The Revenant is practically defined by its tenaciousness. Whether in relation to its plot, characters' journey or troubled extended production, director Alejandro González Iñárritu’s follow-up to last year’s Best Picture winner Birdman is another stubborn accomplishment that eventually owns up to becoming a towering achievement. It’s a grueling, often arduous experience — one where, for better and for worse, you feel every drop of blood, sweat, piss and tears thrown on the ground and into the mix. But you can't call it short on its ambitions. That's for damn sure.
Every frame is shot in frigid, snowy environments, with nearly every actor (and subsequent crew member) thrown — often quite literally — headfirst into the wintry wilderness in negative-degrees weather, drudging on — again and again — through long takes and natural lightning dictating every inch of the film. No corners are cut here. No shortcuts are taken. Nobody walks away unscathed. It’s a ferociously exhilarating viewing, as you’d expect, but —in ways both intentional and not —one that’s also just as exhausting at every turn.
It’s never less than commendable, but beyond the physical dedication brought by everyone on board and the technical marvels painstakingly created behind-the-scenes, it’s hard to justify the full extent of its persistence sometimes. Sure, it’s a story worth telling. But one told in this way? Especially considering all that went down to make it possible? It's so painfully crafted and tediously well-made that anything that's simply "good enough" about it has to be taken with scrutiny. Such are the costs of tenacity, and the limitations of aiming for excellence at every possible turn. If there's one thing that's left truly in the cold here, it's the humanity. But this frost does have some bite.
But maybe that's more than just the point. In the dreary outskirts of uncharted American wilderness through the Louisiana Purchase in 1823, we follow frontiersman Hugh Glass (Leonardo DiCaprio) as he sets the course headed by the gruffly John Fitzgerald (Tom Hardy), alongside a party of trappers and fellow hunters, in search of pelts. Joined by Captain Andrew Henry (Domhnall Gleeson), as well as Jim Bridger (Will Poulter) and Hawk (Forrest Goodluck), Glass’ half-Indian son, they salvage through the tortuous terrain, with the violent hostility of the Arikara Indians never too far behind. They are less than half of the men that initially set out for this mission, and though the threat of the Indians is never far behind, Glass realizes soon that the Arikara should be the least of his concerns.
Away from the rest of his party in the woods, Glass is viciously attacked by a mother bear and fatally wounded in the aftermath. Though he’s saved by procedural medical care by his companions, he quickly burdens the crew as they carry him via makeshift stretcher through the rest of their trails. And Fitzgerald will not idly stand by and let this happen to himself — or his men, for that matter. Suggesting they kill him to put him out of his misery and to make the mission smoother, Hawk, Bridger and Henry refuse. Glass is the only one who knows the way, they say, and they also don't want his blood on their hands. Though his insistence is ignored, Fitzgerald is not one to let the rest of his men get in the way of what he feels is justified.
During a quiet moment away from the crew, Fitzgerald attempts to smoother Glass to his death, and only ends up with a knife inside the man's son. Maliciously buried half-alive and left for dead by his child's murder and a reluctant Bridger, a wounded Glass uses his survival instincts and understanding of the land to crawl, creek and salvage his way through 2,000 miles of unforgiving mountain landscapes, freezing waters and attacking foes to get to those who've done him wrong. Crippled but unfazed, he'll stop at nothing until his vengeance is due.
It’s a long, winded exposition to retribution, and one never short on peril and anguish. Its insistently bleak presentation is never distilled, and its muddied color tone are often less-than-inviting to the beauty found through its gorgeously devised cinematography by the great Emmanuel Lubezki, once again under the guidance of his Birdman director. But it’s as harrowing as you’d expect, and also as violently masochistic — even borderline sadistic — as you may or may not fear. There’s almost a gleefulness found in how gruesome it can be, as though the filmmakers take pleasure in how much suffering they can unveil in every waking moment to these characters.
But then again, though, it’s torment is part of its reason for being, and what it believes it needs to be communicated to effectively tell this story — regardless of whether any pleasure is gained by its audience in the process. Much like Iñárritu’s films prior to his award winner, it’s an unrelenting look at personal sacrifice at the hands of injustice. In that respect, it’s hard to criticize said relentlessness, as that’s exactly what it needs to get across to feel Glass’ journey. To understand the pain, to see through his blind fury and believe his dead-set intentions, you need to live through the same pain suffered through our lead. In that respect, and only in that respect, The Revenant has more in common with The Human Centipede III (Full Sequence) than any other (future) Best Picture nominee ever should.
But while it verges into such territory, The Revenant is not complete torture porn. It has a strong, pulsing message about the manifestation of one’s purpose in primeval society against the laws of man and nature. But it’s also not without its religious subtext, albeit fairly overbearing ones at that. Iñárritu is as spiritual as ever here, and he’s never known particularly for his subtlety. But his approach is more mythological than quasi-surreal, as it was in Birdman. It’s about transcending beyond the physical, more than simply surveying extraordinary, against-the-odds opposition, told in a very Malick-esque style. Everyone is defined by their vigilant, incessant destiny. And quite often, these destinies shine brighter than their characters. But where the director shined at displaying how one lived up to their purpose despite the flaws of their personal well-being before, here the folklore-like, larger-than-life aspects of our lead's metaphysical personality typically takes over the growth of his characters.
We briefly glimpse at who Glass was before he scavenged through the trenches with his crew, but we never grasp his full persona. He’s defined as a victim — both to his surroundings and to those who surround him — more than as a character. Likewise, we’re often told more about Fitzgerald and his worldview than we’re shown. Only the weight brought through Hardy’s masterful performance gives us insight into the layers found within his detestable brute. It’s a very human movie in many respects, allowing us to show us men at their most raw, battered and vulnerable, but also one meant to be felt more than its understood — which is juxtaposed with Iñárritu’s less-than-muted approach to subsequently let the full depth of these characters be somewhat lost in translation.
It’s then a repetitive, meandrous, mildly pretentious, tiring and trying effort in every respect — but, nevertheless, one that deserves your admiration and appreciation for its sustainability and integrity. Though slightly miscast trying to play against his loud, in-your-face tendencies, DiCaprio gives this one everything he can give, almost guaranteeing he’ll get an Oscar based solely on his willingness to not let up. Much like Glass and Iñárritu, they persist against the odds, and sometimes against their better judgments, to have what they feel justified to gain. It’s a brash, dirty, vicious, unforgiving effort all around, and though it may not fully justify its endurance and torment, it still puts up a good fight to become as gritty, brutal and malicious as a studio movie like this can possibly be. And in that respect, The Revenant earns its retaliation.