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Wrongly accused of a crime she didn't commit, a frontier woman turned fugitive is hunted by a vengeful preacher in the menacing inferno of the old American West.
Fanning is in fine form as a woman who can't vocalize her emotions, though it's Pearce here who steals the show.
For all the visceral depictions of hatred and violence and human destruction, it feels as if the director is chasing his own tail and forgetting about making it all mean something.
The plot won't blow anyone away, but the intense, sadistic scenes and dark twists will get to you.
There's an odor that lingers long after "Brimstone"'s final fade-out. And it's not sulfur.
The carnage pushes you away (and wears you down), even as the genre, industrious cast, beautiful landscapes and stark, often striking visuals pull you in.
[Koolhoven] presumably, intends to create a debate about women being rendered mute by men and religion, but sets about it in the most crass and on-the-nose way - via scold's bridles and tongue removal - never exploring the theme beyond the physical.
I'm all for heroic exertion in pursuit of one's art, but in this case I wish Koolhoven had tried therapy first.
A film that ostensibly aims to expose the subjugation of women spends an awful lot of time hurting and humiliating them.
[Director Koolhoven] blends the grand idea of divine retribution from Clint Eastwood's Pale Rider with the noir grimness of HBO's Deadwood, to make something all his own.
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