Filmmaker Kelly Reichardt has provided a candid assessment of American cinema’s habit of repeating its own myths, telling an audience at the Visions du Réel documentary festival in Nyon, Switzerland, that “the American story keeps repeating itself.” During a Tuesday masterclass as part of a broader retrospective to the celebrated filmmaker, Reichardt explored how her films intentionally reposition perspective on conventional storytelling, particularly the Western genre. Rather than claiming to rewrite history, she characterised her approach as a intentional recalibration of the cinematic lens—moving away from the patriarchal perspective that has traditionally shaped the form to explore what happens when the mythology is scrutinised from a different angle. Her remarks came as the festival celebrated her unique oeuvre, which continually examines power dynamics and hierarchies within American society.
Reinterpreting the Western From a Different Lens
Reichardt’s reinterpretive approach reaches its sharpest articulation in “Meek’s Cutoff,” a film that tracks a group of pioneers lost in the Oregon desert and functions as a direct commentary on American expansionist ideology. The director explicitly linked the film’s themes to the political moment of its creation, drawing parallels between the arrogance underlying westward expansion and the military intervention in Iraq. “Meek was this guy with all this overconfidence – ‘Here we go!’ – venturing into some foreign land and distrusting the Indigenous people,” she explained, emphasising how the film depicts the recurring pattern of American overextension and the disregard for those already inhabiting the territories being conquered.
The film’s exploration of power extends beyond its narrative surface to interrogate the foundational structures of American society itself. Reichardt described how “Meek’s Cutoff” examines an early form of capitalism, examining a period before currency was established yet when rigid hierarchies were already well established. This historical lens allows the director to uncover how systems of exploitation—whether directed at Indigenous communities or the natural environment—have historical origins in American expansion. By reframing the Western genre away from promoting masculine heroism and frontier mythology, Reichardt exposes the violence and recklessness embedded within the nation’s founding narratives.
- Expansion towards the west driven by masculine hubris and imperial ambition
- Hierarchies of power established before structured monetary systems
- Mistreatment of Indigenous peoples and ecological damage
- Cyclical repetition of American overreach and territorial expansion
Systems of Authority and Capitalist Impacts
Reichardt’s filmmaking consistently interrogates the structures of power that sustain American society, treating her films as an investigation into hierarchical systems rather than individual moral failings. “A lot of my films are really about hierarchies of power,” she stated during the masterclass, highlighting how her interest lies in uncovering the institutional basis of exploitation. This thematic preoccupation pervades her body of work, taking shape through narratives that demonstrate how seemingly minor transgressions—a stolen commodity, a small crime—connect to vast networks of corporate greed and institutional violence that structure the nation’s economic and social landscape.
“The film First Cow” demonstrates this strategy, with Reichardt describing how the film’s central narrative of milk theft serves as a window into wider capitalist systems. The ostensibly minor crime transforms into a gateway to comprehending the mechanisms of business expansion and the carelessness with which those systems handle both the natural world and excluded populations. By examining these links, Reichardt reveals how control works not through sweeping actions but through the routine maintenance of power structures that advantage certain communities whilst deliberately marginalising others, notably Native communities and the natural world itself.
From Early Trade to Modern Platforms
Reichardt’s historical examination of capitalism demonstrates how modern power structures have deep historical roots stretching back centuries. In “First Cow,” she examines an initial expression of capitalist logic functioning in pre-currency America, a period when official currency frameworks had not yet been established yet strict social orders were already deeply embedded. This historical framing enables Reichardt to illustrate that exploitation and greed are not modern inventions but foundational elements of American colonial and commercial enterprise. By examining these systems historically, she reveals how contemporary capitalism represents a extension rather than a departure from established precedents of environmental destruction and dispossession.
The director’s examination of primitive trade serves a twofold function: it historicises modern economic exploitation whilst also exposing the deep historical roots of Aboriginal land seizure. By illustrating how systems of control worked before formal monetary systems, Reichardt demonstrates that frameworks of subjugation came before and actively facilitated the rise of modern capitalist systems. This analytical approach contests stories of advancement and growth, indicating instead that American expansion has repeatedly rested on the subjugation of Indigenous peoples and the exploitation of natural resources, trends that have only transformed rather than substantially changed across long spans of time.
