A girl, her dog and no story between

Far removed from the hustle and bustle of tight scripting and compelling narrative, Kelly Reichardt's Wendy and Lucy takes a folkie look at the mundane and, well, presents it as such. Much like the human titular character, Wendy, Reichardt (Old Joy) is in search of something she can't quite put her finger on - the director looks through the forests, rusty train yards and transplanted department stores of two nameless Oregon towns for inspiration.

And hell, maybe there's something there - something more than nostalgia and quiet naturalism: An answer, or at least a reason, for 80 minutes of 35 mm film stock slowly projecting a story too barren for even such an economical running. But whatever it might be, Reichardt doesn't quite find it.

Her unassuming style of filmmaking could almost be considered admirable if her abilities as a storyteller weren't so completely underwhelming. Wendy and Lucy is, quite simply, the tale of a girl (Wendy) and her dog (Lucy). Reichardt and co-writer Jonathan Raymond (Old Joy) seem confident that the concept, and the concept alone, should be enough to sustain an audience. But in keeping things understated, the filmmakers risk not really stating much at all.

Sporting a dark, Elliott Smith-like bowl cut, Wendy (Michelle Williams, Synecdoche, New York) sets out to find America, or herself, or just a job. We are treated to just a pit stop in her larger journey to find work up toward Alaska. For her cross-country adventure, Wendy brings what little she has to her name: Namely her best friend, her dog Lucy.

Raymond and Reichardt deserve credit for finding a subtle angle to their recession-appropriate film - the American dream certainly appears to be toilet-bowling both inside and outside of the film, so Wendy's troubles feel authentic. She's one of the people we've heard about so often recently, the suffering members of Main Street, although the closest thing Wendy has to an address is her beat up little Honda.

While stopping in a modest little town in Oregon, Wendy's car gives out, stranding her in a sort of Pacific Northwest purgatory. The real tragedy occurs when a teenage employee turns her in for shoplifting at a supermarket. With Lucy still tied up outside the store, Wendy gets taken in to the local police station, returning hours later to find her only companion gone.

Though her confidence in her fellow man is terribly shaken in the wake of the shoplifting debacle, Wendy eventually depends on the kindness of strangers. She approaches a Walgreen's security guard (Wally Dalton, Dandelion) for help - a man whom she gradually warms up to - with the distrust of a stray animal, hungry but wary. Though we only get pieces of her backstory (things are not well with her sister, who is no longer able to support Wendy), it seems pretty clear Wendy has had little reason to trust anyone in her life.

Our understanding and sympathy for Wendy can be largely credited to Williams, whose soft nuances and emotional flexibility carries the film (no offense to her supporting titular character, Lucy). It's an entirely deglamorized role - Wendy brushes her teeth in a gas station bathroom every morning before changing underwear and slipping back into what she wore the previous day. Her nearly androgynous appearance belies the sleek, sexual appeal the actress had in Charlie Kaufman's Synecdoche, New York.

There are moments in Wendy and Lucy when the filmmakers rise to the occasion and match their lead's standout performance with equally powerful imagery. Cinematographer Sam Levy (The Blue Hour) balances out the casual intimacy of Reichardt's direction with the stunning wide-open landscape shots. America may have its faults, but come sundown, it sure is nice to look at.

In one of the film's early scenes, Lucy wanders off and brings Wendy toward a bonfire gathering of drifters. The wandering camera and overlapping dialogue recalls the loose mise-en-scène of the late Robert Altman, but it's only a flicker in an otherwise dull little film.

Altman almost always had a point - he just preferred to get to it the roundabout way. Reichardt's sly deconstruction of the road film may only be a very narrowly framed snapshot of Wendy's life, but the film's rambling style doesn't truly serve the story of a girl, her dog and a faltering economy.

There are a lot of great, minute details, just nothing strong enough for them to attach to.

zherrm@gmail.com

RATING: 2.5 out of 5 stars