“When my father passed, I wanted nothing more than my mother’s happiness,” we hear Peter Gordon (Kodi Smit-McPhee) narrate at the outset of Jane Campion’s The Power of the Dog. The ominous, moody notes of “Figured It Out” by Radiohead guitarist Johnny Greenwood punctuate the tone of a film that always bubbles with the sort of emotion that just barely reaches the surface. Peter continues, “For what kind of man would I be if I did not help my mother? If I did not save her?” Only at the conclusion of the film will we understand what that means. As for the question Peter asks–about what kind of man he is–well, that’s the central question of Campion’s stunning adaptation of Thomas Savage’s 1967 novel of the same name.
It doesn’t take long to understand what kind of man Phil Burbank (Benedict Cumberbatch) is: an asshole. Spurred, as we soon realize, by his own repressed homosexuality, therefore an overcompensating need to present himself as an almost caricature-like version of the roguish cowboy (which is, of course, ironic being that dressing in cowboy garb is pretty drag-inspired). Set in Montana, 1925, Campion opens the film with a scene of cattle being corralled. It’s easy to make the leap that the cattle is a representation of humanity itself, so willing to go along with the herd lest they get lashed by their overlords. Two cows in particular are focused upon as they literally butt heads in their attempt to assert dominance. Perhaps an indication of the constantly battling genders. This image, too, will serve as a foreshadowing metaphor for the dynamic between Rose (Kirsten Dunst) and Phil.
Surly and monosyllabic, it’s only right that the first word we hear out of Phil’s mouth is “no.” Followed by an exchange between him and his brother, George (Jesse Plemons), during which Phil seems to be the one more concerned with marking an anniversary for how much time has passed since they took over the ranch, as well as when they took their first ride with a mythical male mentor named Bronco Henry. Himself emblematic of the form of toxic masculinity that gets passed down from generation to generation. George, from his perch in the tub, can only think to call out, “You ever try the house bath?” A blatant dig at Phil’s refusal to wash himself, preferring to keep “the stink of a man,” or whatever.
A contrasting cut from Phil and George out on their horses to “dainty” Peter carefully constructing pieces of paper that he will form into ornate flowers for a full bouquet sets the tone for not only two sexualities at war, but two generations at war as well. The old guard which seeks to preserve the kind of poisonous (no pun intended here) thinking that has ultimately kept society where it’s at in the name of tradition, while the next in line tries to carve out a new, more tolerant path. Not one that seeks to limit freedom through an amendment like the eighteenth. And, oddly, Prohibition is mentioned at no point during The Year of the Dog, perhaps because they’re out in the Wild West, where such Yankee laws can’t be enforced. Least of all upon the new lady of the house, Rose, who ends up striking a rapport with George after he and his dickhead brother stay at her inn, which also offers the “best home cooking in Montana.” After Phil belittles and berates Peter for his so-called effete ways at the restaurant (complete with a napkin folded over his arm to catch wine drips), especially after Peter proudly lays claim to being the one responsible for making the flowers, he rushes off from the premises in a rightly wounded huff, taking to his hula hoop exercises for comfort (yes, this boy is kind of everything). Seeing his reaction, Rose’s impression of Phil’s crude and cruel ways is instantly one of contempt as she removes the vase with her son’s flowers from his table so he can’t set yet another one on fire to light his cigarette in a showboating, castigating manner.
But it’s Phil who ends up doing himself a disservice by upsetting Rose and her son, for it only leads the former right into George’s sweet, comforting arms. As the clear “dandy” of the two brothers, George has a gentle aura that seems far more reluctant to embrace the cliches of what it “means” to be a cowboy, instead preferring to relish the modern conveniences and accoutrements of the Jazz Age. Taking Rose as a wife also means that Phil can no longer hide behind his brother being single, too. Now there’s more weight to his bachelorhood, and he’s obviously paranoid that he’s going to be “found out” for not being “truly” masculine because he hasn’t got a woman.
After realizing the seriousness of their relationship, we’re presented with an abusive moment between Phil and one of the horses. “Fat-faced bitch! Whore!” he screams at the innocent being, taking all his disdain for Rose out on the poor creature. And yes, the surest way to get an audience to hate a character is by having him harm an animal. He also castrates cows with gusto, so maybe it’s only poetically right that he should die, technically, because of a cow. Peter, perhaps having “activated” some part of Phil he thought he could keep at bay, prompts Phil’s repressed homosexuality to consistently find ways to come out. He can’t even be around other naked men bathing in the pond, for just seeing them prompts him to jack off alone in the forest with a cloth that apparently belongs to Bronco Henry (just one of a few ways this story can’t help but slightly remind of Brokeback Mountain–and, in other ways, of Phantom Thread).
It bears noting that the author of the source material, Savage, was a closeted gay man for a large portion of his life while married to a woman who was aware of his “tendencies” even before agreeing to become his wife. In that sense, Savage’s own experience is very overtly projected onto Phil’s as he grapples with the inner turmoil of what society expects a “man” to be–which, for quite some time (and even now)–is certainly not a “sissy” a.k.a. gay boy.