The Calculated Tempo of Defiance
Reichardt’s method of cinematic rhythm embodies far more than aesthetic preference; it functions as a deliberate act of pushback against the accelerated consumption patterns that shape contemporary media culture. By abandoning conventional pacing, she establishes scope for viewers to examine the granular details of power’s operation, the subtle ways in which hierarchies establish themselves through routine and repetition. Her films call for patience and attention, qualities increasingly rare in an entertainment landscape built for rapid consumption and immediate gratification. This temporal strategy proves integral to her thematic preoccupations with structural inequality and environmental destruction, obliging spectators to sit with discomfort rather than escape into narrative catharsis.
When presented with portrayals of her work as “slow cinema,” Reichardt objected to the nomenclature, referencing a notably contentious broadcast exchange with NPR’s Terry Gross about “Meek’s Cutoff.” Her objection to this label reveals a broader philosophical position: that her films progress at the pace required to truly investigate their thematic content rather than aligning with market-driven norms of entertainment consumption. The deliberate unfolding of narrative functions as a formal choice that mirrors her subject interests, establishing a unified artistic vision where form and content strengthen each other. By championing this method, Reichardt pushes both viewers and the film industry to reassess what film can achieve when liberated from market demands to please rather than disturb.
Combating Commercial Manipulation
Reichardt’s refusal to accept accelerated pacing operates as implicit critique of how capitalism shapes not merely economic relations but experience of time itself. Commercial cinema, determined by studio interests and advertising logic, prepares viewers to expect fast editing, escalating tension, and quick plot resolution. By rejecting these standards, Reichardt’s films reveal how standards of the entertainment industry serve to naturalise consumption patterns that benefit corporate interests. Her intentional pace becomes a means of formal resistance, arguing that substantive engagement with intricate social and historical issues cannot be hurried or condensed into formula-driven structures intended for maximum commercial appeal.
This temporal resistance extends beyond simple aesthetic decisions into territory of genuine political intervention. When audiences experience extended sequences of landscape, labour, or quiet conversation, they experience time differently—not as something to be consumed and optimised but as substantive material deserving consideration. Reichardt’s films thus educate audiences in different ways of seeing, encouraging them to observe the workings of power in moments that conventional cinema would dismiss as dramatically empty. By safeguarding these moments from commercial manipulation, she opens avenues for critical consciousness that rapid editing and manipulative scoring would eliminate, demonstrating cinema’s capacity to serve as an instrument of ideological resistance rather than capitalist reinforcement.
- Extended sequences reveal power’s mundane, quotidian operations within systems
- Slow pacing opposes entertainment industry’s increase in consumption and attention
- Temporal resistance enables viewers to develop critical awareness and historical understanding
Fact, Narrative and the Documentary Instinct
Reichardt’s approach to filmmaking blurs conventional boundaries between documentary and narrative fiction, a distinction she considers increasingly artificial. Her films work within documentary’s dedication to observational truth whilst employing fiction’s narrative frameworks, establishing a hybrid form that interrogates how stories unfold and whose perspectives shape historical narratives. This methodological approach embodies her belief that cinema’s power doesn’t reside in spectacular revelation but in sustained scrutiny of marginal elements and peripheral perspectives. By declining to overstate or theatricalise her material, Reichardt maintains that genuine insight develops via continued engagement rather than artificial emotional peaks, prompting viewers to acknowledge documentary value in what might initially appear mundane or undramatic.
This commitment to truthfulness extends to her examination of historical material, especially within films exploring Western expansion and early American capitalism. Rather than celebrating frontier mythology or heroic conquest narratives, Reichardt’s films examine power structures, abuse of resources, and environmental destruction by focusing on those typically rendered invisible in conventional histories. Her documentary impulse thus becomes a form of ethical practice, demanding that cinema document suppressed stories and alternative perspectives. By preserving stylistic restraint and resisting predetermined meanings, she allows viewers space to develop their own critical understanding of how American power structures have historically operated and continue to influence contemporary reality.