The Mountain | SXSW 2019 Film Review

In director Rick Alverson’s The Mountain, Tye Sheridan stars as Andy, a fairly laconic young man working at an ice rink, struggling with the recent loss of his father. Set in the 50s, a time when men were unable to discuss nor process psychologically scarring detriments, it becomes painfully obvious at the outset that Andy is unable to even comprehend complex emotions. His father’s passing leads to thoughts of the mother he lost to mental illness, and a sudden emptiness consumes his being.

Attempting to sell off his father’s belongings, Andy greets the mysteriously enigmatic Dr. Wallace Fiennes (Jeff Goldblum). Dr. Fiennes possesses a specific set of skills in that he performs lobotomies and other controversial treatments on mental patients. As local hospitals become reluctant to continue with these procedures, Fiennes recruits Andy to photograph and document his work as he traverses the country searching for hospitals or customers in dire need of his brand of services.

Though Andy appears both disgusted and intrigued by Fiennes’ methods, he continues to follow him even as Fiennes’ eventual descent leads to alcohol fueled trysts with random locals. When a lack of paying clients leads our duo to a tragically ill woman residing in a remote cabin, Andy’s journey takes a chilling turn.

As a story, The Mountain has the potential to unveil a harrowingly compelling narrative that dares us to look away. The very nature of a transorbital lobotomy – jamming a sleek spike under the eyelid to sever nerves – is horrific and barbaric. This alone could and should captivate an audience. Toss in a reserved Jeff Goldblum (the Goldblumisms are dialed WAY down) and the always watchable Tye Sheridan, and you have a recipe for arthouse success.

So why does it all feel so artificially mundane?

The opening shot of The Mountain focuses on an ice skater, frozen in time. It is a beautiful opening which appears almost as though it were a haunting precursor of what’s to come, a tangible warning of what our characters are about to endure.

Instead, the majority of the film wastes both the potential of the story and the promise of the opening to languish about as our characters stare emotionless into the abyss for countless minutes, before moving on to the next cinematic time-out. Too many static shots coupled with endless pull-backs as the camera refuses to cut to the next shot lead to a feeling that this is a 40-minute project stretched out to over 100. The film itself settles into a rhythm of narrative stoicism as it meanders about until its eventual conclusion, with only a chaotic outburst of hyperrealism from Denis Lavant livening up the ride.

It takes only that opening frame to posit that Alverson has a fantastic film waiting to burst out of his soul, and if his goal was to transport us into a lobotomized mind, then his efforts succeeded exponentially. That singular shot tickles the senses and dares us to continue on. Unfortunately, the glacially paced antics that follow fail to live up to the potential this story deserved.