The Mustang review – Matthias Schoenaerts shines in slight equestrian drama

If all genres must eventually collide, here is the inevitable blend of prison drama and man-bonds-with-horse drama, a kind of halfway house between A Prophet and recent equestrian-inclined tales like Lean on Pete and The Rider. Directed by French filmmaker Laure de Clermont-Tonnerre, making her feature debut, The Mustang stars the always impressive Matthias Schoenaerts, an actor whose constant woeful expression practically begs that you put a hand on his shoulder and say, “Hey, man. It’s okay.”

Schoenaerts is Roman Coleman, an inmate at a tough Nevada prison who – incarcerated for a violent crime – is presented with an opportunity to train wild mustangs as part of a rehabilitation program – a program, the film informs us, that many prisons in the United States operate in real life. Reluctant to give himself over to the task (he winds up in a full-blown fistfight with a horse), Roman is overseen by Bruce Dern’s ridiculously cantankerous rancher, appearing here as though imported from a cartoon.

As we’re treated to shots of landscapes bathed in shimmering sunlight and horses galloping in slow-motion, it becomes clear that The Mustang is, for better or worse, one of “those” films. At times – as its arthouse ambitions err on the obvious side – it even feels like an indie designed by an algorithm. Subtlety is not one of The Mustang‘s strengths, either: the first time Roman meets his horse, he finds it trapped in a tiny cage, frustrated and anxious. As he approaches, the film lingers on Roman’s face, as though to ask us: Remind you of anybody? Later, Roman’s teary daughter, visiting him in prison, asks, “What do you know about taking care of anything?” and we know, of course, what will happen next.

Yet something – a genuine emotional connection between man and beast, perhaps – means it all mostly comes together in spite of the familiar ground. Constantly flirting with convention across the span of its short, 96 minute runtime, The Mustang pulls back whenever it skirts too closely to formula, narrowly avoiding the most obvious path – just. Best viewed as a quiet character study, the piece is held together by Matthias’s stoic and emotional lead performance; caught in that tricky place between depressed and repressed, he keeps us invested in Roman’s story – often without saying a word. This is a film of little dialogue, and Clermont-Tonnerre is unafraid to let faces do much of the talking.

There are some arresting images here, courtesy of cinematographer Ruben Impens, like the one that sees the prisoners riding out on their horses, side by side, dressed in orange jumpsuits and cowboy hats. This scene, backed with a musical score by Jez Kurzel that unashamedly takes its cues from Ennio Morricone, further pushes the film into modern western territory. If by the time it’s over there is a sense you’ve seen lots of The Mustang in other, better films, it’s difficult to feel all that resentful – the film’s lovely final shot, working as a microcosm of the entire film, seems to sum up the experience: not exactly subtle, but surprisingly moving.

★★★☆☆

By: Tom Barnard

Get The Mustang showtimes in London.