The wind reaches the fens of eastern England before the light does, moving over the marshes in long gray sweeps. Andrew Garfield, muddied and short of breath, labors through it: a farmer with his ox, cutting furrows into the land. His character, Ploughman, is a man who refers to himself simply by what he does. Grief has pared him down to labor and memory. The plague took his wife and children, and all that remains is a hut, the animal that shares it through the winter for warmth, and the daily toll of survival. It’s slow and thankless work, the kind a kingdom takes for granted as readily as the earth beneath its feet.
That lone farmer anchors…
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