The Claim (2000)

Every time I catch this movie, I'm reminded of the haunting, overwhelming spell I experienced with works like Cimino's "Deer Hunter" or "Heaven's Gate" (as well as several others) that convey this raw feeling of "being there" mixed with lyrical, poetic power. They seem the result of a mysteriously invisible success at combining rhythm, camera work, set design, sound, acting and what not.Funny, though, how each time, I'm left with a drilling question: "what is *wrong* with this incredibly inspired movie?" I found some answers reading the following reviews: I almost completely second the views of1. sumrrain, April 25th 2001, who mostly nails my feelings better than I could have *AND* offers some possible explanations as to what prevents the movie from being even better;I found also found valuable ideas in the review by2. gpadillo, November 9th 2004: I haven't read Hardy's book, but I like to hear gpadillo's take on, amongst other things, what kind of adaptation we are dealing with here.Now, I personally feel the urge to give credit to Sarah Polley's performance. Her presence in most every scene she appears in is so intense and profound as we perceive the multiple layers and the strength in this girl much less fragile and lost than she appears. As I see it, she provides the second underlying main story, hidden literally by the more spectacular Mullan and Kinski, just as well as her character is sort of hidden and hushed to silence by the painful relationship between her parents.I can't think of a lot of "young women coming of age" characters portrayed this powerfully. Nathalie Portman in "Beautiful Girls" as well as Bryce Dallas Howard in "The Village" come to my mind; not much more, in my very subjective opinion. Both actresses which I have tremendous respect for (and I really couldn't care less if Portman made some career choices considered as "poor", or sometimes unfortunate...)This is one of the most ambitious and successful cinematic challenges undertaken in the last ten years, and I really think one can hardly afford to skip it if interested in what a big budget movie *still* can be nowadays.

I can see why this particular film (and many of the director's other works) had such a hard time finding an audience when first released in 2000 - what with the endlessly roaming camera and those flashbacks that seem to come out of nowhere - but for me personally, the problems have less to do with Winterbottom's aesthetic choices as a filmmaker and more to do with audiences pre-conceived opinions about the film due to poor promotion and marketing. In my opinion, the film was woefully misrepresented by the people at Fox Pathè (the distributors) and even by the producers themselves, who seemed to announce The Claim as something of a traditional western along the lines of Unforgiven, or even as a precursor to the glossy, chocolate-box picture Cold Mountain (a film greatly inferior to this). Both of these examples are, however, worlds away from the style and atmosphere of The Claim, with Winterbottom and his screenwriter Frank Cottrell Boyce here providing an almost biblical downward spiral for their central characters that is as far removed from Hollywood as you can possibly get.As you can probably deduce from the title of this review, The Claim is a bleak film, dealing with characters pushed to the edge and pent up with all manner of secret shame, guilt and fury. The story takes its inspiration from Thomas Hardy's The Mayor of Casterbridge, but it is in no way a straight interpretation, but more of a re-investigation and analysis into that central predicament. The story therefore becomes a simple morality tale, though made all the more austere through the director's unwillingness to complicate the proceedings with bouts of melodrama or sentimentality. However, Winterbottom's films are merely simplistic on a superficial level. Like his cinematic countryman Mike Leigh, he creates work from a rough sketch that is elaborated on by his actors as the whole process goes along. Thus, in a way, the act of making a film is a lot like the building of the railroad here, and the stark changes that fall into place within the mood of the dwellers of the central town, Kingdom Come, are therefore representative of the always-shifting viewpoints and overlapping narrative time-lines that emerge as the picture unfolds.The railroad that is so central to the proceedings here has a number of meanings subtextually linked to its involvement in the plot. It is a representation of an uncertain future; about change and progress - the complete antithesis of everything that the character of Dillon represents. It is also the device that brings the pivotal outsiders into town (Dalglish, the charismatic railroad surveyor replete with a posse of men, the dying immigrant Elena, stricken with T.B. and finally - and most importantly - the aptly-named Hope; Elena's daughter here in town to search out her long-lost father). Added to this troika of outsiders, we also have the headstrong and exotic Lucile, Dillon's mistress and owner of the local whorehouse where Dalglish's wayward men spend most of their spare time. Here, the remarkable thing is how Boyce manages to bring the characters together, establishing relationships slowly, like an extended chamber piece. As the story progresses, the emphasis on Lucile, Elena and Dalglish become less apparent, as they begin to merge into the not-too-distant background as Dillon and Hope take precedence over the narrative at hand.Despite the numerous allusions and comparisons to Robert Altman's classic anti-western McCabe & Mrs. Miller, Winterbottom's directorial style is more indebted to European filmmakers, like Fassbinder, Kieslowski and Herzog; as he composes his images in a pallet of stark monochrome, with black-clad figures frost-bitten by snow juxtaposing with the void-like whiteness of the locale; all the while using the editing to break or undermine the rhythm (unlike other films of this genre, that are all about 'establishing' rhythm). The Altman references are merely superficial ciphers, with the exterior of snowbound locations, crumbling bordellos and ever-winding railroads giving way to a depiction of obsession and redemption that has more in common with a film like Fitzcaralldo. It is the character of Dillon that really carries the film, as the director singles him out as a lost soul whilst the town he once loved becomes a metaphor for his prevailing greed and anguish; an idea that goes alongside that other figurative interpretation as the town as a literal whorehouse (with Lucile its newly appointed mayor/Madame); all allowing Winterbottom to draw parallels with a film like Quarelle or Lola by Fassbinder or the latter's inspiration, The Blue Angel.That final scene offers us a haunting evocation of pride in the face of defeat and has the ability to work its way into your subconscious via Winterbottom's use of almost universal iconography. A searing depiction of one man's personal redemption played out against the largest scale; with the key elements of power, betrayal, identity, ambition and loss being worked into every subtle nuance of the script to from a rich tapestry of inter-linked vignettes that come together to create a sort-of Greek-tragedy amidst the decline of the 'wild west'. As Michael Nyman's evocative, bombastic, Morriconne-inspired score begins to intensify, the images of Dillon - eyes devoid of expression as he marches through the town slowly crumbling all around him - plays off an early scene in which a horse caught in a munitions explosion gallops off into the hill, engulfed by flames.

