The Unknown Country

My favorite way to watch a movie for the first time is to go in knowing as little about it as possible. It’s taking a risk that I’m about to waste my time on some garbage, yes. But it can also lead to an incredible experience. Since I’ve not watched a trailer, I’m not primed how to watch the movie, what details to focus on, nor prepared for what comes next. As such, I can more easily ensure my interpretation of events is based on what catches my eye and how it all rattles around in my brain. From this perspective, re-watches pose no issue, as after a single watch I’ll be less susceptible to someone else’s framing incepting my brain, or to marketing removing the suspense. Re-watches can then be used to consciously look at the film from another viewpoint, expanding the experience rather than ruining it.

I realize that as a critic, this is a bit odd. In theory, I’m mostly writing for people who haven’t watched the movie. As I see it, reviews are helpful to direct you towards thematic elements and pieces of the craft, to help explain why a film does or doesn’t work. Done well, they should be able to call attention to aspects while leaving space for you to interpret events in your own way. Additionally, I imagine if you know you want to see a movie, you’re less likely to seek out a review beforehand anyways. So I write for the person who doesn’t know if they want to see it, maybe haven’t even heard of it, to help make the case why they should (or shouldn’t) seek it out, not to form their opinion for them.

I bring it up because I was fortunate enough to experience The Unknown Country in this way. I knew it was another 2023 release which had garnered praise for Lily Gladstone (releasing on digital before Killers of the Flower Moon hit theaters), but that was it. I didn’t even know what genre it was, which was part of the magic: I spent the first thirty minutes unsure of exactly where it was situating itself, instead forced to just take it all in. Which gave the film ample opportunity to do its thing, unencumbered by any sort of expectations I may have, consciously or not.

Tana (Lily Gladstone) embarks on a journey. We know not where to: at first, we just see her get into her car and begin driving. She’s noticeably upset at points, although we’re unsure why. We soon learn that her grandmother passed away, and not long after she got an invitation to attend her cousin’s wedding back home, where she hasn’t been in quite some time. Once she arrives, despite seeming to find a strong sense of belonging and joy, it becomes clear it will not be her final destination. And it’s unclear if even she knows where that is.

Part of what makes this film so remarkable is that five minutes in, as Tana sits in a diner nursing a coffee and lost in thought, we all of a sudden start to hear voice over from her waitress, Pam Richter (playing herself). She describes how she came to own six cats, how each one was unwanted in some way, and how they became the loves of her life. This essentially comes out of nowhere: the movie shifts to see Pam warmly interacting with some customers just beforehand, but we’ve no indication she’s going to become a character. Almost as soon as she enters, Tana eats her breakfast and continues her trek, and Pam leaves the picture. And you’re left to wonder what that was all about, how it will play into the story, and whether Pam is a real person or a character.

Pam’s is not the only story we get. There are another handful of people who get their own little cutaway narration, and some whose backstory becomes evident as their lives swirls around Tana. All have something in common: they are demonstrations of people finding their passion, their love, their reason for living. For many, it wasn’t achieved until much later in life, being finding their soul mate or starting their dream business or just dancing the night away. Because at its core, this is a tale about the ephemerality of life, and the importance of finding and pursuing that which makes you happy and comfortable. It’s never said, but the idea and its fruits fill the film with such joy that it becomes undeniable. It’s a mantra even present in a goofy little gathering Tana comes across in the streets of Nebraska.

As such, the contrast with Tana’s isolated journey makes it clear that she’s searching for that peace, finding it here and there in little pockets, but still feeling restless. A few early encounters show her it must be sought out, not taken for granted. But many help to reinforce the joy she finds in connection. At a certain point, she’s determined what she needs to do, and has no intention of stopping until she achieves it. That search brings her across large swaths of the American Midwest, treating the audience to absolutely gorgeous landscapes, be they blanketed in snow or drenched in sunlight. We meet many colorful characters of all types, all with a unique outlook on life that they’re eager to share with Tana, while not holding so tight to her as to get in the way of what she needs.

I keep referring to the people she meets as “characters”, but that gives the wrong impression. Pam’s story started me thinking this might secretly be a documentary, which was only heightened when I noticed the characters of Lainey and Devon had surnames that matched the opening credits. As things play out, some clear distinctions between Tana and Gladstone emerge, situating this more cleanly in docufiction. That is, it’s frequently framed like a documentary, and many of the people in it are playing themselves, or slightly fictionalized versions thereof. Everyone apart from Gladstone seems to be exactly who they are on screen, with only their relationship to Tana fictionalized. Tana is the only wholly fictional character, but even she is based in large part on Gladstone. We don’t get deep background on her, but we know she grew up on a Native American reservation, and moved to the city as a pre-teen to be with her grandmother, just like Gladstone.

The lack of a definite boundary between the two for so much of the movie adds to its already incredibly dreamlike wanderings throughout the middle of the country. The minimal dialog, the collage of talk radio and news snippets that play in the linking moments, the numerous dream pop needle drops to add to the airy and contemplative impression created by all this uncertainty and wide open spaces. It creates a full and undeniable tone through layering of minimalism into a rich tapestry of meaning, taking on some of the trappings of a delayed coming of age tale, while staying decidedly separate, and more mournful.

Put simply, this whole thing is a vibe. It’s gorgeous and subtle and lovely and wonderful. The plot is minimal, but what’s there is poignant and sweet. The characters are all fantastically realized, in part since they’re real people. And Gladstone is unsurprisingly fantastic, selling all of this with a seeming ease and naturality that makes Tana leap off the screen. That type of performance can so easily go unnoticed, because it doesn’t look like she’s doing much. But with so much of the story resting on her shoulders to communicate non-verbally, and how successful it is, it’s hard to look past. This is quietly amongst the best of the year, and I hope her accolades for Killers of the Flower Moon will lead more people to it.