Wendy and Lucy
A girl and her dog, adrift and lost on an Alaska bound tide

Weighing in at a mere 80 minutes, “Wendy and Lucy” is a great example of lean, economical, effective filmmaking. Based on a short story by co-screenwriter Jonathan Raymond, the film shares many traits of well-written prose. Every sentence/shot counts. Filler word/shots are excised. Each scene is like a new paragraph, building on the last, no rambling detours. There is no attempt to introduce subplots, or serve as a metaphor for larger issues such as homelessness or poverty. Director Kelly Reichardt’s intent is to tell one story, and one story only, that of a homeless — seemingly directionless — young woman as she struggles to survive on the road, accompanied by her dog. There may be metaphors to be drawn through watching the story unfold, but it is up to the audience to discover them. This is not a “message” film.

Michelle Williams, in a performance that is both emotionally constrained and yet emotive (everything is right there to be read on her face though it would probably horrify her character to realize that), plays Wendy, a young woman in her late 20s who dresses, either by design or necessity, in thrift shop clothes intended for a much younger woman. Her dog, Lucy, in that marvelous way that dogs have, couldn’t care less what she’s dressed like, what her plans for the future are, if she’s considered successful, or any of those other human conceits. To Lucy, Wendy is her human, and that’s the end of that conundrum.

Starting her journey in Indiana, Wendy’s plan is to go to Alaska and find work in a cannery. After that, she will be making money on the slime line and… and that seems to be as far as she’s thought things out. It’s not ever clear why she’s set this goal as her personal mecca. Perhaps it’s better than having no goal at all, perhaps nothing more than that. But in any case, it’s clear that there is no Plan B. Alaska here she comes.

But rolling in to an Oregon town, Wendy’s journey is brought to a halt by a car that has done well to get them as far as it has. She’s at that impossible Catch 22 where it would cost more to fix the car than it would to get a newer used one. Not that it matters, of course. She can barely afford the cost to have the thing towed. She’s stuck in that way that only real poverty can stick a person.

That is almost the entirety of the plot. The rest of the film is a character study of the choices and consequences that Wendy makes next. We don’t know her backstory, but there are some clues. And the interesting thing about the movie is that Wendy makes some choices that are bound to make her situation worse, almost as if she secretly wants things to get worse. She could have a long history of self-sabotage. I don’t feel it’s right to cite examples here. You should experience them in the viewing. Suffice it to say that she and Lucy become separated, and Wendy’s journey to Alaska is sidetracked as she searches for her only friend.

Unfortunately, Reichardt’s disciplined storytelling might frustrate many audiences used to the storming bombast of most Hollywood features. Wendy’s lack of resources means that she can’t be rushed; her life passes on an entirely different timescale, and Reichardt honors that timescale by slowing the film’s pace to accommodate Wendy. Wendy does a lot of walking in the movie, and Reichardt wants the audience to feel their own bones aching in sympathy.

Many reviewers have seen this film as a condemnation of our societal response to how we treat the homeless, but I don’t think this was Reichardt’s intent. Wendy is no modern day Joad family trying to make it to California in order to pick crops for wages that will barely pay for the gas it takes to get there. Wendy travels through a cold heartless world that seems largely of her own creation. She runs from potential allies and ignores almost all practical advice she receives. With a couple of exceptions, the people she meets recognize that she is down on her luck and steadfastly refuse to pile on. No one tries to take advantage or victimize her further. The film always returns the character study. Wendy’s story is not a challenge to arrive at answers, but an invitation to sit with her and come to an empathy that respects her as a flawed human being.

That might be frustrating to some audiences, too, the kind of people who like to tackle problems head on and solve them, nice and tidy! But the problem of Wendy may not have an answer. I have my own theories as to why she does what she does, but, in the end, even knowing what I think I know, I’m not sure what I could do. A security guard she befriends, to the extent that she is able to befriend anyone, might have done has much as anyone could by donating a couple of minutes of cell phone time to her as she searches for Lucy. A small act of compassion, but it made an enormous difference.

If there is any comparison between Wendy’s story and the current economic crisis it might be merely this: Every homeless person, everyone down on their luck, is a human in pain, whether self-inflicted or not. I mention this only because I have already seen too many signs of people being encouraged to turn on fellow citizens, to view with harsh judgement, blaming them for losing their job, losing their home, losing track of their sense of self-worth. That’s a dangerous direction for a society to take. In the months, possibly years to come, we may see many Wendy’s wandering the streets. It would be wise to begin now to remember not to remove them from our thoughts and consideration.