I went into Leave No Trace expecting something akin to Captain Fantastic, a recent movie that I mostly liked about a dad who pushes his nomadic, wilderness-based lifestyle on his children to mixed results. Instead, I saw a rich and moving chronicle of a father who can't exist in the real world, a country that can't provide for those who need it most, and a daughter torn between her only family and her own life and desires. The film's simple elevator pitch- a father/daughter duo live in the wilderness together, away from the comforts of modern society- fails to convey the depths of its power. Leave No Trace is not the movie you think (or fear) it is going to be. I should have prepared for my expectations to be completely subverted. And yet, I was still left dumbfounded.
This is one of the more heartbreaking films I've seen in 2018, and it executes a gut-wrenching story in the most understated way possible. Director Debra Granik returns eight years after Oscar sensation Winter's Bone for this naturalistic tale of trauma and love, a modest film with a languid pace and concealed emotional power. It's the kind of drama that never gives in when tempted with fast-paced storytelling or spectacular moments of ostentatious acting, settling for an intimate style that proves to be rewarding. In a remarkable way, Granik has made a film that could have existed in the silent age- there is so much power just in the weathered faces of Ben Foster and Thomasin Harcourt McKenzie.
But as the film slowly meanders from one scene to the next, seemingly without much long-term narrative reasoning, it's easy to dismiss the impact of the story. That would be unwise. By the time Leave No Trace reaches its culmination, it's clear that Granik has made something completely unshakable. This is raw, harrowing stuff.
When we first meet Will (Foster) and Tom (McKenzie) on the wild outskirts of Portland, their forest campground home looks like heaven. The father and daughter pairing love their little slice of nature, living off the land and only returning to civilization when it's absolutely necessary. In those early moments, Granik fills every inch of the frame with vibrant greens and rustic brown tones, creating what looks like a modern Garden of Eden. This is their utopia, the one place where they belong. In contrast, the buildings and streets of Portland look dreary and anonymous, uniform representations of bureaucratic control and soul-sucking conformity. The film suffocates the viewer whenever the characters depart their mountainous home; you can practically feel the fresh air when Will and Tom return to their haven.
The opening moments of Leave No Trace depict total perfection. Will and Tom's makeshift home is near and dear to both of them. Will is a supportive father, offering words of encouragement for his daughter at nearly every turn. But perfection is a myth, and it soon becomes clear that one simple phrase could tear everything apart.
"Dad, I'm hungry."
Tom is growing, and she needs more food than her wilderness abode can provide. Leave No Trace asks crucial questions about the nature of care and the responsibility of providing necessities, both in terms of Will and Tom's situation and the relationship between the U.S. government and the soldiers who fought to protect it. Will is a veteran, and he hasn't been the same since he returned from war. When he goes to VA centers, the employees don't give him real help, instead offering prescription drugs that he has no desire to use. The government is not providing for him, nor is it providing for the other veterans who live on the outskirts of Portland. But is Will really providing for his daughter?
The story kicks off when Tom and Will are discovered by a group of police officers, forced to leave their home in a natural park. The social services worker (Dana Millican) is shocked to discover that Tom doesn't feel uncomfortable in her living situation, that she actually likes the independence and freedom. Will and Tom are eventually granted a small home, where they can live without fear of encroachment from the government or others. But it isn't enough for Will- he can't handle any constraints on his life. Tom can adjust, but can Will ever change?
The film evolves into a study of Will's broken mental state, altering its color palette and zooming in closer on its characters as the story progresses. The performances are utterly crucial, and Foster and McKenzie create fully-formed characters with very little dialogue. Debra Granik gave Jennifer Lawrence her first major film role with Winter's Bone, and it's possible that she has discovered another superstar with McKenzie. She's playing a child, and she injects a sense of childlike optimism and creativity into the character, never overestimating Tom's maturity. But if Tom is still a child, she's nearing the tail end of that period of innocence. Watching McKenzie's performance is like watching someone grow up before your eyes, witnessing them come to understand things that would have been beyond their comprehension years ago.
Foster speaks rarely as the troubled Will, but his face does all the talking. There's so much horrible pain on Will's visage, years of torment and anguish that he couldn't shake no matter how hard he tried. At one point, Tom lashes out at Will, lambasting him for not even trying to adapt to his new surroundings. But he is trying- he's trying harder than anyone has ever tried before. Deep down inside, Will knows he cannot survive in this world, a world that has bent him and broken him beyond repair. The most obvious character comparison in my mind is Casey Affleck's broken griever in Manchester by the Sea, a man who couldn't hope to reclaim his life even if he wanted to. Will can't beat the demons inside him. The only way he can manage will eventually drive him away from his daughter.
Granik ultimately arrives at a sequence that feels both tragic and right; it's the correct ending for this story, but you wish it wasn't true. By the time it rolls around, you realize it's the conclusion she has been building to the whole time. Each change of scenery, every moment that drives a wedge in the relationship between Will and Tom- it's all building to an ending that will break you. Leave No Trace sinks into your soul in a powerful way, becoming much more than just a relatively ordinary tale of struggle and identity. Foster and McKenzie give their all to this layered character study, and Granik's compositions are never anything less than meticulous and thoughtful. Put simply, its power is undeniable. This is a gut punch that will leave you reeling.
