Over the past decade, few movie genres have had quite the shift as the western. The study of America’s history has evolved and changed with each new generation. The figures that we held as heroes are now smattered in a grey area that makes their accomplishments less triumphant. Who are these men who traveled west, into the great unknown, and desired to make America into this great new place of opportunity? The decade has been as much in exploring the subtext of the genre as well as presenting something more palatable, human, and most of all honest. The more voices that enter the conversation, the more that things can be seen as more than a John Wayne action-fest.
Among the most unlikely voices to tackle the revisionist western is Kelly Reichardt. After a decade of telling other stories, she returns to the genre with First Cow (2020). It’s not necessarily the most exciting story on its surface. How exactly is acquiring animals to open your first business at all worthy of a thrilling narrative? To start with, Reichardt is more on the methodical side, allowing a simple story to play out through long, meditative shots that focus on what’s essential in a moment. Open fields have a breathtaking beauty but hide something more symbolic the more that she returns to these shots. So much of nature is presented in these static shots, and it’s here that everything becomes clearest.
Why tell a story about a first cow? It’s the same reason that there’s value in telling stories of ranch herders in Red River (1948). As much as a man thinks that they’re independent and capable of resolving all of their own problems, they need to consider resources. These are the true commodities that keep society alive. Without a cow, it’s impossible to have milk and dairy. In a more fatalistic view, it’s where you get beef from as well. So much can come from a cow that suddenly it makes more sense why it’s a central plot point here. Without it, many of these characters would cease to have meaning.
The story is about a man named Cookie (John Magaro). As he travels west, he follows a group of fur trappers in the Oregon territory. He learns from them how to survive, though it’s clear that he’s still an outsider to these men. He’s unable to hunt and bring food for them. As the journey continues, he meets King-Lu (Orioh Lee): a Chinese immigrant trying to evade capture for killing a Russian man. He’s also a cook who holds personal secrets about his heritage. This includes making a special biscuit that encourages them to go into business.
This is after discovering the presence of a cow. As the lone survivor, it’s in high demand. Chief Factor (Toby Jones) owns the cow and it becomes a major struggle as to who gets to use it. Unlike Cookie and King-Lu, Chief is wealthy and has means to do whatever he wants. He can prosecute the men if they so much as disobey him. In this story of wealth distribution, the subtle undertone builds to Cookie and King-Lu’s lower-class status ultimately being oppressed, finally faced with potential death. Given that the story ends with the assumption that their lives are coming to an end, it’s clear how Chief got rich off of their backs.
Of course, if you’re watching a Reichardt movie it’s difficult to say that you’re coming solely for the plot. While this is a satisfying subversion of a timeless American tale, it’s also one of the most satisfying westerns in terms of atmosphere. There are long stretches where the audience is pitted into silence, where natural lighting makes the nights feel ominous and hiding devious secrets. You can hear crickets chirp and the score rarely pops up for more than small moments of emphasis. This is a film that often embraces diegetic sound as a necessity, making the human characters feel small and insignificant in the bigger picture.
It also helps that the symbolism that opens the film is perfectly portrayed throughout everything that follows. There is at first a boat crossing a river. As the audience watches it cross, another figure is digging through dirt, finding a skeleton. One has to wonder who this body belongs to, how long it has been there, and what its value ultimately was. She doesn’t have long to look at it, as the boat is coming to whisk her away to the next event. She’s just another worker in this country’s history, forced to carry on the secrets of the previous generation.
It’s clear that these skeletons likely belong to King-Lu or Cookie. They may survive the story from here, but it’s clear that they have faded into nothingness, not existing in the bigger picture of this country. Chief may have less resourceful skills besides the cow, but it’s likely that he has a plaque somewhere to commemorate his accomplishments. All these two have are unmarked graves, carelessly forgotten. First Cow seeks to give their story meaning as they try to use resources that would greatly benefit them, and it still comes down to corporate control.
Even if it doesn’t strike the audience as a story that’s overtly political, it manages to achieve that by creating something empathetic. This is a story of character, where every action builds something more endearing and drives us to believe the good of the underdog. It’s the story of working hard to make a name for yourself, and it still isn’t enough. Much like the cow, they survive horrific circumstances in order to try and better their future, and yet it’s sometimes not enough. Things can be controlled by those with perceived power.
Reichardt’s study of the western is an inventive and vital take that finds her once again in top form. However, it wasn’t the first time that she took to the great unknown to explore what drives the human spirit. In Meek’s Cutoff (2010), she explored a very different concept when it came to the genre. Once again in Oregon, she was inspired by real-life events to explore the story of a man whose path to prosperity was met with one frustrating obstacle after another. What followed was supposed to be a shortcut. Instead, it was a major headache.
