Wendy and Lucy

In theaters Thursday: Terminator Salvation

In theaters Friday: Night at the Museum: Battle at the Smithsonian, Dance Flick

New on DVD and Blu-ray: Fanboys, My Bloody Valentine 3D, Paul Blart: Mall Cop, Valkyrie

Kelly Reichardt’s Wendy and Lucy is an uncompromising film that never goes out of its way or meanders off course to make you feel or think anything in particular. All it does is present its title characters: a near penniless, young woman drifting her way to Alaska and her adoring dog, and plainly asks for a response. Any response, with none of the triumphs and tragedies of the film underscored with harmonious strings or saccharine pop ballads. In fact, much of the soundtrack is Wendy humming semi-recognizable melodies. Because either you care whether a down-on-her-luck woman gets her car fixed and finds her dog or you don’t. You either help her push her Honda out of a private parking lot, or you call the cops. You let her borrow your cell phone so she can call the pound when her dog goes missing or you don’t. That’s not to say you’re heartless for not liking Reichardt’s movie, but if it’s the plot that bothers you, well, there isn’t one, so it must be something else.

Michelle Williams, she of Dawson’s Creek and Heath Ledger fame, plays Wendy with a wounded, back-against-the-wall fear behind her eyes. She is slow to trust and quick to leave at the first warning sign. After an opening sequence introduces Wendy to a rag tag group of drifters—including folk musician and Reichardt’s Old Joy star Will Oldham—huddling around a bonfire, the story begins with her waking up in her car and being asked to move it by a senior-aged security guard. The car won’t start. She and Lucy are on their own in a town she doesn’t know, with dwindling cash and a long, long way to go to Alaska.

Reichardt’s script is a realist gem, a gentle film about harsh realities, and one simple, almost elegantly so, in its illustration of a complex problem. But poverty is only a byproduct here. Wendy’s condition is first and foremost one of loneliness. She decides to steal some Alpo because Lucy is starving and loneliness costs more than dog food. Her gambit is the turning point in the narrative when Wendy is faced with losing everything she has left one by one.

What is so startling is how little we know about Wendy. Paper-thin plots are usually compensated for with tons of exposition and character minutia that more often than not is just the screenwriter putting their list of pop culture likes and dislikes on screen. But Wendy gets defined more by what we do not know. We know she came from Indiana, and at one point lived with a less than empathetic sister. We know she’s headed to Alaska to work in a cannery. And that’s about it. It’s to Williams credit that we know anything about her at all, let alone enough to care about her fate. But her confident, if subdued, portrayal gives us enough lines that we as an audience gladly fill in the rest with the crayons of our choosing. And it is there the connection is made. She’s no cynic, and she’s no saint.

But who hasn’t made mistakes when feeling disconnected from the one person or thing that is most supportive in their life? Who hasn’t once thought someone they loved might be better off without them? Fans of Jim Jarmusch and Wim Wenders films should really consider taking the somber, emotional trip with Wendy and Lucy.