Downstream Color

Lofland, McConaughey and Sheridan are on the waterfront in Mud.

««« Mud. Written and directed by Jeff Nichols. At area theaters.

         

We’re on the eve of superhero season, but it’s still sometimes true that ordinary folks are the subjects of movies. Director Jeff Nichols (Take Shelter, Shotgun Stories) delivers a timely reminder of this fact with his poignant, understated Mud—a film whose very title proclaims its ordinariness.

          Don’t be fooled: Nichols is a rising star, and Mud is not ordinary at all. This is the story of two 14 year-old boys, Ellis (Tye Sheridan) and Neckbone (Jacob Lofland) who live and play around the river country of southern Arkansas. During their ramblings they encounter a stranger hiding out on an island with little more than a pistol and the shirt on his back. Mud (Matthew McConaughey) is on the run after shooting a man who offended the honor of his girl, the lovely and remote Juniper (Reese Witherspoon). Fired up with romantic (and hormone-fueled) illusions of their own, the boys make a deal to help Mud escape into the sunset with his lady love. Trouble is, the kin of the man he killed have gotten word that Mud is hiding somewhere close, and they’ve hired some independent contractors to exact Old Testament justice.

          When it comes to telling stories, hacks dwell on plot, the merely talented on character, but masters think about setting. Nichols is definitely shooting for the master class: Mud is full of slow, quiet moments that flow as deep and powerful as the stream it’s set upon. While some reviewers have compared the story to Huck Finn, the comparison shouldn’t be taken too far. Nichol, unlike Twain, isn’t interested in the lighter side of his weighty themes. Instead of farts of satire, Mud delivers a long, slow soak in bayou atmosphere.

          Not that he neglects his characters. Young actors Sheridan and Lofland are terrific here, striking the perfect balance between precocious worldiness and boyhood dreams. McConaughey, who can sometimes come off on the smug side of the river, delivers a remarkably warm, appealing performance. Indeed, the only disappointment is the short shrift given to Witherspoon’s character, who remains a cipher as she lounges at the local motel, alternately waiting and not waiting for Mud to rescue her from the consequences of her choices.

          As authentic as Mud feels, it’s not exactly true to the lives of most 14 year-old boys in America. Instead of outside having grand adventures, most of them are more likely to be found on their couches, having significant relationships with their Xboxes. Getting to the next level of Assassin’s Creed is more likely to appeal to them than helping some colorful vagabond redeem his lost love.

          In this, at least, the comparison to Twain is fitting: Nichols’ script, like Huck Finn, is about an old order on the edge of extinction. In the book, it was the slave-holding south; here, it is growing up with old-time masculine values, predicated on chivalry and violence and devotion to their fathers. Alas, today’s downsized dad is likely to be his wife’s dependent. Like Ellis’s mother here (Deadwood’s Sarah Paulson), most parents in 2013 are content to say “good riddance” to youths misspent in swamps and junk-yards. But when progress also brings disconnection, it exacts a steep price.

© 2013 Nicholas Nicastro