The Meek Cutoff that the title refers to owes credit to Stephen Meek (Bruce Greenwood). He’s one of those men who are so confident that he probably would never stop and ask for directions. He trusts his instinct, even when it goes horribly wrong. This is a disaster movie without any of the flourishes, no melodramatic touches. All there is is a desert spanning as far as the eye could see, making any chance of solace feel hopeless. Like Chief, Stephen is a foolish man that the audience wants to turn on immediately, though you have no choice but to trust him out of hope that he doesn’t kill you first.
Among the families that he’s helping is Emily Tetherow (Michelle Williams), who becomes enraged by his foolishness. As she tries to intervene, Stephen doubles down on his sole decision-making abilities. It starts with these minor grievances of doubt, where Emily begins to wonder if there’s any hope in the path they’ve taken. It grows from this minor frustration into something bigger as the story grows, eventually forcing Emily to take charge. She needs to free herself from the tangled web that Stephen has put them in.
Much like First Cow, it’s more of an atmospheric journey that takes the audience through a hellish landscape. The bigger difference is that there’s far fewer twists and turns on this journey. It’s one of a team working together to solve the problems of one person who perceivably held the power. It’s drenched in the heat of its surroundings, the characters doing everything to keep their spirits alive. By the end, it’s a relieving journey that shows that sometimes what is needed is to listen to others and not to undermine their trust.
While both have some basis in economic struggles, the most apparent theme of Meek’s Cutoff is to feminize the western. This isn’t by focusing on more girly aspects. Instead, it shows these wagon trips from the perspective of women, eager to not just be helpless creatures on these men’s journey. For decades, they have been the sidekicks’ sidekick to the men’s struggle, and Reichardt is able to show that the women who went on these trails were just as confident and resourceful as the men. It just happened to come after massive arrogance that set their trip back.
This isn’t done in a theoretical female empowerment way that most contemporary cinema goes for. Meek’s Cutoff doesn’t exist to stroke Emily’s ego. What it does is reflect dynamics in such a manner that it says something about the male archetype in western and how it may be a bit unrealistic. Emily may still have her weaknesses, but she’s still capable of pushing forward and making a difference. It’s a story that adds context and depth to history that is more powerful than First Cow.
Then again, making a story about the value of livestock is essential in its own perverse way. Narratives often throw too much credit to the resourceful alpha male that they become heroes. The stories of Reichardt likely wouldn’t appeal to those who see John Wayne as an archetype. They’re not allowed to be flawed, aware of their mistakes to such a damning degree. The revisionist western of the recent era has been about exploring the lives of characters that have often been marginalized or ignored. Reichardt’s interest comes from the working class eager to make a name for themselves, whether by settling in a new land or starting a business. They’re stories that don’t feel eventful, but so much about their atmosphere and tone sets the stage perfectly for what it’s saying.
Considering that some see the western as a bygone genre, it’s important to note that it really shouldn’t go away. It can be argued that early incarnations were racist screeds against Native Americans, promoting genocide and xenophobia. However, placing it in a greater context of hearing stories by those who felt oppressed, there are chances that the west can be truly represented not as some Zane Grey novel, but as what it actually was. Some have gotten closer than others to be faithful, and Reichardt deserves some credit for making some of the more naturalistic takes.
It’s why Meek’s Cutoff a decade later remains one of the most vital modern takes. It may at times play with the tepid pace like a Sergio Leone movie, but it does so in ways that emphasize its plight, making the audience recognize how hopeless these obstacles can feel. It’s a desire to escape the situation that you’re in, but finding that male dominance is holding one back. In First Cow, that can be true of economic powers that have better ways of manipulating the system. By showing the working class who aren’t able to be these triumphant heroes, it makes the west into something that it never got credit for: diverse.
Not everyone needs to be a hero. There are those who simply tried to have a modest living around their insecure, overcompensating peers. With that said, everyone is necessary in society. Together it builds something more substantial and able to last longer. The western is the building block to the future, and that is perfectly symbolized by the skeleton in First Cow. They may be forgotten, but their value in making the future better is deserving of recognition. Nobody’s voice deserves to be marginalized. Everyone deserves to be heard. That is what’s revolutionary about Reichardt’s westerns and why she does them so masterfully. She knows that it isn’t about the spectacle and towering epic that we used to romanticize. It’s about being honest with ourselves and understanding what truly happened.
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