Jessica Shaw must be getting paid a lot of money by Entertainment Weekly. This week: French Bulldogs are in. So are Fondue pots, almonds, and cashmere berets. Ooh-la-la. Shaw also thinks going to the Catskills is in, which means she hasn’t seen writer-director Larry Fessenden’s Wendigo, a tale of domestic discord set on a wintry landscape where Native American myth and a child’s imagination become unlikely murderers.
George (Jake Weber), Kim (Patricia Clarkson), and their son, Miles (Erik Per Sullivan), head up to their weekend cabin only to hit a deer and feel the wrath of uppity hunters. Unexplained bullet holes appear all over Kim and George’s cabin, the source of origin almost insignificant next to the method with which the holes are discovered. An expert mood-setter, Fessenden is relentless and unapologetic when it comes to dialogue, forcing the spectator to listen to Kim’s lengthy phone conversations before the woman discovers a small mound of white powder lying next to a sugar container. The entire set piece suggests a bizarro ritual at play (curiously, the sugar’s brand is a Native American one). It’s one of many moments that emphasize the mystique of a land now overrun by city folk and their false presumptions.
You’ve seen Wendigo before (in Antonia Bird’s Ravenous and on The X-Files), and here the creature is as open to interpretation as ever. Miles receives a toy Wendigo from a mysterious Native American at a local thrift shop, and after going sledding with his father, they encounter a real-life Wendigo on the slopes (here, he’s visualized as a deer/man/tree composite). This Wendigo isn’t scary per se, and the film is short on bloodworks, but it’s not Fessenden’s goal to jolt. Since the monster is born of myth, its terror is strictly an existential one.
In one sequence, Fessenden literally freezes the film’s deer-loving Catskills natives in time, evoking bloody fairy-tale characters trapped inside a snow globe, unable to run from their yearnings. George goes missing and Kim is too afraid to ask for help because she fears the townsfolk (they hold deer parts in their hands so they must be dangerous). In the end, Fessenden’s narrative is just as much about the ownership and redefinition of myth as it is about a domestic unit finding their way to joy. “I miss Star,” Kim sadly says. She’s lost a daughter or, at least, we think she has (Fessenden never makes it a point to say who Star is).
Miles is a young boy trying to own his fears, and if he ever traveled alone to grandma’s house, you imagine that slimy Otis (John Speredakos) would happily play the part of the big bad wolf. An expert manipulator, the slimy hunter taunts the family with the promise of towing their car (assuring it only after a truck arrives with help), then goes peeping-tom when George and Kim have sex near their fireplace. Otis is ghoulish, yes, but Fessenden allows us to feel sympathy for him, as the man is resentful that city folk have stolen his family’s land. Much like Jessica Shaw did when she decided to tell America that the Hamptons are so five-minutes-ago.
Since 2001, we've brought you uncompromising, candid takes on the world of film, music, television, video games, theater, and more. Independently owned and operated publications like Slant have been hit hard in recent years, but we’re committed to keeping our content free and accessible—meaning no paywalls or fees.
If you like what we do, please consider subscribing to our Patreon or making a donation.
