Low-key, wistful, and disarmingly droll, Alexander Payne’s father-son bonding tale Nebraska distils the best bits from his earlier films Sideways and About Schmidt and delivers something of a spiritual cousin to ‘70s-era road movies such as Wim Wenders’ King of the Road and Jerry Schatzberg’s Scarecrow. It gives 77-year-old Bruce Dern his meatiest big screen role in a while as Woody Grant, a bull-headed old geezer who believes he’s won $1,000,000 in sweepstakes and inadvertently guilts his son David (SNL funnyman Will Forte) to drive him all the way to Nebraska to claim it. Borderline senile and insufferably grumpy, Grant, with his wobbly, bow-legged gait and wiry wisps of hair, resembles a more toned-down version of Dern’s Frank Harlow character in Big Love, less monstrous but impossible in his own demented, distant, booze-abused way.
Bob Nelson’s screenplay shows a Coen-esque fondness for the quirks of the Midwest, coaxing delightfully dry humour from Woody and Grant’s awkward reacquaintance with estranged family members and the locals in their hometown of Hawthorne. Payne’s use of non-professionals adds an authentic folksiness to the film, and despite some shortcomings in the acting department, they blend in perfectly with veteran character pros like Stacy Keach. Phedon Papamichael’s inky, haunting digital anamorphic cinematography mirrors Woody’s past regrets in the crumbly, quiet desolation of Hawthorne’s community, while Mark Orton’s lovely score provides a rootsy, gently loping complement to the film’s leisurely pace. As good as Dern is, he’s often upstaged by June Squibb, whose explosively funny performance as Grant’s outspoken, insult-slinging wife is guaranteed to leave you in hysterics.
