Filmmaker Kelly Reichardt has provided a candid assessment of American cinema’s tendency to recycle 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 masterclass on Tuesday as part of a wider tribute to the celebrated filmmaker, Reichardt explored how her films intentionally reposition perspective on traditional narratives, 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 male-dominated viewpoint that has traditionally shaped the form to examine what happens when the mythology is examined from an alternative viewpoint. Her remarks came as the festival celebrated her unique oeuvre, which continually examines power dynamics and hierarchies within American society.
Reconsidering the Western Through a Different Lens
Reichardt’s revisionist 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 directly connected the film’s themes to the political moment of its creation, drawing parallels between the arrogance underlying westward expansion and the invasion of Iraq. “Meek was this guy with all this hubris – ‘Here we go!’ – heading into some foreign land and distrusting the Indigenous people,” she explained, highlighting how the film depicts the cyclical nature of American overextension and the dismissal of those already inhabiting the territories being seized.
The film’s exploration of power transcends its narrative surface to interrogate the foundational structures of American society itself. Reichardt described how “Meek’s Cutoff” investigates an early form of capitalism, examining a period before currency was established yet when rigid hierarchies were already deeply rooted. This historical lens allows the director to uncover how systems of exploitation—whether directed at Indigenous communities or the natural environment—have deep roots in American expansion. By reframing the Western genre away from promoting masculine heroism and frontier mythology, Reichardt reveals the violence and recklessness embedded within the nation’s founding narratives.
- Westward expansion propelled by male arrogance and expansionist goals
- Hierarchies of power established prior to structured monetary systems
- Exploitation of native populations and environmental destruction
- Recurring pattern of US overextension and territorial conquest
Systems of Authority and Capitalism’s Impacts
Reichardt’s filmmaking regularly examines the structures of power that underpin American society, positioning her output 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, emphasising that her interest lies in exposing the systemic nature of exploitation. This thematic preoccupation extends across her body of work, manifesting in narratives that demonstrate how seemingly minor transgressions—a stolen commodity, a small crime—connect to vast networks of corporate greed and institutional violence that shape the nation’s economic and social landscape.
“The film First Cow” exemplifies this methodology, with Reichardt describing how the film’s core story of milk theft serves as a window into larger economic frameworks. The seemingly inconsequential crime serves as a lens for understanding the workings of capitalist wealth-building and the disregard with which those structures handle both the ecological systems and excluded populations. By focusing on these links, Reichardt shows how control works not through sweeping actions but through the routine maintenance of social orders that privilege certain populations whilst systematically disadvantaging others, notably Native communities and the natural world itself.
From Early Commerce to Modern Platforms
Reichardt’s analytical study of capitalist systems reveals how modern power structures possess deep historical roots extending back centuries. In “First Cow,” she explores an early manifestation 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 firmly entrenched. This temporal positioning allows Reichardt to demonstrate that greed and exploitation are not modern inventions but core features of American colonial and commercial enterprise. By examining these systems historically, she reveals how modern capitalist systems represents a continuation rather than a departure from historical patterns of dispossession and environmental destruction.
The director’s investigation of initial economic systems serves a dual purpose: it contextualises present-day economic harm whilst also exposing the extended lineage of Indigenous dispossession. By showing how systems of control worked before standardised money, Reichardt demonstrates that structures of control preceded and indeed enabled the emergence of contemporary capitalism. This perspective challenges narratives of progress and development, suggesting instead that American expansion has repeatedly rested on the domination of Aboriginal communities and the exploitation of natural resources, patterns that have merely evolved rather than substantially changed across long spans of time.
The Deliberate Tempo of Defiance
Reichardt’s method of cinematic rhythm represents far more than aesthetic preference; it serves as a deliberate act of resistance against the accelerated consumption patterns that shape contemporary media culture. By abandoning conventional pacing, she creates space for viewers to examine the granular details of power’s operation, the nuanced methods in which hierarchies make themselves known through routine and repetition. Her films call for patience and attention, qualities growing uncommon in an entertainment landscape designed for rapid consumption and immediate gratification. This temporal strategy proves integral to her thematic preoccupations with systemic oppression and environmental destruction, obliging spectators to sit with discomfort rather than escape into narrative catharsis.
When confronted with portrayals of her work as “slow cinema,” Reichardt resisted the language, remembering a strikingly vivid on-air exchange with NPR’s Terry Gross about “Meek’s Cutoff.” Her objection to this label reflects a more expansive artistic philosophy: that her films unfold at the tempo needed to authentically explore their narrative focus rather than adhering to commercial conventions of entertainment consumption. The deliberate unfolding of plot functions as a artistic selection that mirrors her thematic concerns, creating a unified artistic vision where technique and meaning reinforce one another. By championing this strategy, Reichardt provokes spectators and commercial cinema to reassess what cinema can accomplish when released from commercial pressures to please rather than disturb.
Countering Corporate Deception
Reichardt’s rejection of accelerated pacing operates as implicit critique of how capitalism structures not merely economic relations but temporal experience itself. Commercial cinema, influenced by studio interests and advertising logic, conditions viewers to expect quick cuts, mounting tension, and quick plot resolution. By declining these norms, Reichardt’s films expose how standards of the entertainment industry serve to normalise consumption patterns that serve corporate interests. Her intentional pace becomes a form of formal resistance, arguing that meaningful engagement with complex social and historical questions cannot be squeezed into formula-driven structures created for maximum commercial appeal.
This temporal resistance extends beyond mere stylistic choice into territory of genuine political intervention. When audiences sit through extended sequences of landscape, labour, or quiet conversation, they perceive temporality in alternative ways—not as something to be consumed and optimised but as substantive material deserving consideration. Reichardt’s films thus train viewers in alternative modes of perception, encouraging them to observe power’s operations in moments that conventional cinema would dismiss as dramatically empty. By safeguarding these moments from commercial manipulation, she creates possibilities for critical consciousness that swift cuts and emotionally coercive music would eliminate, demonstrating cinema’s capacity to function as tool for ideological resistance rather than capitalist reinforcement.
- Extended sequences demonstrate power’s everyday, routine operations within systems
- Slow pacing opposes the entertainment sector’s increase in consumption and attention
- Temporal resistance permits viewers to foster critical consciousness and historical understanding
Truth, Fiction and the Documentary Impulse
Reichardt’s approach to filmmaking blurs traditional distinctions between documentary and narrative fiction, a separation she considers ever more artificial. Her films work within documentary’s dedication to observational truth whilst drawing on fiction’s structural possibilities, establishing a combined method that questions how stories are constructed and whose perspectives influence historical narratives. This methodological approach reflects her conviction that cinema’s power doesn’t reside in spectacular revelation but in sustained scrutiny of marginal elements and peripheral perspectives. By resisting sensationalise or dramatise her material, Reichardt maintains that genuine insight develops via prolonged focus rather than artificial emotional peaks, encouraging viewers to recognise documentary value in what might initially look unremarkable or undramatic.
This commitment to truthfulness extends to her treatment of historical material, particularly in films exploring Western expansion and early American capitalism. Rather than celebrating frontier mythology or heroic conquest narratives, Reichardt’s films examine systems of power, abuse of resources, and environmental destruction through the experiences of those typically overlooked in conventional histories. Her documentary impulse thus becomes a form of ethical practice, insisting that cinema bear witness to suppressed stories and alternative perspectives. By preserving stylistic restraint and refusing to impose predetermined meanings, she allows viewers space to develop their own analytical perspective of how American power structures have historically operated and continue to influence contemporary reality.