The Bastard Sons of Terrence Malick

There's plenty to admire in Jeff Nichols' debut feature, Shotgun Stories. I grew up in southeast Arkansas and often wondered why nobody ever set a movie in a world I could recognize.  Now, somebody has tried.  And bless his indomitable heart.

Critics have fallen all over themselves to praise the story of a deadly feud between two sets of half-brothers, and you only have to look to see why. Long, loving shots of raw earth alternate with concentrated and subtle character development.  Sudden violence punctuates meticulously composed tableaux.   Patient long takes sometimes pay off in a big way. At one difficult moment in the narrative, Nichols' lens captures the faint glint of a spider's web aloft on the evening breeze in the golden sunset. Such shots can knock you flat on your ass.

But Nichols' debut film, like that of his accomplished producer David Gordon Green, is clearly hampered by an unfinished aesthetic.  By choosing to emulate the lyrical masterpieces of the auteurist giant Terrence Malick, Nichols has his sights set on an unforgiving style.  At best, every moment feels singularly brave and revelatory.  At worst, bravery takes on the veneer of foolishness.