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(4 / 5)

First, a little context. After the (mostly awesome) rise of straight-forward, violent action movies in the Reagan era, the movie-going public was craving more nuanced heroes. They were also, following a long lull in the genre’s popularity, craving westerns. The combined result was the resurgence of the revisionist western, a subgenre that had had its heyday in the 60’s and 70’, which cast a more critical eye on its heroes, and on manifest destiny in general.

The resurgence gave us at least one bona fide classic: 1991’s Unforgiven. But leading the charge chronologically was a highly flawed film that nonetheless would go on to garner a similar reputation, and maybe in some respects, to deserve it. That film was 1990’s Dances with Wolves, a vanity project of epic proportions from co-producer/director/star Kevin Costner. Overlong and oversimplified, it also featured beautiful cinematography, a sympathetic and rich portrayal of the Sioux Indians, and arguably the greatest buffalo hunt ever committed to celluloid. Its strengths were enough to make it the most decorated film of the year, as well as a box-office hit. But I think its weaknesses, and the idea of the film-that-could-have-been, are more interesting.

Loosely adapted from a book by Michael Blake, Dances with Wolves tells the story of Lieutenant John Dunbar, a war-weary bluecoat whose suicide attempt gets mistaken for an act of bravery, and whose reward in turn is the choice of his next post. Wanting to see the vanishing frontier, Dunbar sets out for the prairies of the Dakota Territory with his drunken but good-natured guide, Timmons (Robert Pastorelli), finally setting up camp at an abandoned army post called Fort Sedgewick. There, he encounters and, through an act of good faith, eventually befriends a band of Sioux Indians. The rest of the narrative focuses on his evolving relationships, both platonic and romantic, with the tribe, and his eventual (and I mean very eventual, but more on that later) reunion with his Union comrades.

In the meantime, there’s a lot of fluff, and I do want to get to that, and to the film’s other flaws. But it would be in bad faith not to acknowledge what it gets right, because in certain ways it triumphs. First, there’s no denying it’s a handsome movie. Shot in 2.20 : 1 widescreen, Dances with Wolves boasts cinematography that demands to be called epic, with vistas that place it (visually, at least) in the company of Once Upon a Time in the West and The Searchers. It could be that any movie shot in the open prairies of South Dakota is going to turn out breathtaking, but either way, the film is gorgeous, and the landscapes are transportive. I was only three when it came out, but I imagine it was pretty arresting on the big screen.

Accompanying the sweeping landscapes is an old-fashioned, fulsome score by the late John Barry, which further broadens the movie’s scope and sharpens its insistence that yes, what you’re seeing (and hearing) is indeed an epic.

In contrast to all the movie’s old-fashioned-ness, Costner’s performance as John Dunbar is almost radically naturalistic, at times to a fault. Whether facing down a Pawnee warrior or a charging buffalo, he’s one cool cucumber. But all told it’s a good performance, and in that regard it’s typical of the caliber of acting across the board. But for my money, Mary McDonnell, who gets the thankless job of convincing the audience that her character, Stands with a Fist, is relearning English after a 30-year hiatus, steals the show. Not only is she convincing as a language-learner, she consistently fills communicative gaps with very fine facial acting, wringing more emotion from a sidelong glance than Costner does from any of his dialogue. For that reason, it pains me to say that the movie could have done without her.

As promised, we now arrive at fluff. Though McDonnell’s performance is very good, it’s in service of fluff. Dances with Wolves sports a three-hour runtime. Now, it’s entirely possible to make a film three hours long and keep an audience engaged. I remember seeing Titanic, a romance movie with a three-hour-fifteen-minute runtime, in theaters, and not once did my attention wander. And I was a ten-year-old with an attention deficit! But the romance in Titanic always moves forward, always finds ways to create tension, while the furtive frolics between Dunbar and Stands with a Fist are too indolent, and too light on consequence, to drive the movie ahead. It’s a nice romance, and McDonnell and Costner have chemistry, but ultimately it feels gratuitous.

Gratuitous, in fact, describes a lot of the choices that were made here. But while plenty of filmmakers add gratuitous elements to please audiences, Costner mostly seems like he’s aiming to please himself: He spreads his arms crucifix-style during his suicide attempt, which turns into a noble near-sacrifice, saving the lives of scores of bluecoats; he beds the conveniently white Sioux chick; he saves first her life, then the life of a teenage buffalo hunter, and later the lives of just about the whole village when he arms them with munitions; he shows his butt! The latter is a Costner trademark. (For more Costner ass, check out Waterworld, The Bodyguard, The Postman, Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves, No Way Out, or Bull Durham). In short, Costner checks off every hero trope in the book, all without raising his voice above 50 decibels. Now that’s one cool cucumber!

But the movie’s worst indulgence is its length. At three hours, its runtime becomes noticeable during the scenes of languid romance, and during Costner’s one-man-show at the abandoned fort. The immediate result is boredom, while by the end of the movie, the result is a kind of imbalance. When Dunbar’s comrades, whom we haven’t seen for like two hours, finally find him, their antipathy for him seems severely overwrought, bordering on maniacally villainous, even if he is a traitor. And Dunbar does little to defend himself, acting as if he’s forgotten English over the span of a few months. It’s melodramatic and comes at a time when it feels like the movie should have ended.

So, what’s the movie that could have been? I think a Dances with Wolves that eschewed the love story, had Dunbar not become an honorary Sioux, instead observing them at more of a remove, and which had the Union officers who find him not act like mustache-twirling villains, would have been a better Dances with Wolves. I think a moral conflict between Dunbar’s honoring his comrades and honoring the tribe he’s come to respect, maybe an hour-and-a-half in, would have been more interesting than a Dunbar who had to become the tribe’s ultimate protector.

I’m not one to make the “white savior” criticism lightly; I think every movie should be judged in the light of its context and intent. But I don’t necessarily think Kevin Costner has some kind of “white savior” complex. I think Kevin Costner has a Kevin Costner complex. And let me be clear, I don’t care about his ego. Lots of actors have huge egos. The problem comes when your ego shows through in your movie, and especially when it detracts from it.

At this point, you’d be forgiven for thinking I don’t like this film. But I actually think it’s a very good movie. I just wish Kevin Costner hadn’t made it. But then, I suppose that’s just another bit of context to keep in mind. So, for an epic revisionist western that had the misfortune of being made by Kevin Costner, it might be a masterpiece.

Dances with Wolves is available on Amazon, YouTube, Cinemax, Epix, Vudu, Xfinity, and iTunes.