the movie struggles to transcend broad outlines: Its characters are strictly symbols, timeworn archetypes of good and evil as threadbare and familiar as the artfully faded calicos and denim on their backs
technically, this is a modest independent production but the film's scale and period recreation don't suffer from that all. It's just a shame that Franco's dreams and ideas for this film weren't as big as those of his protagonists
instead of being sloppily miscalculated (the "Franco touch"), this attempt at a Depression-era labor drama in the vein of John Sayles just bores its way through almost two hours of screen time, never rising above anonymity
here is a film with its heart in the right place, but everything else is out of whack. The dramatic pace flatlines to a plodding trudge. The performances are cardboard
by Chuck Bowen [Slant Magazine ]
