This is a melancholy, impressionistic movie about aging, loss, and the mystery of solitude. While the story line is simple and thin, the handful of characters who inhabit it convey the ambiguity and uneasiness of real life so naturalistically that it almost feels like a documentary. Not all viewers will be interested in experiencing this level of lonely introspection set amid the stark barrenness of the American west, waiting for "something to happen." But another type of viewer will find the relative wildness of the setting calming, reminding us of our own actual journeys and mental escapes into the almost incomprehensibly large landscape of this part of the country--a place where you can be both undisturbed and nearly forgotten. And in this movie the landscape itself seems to be an inquisitor, stripping bare civilized pretensions and routines with the oppressive gravity of solitude and unlimited time. Aside from being drawn with laughably impossible mechanical skills, the lead female character comes across as both frighteningly realistic and distinctly unappealing. Though she shows positive traits like self-sufficiency, curiosity, and generosity, she also seems uncomfortable in her own skin--making the viewer squirm and wonder if she's always been this way or whether grief and advancing age have made her so tense and enigmatic. The pacing and feel of the thing is so sober and bare-bones that it's surprising to find a touch of Wes Anderson in some of the incidental characters who momentarily break the silence.
