"I've been poor my whole life, like a disease passing from generation to generation."
Hell or High Water (2016) makes a good argument that the Western, even if repurposed for a modern setting, isn't ever really dead. While David Mackenzie's film employs familiar tropes, its violent, elegiac staging makes it a standout.Two brothers, hard-luck Toby Howard (Chris Pine) and trigger-happy Tanner (Ben Foster) start robbing banks across West Texas. Texas Rangers Marcus Hamilton (Jeff Bridges) and Alberto Parker (Gil Birmingham) are on their tail, divining that the brothers aren't typical bank robbers. For one, their robberies are better-planned than the average crooks; for another, they're only taking miniscule amounts of money. The Howard brothers may have a sympathetic reason for turning to crime, which won't stop the Rangers from trying to bring them to justice.
At heart, Hell or High Water is a throwback to the days of Jesse James and Bonnie and Clyde, casting its robbers as oppressed blue collar types fighting crooked bankers. Mackenzie and writer Taylor Sheridan stress the disconnect the Howards feel from a society that values banks over people (unsubtly made through a graffiti spotted in the opening sequence). Toby views poverty as a congenital condition he's determined to shake through any means necessary, while Tanner's just a Wildman. Their scheme is to pay off a family mortgage, stealing the bank's own money to pay them back. Even their pursuers achieve a grudging respect for their mission, if not their methods.
Even if viewers don't cotton to this Robin Hood posturing, the movie makes interesting sport of potentially hackneyed material. Hamilton and Parker are typical feuding partners, Hamilton peppering his half-Indian, half-Mexican buddy with racial slurs while Hamilton responds by branding Hamilton senile. Their easy relationship contrasts with the casual racism on display by assorted Texans, who automatically assume that Mexicans are knocking off banks, or treating Comanches as drunken gamblers or sultry bedmates. It never occurs to anyone, except the Rangers, that good ol' boys might be breaking the law.
Mackenzie's direction is relatively unaffected: the movie strongly recalls No Country for Old Men in its depiction of Texas (actually shot in New Mexico) as an aridly beautiful hinterland, scarcely developed from pioneer days. The robberies play out in short, violent bursts, with the film's central character relationships given equal heft to the action. Perhaps the best scene is Tanner's last stand, a strangely beautiful scene where he holds off a horde of cops with a hunting rifle. It climaxes with Tanner's strange final gesture, both defiant and despairing, imagining himself a mythic "Lord of the Plains" just as he's cut down.
Chris Pine invests his character with remarkable depth and restraint, showing Toby as bone-weary, indignant, impatient and desperate. He's a compelling antihero who's believably averse to violence, yet doesn't see anything wrong with robbing crooks bigger than him. Ben Foster effectively reprises his psycho creep role from 3:10 to Yuma, with an added shade of filial loyalty. Similarly, if Jeff Bridges' characterization resembles his Rooster Cogburn, it's hardly to his detriment; his slurred, amiable grouchiness is always fun to watch. Gil Birmingham is equally effective, making a potentially weak sidekick role into a tough, relatable personage.
The story beats used in Hell or High Water go back to the Western's earliest days, but they've endured for a reason: handled well, they work. Perhaps the movie stresses its antiheroes' virtue overmuch, including a finale where Hamilton reaches an understanding with Toby over his actions. Yet Mackenzie and Sheridan's deft rendering of these tropes lends Hell or High Water an air of Greek tragedy, its characters foredoomed as Sophocles heroes or John Ford gunslingers.
