‘Horizon: An American Saga, Chapter One’: Moseying Nowhere, Slowly

The often bewildering and somewhat underwhelming first installment of Kevin Costner's Western epic is long on characters but short on story.

The first of Kevin Costner’s monumentally ambitious four-part western cycle, Horizon: An American Saga, Chapter One is a vivid reminder of how rousing an experience it is to see a grandly produced epic in that most American of all genres, while falling well short of actually being that experience.

Recycling and intensifying well-worn tropes without revising them or expanding the conversation about Anglo expansion into the American west in any meaningful way (at least not yet), the first chapter has the added burden of not telling much of a story. Instead, we get little more than a three-hour tilling for a harvest crop for which no one has an appetite. (The rest of the story, which was teased with what felt like a hastily patched together clip package used as this film’s capper, will kick off in August with the release of Chapter Two, with the subsequent chapters release dates not yet scheduled.)

While the film takes place during the Civil War, it occurs on a different front entirely, as both wholesome families and ne’er-do-wells head west propelled by the promise of land and a gleaming future that turns out to be as flimsy as the flyer on which it is printed. 

That flyer, which becomes a major motif throughout the movie, advertises the not-yet-in-existence town of Horizon. But what is most notable about the flyer is what it leaves out (something, by the way, that is also true of Costner’s picture); chiefly, that this “premium virgin land” is already occupied by the Apaches, who surveil the settlers from upon a hilltop. 

The Apache raid on the Kittredge homestead (mom and pop are played by Sienna Miller and Will Patton, part of a loaded ensemble) is one of the few moments in which Chapter One achieves something approximating the visceral and cinematic rush of the gunfight in Costner’s previous Western, 2003’s Open Range. Elsewhere in the story, the multi-hyphenate seems more than content to simply set up the dominoes he will be knocking down in the months and years to come. 

There’s the U.S. Cavalry officers played by Sam Worthington and Michael Rooker, who resent the presence of the overmatched settlers. Luke Wilson plays the part of a cowhand leading a convoy of mismatched incomers along the Oregon Trail. 

Meanwhile in Montana, a mother with dark secrets (a juicy role for Costner’s For the Love of the Game co-star Jena Malone) is on the run from a family of outlaws headed by a crusty matriarch (the great Dale Dickey) and a pair of long-haired sons (Jamie Campbell Bower and Jon Beavers), who look like they just tumbled off of a CW teen soap.     

By the time we meet the town’s saucy sex worker and sometime babysitter Marigold (Australian actor and model Abbey Lee), and the new-to-town, taciturn gunslinger Hayes Ellison (Costner himself), you’ll be wondering why you didn’t stay home and watch a Randolph Scott movie, or one of those great Anthony Mann-Jimmy Stewart collaborations, or even an episode of Costner’s much-loved series Yellowstone, from which he has recently confirmed his departure.

Despite the various plot strands and often turgid plot development, Costner—reuniting with Open Range cinematographer J. Michael Muro and editor Miklos Wright—is too skilled to let things drag. But craftsmanship is not enough when the trail has been this trodden, and there is not nearly enough time or consideration given to the indigenous characters, despite the three-hour running time. Plus, the boyish spirit that animates the movie’s sense of exploration occasionally slides uncomfortably into its POV. (Note the odd birds-eye shot that includes the generous cleavage of an otherwise un-noted lady of the night.) 

Given the often bewildering and somewhat underwhelming Chapter One, will I tune for the next installment later this summer? Yes, probably—but not because I am at all concerned about the outcome of these characters. 

At this point in his career, Costner—who carries both the honor and burden of a Best Director Oscar for Dances with Wolves (he bested Scorsese for Goodfellas)—has earned the benefit of the doubt. He remains a top flight spinner of American yarns, and also tends to rise to the occasion, as he did with his tribute to Vin Scully at the late Dodger broadcaster’s retirement ceremony, or his moving eulogy at Whitney Houston’s funeral. 

Back then, he got the job done in less than 10 minutes and a little over 17, respectively. Now a quarter of the way through an epic slog that seems to be moseying nowhere slowly, such concision feels a bit like ancient history.