By Bob Gibbons
Set in the Texas Hill Country of the 1970s, this movie lingers like a Texas sunset, taking its time, lengthening its shadows, bleeding out its colors, slowly covering its details with darkness and a sense of foreboding. You have the feeling there is lots more here, lots that’s left unexplained, not because it couldn’t be, but because it really doesn’t matter. This is a story stripped to its core, reduced to telling us only what we absolutely need to know, often in words that are mumbled, dialog that’s half-swallowed, talk that we strain to hear. It all feels handmade, a rough tale of love and lies, of bullets and bad decisions, of those who live fast and hope their luck won’t run out before they can keep their promises. Director David Lowery is in no hurry to tell his story. The pacing is deliberate, thoughtful, measured. He lets days simmer in the heat, punctuated by small tasks – reading bedtime stories, hanging laundry; roles are underwritten, scenes are under lit, long sequences follow each other wordlessly. Dialog is simple; characters are complex, unanswered questions build suspense. Everybody knows something; nobody knows enough. Everyone is one step ahead – and one step behind – where they need to be. Performances are exemplary in an understated way. The movie is thin, atmospheric. Its title means nothing; it’s a song lyric misremembered by writer-director David Lowery. But the story sticks like southern dust. If you loved Mud and Winter’s Bone, this is a movie for you.