Rust

The dust in a Western always looks the same, but in Rust, it feels heavier. It’s impossible to watch this film without the weight of its history pressing down on the frame. We live in an era where behind-the-scenes drama often eclipses the actual art—think of the endless "Don't Worry Darling" TikTok cycles or the "Justice League" Snyder Cut campaigns—but Rust exists in a category of its own. It is a film resurrected, completed under a shadow of real-world tragedy that makes every gunshot on screen ring with a deeply uncomfortable resonance.

I watched this late on a Tuesday while trying to fix a leaky faucet in my kitchen, periodically wiping grease off my hands to rewind a scene, and that domestic frustration strangely mirrored the film’s own grit. It’s a movie about things breaking down and the desperate, messy attempt to patch them back together.

A Legacy Written in Lead

At its heart, Joel Souza’s screenplay is a fairly traditional "grandfather and lad" road movie, just swapped out for horses and six-shooters. Alec Baldwin plays Harland Rust, a legendary outlaw who has spent years perfecting the art of being a ghost. When his estranged thirteen-year-old grandson, Lucas (Patrick Scott McDermott), is sentenced to hang for an accidental killing, Rust breaks him out of the clink.

Baldwin delivers a performance that is surprisingly internal. Gone is the bombastic energy of Glengarry Glen Ross or the sharp-edged wit of 30 Rock. Instead, he gives us a man who looks like he’s made of cracked leather and regret. There’s a scene early on where he looks at his hands, and you can’t help but feel the meta-narrative bleeding through. He plays Rust as a man who knows his time is up, but who is willing to burn the whole frontier down to ensure his lineage doesn't end on a gallows. Alec Baldwin’s beard deserves its own SAG award for ‘Best Supporting Facial Hair in a Period Piece,’ as it does half the heavy lifting in establishing the character's weariness.

The Hunter and the Hunted

The momentum of the film is driven by the pursuit. Josh Hopkins (whom I’ll always associate with the goofy charm of Cougar Town) pivots hard into the role of U.S. Marshal Wood Helm. He’s the "civilized" law, but the real standout in the antagonistic stable is Travis Fimmel as Fenton "Preacher" Lang.

Travis Fimmel plays a bounty hunter like he’s trying to win a bet that he can out-stare a rattlesnake. He brings that same twitchy, unpredictable energy he honed in Vikings, making Lang feel less like a human and more like a force of nature that just happened to find a duster and a rifle. The chemistry—or lack thereof—between the stoic Marshal and the feral bounty hunter provides a necessary tension that keeps the middle act from sagging into typical Western tropes.

The action choreography is surprisingly grounded. In an era of "The Volume" and seamless CGI environments, Rust feels refreshingly tactile. When a horse gallops, you see the strain; when a gun fires, the smoke lingers in a way that feels dirty rather than cinematic. It avoids the hyper-stylized "gun-fu" of modern action flicks, opting instead for a clunky, frightening realism. The shootouts are brief, chaotic, and decidedly un-glamorous.

The Shadow of the Lens

We have to talk about how this looks. After the tragic passing of Halyna Hutchins, cinematographer Bianca Cline took over to finish the vision based on Hutchins’ initial work. The result is a film that feels remarkably consistent but undeniably haunting. The New Mexico (and eventually Montana) landscapes are captured with a wide-angle loneliness that reminded me of Hell or High Water.

The film deals with themes of redemption that feel almost too on-the-nose given the context. "Redemption isn't given, it's taken," the tagline screams, but the movie is more interested in whether redemption is even possible after the first domino falls. It’s a somber, grey-toned affair that occasionally struggles to justify its 139-minute runtime. There are moments where the dialogue leans into the "Contemporary Western" trap of being a bit too poetic for its own good—cowboys shouldn't talk like they’re reading from a philosophy textbook.

However, as a piece of contemporary cinema, Rust is a fascinating artifact. It represents a pivot point in how we discuss set safety, independent production, and the ethics of finishing a project marred by loss. It doesn't quite reach the heights of a modern masterpiece like Unforgiven, but it’s a sturdy, well-acted entry into a genre that keeps refusing to die.

Rust is a competent, often moving Western that is destined to be remembered more for its production than its plot. While the pacing stumbles in the final act, the performances from Alec Baldwin and Travis Fimmel provide enough anchor to keep the ship upright. It’s a tough watch for obvious reasons, but as a tribute to a vision that was nearly lost, it carries a quiet, undeniable power. You won't leave the couch feeling "entertained" in the traditional sense, but you will leave it thinking.

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