Visually Sumptuous Yet Quietly Haunting - The Rider's Exploration of Masculinity in the Modern West

On paper, The Rider simply does not work. In fact, it’s almost oxymoronic. An Asian woman crafting an emotional journey about life in the heartland of America. A story, in fact, about what it really means to be a man, or masculinity, in the storied American Western tradition. And doing so using non-professional actors playing essentially what are fictionalized versions of themselves in their own native settings. All of this is risky as all get out, and apt to fall flat on its face. Instead, it’s an undeniable work of genius.

The journey to The Rider for director Chloe Zhao really began on the set of her first film on the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation of South Dakota. While there, she met the real life Brady Jandreau, a dweller on the reservation who was a somewhat celebrated bronco. However, after falling and sustaining a serious head injury during a rodeo competition, Brady was left literally trying to get “back on the horse.” Clearly, Zhao saw this as a story rife with opportunity, and so she utilized the entire Jandreau family and other real-life rodeo folk from the area to tell her tale.

There is much to celebrate about The Rider. For starters, Zhao makes the brilliant move of eschewing any sort of “inspirational narrative” or anything Lifetime-y, opting instead for a simpler character study. Largely because of this, her story is often poetic, but not in a brazen or pretentious way. This is all the more the case because, as it would fortuitously turn out, Jandreau inhabits his own fictionalized skin REMARKABLY well. He is soft-spoken, largely un-emotive, and yet he oozes empathy from his very being. It is rare indeed to see such a stoic character create such an intense well of feeling or take us on such an emotional journey.

But Jandreau does just this, and Zhao’s lyricism is brought forth all the more vibrantly by her cinematographer, Joshua James Richards. While the plains are long and oft forgotten on the “American scene,” they are unspeakably beautiful terrain. Richards shows us this through incredible shots of landscapes and bright vs. fading light throughout the film. In Zhao and Richard’s hands, what could have easily become a mumblecore docudrama morphs into a film of astonishing beauty.

Beyond the shots and performances, individual scenes are simply magnetic. Brady often ventures out to visit a long-time circuit friend, Lane Scott (playing himself), who was a terrific rider in his own right before becoming paralyzed in a horrible accident. The sequences with Jandreau and Scott will just leave you in a puddle. They’re the most HUMAN film got for me in all of 2018. Lane demonstrates his still positive humor and spirit through witty sign language, and Brady matches him with jaw-dropping compassion.

Moreover, Brady’s real life sister Lilly, who has a mental disability, offers some of the sweetest and most laugh out loud tender moments of the entire picture in her interactions with her brother. She too is presented with exquisite care. And lastly, Jandreau demonstrates his staggering expertise with a horse, in a scene where he actually calms a bronco with extreme precision. Zhao just turns on the camera and lets it roll. It is simply breathtaking to watch.

But this is, after all, a story about masculinity and purpose, and what it means to be a rodeo star when doctors have told you that another head injury could turn you into a “vegetable” for life. Jandreau’s mind oscillates back and forth on this quandary throughout. He is as shaky about his future as is his right hand, which trembles as a constant reminder of his injury and the plate in his head. Scenes depict this struggle with his other friends, as they together search for a sense of purpose. Brady even seeks other employment to compensate for his distant drink and gambling-loving father.

All of this finally comes to a head in a scene where he at last wears his emotions on his sleeve, and the tears feel crushingly poignant and yet contain the slightest glimmer of hope. The Rider most of all to me is a poem, one with human players, light, landscape, shifting moods and a haunting exploration of masculinity in the modern West.