The Road (2009) - John Hillcoat

The success of I am Legend (2007), Children of Men (2006), 28 Days Later (2002) and Wall-E (2008) would suggest that ‘post-apocalyptic’ cinema is undergoing something of a renaissance. The God-like power of CGI and humanity’s post millennial anxieties have combined to bring audiences closer than ever to a tangible vision of the end of the world. The Road represents a devastatingly realistic and familiar vision of the future. We are not asked, like The Road’s post-apocalyptic predecessors, to believe in Zombies, Robots or some freak medical mutation, only to realise a painfully inevitable truth: that the earth might one day yield to forces beyond the control of humans.


At first glance, The Road appears to be a simple survival story, adapted from the Cormac McCarthy novel of the same name, we follow a father and son in their fraught and hopeless quest to the South coast of America, battling the slow but certain onset of starvation, whilst evading the constant threat of cannibalistic hunters in a world that has inexplicably shrivelled and died. As far as slow, simmering action goes, it is gripping stuff, and director John Hillcoat times the key skirmishes in such a way that the vast intervening scenes of relative inactivity and silence (the script is as sparse as the food supply) are permanently saturated with a sense of trepidation.

However, this is much more than an entertaining simulation of good versus evil, The Road’s real source of power and artistry is the hugely complex and moving relationship between father (a disturbingly rakish Viggo Mortensen) and son (Kodi Smit-Mc Phee’s charming debut). The chemistry between the two actors is an absolute joy, but the real credit goes to Hillcoat for moulding Mortensen (best known as the impenetrable fortress of masculinity that is Aragorn) into a terrifically complex and intriguingly androgynous character. Some have levelled criticism at The Road for its gender one-sidedness (females are few and far between in Hillcoat’s dystopia), I would argue that a superior gender discourse is allowed to surface due to this very fact. The father’s masculinity is illustrated through his impressive pragmatism, finding food when it is needed most, a strong figure of authority to his son, even driven to murder when it is required, alpha male status seems a given. However, as the narrative unfolds, the boundaries of gender begin to blur. The Road is awash with Mortensen’s tears; frequent are the times when his spirit is utterly shattered and breaks down into tearful hopelessness. The prevailing image of the father is not as a bullish figure of manhood, but as the gentle guardian: stroking the boys face to comfort him, holding him in his arms to calm him, staring lovingly at his face as he sleeps. This perfectly balanced relationship, stripped of gender prescriptions, is the white light in a world of grey pestilence.

As the audience is invited to share in their deeply intimate and beautiful complex companionship, it becomes clear that The Road is not so much a post-apocalyptic fantasy. Rather, it is a painfully humble tale, a psychological portrait of a pair of ordinary individuals who have endured unimaginable trauma, and who have nothing left to live for but each other. The universality and poetic power of their plight can hardly be overstated.

However, the almost lyrical perfection of their relationship is overshadowed by the cruelty the father appears to show towards outsiders. Soon after disaster strikes the father vows ‘I would do whatever it takes’, and by the conclusion there can be no doubt as to his sincerity. These actions of inhumanity leave a bitter taste in the mouth, that Hillcoat makes little attempt to explain away or redeem these acts of cruelty burdens the audience with a troubling yet necessary moral dilemma about the lengths people will go to in the name of self preservation.

From the most intimate privations of father and son, represented through extreme close up, the camera pans out to reveal the (ironically beautiful) wasteland they inhabit. From the miles upon miles of crumbling black woodland to the vast grey sea, the post apocalyptic earth is as spectacular as it is deadly. The monochrome pallet, adopted for the vast majority of the film, adds a strong visual aesthetic to the pessimistic trajectory of the film. However, if The Road has a weakness, it is the ending. The redemptive conclusion, perhaps representing a concession to an American audience demanding poetic justice, undoes much of the asphyxiating bleakness the film works so hard to engineer. That said, The Road endures and evolves long after the end credits roll, repeat viewings reveal yet more intricate detail, and the beautifully desolate landscapes are seared onto the memory.

Masterful cinematography, subtly brilliant direction, with Mortensen delivering the most complete performance you can hope to see from any actor, The Road epitomises the very best in post-apocalyptic cinema. Bleak and unrelenting, it is hard to recommend this as a cosy Saturday night flick, but rarely has cinema been more vital and relevant. Essential viewing. 9/10.