‘The Power of the Dog’ Is A Rare Empathetic Study of Toxic Masculinity

No one knows how to write about lonely men—and what their loneliness does to the women around them—quite like Jane Campion. Her latest, The Power of the Dog—which is now streaming on Netflix and playing in theaters—may just be her most harrowing study of masculinity to date. Based on the 1967 novel by Thomas Savage, The Power of the Dog tells the story of three men—Phil Burbank, George Burbank, and Peter Gordon—all of whom relate to their masculinity in different ways.

Campion tells you the two most important things you need to know about Phil Burbank in the first five minutes of the movie. The first: Phil Burbank is a difficult man. We meet Phil—who is played with drawling condescension by Benedict Cumberbatch—on a Montana ranch in 1925. Covered in a thick layer of dust, he stomps past his housekeeper without eating the dinner she laid out for him. Up in their shared room, Phil meanly refers to his brother George (played by Jesse Plemons) as “fatso.”  George doesn’t object. Instead, he tentatively drops a hint that Phil—who is filthy—might like to try the house bath. But the tone in Phil’s reply suggests a fight, so George lets it go. We get the feeling George has let quite a few fights go over his life with Phil.

Second: Phil Burbank is a lonely man. As he rides his horse on a cattle drive, he happily informs his brother today is an anniversary—it’s been exactly 25 years since their first ride. George, unimpressed, doesn’t react to this news in the way Phil hopes. Phil presses him further—they should celebrate, go camping in the mountains together. When George doesn’t respond, Phil is visibly hurt. He reacts as he always does—by lashing out. (“Do you have a sore gut? You act like it pains you to string two words together!”) Though we see Phil disrespect his brother, we also see he craves a deeper connection with him. Already, he suspects George is pulling away. He’s right.

Once you understand that Phil is a difficult and lonely man—that, in fact, he’s lonely because he is difficult, and vice versa—you understand his relationship to his masculinity. You understand that it’s about control, about measuring his self-worth, and about desperately trying to hold on to what he knows he’s losing. You understand why he torments his brother’s new wife Rose (Kirsten Dunst). You understand that, in Phil’s world—a Montana ranch in the year 1925—he believes such behavior is not just normal but expected. And you understand why, when he’s faced with his new nephew, Peter (played by Kodi Smit-McPhee), he’s deeply uncomfortable.

Peter is the polar opposite of Phil. We meet him as he is quietly constructing an artificial flower in his room, a universal symbol of femininity. When he speaks to his mother (Dunst)—promising to take care of her in their fantasy dream home—his tone is polite and gentle. His frame is thin and fragile; his appearance, almost obsessively neat. (He keeps a comb on him at all times, smoothing his hair periodically.) The first time Phil Burbank meets Peter, he’s confronted with the young man’s high voice, effeminate mannerisms, and the knowledge it was Peter, not a “little lady,” who constructed the flowers for the tables at the inn. Peter seems perfectly happy to reject the social norms that come with manhood—the very norms Phil believes are non-negotiable. This enrages Phil. He mocks Peter, snaps at him, and burns his flower.

Phil’s anger, and his clawing loneliness, take on a new light when it’s revealed he is a closeted gay man. But The Power of the Dog is less about homosexuality than it is about the specific loneliness that toxic masculinity breeds. Even George, Phil’s brother, is a victim of these social norms. He has no tools of communication; no idea how to express his emotions; no way to connect with others—until he meets Rose (Dunst). It’s no wonder he cries tears of joy when they dance together, so moved is he by the notion of no longer being alone.

All three of the leading men in Power of the Dog cry on-screen: George when he dances with Rose, Peter when Phil mocks his lisp, and Phil when hears his brother and sister-in-law having sex. Campion treats each of these moments with respect and empathy. The pain these men feel is not a joke, nor is it an earned comeuppance. This is not to say their suffering isn’t at least partly self-inflicted—certainly, it’s Phil’s fault that he pushes everyone away—but Campion wants viewers to see that it’s a tragedy. If masculinity is a prison, then Phil is trapped until the day he dies, George manages to escape, and Peter was always free. Impossible though it may seem when you first meet him, by the end of the film, your heart will ache for Phil. Only Jane Campion could make you root for the abusive cowboy.

Watch The Power of the Dog on Netflix