Masculinity and misogyny are under the microscope in Jane Campion’s The Power of the Dog, adapted from the novel by Thomas Savage. It’s Campion’s first film in twelve years; one of her best, and likely to wind up with several Oscar nominations, including Best Picture. Released late last year, I deliberately waited to watch it, as I wanted to see it on the big screen rather than Netflix (here in south-west England, a cineaste must often wait for high profile Netflix features to be shown at a local independent cinema). Suffice to say, it was worth the wait, though had I seen it last year, I would almost certainly have added it to my ten best films of the year list.

Set amid the dying embers of the Old West, in Montana circa 1925, the film follows the relationship between successful ranch brothers Phil (Benedict Cumberbatch) and George (Jesse Plemons). The former is a man’s-man cowboy, with an apparently pathological hatred of anything remotely feminine. The latter is a quiet, lonely man who takes solace in his new marriage to local widow Rose (Kirsten Dunst). Unfortunately, Phil views her presence in their lives as a threat. A tense, unsettling, psychological clash ensues, in which Rose’s artistically gifted, veterinarian student son Peter (Kodi Smit-McPhee) becomes a pivotal figure.

This slow-burn drama features a riveting and committed central performance from Benedict Cumberbatch. His primal, menacing, sinewy presence lingers long in the imagination. The film develops his character in interesting and unexpected ways. Calling George “fatso” and encouraging the other ranch hands to mock him, Phil is nonetheless emotionally reliant on his mild-mannered, dignified brother, who dresses smarter and has social aspirations akin to their parents (they financially staked the brothers in their ranch). Early in the film, we see the brothers share a bed, much like small children.

By contrast, George is physically reliant on Phil’s ranching expertise, which he learned from a now-deceased rancher named “Bronco” Henry, a man Phil idolised (even treating the dead man’s saddle as a kind of fetishised holy relic). This reliance, in which George has little choice but to allow Phil’s bullying to remain unchallenged, has left him isolated and sad. However, when he meets Rose, there’s a lovely scene where she tries to teach him to dance, and George breaks down, overwhelmed with happiness at no longer being alone. Plemons is excellent in the role, particularly in this scene.

Unfortunately, Phil’s harassing presence proves detrimental to Rose’s happiness. There’s an almost gothic sensibility to their confrontations, which weirdly reminded me of Danvers from Rebecca. There are also shades of Deliverance in a moment involving banjos, and one scene – where Rose is too anxious to play piano for George’s high society parents and politician guests – is especially agonising. Her mental deterioration is brilliantly portrayed by Dunst; for instance, in an understated moment where she overhears kitchen staff discussing an urban myth about a dead woman whose golden hair continued to grow in her coffin. Rose’s expression makes clear she imagines herself as the dead woman.

All the characters are generously written and well-performed, with Smit-McPhee providing particularly first-rate support. Like Phil, there’s a lot more to his character than meets the eye. His presence is inscrutable and enigmatic, especially in the finale; the implications of which may go over the heads of anyone not paying sufficient attention. Suffice to say, relative notions of good and bad are cleverly subverted throughout.

It won’t be for everyone, as this isn’t a film in a hurry. Campion takes her time, allowing the drama to unfold with subtlety, nuance, and an air of pent-up, pregnant tension. Enhanced by an atmospheric Jonny Greenwood score and some beautiful cinematography courtesy of Ari Wegner (really worth catching in the cinema, if you can), The Power of the Dog gradually gets under the skin. Mysterious, atmospheric, and unexpected, it rather sneaks up on you.

As a footnote, I was once again amused by the chasm of difference between UK and US sensibilities concerning the film’s rating. In view of the brief moments of male nudity (in a non-sexual context), the film has been slapped with an R rating in the US. In the UK, it has a comparatively mild 12A rating (nudity in a non-sexual context is permissible at all levels in the UK, even the U rating). On the other hand, the UK is stricter with violence in film (both Venom films were given 15 ratings in the UK, despite being rated PG-13 in the US). I will leave you to draw your own conclusions about what this says about UK and US culture respectively.

UK Certificate: 12A

US Certificate: R