Sweetgrass Reviews

Within the framework of documentary, perhaps nothing is more difficult than conveying a deliberately paced lifestyle onscreen. Do it aptly, and the results can be mesmerizing -- as in Frederick Wiseman’s best work, viewers will find themselves pulled into the mindset of a unique sociocultural group, and begin to share the lyricism and inherent joy of the subjects’ lives. Approach it awkwardly or ham-handedly, and the audience feels restless, alienated, and bored out of their minds. Lucien Castaing-Taylor and Ilisa Barbash’s documentary Sweetgrass, an occasionally poetic yet exhaustively paced account of contemporary shepherds in Big Timber, Montana, ostensibly wants to unify viewers with the mindset of the shepherds themselves, but deadens the audience -- to such a degree that it may actually enrage the viewer. This isn’t a sociological chronicle, it’s a sadistic exercise in viewer alienation. It didn’t have to be like this. Reading the synopsis, one senses a rural chronicle treated as a sort of dream-like reverie, rich with environmental, zoological, and behavioral observation and insights, and accentuated by the gorgeous backgrounds of the contemporary American West. Although the movie does occasionally grow visually rich, Barbash and Castaing-Taylor travel far out of their way to omit devices that would actually make the material accessible to mainstream audiences, probably because they felt so concerned about accidentally patronizing the viewer, and were driven by the need to communicate and engender a fresh subcultural mindset. For one thing, the omission of all conventional voice-over narration represents a gross miscalculation on the part of the directors. Conceptually, it’s accurate that these shepherds think, feel, and experience life at a more deliberate pace than media-saturated victims of pop-culture overload, and the documentary should ideally convey this. But it’s also accurate that the shepherds benefit from some prior background knowledge as they go about their day-to-day business -- such as a personal acquaintance with one another, the details of ovine zootechnics, and observations about the sheep and environment that an average lay viewer will not possess. The audience desperately needs this background knowledge in order to exist on the same ontological plane as the shepherds, and partially thanks to the avoidance of voice-over, this almost never happens. It is, of course, conceivable that we could obtain some of this without a narrator, simply through visual observation. For a time -- roughly the opening 15-20 minutes of the film, which provide fascinating up-close views of sheep shearing, feeding, and herding -- this occurs to tremendous effect. But then, as the shepherds lead their sheep into the Montanan mountains, battling exhaustion, personal injury, animal predators, and the natural elements -- the very moment when the film should become most intimate -- Castaing-Taylor and Barbash begin to interpolate an overabundance of wide-angle landscape shots, and obstreperously refuse to present the shepherds as individual people, with unique personalities, thoughts, and desires. How can we honestly be expected to care if we remain so distant and aloof from the subjects that most can never even be identified? The film has another weakness -- a bizarre one. At about the 70-minute mark, following some extreme personal difficulties had by one of the shepherds, he makes a telephone call and begins to complain about everything that has befallen him -- with a torrent of shockingly obscene language. One doesn’t doubt the veracity of this speech, given the rugged nature of the subjects, but on a commercial level the inclusion of this element represents a gross error -- as the sort of people who will most likely find themselves drawn to the subject of Sweetgrass will likely be further alienated by the raw, unchecked profanity -- that is, if they haven’t already fallen asleep, given the film’s approach.