With just five hundred dollars, a (very) used car, and a faithful dog to her name, Wendy is living close to the bone, and Williams’ portrayal balances toughness with vulnerability, expressing her dreams and disappointments with the lightest of touches.įrom the outset, Reichardt places her protagonist in a uniquely American context, beginning (and thereafter occasionally punctuating) her film with shots of freightcars and railyards. Extraordinarily understated, Williams gives a tangible, if taciturn performance as Wendy, a twentysomething woman traversing the country en route to Alaska, where she hopes to find work at a cannery. Lucy is, in fact, the same dog, Reichardt’s own gorgeous tan mutt, whose charisma is enough to match that of her redoubtable co-star. Miraculously, though, Reichardt has somehow received my subliminal quibbling and made a new film, Wendy and Lucy, that casts a dog in a title role, opposite Michelle Williams. And to be fair, part of my reaction to Old Joy - which is in any case a beautifully rendered, delicately paced, and acutely pitched film that should be seen by everyone - is due to the uneasiness I feel at recognizing parts of myself and others of my “demo” in the two human (male) characters: Perhaps I feel as though, faced with the awkwardness of hanging out with an old, estranged friend, I’d rather spend quality time with the dog.
She would at least be more affectionate, sociable, watchful, courageous, and sensitive than Kurt and Mark.īut admittedly Reichardt’s film is about these two characters precisely because of their general lack of these qualities. It seemed to me while watching Old Joy that Lucy would not likely be merely tagging along for the ride with the more interesting central characters, she would in fact be the more interesting central character. This is true especially while camping, when a dog’s instincts, fidelity, and perspicacity are at an apex. In such an intimate and intense situation - a “two-men-and-a-doggie tent” - a closely knit trio like Kurt, Mark, and Lucy would necessarily find each of its members on equal footing. But they hardly talk to it, suggesting that they are either hopelessly callous men or secretly “cat people” (or both). One of my very few, utterly pointless quibbles about Kelly Reichardt’s last film, Old Joy, was the dog: Two dudes hang out in the woods around Portland for a couple of days - hiking and talking about stuff and, you know, hanging out - and they bring a dog with them.
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