Unidos Pelo Sangue

This film has deeply affected me. The first time I saw it I had tears pouring down my face throughout. The second time I found myself really getting into it. Sure, you know what it's about from the other reviews. We ask ourselves why Frank isn't content with life. Most of us would feel closer to Joe, but Penn enables us to sympathise with this wretched character of Frank. He's not a nice guy. Myself; I am happy that this film is not necessarily a period piece. It takes a while for you to understand in what context the film is set. What makes this movie so good is that is underlining message remains ambiguous. This is certainly a film that will stand the test of time. It's not about the nation of America during the 70's. It's about the relationship of two brothers, and one just so happens to have come back from Vietnam. It could have been set in 2003 and the underlying message would remain the same. The talent of Penn is in that he never once blames Frank's actions on the Vietnam War. He was a bad kid before the War. I urge everyone to see this movie. You will either sympathise with the characters and understand the underlying message or you will not. I also urge you to open your mind before you see the movie, and if you don't understand it. Think about it for a while longer.

There are a few of us who feel that Sean Penn is one of the major driving forces in American cinema, an actor of pure artistic intentions, utter sincerity and empathy, and thoughtful (if often misconstrued) politics. He's kind of an heir to a few different giants -- Brando, in terms of rough sexuality and pugnacity; Nicholson, in terms of intelligence as an actor (he shares with both a volatile, sometimes over-the-top acting style and tendency to play human beings with emotions rather than playing acting techniques); and Cassavetes, emphasized with this film (which he dedicates to him). He's more meticulous and crafty than Cassavetes, but just as emotionally direct. (And like him, there may be times where you don't know what to think of what you're seeing; I think that's true of anything original, or anything that eschews typical film conventions.) But despite that similarity, the film isn't quite real -- the Indian mythos, the narration of David Morse, Viggo Mortenson hopping on a moving train. It's the stuff of hazy dreams. The whole picture is imbued with a quiet feeling -- you wish you could show it to those on the right who hate Penn for his outspoken politics, just to prove that he cares deeply about exactly the type of people they think he and his Hollywood friends are against.

At first the Indian stuff is a little cheesy, but it leads up to a climax where it really works and feels organic. More than being an actor who can direct, Penn is at times a real master -- he's got a rare gift of ending films with a real punch, without it being cheap. Here, the film gets more technically flamboyant as it goes along -- the camera moves a little more, the inter cutting between a few different scenes gets quicker -- and it ends wonderfully. You have to have a certain willingness to go along with the story that Penn's telling (many times characters do things that don't make any logical sense, but emotionally it fits), and the semi-metaphysical closing really worked for me.

Part of the value is in the chance to see good actors work; it's strange that actors known for their histrionics so often direct films that are completely devoid of showiness in terms of acting. That is to say, when Mortensen freaks out on his wife (Patricia Arquette, whose constant squeals are incredibly -- and aptly -- uncomfortable), it's tense because of the exchange of emotions and not because of any actorly shaking or screaming. Penn is a very generous director, and I think that's shown by his allowing Charles Bronson to do some of the finest work of his career. The movie feels very indebted to the '70s, what with a few of the zooms, the folk/rock music, and the kind of small, rural movie this is that rarely gets made anymore. (It owes something to Dennis Hopper's own films, I think; specifically in Mortensen's speech about the "math kids.") 8/10

I spent over a decade watching and reviewing films for my job at MTV Europe. Even before and since I voraciously consume cinema of truly all kinds as a passion, I don't care about genre or even subject, only that a work is honest, inspired, effective. As with any art, of course.

I saw The Indian Runner at its Cannes film festival debut in 1991 and left the Grand Palais screening speechless. Where to start? We often hear about the usual checklist of script, acting, cinematography, editing, music, and so on, and of course all are stellar here. But it's the magic of the mix of all these and so many more subtleties about the experience of this film that makes it not just a terrific, achingly beautiful thing, moving, illuminating, but, I believe, having revisited it so many times over the last thirteen years (like so very few others among the hundreds seen once), one that is important and bound for a belated re- positioning as a cinematic gem in the history books of the future.

