Rated PG for mild elements, thematic elements and an injury
Cast: Buck Brannaman
Director: Cindy Meehl
"All of your horses are reflections into your own
souls."
Buck Brannaman imparts the above sentiment to a group of participants in one of the horse handler training clinics he conducts at ranches across the country nine months out of the year. The statement is in response to a question regarding an untamed, violent colt that attacked one of the riders the day before and had to be put down. "Humans failed that horse," he adds, though is careful not to blame the rider himself. I know so little about animals to stake any kind of claim to the above sentiment's veracity although I don't think the movie does, either. "Buck" is not a documentary about horse handler training, but an interesting observation of a kind, simple man who loves what he does, is quite remarkable at it, and somehow managed to find happiness after a childhood rife with verbal, physical, and psychological abuse.
Indeed, if he were to hear the above impression of him, he would probably shrug it off with a dismissive chuckle. Buck is a pillar of equanimity... kind, serene, instantly engaging, comfortable in his own skin and amazingly transparent. (Transparency is not a bad quality in a person; it doesn't mean you don't have depth or a dark past, just that you don't feed its appetite by attempting to hide it or ponder its meaning to the point where it sets up shop in your psyche.) He has a loving wife who misses him while he's on the road, yet accepts what he does for she witnesses the calm it offers. Buck also has a daughter who sometimes accompanies him at some of the clinics.
When he was a child, Dan "Buckshot" Brannaman and his brother were rope trick performers who garnered a following. Their modest fame eventually led to an appearance in a cereal commercial that was the talk of their schoolmates. Behind the scenes, however, their father's physical and psychological abuse fed on the boys' innocence. Both were eventually removed from the habitat and placed with a caring foster family well-versed in compassion. Buck recalls the first time he met his stepfather. The man emerged from a truck with a brand new pair of gloves. "You must be Buck," he said as he smiled and handed the gloves over. "These are for you. You're gonna need them." Young Buck helped his new patriarch with ranch work the entire afternoon. "This man saw that I wasn't someone he needed to take pity on. Just someone that needed something to do," Buck observes. (He didn't wear the gloves; he was too grateful for the gift.)
The man is cloaked in serenity. Consider how he talks about his father. "I just can't bring myself to forgive what he did to me and my brother," he states matter-of-factly. "I know you're not supposed to hate people, but..." He never finishes the thought, opting instead to offer up a morsel of simplicity... "That was then. You have a choice. You can't live in two places at once." It's interesting how he doesn't tilt to either side when referencing his past, choosing instead to adopt an it-is-what-it-is mentality.
The movie doesn't delve too deeply into his background, probably because Buck himself doesn't feel the need to. The film follows him on tour, as he discusses what led him into this field. He also reminisces about his time as a consultant on "The Horse Whisperer." (Both Nicholas Evans' book and Robert Redford's movie.) The best parts of the film show Buck at work. His affection toward the equine doesn't cripple his relationships with others; it strengthens them, and makes him much more perceptive. (One scene has him discussing the dangers of aggressive, untamed studs with a woman who recklessly owns umpteen of them. "That says more about you than them," he imparts. "You should be a Navy SEAL with the risks you're taking there. Why can't you learn to enjoy your life?" The statement brings the woman to tears, and we realize trainers, riders, and handlers attend his clinics for reasons far beyond the practical.)
"Buck" is not the most riveting documentary, but it's an interesting look at a man whose happiness, quite surprisingly, is what fuels our intrigue. The road to fulfillment runs over rough terrain. (The solace we seek may be simple in nature, but the endeavor itself is often fraught with seemingly needless emotional complications and burdens.) Here is a man who simply made a choice. Who is happy. Content. At peace in the world. The promise of calm is real after all.
* * * out of * * * * stars
souls."
Buck Brannaman imparts the above sentiment to a group of participants in one of the horse handler training clinics he conducts at ranches across the country nine months out of the year. The statement is in response to a question regarding an untamed, violent colt that attacked one of the riders the day before and had to be put down. "Humans failed that horse," he adds, though is careful not to blame the rider himself. I know so little about animals to stake any kind of claim to the above sentiment's veracity although I don't think the movie does, either. "Buck" is not a documentary about horse handler training, but an interesting observation of a kind, simple man who loves what he does, is quite remarkable at it, and somehow managed to find happiness after a childhood rife with verbal, physical, and psychological abuse.
Indeed, if he were to hear the above impression of him, he would probably shrug it off with a dismissive chuckle. Buck is a pillar of equanimity... kind, serene, instantly engaging, comfortable in his own skin and amazingly transparent. (Transparency is not a bad quality in a person; it doesn't mean you don't have depth or a dark past, just that you don't feed its appetite by attempting to hide it or ponder its meaning to the point where it sets up shop in your psyche.) He has a loving wife who misses him while he's on the road, yet accepts what he does for she witnesses the calm it offers. Buck also has a daughter who sometimes accompanies him at some of the clinics.
When he was a child, Dan "Buckshot" Brannaman and his brother were rope trick performers who garnered a following. Their modest fame eventually led to an appearance in a cereal commercial that was the talk of their schoolmates. Behind the scenes, however, their father's physical and psychological abuse fed on the boys' innocence. Both were eventually removed from the habitat and placed with a caring foster family well-versed in compassion. Buck recalls the first time he met his stepfather. The man emerged from a truck with a brand new pair of gloves. "You must be Buck," he said as he smiled and handed the gloves over. "These are for you. You're gonna need them." Young Buck helped his new patriarch with ranch work the entire afternoon. "This man saw that I wasn't someone he needed to take pity on. Just someone that needed something to do," Buck observes. (He didn't wear the gloves; he was too grateful for the gift.)
The man is cloaked in serenity. Consider how he talks about his father. "I just can't bring myself to forgive what he did to me and my brother," he states matter-of-factly. "I know you're not supposed to hate people, but..." He never finishes the thought, opting instead to offer up a morsel of simplicity... "That was then. You have a choice. You can't live in two places at once." It's interesting how he doesn't tilt to either side when referencing his past, choosing instead to adopt an it-is-what-it-is mentality.
The movie doesn't delve too deeply into his background, probably because Buck himself doesn't feel the need to. The film follows him on tour, as he discusses what led him into this field. He also reminisces about his time as a consultant on "The Horse Whisperer." (Both Nicholas Evans' book and Robert Redford's movie.) The best parts of the film show Buck at work. His affection toward the equine doesn't cripple his relationships with others; it strengthens them, and makes him much more perceptive. (One scene has him discussing the dangers of aggressive, untamed studs with a woman who recklessly owns umpteen of them. "That says more about you than them," he imparts. "You should be a Navy SEAL with the risks you're taking there. Why can't you learn to enjoy your life?" The statement brings the woman to tears, and we realize trainers, riders, and handlers attend his clinics for reasons far beyond the practical.)
"Buck" is not the most riveting documentary, but it's an interesting look at a man whose happiness, quite surprisingly, is what fuels our intrigue. The road to fulfillment runs over rough terrain. (The solace we seek may be simple in nature, but the endeavor itself is often fraught with seemingly needless emotional complications and burdens.) Here is a man who simply made a choice. Who is happy. Content. At peace in the world. The promise of calm is real after all.
* * * out of * * * * stars
