StarCat/CatStar

Alfonso Cuarón’s Gravity, managed to do something few films about space have: it
simultaneously conveyed the absolute beauty and profound depth of space, while
still showing the isolating horror and inhospitality of it. Here, Lubezki’s images
manage to much the same for the wilderness, helping to craft a tale of man versus
nature that rivals the greatest films dealing with the subject. We are seeing
photographs made not by just a talented professional, but by a master of their
craft.
Rather than compromise and decide whether to paint the natural world as
perfect and mesmerizing, or as brutal and unflinching, it presents both
simultaneously, with equal skill, leading to a remarkable visual balancing act. We
watch with Glass as a pack of wolves take down a running bison in the evening
light, sharing his expression of disturbed awe. In the coldest days of winter, a
network of ants move as one to collapse a beetle. Flurries of snow rush into frame
and flakes dot the screen. Vivid close-ups get so near to actor’s faces that their
breath fog up the lens, before we pull back and spin around the subject, changing
gaze to look upon the harsh, gorgeous wilderness the entire cast finds itself
surviving in.
And no character survives quite like Glass does, a man whose journey
through complete torture rivals that of almost any other protagonist in film. Few
have had such motive or justification for the vengeance they seek than Hugh
Glass, and Leonardo DiCaprio’s performance makes it so. Largely silent, DiCaprio
expresses every sort of pain possible while displaying the desperation, deep will
and inner growth of Glass through non-verbal expressions and actions, diving
into freezing rivers, climbing inside of dead animals for warmth, taking every
blow with weight and challenging himself as a performer in every scene.
Like a wounded animal, he limps, crawls, and fumbles his way through the
expanse, a frozen wasteland waiting to claim him at any given moment. An
immense amount of effort from DiCaprio manages to communicate a history of a
man given few lines via everything else. His mannerisms, sleeping habits,
expressions and reactions all serve to both tell his own private story and propel
the larger narrative forward.
The character of Hugh Glass undergoes not just a physical journey in this
film, travelling back to the hunter’s camp in his search for Fitzgerald, but also a
spiritual one, grieving and coping with all of his losses. Steam and fog rise through
shots of water like the smoke that plumes off of the burning village that haunts
Glass’ dreams. Images of a dead lover haunt his heart and guide his soul. She says
how a tree in a storm may look like it will fall, if one only looks at the leaves, but if
one looks at the trunk, they know that it will remain. For most of the film, we see
Glass at the leaves. By the end, we are gazing upon the trunk.
He experiences deep physical pain, relentlessly mauled by a grizzly to the
death and hurt through various accidents, attacks and incidents as the film
progresses. He endures intense emotional pain, that of severe betrayal, of
personal loss, of having to see the last tethers to an old life stripped away before
his very eyes. And he suffers spiritually most of all; haunted by the very
beginning by a loss he accrued well before any icy flows of the opening scenes
filled the frame.
Like every character in this film, Glass is defending something; in this
case, the most basic possession: his life. Fitzgerald defends his life and dream of a
plot of land in Texas. The bear that attacks Glass, more a force of nature than a
simple animal, is only trying to defend its cubs which Glass stumbles upon. The
Native Americans that attack, scalp and trample through campgrounds are