Filmmaker Kelly Reichardt has provided a frank evaluation of American cinema’s tendency to recycle its own myths, telling attendees 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 discussed how her films intentionally reposition perspective on conventional storytelling, particularly the Western genre. Rather than asserting to revise history, she characterised her approach as a deliberate repositioning 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 a different angle. Her remarks came as the festival celebrated her unique oeuvre, which consistently interrogates power dynamics and hierarchies within American society.
Reinterpreting the Western From a New Lens
Reichardt’s revisionist approach finds its most pointed expression in “Meek’s Cutoff,” a film that tracks a group of pioneers stranded in the Oregon desert and serves as a direct commentary on American imperial ambition. The director directly connected the film’s themes to the historical context of its creation, drawing parallels between the hubris of 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, highlighting how the film captures the recurring pattern of American overextension and the dismissal of those already occupying the territories being conquered.
The film’s examination of power extends beyond its narrative surface to scrutinise the foundational structures of American society itself. Reichardt described how “Meek’s Cutoff” explores an early form of capitalism, studying a period before currency was established yet when rigid hierarchies were already firmly entrenched. This historical lens allows the director to reveal how systems of exploitation—whether directed at Indigenous communities or the natural environment—have deep roots in American expansion. By reconceiving the Western genre away from celebrating masculine heroism and frontier mythology, Reichardt demonstrates the violence and recklessness embedded within the nation’s founding narratives.
- Westward expansion propelled by male arrogance and imperial ambition
- Power structures established before formal currency systems
- Exploitation of native populations and ecological damage
- Cyclical repetition of US overextension and territorial conquest
Power Structures and Capitalist Impacts
Reichardt’s filmmaking regularly examines the structures of power that sustain American society, positioning her output as an analysis of 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 revealing the structural dimensions of exploitation. This thematic preoccupation pervades her body of work, manifesting in narratives that demonstrate how seemingly minor transgressions—a stolen commodity, a small crime—connect to sprawling systems of corporate greed and institutional violence that shape the nation’s economic and social landscape.
“First Cow” exemplifies this strategy, with Reichardt explaining how the film’s core story of stealing milk functions as a microcosm of larger economic frameworks. The seemingly inconsequential crime becomes a lens for grasping the workings of capitalist wealth-building and the disregard with which those frameworks treat both the ecological systems and excluded populations. By highlighting these relationships, Reichardt reveals how power operates not through sweeping actions but through the everyday enforcement of power structures that privilege certain communities whilst consistently excluding others, particularly Aboriginal populations and the ecosystem itself.
From Initial Commerce to Modern Platforms
Reichardt’s historical examination of capitalist systems reveals how contemporary power structures possess deep historical roots stretching back centuries. In “First Cow,” she examines 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 deeply embedded. This historical framing enables Reichardt to demonstrate that exploitation and greed are not contemporary creations but core features of American colonial and commercial enterprise. By examining these systems historically, she reveals how modern capitalist systems constitutes a continuation rather than a break from historical patterns of environmental destruction and dispossession.
The director’s examination of primitive trade serves a twofold function: it situates historically modern economic exploitation whilst also exposing the extended lineage of Native displacement. By showing how systems of control worked before standardised money, Reichardt demonstrates that structures of control antedated and fundamentally enabled the rise of modern capitalist systems. This perspective questions accounts of improvement and modernisation, indicating instead that American expansion has consistently relied upon the subjugation of Indigenous peoples and the exploitation of natural resources, patterns that have merely evolved rather than radically altered across historical periods.
The Calculated Tempo of Opposition
Reichardt’s method of cinematic rhythm embodies far more than aesthetic preference; it serves as a deliberate act of pushback against the accelerated purchasing habits that characterise contemporary media culture. By abandoning conventional pacing, she creates space for viewers to examine the granular details of power’s operation, the subtle ways in which hierarchies assert themselves through routine and repetition. Her films demand patience and attention, qualities growing uncommon in an entertainment landscape engineered for rapid consumption and immediate gratification. This temporal strategy remains bound to her thematic preoccupations with systemic oppression and environmental destruction, forcing audiences to sit with discomfort rather than escape into narrative catharsis.
When faced with portrayals of her work as “slow cinema,” Reichardt resisted the nomenclature, referencing a notably contentious 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 speed necessary to authentically explore their thematic content rather than conforming to market-driven norms of entertainment consumption. The intentional pacing of story operates as a formal choice that reflects her conceptual preoccupations, creating a integrated aesthetic framework where form and content strengthen each other. By championing this approach, Reichardt provokes both viewers and the film industry to reconsider what cinema can accomplish when released from commercial pressures to entertain rather than provoke.
Tackling Corporate Deception
Reichardt’s refusal to accept accelerated pacing operates as implicit criticism of how capitalism structures not merely economic relations but temporal experience itself. Commercial cinema, influenced by studio interests and advertising logic, trains viewers to expect quick cuts, escalating tension, and instant story resolution. By refusing these conventions, Reichardt’s films demonstrate how standards of the entertainment industry serve to naturalise consumption patterns that benefit corporate interests. Her intentional pace becomes a form of formal resistance, insisting that substantive engagement with complicated social and historical matters cannot be rushed or compressed into formula-driven structures intended for maximum commercial appeal.
This temporal resistance goes further than mere stylistic choice into the realm of genuine political intervention. When audiences experience extended sequences of landscape, labour, or quiet conversation, they perceive temporality in alternative ways—not as commodity to be efficiently managed 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 protecting these spaces 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 commercial reinforcement.
- Extended sequences demonstrate power’s everyday, routine operations within systems
- Slow pacing opposes entertainment industry’s acceleration of consumption and attention
- Temporal resistance allows viewers to develop critical awareness and historical awareness
Reality, Storytelling and the Documentary Drive
Reichardt’s approach to filmmaking breaks down conventional boundaries between documentary and narrative fiction, a separation she considers increasingly artificial. Her films work within documentary’s commitment to observational truth whilst utilising fiction’s compositional potential, establishing a hybrid form that examines how stories unfold and whose perspectives influence historical narratives. This methodological approach embodies her view that cinema’s power extends beyond spectacular revelation but in careful study of overlooked details and peripheral perspectives. By resisting sensationalise or dramatise her material, Reichardt argues that authentic understanding arises from continued engagement rather than manufactured emotional crescendos, prompting viewers to recognise documentary value in what might initially appear mundane or undramatic.
This dedication to truthfulness extends to her treatment of historical material, particularly in films addressing Western expansion and early American capitalism. Rather than celebrating frontier mythology or heroic conquest narratives, Reichardt’s films examine power structures, exploitation, and environmental destruction through the experiences of 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 analytical perspective of how American power structures have historically operated and continue to influence contemporary reality.