Kevin Costner and Diane Lane remind us why they’re legends in this slow-burn gut-punch of a Western thriller.

Set in the wide-open, wind-whipped Dakotas of the early ’60s, it’s the story of a retired sheriff (Costner, quiet and granite-solid) and his iron-willed wife Margaret (Lane, all fire wrapped in grief) who hit the road after their widowed daughter-in-law disappears with their grandson into the clutches of the Weboy clan. Think hillbilly mafia run by Lesley Manville’s Blanche—a smiling, cigarette-dragging matriarch who could make the devil flinch.

What starts as a desperate family rescue turns into a collision course with pure evil. The tension coils tighter with every mile: dusty diners, empty horizons, and that creeping dread when you realize the Weboys don’t negotiate. Manville is chilling—sweet tea one minute, pure venom the next—while Costner and Lane carry the weight of loss in every glance. When the final showdown comes (firelit, brutal, inevitable), it hits like a freight train.

Gorgeous cinematography, a haunting score, and performances that’ll stay with you long after. It’s not flashy, but damn, it hurts in the best way.

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