Filmmaker Kelly Reichardt has offered a candid assessment 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 Tuesday masterclass as part of a wider tribute to the acclaimed director, Reichardt discussed 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 patriarchal perspective that has traditionally shaped the form to explore what happens when the mythology is examined from a different angle. Her remarks came as the festival celebrated her distinctive body of work, which continually examines power dynamics and hierarchies within American society.
Reinterpreting the Western Through a Different Lens
Reichardt’s reinterpretive approach reaches its sharpest articulation in “Meek’s Cutoff,” a film that follows a group of settlers lost in the Oregon desert and functions as a explicit critique on American imperial ambition. The director directly connected the film’s themes to the political moment of its creation, establishing connections between the arrogance underlying westward expansion and the military intervention in Iraq. “Meek was this guy with all this overconfidence – ‘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 examination of power transcends its narrative surface to scrutinise the foundational structures of American society itself. Reichardt described how “Meek’s Cutoff” explores an early form of capitalism, examining a period before currency was established yet when rigid hierarchies were already firmly entrenched. This historical lens allows the director to uncover how systems of exploitation—whether directed at Indigenous communities or the natural environment—have strong foundations in American expansion. By repositioning the Western genre away from glorifying masculine heroism and frontier mythology, Reichardt reveals the violence and recklessness woven throughout the nation’s founding narratives.
- Westward expansion driven by masculine hubris and imperial ambition
- Power structures established before structured monetary systems
- Exploitation of Indigenous peoples and ecological damage
- Recurring pattern of US overextension and territorial conquest
Systems of Authority and Capitalism’s Impacts
Reichardt’s filmmaking consistently interrogates the structures of power that underpin American society, viewing her work 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, stressing 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 extensive webs of corporate greed and institutional violence that structure the nation’s economic and social landscape.
“First Cow” demonstrates this approach, with Reichardt outlining how the film’s central narrative of stealing milk functions as a microcosm of broader capitalist structures. The seemingly inconsequential crime becomes a lens for comprehending the processes behind capitalist wealth-building and the disregard with which those frameworks regard both the environment and excluded populations. By highlighting these relationships, Reichardt shows how power operates not through sweeping actions but through the routine maintenance of power structures that advantage certain communities whilst consistently excluding others, notably Native communities and the ecosystem itself.
From Initial Commerce to Modern Systems
Reichardt’s historical examination of capitalist systems reveals how contemporary power structures have deep historical roots extending back centuries. In “First Cow,” she examines an early manifestation of capitalist logic operating in pre-currency America, a period when formal monetary systems did not yet exist yet rigid hierarchies were already deeply embedded. This temporal positioning allows Reichardt to demonstrate that exploitation and greed are not modern inventions but foundational elements of American colonial and commercial enterprise. By tracing these systems backward, she exposes how modern capitalist systems represents a continuation rather than a departure from historical patterns of dispossession and environmental destruction.
The director’s examination of early commerce serves a double aim: it contextualises present-day economic harm whilst also exposing the long genealogy of Native displacement. By illustrating how hierarchies functioned before formal monetary systems, Reichardt establishes that systems of domination preceded and indeed enabled the rise of modern capitalist systems. This perspective contests stories of advancement and growth, proposing rather that US territorial growth has repeatedly rested on the domination of Aboriginal communities and the appropriation of raw materials, developments that have simply shifted rather than radically altered across long spans of time.
The Calculated Tempo of Opposition
Reichardt’s approach to cinematic rhythm represents far more than aesthetic preference; it functions as a deliberate act of pushback against the accelerated purchasing habits that define contemporary media culture. By eschewing conventional pacing, she establishes scope for viewers to witness the granular details of power’s operation, the understated mechanisms in which hierarchies assert themselves through routine and repetition. Her films require patience and attention, qualities increasingly rare in an entertainment landscape designed for rapid consumption and immediate gratification. This temporal strategy proves integral to her thematic preoccupations with institutional domination and environmental destruction, forcing audiences to sit with discomfort rather than escape into narrative catharsis.
When confronted with descriptions of her work as “slow cinema,” Reichardt resisted the language, remembering a strikingly vivid radio debate with NPR’s Terry Gross about “Meek’s Cutoff.” Her resistance to this label reflects a broader philosophical position: that her films move at the pace required to genuinely examine their subject matter rather than aligning with market-driven norms of entertainment consumption. The intentional pacing of story becomes a structural decision that mirrors her conceptual preoccupations, producing a unified artistic vision where technique and meaning complement each other. By championing this method, Reichardt challenges both viewers and the film industry to reconsider what cinema can accomplish when liberated from commercial pressures to amuse rather than challenge.
Combating Commercial Manipulation
Reichardt’s rejection of accelerated pacing functions as implicit criticism of how capitalism shapes not merely economic relations but temporal experience itself. Commercial cinema, shaped by studio interests and advertising logic, trains viewers to expect fast editing, escalating tension, and quick plot resolution. By declining these norms, Reichardt’s films reveal how entertainment industry standards serve to normalise consumption patterns that advantage corporate interests. Her measured rhythm becomes a type of formal resistance, insisting that substantive engagement with complex social and historical questions cannot be forced into formulaic structures created for maximum commercial appeal.
This temporal resistance extends beyond mere stylistic choice into the realm 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 material substance worthy of attention. Reichardt’s films thus educate audiences in alternative modes of perception, prompting them to recognise power’s operations 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 foreclose, demonstrating cinema’s capacity to function as tool for ideological resistance rather than commercial reinforcement.
- Extended sequences reveal power’s ordinary, commonplace operations within systems
- Slow pacing counters entertainment industry’s acceleration of consumption and attention
- Temporal resistance enables viewers to foster critical awareness and historical understanding
Fact, Narrative and the Documentary Instinct
Reichardt’s method of filmmaking breaks down traditional distinctions between documentary and narrative fiction, a separation she considers increasingly artificial. Her films function through documentary’s dedication to observational truth whilst drawing on fiction’s narrative frameworks, creating a combined method that questions how stories are constructed and whose perspectives dominate historical narratives. This strategic method embodies her view that cinema’s power lies not in spectacular revelation but in patient examination of overlooked details and underrepresented viewpoints. By refusing to overstate or theatricalise her material, Reichardt maintains that real comprehension emerges through continued engagement rather than manufactured emotional crescendos, prompting viewers to acknowledge documentary value in what might initially look unremarkable or undramatic.
This commitment to truthfulness informs 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 investigate 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 creates room for audiences to cultivate their own critical understanding of how American power structures have historically operated and continue to influence contemporary reality.