Filmmaker Kelly Reichardt has provided a frank evaluation of American cinema’s habit of repeating 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 broader retrospective to the celebrated filmmaker, Reichardt discussed how her films intentionally reposition perspective on traditional narratives, 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 patriarchal perspective that has long dominated the form to explore what happens when the mythology is examined from a different angle. Her remarks came as the festival honoured her distinctive body of work, which continually examines power dynamics and hierarchies within American society.
Examining the Western From a Fresh Lens
Reichardt’s reinterpretive approach reaches its sharpest articulation in “Meek’s Cutoff,” a film that tracks a group of settlers lost in the Oregon desert and functions as a explicit critique on American imperial ambition. The director explicitly linked the film’s themes to the political moment of its creation, establishing connections between the hubris of westward expansion and the invasion of Iraq. “Meek was this guy with all this hubris – ‘Here we go!’ – heading into some foreign land and mistrusting the Indigenous people,” she explained, emphasising how the film captures the recurring pattern of American overreach and the disregard for those already occupying the territories being seized.
The film’s exploration of power transcends its narrative surface to challenge the foundational structures of American society itself. Reichardt described how “Meek’s Cutoff” examines an early form of capitalism, assessing a period before currency was established yet when rigid hierarchies were already well established. 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 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.
- Westward expansion driven by masculine hubris and imperial ambition
- Power structures established prior to formal currency systems
- Exploitation of Indigenous peoples and ecological damage
- Cyclical repetition of American overreach and territorial conquest
Systems of Authority and Capitalism’s Effects
Reichardt’s filmmaking persistently explores the structures of power that sustain American society, viewing her work as an examination 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 exposing the systemic nature of exploitation. This thematic preoccupation pervades her body of work, appearing in narratives that reveal how seemingly minor transgressions—a stolen commodity, a small crime—connect to extensive webs 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 central narrative of stealing milk serves as a window into larger economic frameworks. The apparently trivial crime serves as a gateway to comprehending the workings of corporate accumulation and the carelessness with which those systems regard both the environment and disadvantaged groups. By highlighting these relationships, Reichardt demonstrates how power operates not through dramatic displays but through the continuous reinforcement of power structures that advantage certain communities whilst consistently excluding others, especially Indigenous peoples and the environment itself.
From Initial Commerce to Modern Systems
Reichardt’s analytical study of capitalist systems reveals how modern power structures possess deep historical roots extending back centuries. In “First Cow,” she examines an initial expression of capitalist logic operating in pre-currency America, a period when official currency frameworks had not yet been established yet rigid hierarchies were already firmly entrenched. This temporal positioning enables Reichardt to illustrate that greed and exploitation are not modern inventions but foundational elements of American colonial and commercial enterprise. By examining these systems historically, she reveals how contemporary capitalism constitutes a extension rather than a departure from historical patterns of dispossession and environmental destruction.
The director’s examination of initial economic systems serves a double aim: it contextualises modern economic exploitation whilst at the same time uncovering the deep historical roots of Native displacement. By showing how systems of control worked before formalised currency, Reichardt demonstrates that frameworks of subjugation came before and actively facilitated the rise of modern capitalist systems. This perspective questions accounts of improvement and modernisation, proposing rather that American imperial expansion has repeatedly rested on the oppression of Native populations and the appropriation of raw materials, patterns that have merely evolved rather than radically altered across centuries.
The Intentional Tempo of Opposition
Reichardt’s approach to cinematic rhythm constitutes far more than aesthetic preference; it functions as a deliberate act of pushback against the accelerated consumption trends that define contemporary media culture. By rejecting conventional pacing, she creates space for viewers to witness the granular details of power’s operation, the subtle ways in which hierarchies make themselves known through routine and repetition. Her films require patience and attention, qualities growing uncommon in an entertainment landscape designed for rapid consumption and immediate gratification. This temporal strategy becomes inseparable from her thematic preoccupations with institutional domination 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 bristled at the nomenclature, referencing a strikingly vivid broadcast disagreement with NPR’s Terry Gross about “Meek’s Cutoff.” Her objection to this label reflects a wider conceptual framework: that her films progress at the tempo needed to truly investigate their subject matter rather than adhering to industrial standards of viewer satisfaction. The deliberate unfolding of story becomes a formal choice that echoes her conceptual preoccupations, creating a cohesive creative statement where form and content strengthen each other. By championing this approach, Reichardt challenges audiences and the industry alike to reassess what cinema can accomplish when liberated from market demands to amuse rather than challenge.
Tackling Market Exploitation
Reichardt’s rejection of accelerated pacing functions as implicit critique of how capitalism structures not merely economic relations but experience of time itself. Commercial cinema, determined by studio interests and advertising logic, conditions viewers to expect quick cuts, escalating tension, and instant story resolution. By rejecting these standards, Reichardt’s films reveal how entertainment industry standards serve to naturalise consumption patterns that advantage corporate interests. Her deliberate pacing becomes a form of formal resistance, arguing that substantive engagement with complex social and historical questions cannot be forced into formulaic structures intended 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 commodity to be efficiently managed but as material substance worthy of attention. Reichardt’s films thus educate audiences in alternative modes of perception, encouraging them to observe the workings of power in moments that conventional cinema would consider narratively inert. 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 commercial reinforcement.
- Extended sequences demonstrate power’s mundane, quotidian operations within systems
- Slow pacing opposes the entertainment sector’s acceleration of consumption and attention
- Temporal resistance enables viewers to foster critical awareness and historical awareness
Truth, Fiction and the Documentary Impulse
Reichardt’s method of filmmaking breaks down traditional distinctions between documentary and narrative fiction, a distinction she views as ever more artificial. Her films operate with documentary’s commitment to observational truth whilst utilising fiction’s structural possibilities, establishing a combined method that questions how stories unfold and whose perspectives shape historical narratives. This methodological approach reflects her view that cinema’s power doesn’t reside in spectacular revelation but in sustained scrutiny of marginal elements and marginal voices. By refusing to overstate or theatricalise her material, Reichardt argues that authentic understanding emerges through continued engagement rather than manufactured emotional crescendos, challenging viewers to acknowledge documentary value in what might initially look unremarkable or undramatic.
This dedication to truthfulness extends to her examination of historical material, especially within films addressing Western expansion and early American capitalism. Rather than promoting frontier mythology or heroic conquest narratives, Reichardt’s films examine power structures, abuse of resources, and environmental destruction through the experiences of those typically rendered invisible in conventional histories. Her documentary impulse thus functions as a form of ethical practice, demanding that cinema document suppressed stories and alternative perspectives. By maintaining formal restraint and refusing to impose predetermined meanings, she creates room for audiences to develop their own critical understanding of how American power structures have historically operated and continue to influence contemporary reality.