THE FINAL GRADE: A- (8.4/10)
Images: Bleecker Street/IMDb
This is one of the more heartbreaking films I've seen in 2018, and it executes a gut-wrenching story in the most understated way possible. Director Debra Granik returns eight years after Oscar sensation Winter's Bone for this naturalistic tale of trauma and love, a modest film with a languid pace and concealed emotional power. It's the kind of drama that never gives in when tempted with fast-paced storytelling or spectacular moments of ostentatious acting, settling for an intimate style that proves to be rewarding. In a remarkable way, Granik has made a film that could have existed in the silent age- there is so much power just in the weathered faces of Ben Foster and Thomasin Harcourt McKenzie.
But as the film slowly meanders from one scene to the next, seemingly without much long-term narrative reasoning, it's easy to dismiss the impact of the story. That would be unwise. By the time Leave No Trace reaches its culmination, it's clear that Granik has made something completely unshakable. This is raw, harrowing stuff.
When we first meet Will (Foster) and Tom (McKenzie) on the wild outskirts of Portland, their forest campground home looks like heaven. The father and daughter pairing love their little slice of nature, living off the land and only returning to civilization when it's absolutely necessary. In those early moments, Granik fills every inch of the frame with vibrant greens and rustic brown tones, creating what looks like a modern Garden of Eden. This is their utopia, the one place where they belong. In contrast, the buildings and streets of Portland look dreary and anonymous, uniform representations of bureaucratic control and soul-sucking conformity. The film suffocates the viewer whenever the characters depart their mountainous home; you can practically feel the fresh air when Will and Tom return to their haven.
The opening moments of Leave No Trace depict total perfection. Will and Tom's makeshift home is near and dear to both of them. Will is a supportive father, offering words of encouragement for his daughter at nearly every turn. But perfection is a myth, and it soon becomes clear that one simple phrase could tear everything apart.
"Dad, I'm hungry."
Tom is growing, and she needs more food than her wilderness abode can provide. Leave No Trace asks crucial questions about the nature of care and the responsibility of providing necessities, both in terms of Will and Tom's situation and the relationship between the U.S. government and the soldiers who fought to protect it. Will is a veteran, and he hasn't been the same since he returned from war. When he goes to VA centers, the employees don't give him real help, instead offering prescription drugs that he has no desire to use. The government is not providing for him, nor is it providing for the other veterans who live on the outskirts of Portland. But is Will really providing for his daughter?
The story kicks off when Tom and Will are discovered by a group of police officers, forced to leave their home in a natural park. The social services worker (Dana Millican) is shocked to discover that Tom doesn't feel uncomfortable in her living situation, that she actually likes the independence and freedom. Will and Tom are eventually granted a small home, where they can live without fear of encroachment from the government or others. But it isn't enough for Will- he can't handle any constraints on his life. Tom can adjust, but can Will ever change?
The film evolves into a study of Will's broken mental state, altering its color palette and zooming in closer on its characters as the story progresses. The performances are utterly crucial, and Foster and McKenzie create fully-formed characters with very little dialogue. Debra Granik gave Jennifer Lawrence her first major film role with Winter's Bone, and it's possible that she has discovered another superstar with McKenzie. She's playing a child, and she injects a sense of childlike optimism and creativity into the character, never overestimating Tom's maturity. But if Tom is still a child, she's nearing the tail end of that period of innocence. Watching McKenzie's performance is like watching someone grow up before your eyes, witnessing them come to understand things that would have been beyond their comprehension years ago.
Foster speaks rarely as the troubled Will, but his face does all the talking. There's so much horrible pain on Will's visage, years of torment and anguish that he couldn't shake no matter how hard he tried. At one point, Tom lashes out at Will, lambasting him for not even trying to adapt to his new surroundings. But he is trying- he's trying harder than anyone has ever tried before. Deep down inside, Will knows he cannot survive in this world, a world that has bent him and broken him beyond repair. The most obvious character comparison in my mind is Casey Affleck's broken griever in Manchester by the Sea, a man who couldn't hope to reclaim his life even if he wanted to. Will can't beat the demons inside him. The only way he can manage will eventually drive him away from his daughter.
Granik ultimately arrives at a sequence that feels both tragic and right; it's the correct ending for this story, but you wish it wasn't true. By the time it rolls around, you realize it's the conclusion she has been building to the whole time. Each change of scenery, every moment that drives a wedge in the relationship between Will and Tom- it's all building to an ending that will break you. Leave No Trace sinks into your soul in a powerful way, becoming much more than just a relatively ordinary tale of struggle and identity. Foster and McKenzie give their all to this layered character study, and Granik's compositions are never anything less than meticulous and thoughtful. Put simply, its power is undeniable. This is a gut punch that will leave you reeling.
THE FINAL GRADE: A- (8.4/10)
Images: Bleecker Street/IMDb
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