Certain Women

Kelly Reichardt’s Certain Women is certainly beautiful to look at, and taken on its own terms, it’s some of the writer-director-editor’s most emotionally resonant work. Fans of the filmmaker will most likely find a great deal of appeal in this elegiac tone poem of women struggling to get what they want out of life, even if those women are uniformly uncertain about what that might entail. However, much like its protagonists, Certain Women feels predominantly aimless from a narrative standpoint, expending a great deal of time and film stock going down roads that seemingly lead nowhere. This is not to say that the film wastes that time, simply that those looking for well defined character arcs or significant dramatic tension will be better served looking elsewhere.

Reichardt is an idiosyncratic filmmaker of the first order, known for crafting intensely personal films that often challenge and defy audience expectations. There’s something undeniably engaging about Reichardt’s willingness to eschew traditional structure and pacing, but ultimately the line between emotional immediacy and excessive self-indulgence is one which the filmmaker too often crosses. Her camera’s lingering gaze brings out the best in the film’s mountainous Montana setting, but the longer she holds a shot the more questionable its narrative contribution becomes. The authenticity of Reichardt’s authorial voice and her aesthetic acumen are indeed laudable, but as the credits rolled on this latest effort I found myself wondering to what end her prodigious talents were being employed.

Adapted from a collection of short stories by author Maile Meloy, Certain Women is presented as a series of tangentially related vignettes, connected less by a narrative through-line than by its central characters’ shared emotional landscape of frustration, longing and malaise. When Laura Dern’s beleaguered lawyer (the focus of the first vignette) is found to be sleeping with the husband of Michelle Williams’ harried housewife (protagonist of the second), the connection seems arbitrary rather than driven by any narrative necessity. The sole object of Reichardt’s attentions seems to be a level of psychological soliloquizing on the inner journeys of her characters, and your appreciation of her film will be entirely dependent on your taste for such character studies.

Easily the film’s most significant redeeming value is its exemplary central cast, whose performances are exceptional across the board. Williams is strong if slightly underserved by her somewhat limiting role, while Kristen Stewart and Dern are both phenomenal (which I’ve obviously come to expect of Dern, if not always of Stewart). The standout here, however, is relative newcomer Lily Gladstone, whose practically silent performance steals every scene with its layered and complex depiction of a superficially straightforward character. Reichardt’s willingness to allow her characters the space to emote may verge on the tedious at times, but whether you agree with her aims or not, there can be no question that she achieves them.

Certain Women is a film with very definite drawbacks, but also a work characterized by great sensitivity and nuance. There is value here to be sure, but most of this value will be lost on the casual moviegoer, the film’s primary appeal being relegated almost exclusively to realm of awards-season pontification. That being said, this film marks a major advancement in Reichardt’s maturation as a filmmaker, representing a distinct departure from her oppressively bleak earlier work. If films like Wendy and Lucy were defined by an almost exploitative sense of desperation and hopelessness, Certain Women represents the director’s growth into a more subtly shaded emotional atmosphere. Those with an appreciation for Reichardt’s body of work in particular, or for emotionally grounded filmmaking in general, will find Certain Women well worth their time; while I count myself among those ranks, Reichardt’s rambling narrative left me uncertain as to why she felt the need to tell these specific stories. Rated R for some language.

Opens Friday at Fine Arts Theatre.