Perhaps there comes a time in every actor’s career when they must Liam Neeson. In Dead of Winter, it’s the blithe and witty Emma Thompson’s turn to learn “a very particular set of skills” up in ice-clogged Minnesota, as she “frickin’ fiddlesticks” her way into the centre of a kidnapping plot committed by a snarling, fentanyl lollipop-sucking Judy Greer and her witless husband, played by Marc Menchaca.
Director Brian Kirk, alongside writers Nicholas Jacobson-Larson and Dalton Leeb, offer a nicely plausible mise-en-scène for Thompson’s Fargo accent and puffy snowsuit to run wild, yet the actual mechanics of this pared-down thriller are harder to swallow. Here, it’s not enough that there’s a Chekhov’s gun at the centre of play – the film has to treat said narratively significant object like it’s a powerful, sacred relic.
Thompson’s Barb has made her way back to the remote frozen lake where flashbacks reveal she spent her youthful days with her late husband (Barb is conveniently played by Thompson’s daughter Gaia Wise in these scenes). Her past is served out in amuse-bouche portions, with a tendency to stall the film’s tension, and punctured with lingering shots of his wooden tackle box. Though the film will be released in cinemas, there’s a sense it’s been shot with half-asleep viewers at home in mind.
For Barb, this barren spot represents the cradle of her life’s love, and she walks around practically cocooned in her rose-tinted lens. It doesn’t bother her too much when she stops to ask for directions (it’s been a while, after all) and is greeted by a monosyllabic Menchaca, whose response to a puddle of blood at his feet is simply, “deer”. But there is, in fact, a teen girl (Laurel Marsden) tied up in the basement, who Barb eventually finds and vows to liberate with a “I’m not leaving ya, sweetie!”
Greer plays her nameless antagonist as a kind of striking viper, magically appearing around corners to berate her husband for being too nice and cough up some blood when convenient. What does lend Dead of Winter its evocative chill is the way all three women here – kidnapper, kidnapped, and rescuer – are left with nothing but themselves to rely on. There’s no one out here to care for or support them, turning survival into a daily matter of physical and psychological endurance.
When Barb is forced to perform first aid on herself, slathering the wound in alcohol and then stitching it up, Thompson makes clear this is a woman of nature – who has worked until her muscles tore and her body turned blue – without tripping into stoic heroism. “Just like sewing a quilt!” she tells herself, as the needle makes contact with flesh.
Barb’s North Star state wholesomeness is certainly intended as a contrast to all the death and brutality (it was for the Coens, too), but the actor always veers away from the punchline at the last minute – her handle on the accent is strong enough, and her “well, whaddya know” attitude to disaster is carefully underplayed. I can’t imagine this signals the start of a career change for Thompson, but it’s a refreshing little detour for one of Britain’s national treasures.
Dir: Brian Kirk. Starring: Emma Thompson, Judy Greer, Marc Menchaca, Laurel Marsden, and Brían F. O’Byrne. 15, 98 minutes.
‘Dead of Winter’ is in cinemas from 26 September
