Movie review: The Canyon

Seared skin on sandy soil.

by John P. Meyer

There's a couple of things I really like about The Canyon.

First off, it's set amidst some of the most spectacular scenery in the redrock canyon country of the American Southwest.

Everyone knows about the Grand Canyon. Far fewer have heard of its neighbor Antelope. But as a devoted landscape photographer and long-time admirer of the still images coming from there, I wondered how long it would take until a movie crew decided to film in that narrow defile with the miraculous streaming light.

(About this long, it turns out.)

Secondly, scripter Steve Allrich and director Richard Harrah have avoided the sensationalist approach that might have turned the movie into a crazed killer-on-the-rampage potboiler of the Perfect Getaway variety. Instead, they take us on a kind of adult boy-and-girl-scout outback odyssey, crafting a twisted survival tale in which the role of the crazed killer is played by Mother Nature -- who can be a stone-cold, cast-iron bitch, let me tell you.

Things start out idyllically enough with honeymooners Nick (Eion Bailey) and Lori (Yvonne Strahovski, the hottie CIA agent from TV's Chuck) arriving in Williams, Ariz.: "Gateway to the Grand Canyon." It's all Nick's idea (almost said "fault" there). He's got this dream of journeying by muleback deep into the canyon for a "romantic" weekend getaway -- though Lori views the terms "romantic" and "muleback" as mutually exclusive.

Still, she's willing to wrinkle up her nose and swat horseflies in order to snuggle deeper into her new hubby's good graces, as long as they make it back to civilization by Monday. (Sure. No problem ...)

Oh -- and here's the THIRD thing I really appreciate about this landscape-heavy, unpretentious indie picture: It provides a great role for venerable character actor Will Patton, in the form of a sort of latter day mountain man named Henry Theodore Roosevelt Pritchett. Pritchett, who comes across as a shady, off-the-books operator, offers to guide Nick and Lori into the canyon depths when their attempt to join a National Park Service-sanctioned expedition falls through.

Much of their initial discomfort with Henry evaporates when he proves to be a gold mine of information about their route and its natural history: No tourguide ever waxed more poetic from the saddle of a mule. Furthermore, he is capable on the trail, and aside from the occasional snort from a vest pocket bottle of booze, his reliability seems sterling enough. But is he being entirely above-board with his clients? Did he, in fact, procure the required back country permit from the NPS?

(This last question becomes vitally important once the mule droppings begin to hit the fan, as they quite soon thereafter do.)

A seemingly harmless side-trip leads to a rattlesnake-induced mishap, after which events rapidly spiral out of control. Injury leads to death; discomfort transitions into desperation. The expeditioners encounter thirst, starvation, wolves -- and worse, much much worse, as the narrative turns into a pitch black cautionary tale about the dangers of going off the beaten path.

Before long Nick and Lori are coming to terms with the kind of unimaginably grim reality that would never even have occurred to them had they chosen to honeymoon in -- for instance -- Hawaii.

Kudos to the filmmakers for their narrative restraint. On several occasions we found ourselves surprised when things took totally unexpected turns. (Or, more accurately, failed to take expected ones.) Given their adherence to the rules of the wilderness game -- as opposed to the cinematic one -- we'll allow them their perversely ironic ending.

As the character of Lori comes into focus, we discover in Strahovski an actress of impressive depth, and both literal and figurative strength.

Which -- if you're counting -- makes the fourth thing I really appreciate about this filim. Guess I ought to rewrite that lead.