Interestingly, the misogyny of gay men that frequently goes unaddressed because it’s not “kosher” to speak of is a major part of what drives the conflict. Rose, not seeing through his “butch” act, tells Peter when he asks if Phil is, for all intents and purposes, rattling her nerves, “He’s just a man, Peter. Only another man.” In other words, he’s just another prick women are expected to tolerate and “bow down” to.
As she watches Peter getting closer to Phil over the summer when he comes to visit the ranch from college (that George’s money paid for, which bristles Phil to no end), George notes, “Him and Phil have kind of paired up.” “I don’t want that! I don’t want him to be with Phil at all!” she finally snaps, as she becomes more and more aware of the toxic masculinity he’s absorbing. And no, it certainly isn’t helping to keep her drinking in check.
“Is there a sound that makes you shiver?” she asks Peter after telling him that hearing him run his finger over the teeth of his comb vexes her. And that the chalk on the blackboard had the same effect when she was a girl at school. Her distaste for these abrading noises serves as yet another symbol of Rose’s “womanliness,” her “delicate feminine sensibility.” As though only a female could be irritated by sounds and other such things that are genuinely annoying. Just another way in which society has set both genders up to fail at fulfilling such highly limiting roles.
Nonetheless, Phil is determined to carry on the charade and pass down his own rough-hewn persona to Peter in an attempt to, that’s right, “make a man out of him.” This includes teaching him how to ride a horse and showing him how to plait a rope out of rawhide so he can then instruct him how to lasso. “They were real men in those days,” Phil remarks when mentioning the Lewis and Clark expedition. Of course, we all know what the stereotype of a “real man” is in Phil’s eyes: someone who kills animals mercilessly, treats women like props and playthings and generally struts around like we’re all supposed to admire his dick-swinging.
And yet, Phil’s “sensitive” side comes out when he detects something of Bronco Henry in Peter. For, like Henry, Peter can see the barking dog in the hill at their ranch (the same way people can see certain animals in clouds). Which is one possible interpretation of the film’s title. The other stemming from the Bible verse Peter reads from later: “Deliver me from the sword, my precious life from the power of the dogs.” Interestingly, in breaking down the meaning behind the verse, Campion chose to bring up Donald Trump as a prime example of the form of dying masculinity that is still dragged out to prove to others that a man is, in fact, a man. Per Campion, “As the title stands, it’s a kind of warning. The power of the dog is all those urges, all those deep, uncontrollable urges that can come and destroy us, you know? Like, when things didn’t go well for [Trump], he melted. He couldn’t ever even say the words ‘I lost.’ He created this massive fiction. Even to say the word ‘failure’ is just not an option for someone like him, for these kinds of men.” Which, as we know, extends to Phil and his own inflexibility regarding a push toward the “modern man.” Hence, his sudden need to impart his own philosophies onto Peter. This ends up resulting in a very gay trip with just the two of them. Getting quite personal with Phil during one conversation, Peter mentions that he was the one to find his father hanging and cut him down. “[My father] used to worry that I wasn’t kind enough. That I was too strong,” Peter informs Phil on this oh so intimate “cowboy jaunt.” A comment that will soon come to light in a big way. In the meantime, Phil is foolish enough to riposte, “You? Too strong? He got that wrong. Poor kid.”
As Peter becomes a source for Phil to “mentor,” everything takes on a more homoerotic tinge. From Phil stroking a rope he’s making to forcefully sticking a stake into the ground, the phallic imagery abounds. Meanwhile, Rose is terrified of her son becoming anything like Phil, cold and heartless as he is. Seizing a moment for retaliation, she opts to give the extra hides that Phil burns so no one else can have them to a traveling group of Native Americans. In exchange, the little boy gives her a pair of lovely fringe gloves. “They’re so soft. So deliciously soft. So beautiful,” Rose says as she weeps over the accessory. Of course, she could just as easily be talking about the stereotype of the female gender.
When Phil finds out about what she’s done, he uses it as another chance to lambast her for her alcoholic decision-making, never stopping to ask what the cause of her taking up the drink has been–which is to say, Phil himself. He further tries to get into his brother’s head by goading, “Look at your face in the mirror! Is it that she could like? Or our money? Wake the hell up!” But George won’t be sold on Phil’s vision of Rose, instead protecting her from Phil and nursing her back to health after she passes out from consumption.
Seeing his moment to bring his masterful manipulation of Phil to a complete end, Peter offers him some rawhide that he cut off of a dead cow (Phil won’t know that part until it’s too late) to finish making the rope. Feeling that Peter is the only who understands him, Phil is open enough to share another juicy detail about Henry: “Bronco kept me alive by lying body against body in a bedroll.” “Naked?” Peter inquires. Phil says nothing. Peter then sensually shares his cigarette with Phil before, ding dong, the malevolent male presence is dead. In this instance, anyway. And what we’re left with is the notion that it’s somewhat unfortunate there aren’t more men like Peter to systematically kill off that form of toxic masculinity, regardless of whether it exists in a gay or straight man.
