Netflix maintains a ridiculous number of specific genres for those nights when you want to (somewhat often) binge or (more likely) chill. Seriously, one site counts over 27. Thousand. (“Dark Canadian Dysfunctional-Family Dramas” sadly appears to be a null set.) I often find myself gravitating toward titles “Featuring a Strong Female Lead.” You can have your Jack Reachers and John Wicks—yah, I’m looking at you, Haus. I prefer the New Femme Wave with Emily Blunt (this and not that), Rooney Mara, and, sure, J-Law leading the pack. Comes now “Certain Women,” the product of a singular directorial mind and the strongest entry in her vastly underrated body of work.
That auteur is Kelly Reichardt. She writes and directs films as if on a mission to disprove any need for the Bechdel Test. In two of her previous outings, one woman (both played by Michelle Williams) stood front and center. Reichardt’s breakout films “Wendy and Lucy” and “Meek’s Cutoff” screened like Terrence Malick after spending twenty years reading The Feminine Mystique instead of releasing new movies. This time around, Reichardt multiplies the number of protagonists to match the power of her filmmaking skills.
“Certain Women” proceeds as three independent vignettes, each managing to overlap with the other with a shred of pretense. All of them take place in Big Sky country, but each serves a different slice of life there. Reichardt wisely paces her cinematic triptych. The opener, featuring the exasperated lawyer Laura Wells (an always exquisite Laura Dern), will shake any practitioner to the core. 
Laura is first seen in post-coital ennui with a chap who looks like the Brawny paper towel guy’s derpy brother. She returns to the office to find another man in need. Her client, Fuller (Jared Harris, not really shaking his Lane Pryce accent), won’t accept that he can’t sue for his personal injuries. If at first you don’t succeed litigiously, try and take a security guard hostage, then force your lawyer to read you his file. (Huh?) The setup is a bit preposterous, yet Dern’s every facial gesture conveys fear, disappointment, and disgust in equal measure. It’s a master class from one of our second-tier legends. Bonus: the audience is treated to a primer on workers’ compensation and private causes of action in tort. My professorial heart grew three times in the theater.
The second narrative is by far the weakest. Gina (Williams) and her husband Ryan reside in a tent in the middle of nowhere. Wouldn’t you know? Grizzly Adams from Part I is her spouse! Their makeshift abode resembles the Motel 6 option at a glamping resort. The couple is biding their time and beseeching a local shut-in to sell them his unused sandstone. 
Called in from a Portlandia skit, Gina annoyingly intends to build a house that “blends naturally” with the pristine local environment. Ryan is as inept as Fuller is crazy and almost derails the sales pitch. And that’s it: a request for rocks. Williams, once Reichardt’s muse, is relegated to third-string status. Although not bad, this chapter simply fails to compel. Many viewers already will find the movie hard to “get,” and the middle portion provides few visual or spoken hooks.
Her final set piece, though, is a revelation. I was half-certain that Kristen Stewart would be the third “woman.” Instead, Reichardt chooses an unknown actor to portray heart-rending, unrequited infatuation. 
This segment would wipe the floor with any other nominee for the Live Action Short Oscar if excised from the feature. Stewart dexterously plays Beth Travis, another (!) lawyer lecturing a handful of local teachers on “School Law” despite having no qualifications to do so. Law nerds, you have been forewarned. Clad in some entry-level Mom Jeans, Beth reads what sound like Westlaw headnotes for Goss v. Lopez and Tinker v. Des Moines off of notecards. It’s scintillating stuff. In truth, the action revolves around back-row interloper, Jamie (Lily Gladstone, quietly devastating), a young Native American woman who tends to horses by day and pursues Beth by night. Everything about their story transcends, and Gladstone steals the show. I can’t extol her and Stewart’s performances enough. Their final scene together—and Gladstone’s controlled acting afterward—absolutely slay.
This film is American art at its finest. As the current Yale Law School dean might say, it’s cinema qua cinema. Forget story arcs or even a background score. It exists solely for us to behold a director operating at the height of her powers. Stunning landscape shots will steal your breath. The camera doesn’t just film its women; it pierces their psyches (well, two-thirds of them). Call me old-fashioned. If a movie manages to be as sumptuous as this one, I’ll drop a Benjamin to revel in the quotidian any weekend.
CLGJr Verdict: An understated yet blistering, remarkable feminist statement of the highest order. Like almost all of Reichardt’s movies, this one won’t garner the wider respect it deserves. So, go and see it already, why don’t you?
Certain Women opened Friday October 14.
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