And there's a lot of dust in The Proposition. The movie, as directed by John Hillcoat, is about as brutal, gritty and unapologetic a history lesson as you're ever likely to see about the Australian frontier. But it is a western (even though it is western Australia we're dealing with here), and as such, you're excused for not being excited.

Still with me here? Good. There were those at the Toronto and Sundance film festivals who proclaimed The Proposition to be among the greatest westerns of all time. I felt, however, as if someone had taken a hammer and smashed me in the face with it for roughly two hours.

I do not mean that as a put-down.

Such in-your-face combativeness is The Proposition's power, and for those of you who value your westerns, the effect is not unlike that of The Wild Bunch or Unforgiven. It's a scorpion sting to the soul, a dose of cynicism toxic enough to make Sam Peckinpah seem like a wide-eyed Pollyanna (he, at least, believed in the nobility of lost causes). From the opening standoff, so riddled with bullets it could conceivably have you ducking in the aisles, to the sadistic gut shot that ends it, The Proposition leaves you shell-shocked.

The movie's notion of human nature is not one of good vs. evil, but rather bad vs. worse, in which every character -- from the ruthless British officer (Ray Winstone) who disgustedly vows to "civilize this land" to the bandits who stand in his way -- is tainted by degrees of corruption. In the parlance of classic westerns, there are no "white hats" among these characters, nor any law for these "outlaws" to operate outside. Everyone has blood on his hands, even the women.

Australia was once a remote prison outpost. Colonized by criminals, the country's particular brand of anarchy trumps even the American West. Winstone's smarmy Captain Stanley is right at home in such a place, as is the devil's bargain he makes with wanted man Charlie Burns (a bedraggled Guy Pearce). Stanley's proposition: If Charlie will agree to kill his older brother (Danny Huston), a certifiable public enemy, then Stanley will pardon the rest of the Burns family.

No good can come of such an arrangement, and director John Hillcoat's bloodthirst is matched only by that of the ancient Greek playwrights. The movie itself throws down a gauntlet of its own, daring audiences to identify with any of its characters, while showing sympathy only for the innocent (but corruptible) Aborigines caught in this white man's war for "civilization." The audiences most likely to tolerate such a bleak parable are either those with a very low opinion of human nature or the fortunate few tuned to Cave's otherworldly wavelength.

[as featured in The Miami Herald]