TRACING COWBOYS and career paths

There are movies one loves and others that tease, like a beautiful woman who encourages you to commit without ever fully doing so herself. Within that conundrum of the unrequited, lies the heart of TRACING COWBOYS, a beguiling film of misplaced affections starring the phosphorescent Megan Edwards and the haunting Sacha Grunpeter.

Grunpeter died on the last day of production and his loss might be considered as tragic as the better publicized passings of Heath Ledger and River Phoenix. At least they had commercial successes to memorialize their skills. Grunpeter appeared in a couple of European tv series and had a small role in a flick with Julie Delpy and Steven Berkoff. TRACING COWBOYS should have heralded Grunpeter’s arrival, instead it serves as his cinematic epitaph: Truth lies here.

Edwards is seldom seen on screen, but is quietly captivating every time. She can charm comedically as in TATTOO, A LOVE STORY or tantalize dramatically as in COWBOYS. Physically petite, she still exudes enough energy to suggest an imminent starburst. Here, much of her work is relegated to voice-over, though it is the quest to find her that drives the story.

Indeed, TRACING COWBOYS is a back-handed homage to THE SEARCHERS. They are loosely paralleled narratively, while the John Ford western directly propels the leads in Jason Wuhlfson‘s deep southwestern. The two are connected visually, thanks to the awe-striking cinematography of David Robinson who reinvents Winton Hoch‘s sunlight-suffused vistas, cleverly juxtaposing them with tight, hand-held sequences that return us to the main character’s perspective, his near-suffocating pursuit.

TRACING COWBOYS is imperfect. Its pace taunts more than teases. Its resolution both rewards and disregards our patience. Nevertheless, the contributions of Robinson, Edwards and the late Grunpeter — in addition to a stellar soundtrack — advocate for home viewing on a rainy, heartsick night.