In this otherwise engaging film, the speech by the female actors is disturbingly anachronistic. Their speech sounds like generic end-of-the 20th century American: rushed, slurred, decreasing volume and clipped or swallowed at the end of their sentences. The film is set in California, but long before Valley Girl became Hollywood movie standard. Contrast this with Mullan's "accent." The interpersonal communication, especially in the more casual dialog, displays a distinctly late 20th century urban/suburban attitude. This seems like a directorial problem, an attempt to produce a natural/"naturalized" immigrant speech which only a great UK actor like Mullan can do, while the others, from their European roots, have only the accents and speech patterns they absorbed in 20th century California and environs to fall back on (another IMDb commentator half humorously suggested that this regression was due to the very cold weather during the shoot).

Some of the things that make this a bad movie: I. The movie is confusing, either intentionally (pretentiously) or due to ineptitude.A. A flashback near the beginning of the movie gives no indication that it is a flashback. There's just a shot in which we see people we haven't seen before, without any verbal or stylistic suggestion that this is a scene from the past. The younger actors portraying Dillon and his wife in the flashback bear no resemblance to the actors playing the same roles in the present.B. Although approximately twenty years have elapsed since Dillon sold his wife, he appears to have aged at least thirty years, while she has apparently aged less than ten years. The two actors portraying the woman look so close in age that either of them could have played the part in both the present and the flashbacks. That would have alleviated a small amount of confusion.C. The two unfamiliar actors portraying Dillon and his right-hand man are approximately the same age, have the same build, are the same height, have the same style of gray beard, and wear the same style and color of clothing and hat.II. Much of the plot and the characters' actions seem unmotivated.A. Why does Dillon sell the woman and baby? Near the beginning of the movie, when we see him do this in a flashback, it makes a little more sense. We are led to believe that he has no more attachment to them than to hitch hikers he picked up along his way. His only description of their relationship is that he has "been dragging them across the country," and the woman barely protests. There is little or no emotion or hesitation. It's somewhat believable that he might trade them for gold. But what gives him the right to sell them? Does he own them? Much later in the movie we find out that he and the woman were married and the baby was his. Near the end of the movie, there is a vague implication that he was drunk when he sold them (although there was no hint of it in the flashback). Drunk or not, he must have been pretty angry at both of them for some reason we are never let in on.B. Why does Dillon move his house? It seems to be no more than a gratuitous action scene to give this soporific movie a moment of liveliness (like the pointless explosion of the survey party's supply wagon).C. Why do Dillon and many of the town's men go ballistic when the railroad engineer decides that the tracks can't go through their town? Did the railroad have a contract with them? Did the railroad owe them anything? Dillon and his men were not justified in showing up with rifles and threatening the railroad surveyors.D. Why does Dillon murder two railroad men, and why are there no consequences to him for this brutal, pointless act? There are at least two references to a sheriff in the town, yet he never makes an appearance. No one seems to be upset at all as a result of the murders.III. The actors use accents inconsistently. Both Dillon and Lucy sometimes have accents, and sometimes don't. Dillon, in particular, is ridiculous because at times he has almost no accent and then in the next scene he has a thick brogue that's barely understandable.IV. Anachronistic speech. "You're full of ****!" in 1867? V. Anachronistic hair styles.A. All of the women in the movie, be they prostitutes or not, have stringy, badly groomed hair hanging in their eyes. Try to find a photograph from the 1860s of any woman, anywhere, of any occupation or social class (including prostitutes) with hair like that. Either a studio portrait or a candid shot. You can't.B. Several men of the survey party have long, poorly groomed hair. This is not from the 1860s; it is left over from western movies of the early 1970s.VI. The railroad surveyors are portrayed as semi-literate ruffians. In reality, railroad survey engineers were college-educated, literate men (and real, 19th century college).VII. The railroad survey takes place in deep snow.A. How do they steady their tripods on the snow? B. They are measuring the snow surface, which, in the Sierra Nevada in winter, can be several yards deep. What use would that be? The ground surface would be incorrectly measured, and many prominent topographic features would be overlooked.VIII. The story is set in a mining town, with a large stamp mill next to the hotel and residences where most of the action takes place, yet the mill is obviously never running and the miners seem to spend all of their time carousing and whoring. If this mill had been in use we would have heard it roaring and seen it pouring smoke night and day throughout the movie. Apparently no mining is going on at all. Only the prostitutes are employed.IX. General implausibility.A. A large, wood-framed house is dragged (for no apparent reason) over several hundred yards of ungraded ground, down a hill slope. When it arrives at its destination, no leveling takes place; it's just perfect the way it lands. Dillon, the owner, walks inside and there are no cracks in the walls or broken windows. Even more amazing, the tables and shelves are covered with vases of flowers, decorative pottery, and sculptures that have not tipped over.B. Dillon sets fire to the town with a magic torch. All he has to do is tap any object, be it upholstery, wooden wall, or thick timber framing, and it instantly bursts into fully engulfing flames.In conclusion, the evidence appears to indicate the unfortunate fact that this movie is FULL OF ****!