Quaint and sporadic plains are the scenes of much violence. It is a tale as old and as expected as Americana, where a Sydney Sweeney-led ensemble fights over a history they do not understand. It’s part of both the charm and the inevitability of this Tony Tost-directed neo-western. All the parts fall into place and, just in case the slower viewer is left behind, there are literal cowboys and Indians on the screen. There’s no chance of getting lost in the barren desert and its stereotypes. But there is, deeply rooted in this Tost feature, a love of country music. His work as a music critic decades before Americana came to be highlights an appreciation for the deeper cuts of country music. Tost makes sure to feature that as not just a passive choice in this Paul Walter Hauser-featuring work, but an active mood-setter when the sandy textures of the on-screen location and endless “where do I know them from” questions jolt you from scene to scene.
It certainly feels like a vignette collection stapled together, but there is charm in that. Americana struggles with whether to play itself out as a fast-and-loose comedy with an ensemble to make Rat Race blush or as an out-and-out plucky hero, bag of money and Native American coat quest, like Rat Race without the jacket. Every character has a note of personality to mould as they wish, though most do not get very far. It’s a film of quips and shortcomings, of high hopes for those with little to care for. You’ve heard it all before, likely seen it, too. But that is no reason to turn your nose up at Americana, a heartily made movie with plenty of solid action. Loose ends are plentiful here, but such is life. A messy first-third where the film opens with a shot reminiscent of The Searchers, John Wayne setting off into the sandy dunes, sets the scene.
This is a nod to the westerns of old, and not just the films. Music, mise-en-place, and values are shoehorned into an hour-and-forty, bursting with character studies. Not one stands out, though when they do, it’s usually for the singular personality trait they have. From Sweeney portraying a stuttering waitress to Halsey’s performance as a woman with inevitable hang-ups about her past and an aversion to her family, it’s a paint-by-numbers piece which relies solely on the talents of its cast. With the average actor in place, Americana falls to pieces. Star power is a major factor in this feature, and it shows, with Hauser and Halsey both offering solid work. Both are given opposite briefs, though, with Hauser transitioning from comic foil to heroic dramatist over the course of an hour. Halsey does much the same, her story receiving no vindication or real end bar the inevitable you can see as a half-hearted want at the start of the film.
Much of Americana is a solid and safe route through neo-western tropes. Nothing about its writing stands out all that much. There are moments of borderline insufferable quality. From a diner patron writing dollar signs on a napkin to remind himself of a heist he’s about to take part in (and then leaving it on the table), to a child whose whole purpose in the film is to convince others he is possessed by the spirit of Sitting Bull. Tonally a mess, but Americana has a real heart to it that’s difficult to dislike. Its action is strong and well-placed, often dragged on, but the shootout, which makes up the final third, is a nicely paced piece. It’s clear where Tost’s strengths lie, and he lingers on those with a satisfying conclusion to an enjoyable, if incredibly muddled, neo-western. Americana never has the guts to mock the dreamers, the wannabe country stars and the hopelessly romantic, but it does showcase a world in which they try, and fail, to make it.