Cassavetes is clearly a major force behind this in the best possible way; he'd have stood up and applauded the way Penn took his spirit, his openness and gave it a more cinematic scope, color, pace, size, without compromising his own direct gaze on the human condition. Before this film Cassavetes' huge contribution had not been properly picked up, the baton in some respects still dangling where the late auteur had left it years back. In Indian Runner Penn points the way forward for this bold tone of cinematic voice (in a way to my mind even more clear than in his subsequent The Crossing Guard and The Pledge). The moment at the start of the film when Joe's dead victim's father begins singing a work song at the police station still stands out as the revelation that this movie had its own palette. I could go on and on but I'd probably bore... even ME (like Frank, no?).

What struck me in Cannes and forever since is how this massive achievement was so overlooked by other critics and then the public. I felt I was simply out of step but never wavered in my commitment to the film as a private cause which I'm pleased to say everyone I've talked into seeing it has agreed during exciting post-mortems. Also, as with great works in general, I notice it only gets better with repeated visits over the years. And seeing the comments about it on this site has cheered me up no end. I'm not alone!

It's one thing for a film to endure; another entirely for it to emerge from obscurity years after it was made and left aside. That very trajectory, likely, it seems now, for The Indian Runner, is going to become one of its many very special qualities. Conversations about its simple and complex strengths are gaining a new dimension with this look into what it was that made it so inaccessible to most of its viewers for its first decade and what it is and will be that finally unmasks the gem that until now was so oddly neglected. Suddenly it's on DVD and people are discussing it. Could it be good taste or whatever you call this kind of appreciation is on the rise? Wow. Reasons to be cheerful indeed.

And for those of us who first came across Viggo Mortenson here, imagine how itchy it made us sitting through his fine but passionless Lord of the Rings!

Here's to poetry, vision, and honesty about pain and life without judgment. Lord knows it's rare these days.

Absolutely one of my favorite films of all time. Not enough real movies like this. Tells an important tale of family, love and loss. Sean Penn is a national treasure as both an actor and filmmaker. David Morse and Viggo Mortensen give their best performances of their careers. Charles Bronson is such a surprise as the father.

I've often argued with myself whether Sean Penn is a better actor or director, but the truth is he's just as captivating a storyteller whether on camera or behind it, and The Indian Runner is a bold testament to the latter, a somber, tragic family drama that leaves the viewer reeling with it's hard luck characters and sorrowful resolutions. Set in the heartlands sometime after the Viet Nam war, Penn's focus is on two brothers who have been at odds with each other years. David Morse's Joe is a farmer turned cop, an even tempered, recent family man with a loving wife (Valeria Golino, what ever happened to her?) and his shit firmly together. Viggo Mortensen's Frank is a volatile, hotheaded veteran, the little brother with a big chip on his shoulder, a fiery temper and wires crossed somewhere deep inside. From the get-go there's tension, and when Frank brings home a naive girl (Patricia Arquette) to start some semblance of a family, trouble really brews. There's hints from director Penn of his own internal turmoil, two wolves that roil against one another represented by the brothers onscreen, and the inevitable violence begotten from the hostile one. It's so strange seeing Mortensen in a role like this, miles removed from not only the stalwart Aragorn we're used to, but from anything else he has ever done in his choosy, sparse career. This is the role of a lifetime for any actor and it's the one he should be remembered for, a maladjusted outsider who rages against civility and can't be controlled, to his own demise and detriment. Morse is always a slow burner, and takes it laconically here, but there's a sadness that burns at the corners of his eyes which the actor exudes achingly well. Arquette captures the stars her character has in her eyes for Frank, and tragically lets them fall in disillusionment when she realizes he's not the man she thought she knew, a splendid arc for the actress to breathe life into. The brother's patriarch is played by a low key, heartbreaking Charles Bronson, probably the last role in which he actually gets to *act*, and not just play a tough guy. He's full of complexity and depth in his brief appearance here, and knocks it out of the park. Dennis Hopper has an extended cameo as an antagonistic bartender, and Benicio Del Toro is apparently somewhere in it as well as he's in the credits, but I honestly couldn't spot him anywhere. The film subtly tackles everything from implied PTSD to biblical references to near mythic aspirations built around a legend that explains the title, but more than anything it's about something as simple as can be: How circumstances shape human beings, how trauma affects us and the ways we interact with each other, what it means to exist and make choices. Penn's fascination with these themes is obvious, skilled and nears profundity in dedication to story and character. A brilliant piece in need of far more exposure than its ever gotten.