Sunday, July 31, 2011

A Recommendaton to See "BUCK" -- A Movie Now In General Release -- Not A Bakken Story

Recommending movies has absolutely nothing to do with the Bakken (in general; some exceptions).

But in this case, I felt I would be remiss in not saying something.

I would assume that many readers who live in the Bakken area, who come from the Bakken area, who are interested in more than just oil when it comes to this part of the world, have some of the same interests that I have.

Having said that, it then might make sense why I am posting this.

I saw Buck last night. No one recommended it to me. I stumbled across it looking at what was playing in San Antonio's premier theater showing independent movies -- if that's how it is said. I saw Buck and it obviously and immediately attracted my attention.

I went to it last night. It is a documentary on the cowboy -- and he's the real deal -- who advised Robert Redford while filming The Horse Whisperer.

Because it's a documentary, it won't appeal to a lot of folks. The action is subtle, but the story is sublime. I get emotional easily, so it wasn't a surprise that I teared up during the movie, but what was surprising was to the extent I teared up, and it occurred during scenes that were funny, poignant, and very, very sad, all at the same time. I don't ever recall that combined feeling in other documentaries. It's my experience that feelings generally come one at a time, but not at all once.

The "cameo" in the movie with Robert Redford was excellent; I wish there had been a bit more of him, but perhaps there were concerns it would take a bit away from the subject of the documentary.

There will be one very difficult scene in the movie for horse lovers, but I credit the director for not cutting it.

Unrelated to that scene, I will be forever haunted, in a good way, by the deputy sheriff in the documentary.

I think there is a surprise every three minutes in that film.

The director of this outstanding film was a woman, and I immediately thought of Sofia Coppola and Lost in Translation. Although Buck is a documentary, and the other is a "movie," there are similarities.

Once of the great "things" I have enjoyed about the United States is how each region is so different, and how one can really enjoy each region. Across the northern tier where I have spent a lot of time, one can feel the culture change as one goes west from Minnesota across North Dakota to Montana. Even eastern North Dakota is separable from western North Dakota.

I grew up in Wililston, eighteen miles from the Montana - North Dakota state line. There was nothing at the state line on Highway 2 except the "State Line Club" on the Montana side. But yet, every time I cross the Montana state line (as we called it; never referring to it as the Montana - North Dakota state line, or the North Dakota state line) I felt like was crossing into a place, as my nephew says, "far away in place and time."

Those of you who have grown up in western North Dakota, probably more specifically west of the Missouri, and those of you who have grown up in eastern Montana, can immediately identify with "Buck."

When he speaks, he speaks like a poet. One can hear his cowboy poetry and his cowboy wisdom.

My best childhood friend would love this film. I hope you get a chance to see it. 

2 comments:

  1. From Redbox this spring I rented a documentary. A large video rental might have it. Also check Netflicks on demand.

    "Temple-Grandin". http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1278469/
    http://www.hbo.com/#/movies/temple-grandin/synopsis.html

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  2. Thank you for the recommendation.

    I vaguely remember hearing something about this woman.

    It sticks in my mind, because my grandfather worked in a meat packing plant in Iowa. When I was about 4 or 5 years old, I suppose, he took me to the plant. I was overwhelmed (in a very, very bad way) by the smell, sights, and sounds (particularly the smell), and remember feeling physically sick. Of course, I loved cows at that age and the whole visit was nightmarish.

    I don't know if my father or grandfather knew how much it affected me at the time. I can't remember if I "stuck it out" or if I asked to leave.

    I "recovered" fine (I am not a vegetarian, for example); no lasting effects, as far as I know, but it was one of the few childhood memories that is imprinted in my mind.

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