious, he witnesses his son murdered in cold blood by Fitzgerald (Tom Hardy). This is characterization at its finest. From the start, the audience understands just how important Hawk’s safety is to Glass and even though fur-trapping is a rough career choice, Glass will always put protecting his boy above all. In this heart wrenching scene, Glass is immobile and can’t do anything but watch as his son is murdered. Laying on his back and consoling Hawk with whimpers and tears, Iñárritu takes the audience and shoves us through the meat grinder, making us feel for the devastated father as Fitz moves on without a hitch. The scene presents something that the main character cannot stand to live without, yet it is literally impossible for him attain. In this moment, the audience understands character motivation and the potential for character dynamism. We want Glass to exact revenge, and the journey to get there is what we are here for. Let’s talk a bit about the bear attack. From the initial bear rush towards the camera to the flesh rip across Glass’s body, the intensity in this scene is heightened at every second. It is truly unlike any movie experience I’ve ever had. But aside from the realistic violence, there is another dimension to the fight that I must bring to light. It comes in the form of an incredible echo. Before the attack, we see Glass gently walking through the woods looking for either hidden ambushers or his next hunt. When he sees two baby cubs passing by, Glass aims his rifle at the animals, resulting in an angry parent bear. In other words, Glass has threatened to murder the father’s cubs, a sentiment that moments later is truly felt by Glass when Fitz stabs Hawk in the gut. The very action that nearly killed Glass at the paws of a bear is the same action that he then experiences from the opposite perspective. Within these two scenes that are 15 minutes apart, we understand an impactful thematic expression: the will of a father to protect his son is to never be broken, whether you’re an animal protecting its cubs, or a man shielding his boy. This is symbolism in its most powerful form. Not only is Glass given proper characterization, but the villain of the story, Fitzgerald, is represented as a prejudice, bone-chilling opposition. The best way that I can describe Tom Hardy’s character is a campfire scene where Fitz is telling a childhood story about hunting with his father. He ends the scene with: “I found God. Turns out, God’s a squirrel. A big ole meaty one… And I shot and ate that son of a bitch.” This is one of my favorite movie quotes of all time. And the manner in which Hardy delivers the line is nothing short of acting gold as the camera lingers on his blank eyes. At first listening, the line may be a bit comedic, but as you delve deeper into the campfire, we are presented with the truth of the character. There are two main aspects of this speech: it represents mental illness of the 19th century and how even though we do not want to like Fitz, we understand that his past has been traumatizing, which has transformed him into a bigoted spaz. He is humanized. Earlier in the movie Fitz says, “Life? What life are you talkin’ about, I ain’t got no life!” He proceeds to say his only semblance of living is through fur-trapping. We all relate to this sentiment -- sometimes life has us backed up to the wall, and the only way to escape is to jump into a bed of fire. In modern context, we can say that Fitz is much like the Joker. We don’t know his exact origin, but we understand that this man has been through hell and back, ridiculed for his lack of societal conformance, and finally, he has snapped. The willingness to kill Glass’s son to move forward is a testament to his surpassed breaking point, which we can certainly see by the end of the film. Fitzgerald can also be seen as a reflection of what Glass could potentially become if he stays on the revengeful path -- a man that has no hope and nothing left to live for. The real determinant of character is what you choose to do in the moment of breaking. How will you respond to fallout? What will you do when the proverbial “fork in the road” appears and darkness is so enticing? The brutal confrontation at the end of the film represents the difference between Glass and Fitz, or a man who gives into the urges of hopelessness and a man who accepts fate and prays for a better tomorrow. Whether you believe in a higher power or not, the overtones of God are presented throughout the film. The most meaningful representation comes in the final moments of the film when Glass has Fitz on the ropes and is ready to complete his revenge. Just as he is about to deliver the last blow, Glass realizes that his entire journey has never been about him. That he is not and never will be the final judge, so who is he to determine who lives or dies? As the helpful Pawnee tells him atop the mountain, “Revenge is in the Creator’s hands.” This progression is what encompasses the entire film. Glass has literally been through hell. Attacked by a bear. Son was killed before his eyes. Left for dead. Had to learn to walk with massive injuries and heal his gaping cuts by charring the flesh of his throat. Not to mention survive the frozen frontier with minimal supplies as he trekked all the way back to his station. In this moment, Glass knows that the physicality that he had just endured is only a fraction of the hurt and anguish he felt when his son died. Then, why would killing Fitz make things any better? If he kills Fitz, does the higher power see his execution as a worthier action than the killing of his son? Glass stops himself, looks at the battered man that had once played God by taking life in his own hands, and lets Fitz go alive in the river, where fate will be the final judge. The Revenant ends a bit ambiguously and leaves Glass’s future up to the viewer. He stands upon a rocky incline and looks up at a vision of his late wife inviting him to come forward. He stares, awestruck in tears, as the camera zooms on Leo’s face. Fade to black. Throughout the film, Glass has dreams of his wife and son from when they lived in a Pawnee village. Before Hawk’s murder, the paralyzed Glass hears his wife speaking wisdom. She says that when you look at a tree wavering in a storm, it appears that the tree will fall because of its bending branches. But if you look at its base, you’ll see that the tree is stable. “The wind cannot defeat a tree with strong roots.” This quote resonates throughout Glass’s journey. In one of the simplest but most impactful moments of the film, the camera pans over to a flurry of tall trees wavering in the wind just after the painful growls of Glass. The film lets us know that yes, our protagonist is hurting, but he has strong roots and will not break as long as he is breathing. The same phrase repeats later in the film when Glass must burrow in a snowstorm. After the final confrontation with Fitz, Glass limps up the mountain where deadened trees surround him. If you pay attention, you will see that these trees have minimal branches, but their bases still stand strong like victorious boxers after the twelfth round. By the time we get to the ending beat, we can only assume that whether Glass has died or not, his stability, or “tree trunk”, has always been his loving wife and son. They are the reason he always pushed through adversity. There is so much to detail about this movie. I still haven’t spoken about the incredible cinematography, engaging silent moments, and beautiful use of natural lighting throughout the film. And how the depiction of 1820 gives us loads of verisimilitude while holding true to a realistic interpretation of Native American culture and the Pawnee struggle to find a captured daughter. Or about the hypnotic score that plays over earth-spanning shots as we are dropped into the wilderness. I’m serious, just listening to the theme score brings me into this sort of euphoric state where I feel like I can either write a 200,000-word novel, or freeze to death, which ever comes first. It’s that profound. With that said, I didn’t want to write this article to explain everything that is great about the film, but I wanted to comment on what makes this movie so special to me and why I find myself thinking about my experience with The Revenant all the time, even five years later. I truly believe that it is a masterpiece, and I wish more people would dig a little deeper into the film aside from the bear attack, although, that scene is pretty wild. The film speaks to me on a human level. It reiterates that when all is lost and devastation seems insurmountable, there is always a way to keep going. You must find your sturdy base, the thing that grounds you and makes you fight each day. With it, you can conquer all, without it, your tree will come crashing down.
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AuthorNico is a writer and comic book creator from Houston, TX. ArchivesCategories |