It’s a long way from the brutality of Mark ‘Chopper’ Read to the poetic eloquence of Ron Hansen’s novelisation of the Jesse James legend. Yet the boy from Melbourne has made that leap with a remarkable film that probes mortality, obsession and the cult of celebrity. It is immediately clear that this is no John Wayne western but one that owes more to Terence Malick than Sergio Leone. It opens as a reflective James (an impressively nuanced performance from Pitt) considers his career, his young family and his new concerns. The scene is stripped back to sparse essentials, stunningly beautiful countryside recalling The New World with more dialogue. And guns. Roger Deakin’s luscious cinematography and Nick Cave’s score work in effortless harmony under Dominik’s assured direction.

Nineteen year old Robert Ford (a screen-hugging revelation from Affleck) desperately wants to join the James gang, now reforming after Jesse’s older brother hung up his gun. Besotted since youth, the boy’s fascination with James is something of a joke to his brothers yet eerily attractive to the outlaw. Aware that Ford’s hero-worship comes at a price, he recruits the youngster at arms length – keep your enemies close – while tending to some unfinished ‘business’.

Pitt portrays James as a weary insomniac, an acute sociopath with a repetitive disorder. His depressed silences are packed with menace, his jokes are frightening. Acutely concerned by Ford’s star-struck naivety – “You wanna be like me, or do you wanna be me?” – James corrals him through ridicule to do one thing he can’t do for himself. Ford’s compulsive denial is explosive. Despite a challenging length, the two hours forty runtime flashes past as Dominik deftly shifts gears from intriguing through compelling to present a riveting study of flawed character.

// COLIN FRASER