Viggo Mortensen’s new western is a gem

While the 21st century film landscape is still dominated by superheroes, sequels and cartoons, Westerns never quite go out of style. They feature battles between good and evil, right and wrong, that address themes of sacrifice, resilience, selfishness, regret, betrayal, duty, individualism and solidarity. They are robust vehicles for timeless American themes, and all of these themes are present in abundance. The dead don’t hurtThe story of an immigrant couple trying to make a life for themselves on the unforgiving plains, it is the second film from writer, director and lead actor Viggo Mortensen, who occasionally stumbles onto well-trodden paths. Thanks to his and Vicky Krieps’ excellent leading roles, it still provides moving examples of the beauty, brutality and sadness of the genre.

The dead don’t hurtwhich opens in theaters May 31, begins at the end: Danish carpenter Holger Olsen (Mortensen) sits at the deathbed of his beloved French-Canadian partner Vivienne Le Coudy (Krieps), holding her hand and closing her eyes as she dreams her final dream of a knight in shining armor riding a horse through a sunlit forest. Vivienne is buried in a grave next to their remote home, and as Holger goes about this dreary task, he is watched by his young son Vincent (Atlas Green). The two are soon visited by horsemen led by Rudolph Schiller (Danny Huston), the mayor of the nearby town, who informs him that six men were recently murdered and that a suspect (Alex Breaux) has been arrested and is to be brought to justice. During their conversation, it turns out that Holger is the sheriff, and the look on his face when he hears this news suggests that he knows they have framed a scapegoat for the crime – a fact we also know from the previous description of the massacre.

The dead don’t hurtThe film’s real enemy is Weston Jeffries (Solly McLeod), son of local bigwig Alfred (Garret Dillahunt), though the details of each man’s true nature and loyalties are slowly revealed by Mortensen, whose script jumps uncomfortably between different time periods. The film isn’t particularly clear at the outset, and the confusion created by its formal construction undermines its initial power somewhat. Still, it gradually gains ground as things become clearer, not just about Holger but also about Vivienne, who grows up hearing stories about Joan of Arc and wanting to fight like her father. In 1860s San Francisco, the adult Vivienne, a tough and confident free spirit, rebuffs the controlling advances of a wealthy aristocrat and, at a dockside market – where she officially dumps her suitor – catches the attention of Holger, who sees in her a bewitching mix of beauty and strength.

Mortensen’s shifting between various pasts and the present is confusing and a little jarring, and yet his patient pacing, plaintive score and striking cinematography (by Marcel Zyskind) conjure a poignant mood of gentle longing, tentative happiness and looming danger. It is not long after their first meeting that Holger shows Vivienne the dusty and nondescript apartment and land he calls home. Despite the general dreariness, evidenced by the lack of flowers (which she previously sold on the streets of San Francisco), Vivienne moves in and sets about transforming it into a suitable home for them both – a mission aided by Holger, a taciturn man whose affection for Vivienne is unmistakable and underscored by his acquisition of materials for a garden and a barn.

Stroll there, The dead don’t hurt describes the growing bond between Holger and Vivienne and also the dynamics of their outpost, where Rudolph is mayor and owner of the bank and is teaming up with Alfred to grab most of the surrounding land and the saloon, co-owned by Alan Kendall (W. Earl Brown). The wild card in their plans is Weston, whom McLeod portrays as a typical villain in black, with no morals to curb his nervous trigger finger. Like everyone else in the film, he is an archetype first and a distinctive character second. Nonetheless, he exudes an engaging villain personality, which can also be said about the rest of these characters, many of whom are played by veterans of David Milch’s incomparable Deadwood.

At the trial of the above-mentioned defendant, a judge (Ray McKinnon) uses the handle of a pistol as a hammer and The dead don’t hurt expands on this metaphor, proving with its second half that justice was often meted out through violence in the 19th-century West. Nevertheless, there is as much tenderness as malice in Mortensen’s film. Moreover, it is very sad when Holger decides to join the Union Army, leaving Vivienne to fend for herself. Although Krieps’ protagonist is far from a wallflower (she works in a saloon and builds her ranch single-handedly), this abandonment puts her in a precarious position. Her subsequent encounters with Weston underscore this and complicate her relationship with Holger, who returns from the war years later to find that his home and wife are not quite as he remembers them. After his reunion with Vivienne, he must come to terms with the reality of a new and delicate situation he has created through his own actions.

Remorse, grief and desire for revenge contribute to The dead don’t hurtbut Mortensen refuses to put things in entirely conventional gunslinger terms. Rather, there is a heavy, melancholy atmosphere that gives the proceedings its unique tenor. This mood is further enhanced by the performances of Mortensen and Krieps; he taciturn and kind, she reserved and strong, the two make a winning pair, their warm looks and gestures suggesting the deep warmth and understanding that unites them in this barren and inhospitable region. Although Vivienne’s death is a hackneyed plot device designed to bring about a vengeful finale, Mortensen avoids clichéd fireworks, and his conclusion and coda brim with a wistfulness that is more satisfying than the ugly showdown to which his story inevitably leads from the middle.

In that respect, The dead don’t hurt manages to walk a fine line between the familiar and the unexpected. It overcomes its initial flaws in terms of temporal fragmentation and ultimately comes across as a moving portrait of the complex struggle for survival in the Wild West.