It doesn’t have to be pretty. It doesn’t have to be right. It just has to work and it has to get done.
Winter’s Bone is the grittiest, bravest movie I’ve seen all year. It is cruel, cold and unflinching in its portrayal of a poor, rugged family town and that steely approach to the world that is echoed in the faces of every member of that community. But this movie is about more than just suffering and kin: It’s about the strength it takes to do whatever is needed to survive, and that iron resolve is echoed and amplified in the performance of Jenifer Lawrence. The girl may only be twenty years old, but she’s turned in one of the best performances of the year and deserves every accolade she receives.
The story is a sad one: Ree Dolly, a young girl of seventeen, is raising her two younger siblings on her own. The boy is twelve and the girl is six. Their mother is mentally disabled and can no longer understand the world around her, let alone talk. Their father is a meth cooker out on bond and missing. No one is there to help. No one is there to care. Life is about getting through each day and fighting to not be hungry. Then a police officer comes by and informs Ree that her father’s bond was paid for by putting the house and land up as collateral. If he misses his court date, the house and land will be seized. With no other recourse and no one stepping up to help her save her family, Ree goes out through the community of her extended family to find out what happened to her father since his release.
It isn’t just the acting that affects you as you watch this movie though. It isn’t just the writing either. In the very heart of this film, surrounded by the courage of Ree and the love she has for her family, there is a sad acceptance that is impossible to ignore. It overwhelmed me, and as I put down my notepad and the credits began to roll I realized that I felt ashamed. I was ashamed because throughout the movie, even though I was drawn in by the story and impressed by the acting, I'd found myself again and again drifting away from the screen. I was ashamed because I understood that this turning away wasn’t a reaction to the quality of the movie, but rather an instinctive and conditioned response to how what I was seeing made me feel.
As the banjo music played over the credits, I understood that the true power of this film lies not within the frame, but without. When you see this world of work and hardened sadness, you can’t help but know the truth in it. You see the real stories glossed over on the news in the soot-strewn faces of the characters on screen and you understand that their lives are both real and lonely. That while many of us are fortunate enough to chase the American dream, there are far more who are thankful just to survive in any way they can.
It is easier to pretend that stories like this one aren’t around us every day. It is easier to walk away from a movie and feel happy about the world, to feel that life is good and we all live in a fair and just place. It is easier to ignore it when you find that you instinctively look aside when something upsets you. When we turn, we are reminded why turning away has become a part of our nature: because life is much easier when we don't see. For those of us with the luxury, how easy is it, and how common, to close our eyes to what we see and pretend that it’s all going to be OK. To go home at night and forget about the rest. This movie, at least for one night, makes you understand again that turning away doesn't change anything.
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