It’s a head-scratcher of a challenge to stuff any one of Kelly Reichardt’s films into a particular genre, not because they straddle several, but because to categorize her works in such a way would feel somewhat reductive. To borrow a term from food culture, her films are perhaps best described as “low and slow”; they’re low-key and move at a decidedly slower clip than the wham-bam speed of mainstream cinema, but there’s a deep emotional richness to Reichardt’s work that can only be arrived at by taking such a measured cinematic approach.
Reichardt seems to have a freakish understanding of human nature, spotlighting moments in her characters’ lives that some filmmakers may deem too mundane to linger on or even show at all. What she sees that others don’t is the invisible weight of loneliness felt by people trapped in the drudgery of a quiet daily routine, longing for something more. Movies like Wendy and Lucy, Meek’s Cutoff, and Night Moves are humble tales not of the American Dream, but of American dreamers and their rude awakenings.
In Certain Women, Reichardt follows the lives of three Midwestern soul-searchers, all strong women whose deepest desires lie just out of reach. The threads tying the stories together are the melancholic mood of the filmmaking itself and the fact that they’re all tucked away in the same small Montana town.
The first story revolves around Laura Wells (Laura Dern), a seasoned lawyer who can’t seem to get through to a pestering, blubbering but oddly endearing client, Fuller (Jared Harris), that his plan to sue a former employer is a bridge to nowhere. His frustration escalates uncontrollably into a hostage situation that’s as awkward as it is distressing, with Laura putting herself in harm’s way to stop Fuller from doing something he’ll regret. It won’t come as a surprise to followers of the two actors that their scenes together are immensely watchable, but it’s in her solo moments of reflection (and emotional exhaustion) where Dern finds the character’s true depth.
Delivering an equally textured performance is frequent Reichardt collaborator Michelle Williams, who plays Gina Lewis, a wife and mother determined to build an “authentic” countryside house for her family. The key to achieving said authenticity lies in a heap in front of her elderly neighbor’s (Rene Auberjonois) house, a pile of sandstone rubble that would fulfill her homesteading dreams but tarnish the old man’s dearest memories. Generational abandonment is the theme, and it’s deepened by the breathtakingly photographed, wide-open landscapes that evoke both serenity and power.
As in all of Reichardt’s work, the drama that unfolds is startlingly direct, and she enlists actors equipped to tackle and elevate such precise, understated material. The revelation here is relative newcomer Lily Gladstone, who in the third act paints an elegant, soulful picture of despair. She’s Jamie, a soft-spoken ranch hand whose only friends, literally, are the horses she tends to. Shattering the monotony of her quiet farm life is Beth (Kristen Stewart), an attorney teaching a night class she decides to attend every week without registration. They share a chat at a local diner after each class, with Jamie awkwardly trying to make advances on Beth, who’s too overworked to notice.
To say that Gladstone is the standout in a movie that also stars Dern and Williams is a bold statement; that is until you see just how riveting she is onscreen. Perhaps one of the best things Reichardt has filmed comes near the film’s end: a long, steady shot rests on Jamie’s face as she drives away from a heartbreaking missed opportunity, with Gladstone conjuring titanic emotion with the subtlest of performances.
Like all of Reichardt’s films, Certain Women asks that you give a bit of yourself to the experience rather than show up with arms folded, expecting a thrilling chunk of passive entertainment. We spend time watching Gina walking alone beside snow-capped mountains and take a long look at Laura pulling on her socks after an empty tryst with a casual lover, not because these private moments are meant to push the plot, but because they’re the best way to connect with who these people are when no one’s looking. Each character is alive with complexity and humor and fascinating things to say, and Reichardt bares their souls completely, as uncomfortable as that can be at times. She’s one of the most important American filmmakers working today, and this may be her best work yet.