Stakes are high and conditions are hostile in Tommy Lee Jones’ contrastingly low-key and peaceable revisionist western The Homesman, which favors the storyline and dignified virtues of a brave frontierswoman in 19th-century Nebraska, over machismo and the law of the gun. Adapted from Glendon Swarthout’s 1988 novel by Jones, Kieran Fitzgerald, and Wesley A. Oliver, the competently pulled-off The Homesman accounts a crucial and immensely affecting segment in the life of Mary Bee Cuddy (marvelously played by Hilary Swank), a self-sufficient and business-minded woman who volunteers to lead a journey East with three women who have gone “crazy” and who evidently have not been blessed with Cuddy’s strong-headed resilience to survive in a man’s world.
But all isn’t complete in Mary Bee’s world, either. Despite being well-educated, reasonably well-off, and infinitely resourceful, she seeks to share her life and life’s savings with a man to fit inside of a wholesome picture. She doesn’t pursue romance per se, but rather, is driven by logical instincts, subliminally enforced by societal expectations. Mary Bee happens to be the kind of woman townfolk of her time would cruelly deem “a plain spinster.” So she swallows her pride early on in the film and lays her cards on the table courageously in proposing marriage to a man she sometimes feeds in her home (as she does to others, as a citizen with good heart and high morals), only to be rejected on accounts of her plain looks and bossiness. One quickly gets the sense this isn’t the first time she has gone all out, “manned up” to initiate a proposal, and experienced immediate rejection. So when she unhesitatingly raises her hand to escort a dangerous journey in front of tough boys with “acceptable” (ahem) excuses, her pride –that Swank’s skillful poise and exquisitely sharp features marvelously convey- transcends the screen and touches something within, gently pulling one’s heartstrings.
All that strength surrounds her, but don’t expect Mary Bee –who later on cuts a deal with the drunken claim jumper George Briggs (Jones again) to assist her during the journey- to be the kind of “strong female” who fights, shoots, kicks, and all that jazz. Thanks to the story and Jones’ observant direction (which he once again gracefully displays, following The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada), Mary Bee is allowed to be a woman first and foremost, a human being with emotional needs and desires. She woos Briggs further down the line (whom she first accuses of being a man of low character) and, facing rejection again, not only halts her business plan in its tracks but also fractures her womanly pride and will to fight irreparably. It bears repeating that Hilary Swank navigates through the level of intricacy Mary Bee Cuddy’s character encapsulates with an unprecedented and refined aptitude. Despite the major part Tommy Lee Jones holds in the film, this is undoubtedly Swank’s show.
As the sweeping landscapes, gorgeously photographed by Rodrigo Prieto of Brokeback Mountain, Argo, and The Wolf of Wall Street, host the unlikely quintet of travelers, Jones allows the audience to marinate in an undercurrent of Cuddy’s assured steadfastness and even insecurities, gladly stepping back to let Swank shine. One might not find the earth-shattering authenticity evident in every moment of Kelly Reichardt’s Meek’s Cutoff here; the dialogue seems held back at times, and the film struggles to establish a clearly book-ended time frame. (For example, are they traveling solely during summer, and is it normal to hit as many wintery conditions that time of year?) Yet The Homesman still excels in portraying a woman radically ahead of her time, both a la the period depicted on screen and today’s cinematic landscape where stories of strong-willed women are not only a scarcity but also an increasing anomaly. Unforgiven, Clint Eastwood’s great anti-violence revisionist Western, might have his Bill Munny to save and protect the town’s mistreated women, but in the world of The Homesman, there seems to be no need for the likes of Munny, a singular concept that breathes an awakening breeze of fresh air into the late-year release schedule and awards talk, mostly domineered by stories of brilliant or otherwise distinguished male archetypes. And that’s a journey worth tagging along.
