Viggo Mortensen makes a good son of the soil as an earth father raising a gaggle of children in the wilds alone after the suicide of his wife. It's an idyllic hippy commune of sorts, the children growing up preternaturally book-smart and politically indoctrinated against the capitalist system, but what droves of critics seem to have missed entirely is how the target of criticism isn't just the orthodox system, but also the father, who is given many of the attributes of a cult leader, albeit a benevolent one. His is the only voice that counts and the children repeatedly trot out dogma that they cannot possibly understand the full import of. The status quo cannot endure and is duly put to the test when they have to venture out into the world to travel to the mother's funeral, meeting hostility from the mother's conservative parents, who refuse to accept the lifestyle choice imposed on their grandchildren.
It's by no means a perfectly-realised piece, with unsteady jumps in tone from escapades and satire, often broad, to attempting to make earnest points about parenting and unconventional ways of living. In that sense, Weir's
The Mosquito Coast, its harsher obvious precursor, was a more complete work. But it has a sustaining optimism and vitality that carries it over the choppier waters in the end.
6/10
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