Filmmaker Kelly Reichardt has offered 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 perpetually recycles itself.” During a masterclass on Tuesday as part of a broader retrospective to the acclaimed director, Reichardt explored 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 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 a different angle. Her remarks came as the festival celebrated her unique oeuvre, which consistently interrogates power dynamics and hierarchies within American society.
Examining the Western From a Different Lens
Reichardt’s revisionist approach reaches its sharpest articulation in “Meek’s Cutoff,” a film that follows a group of pioneers lost in the Oregon desert and serves as a explicit critique on American expansionist ideology. The director explicitly linked the film’s themes to the historical context of its creation, drawing parallels between the hubris of westward expansion and the invasion of Iraq. “Meek was this guy with all this overconfidence – ‘Here we go!’ – heading into some foreign land and mistrusting the Indigenous people,” she explained, highlighting how the film depicts the recurring pattern of American overreach and the disregard for those already occupying the territories being conquered.
The film’s exploration of power transcends its narrative surface to scrutinise 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 well established. 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 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.
- Expansion towards the west propelled by male arrogance and expansionist goals
- Hierarchies of power created before structured monetary systems
- Exploitation of Indigenous peoples and environmental destruction
- Recurring pattern of American overreach and territorial conquest
Power Structures and Capitalism’s Impacts
Reichardt’s filmmaking regularly examines the structures of power that support 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, stressing that her interest lies in exposing the systemic nature 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 define the nation’s economic and social landscape.
“First Cow” illustrates this methodology, with Reichardt describing how the film’s central narrative of stealing milk functions as a microcosm of wider capitalist systems. The seemingly inconsequential crime serves as a gateway to comprehending the processes behind corporate accumulation and the carelessness with which those systems treat both the natural world and excluded populations. By focusing on these links, Reichardt shows how power operates not through dramatic displays but through the continuous reinforcement of power structures that favour certain populations whilst deliberately marginalising others, especially Aboriginal populations and the natural world itself.
From Early Trade to Modern Systems
Reichardt’s analytical study of capitalist systems demonstrates how contemporary power structures have deep historical roots stretching back centuries. In “First Cow,” she examines an early manifestation of capitalist logic operating in pre-currency America, a period when formal monetary systems had not yet been established yet strict social orders were already firmly entrenched. This historical framing allows Reichardt to illustrate 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 contemporary capitalism represents a continuation 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 situates historically present-day economic harm whilst at the same time uncovering the extended lineage of Aboriginal land seizure. By showing how power structures operated before formal monetary systems, Reichardt illustrates that structures of control preceded and indeed enabled the rise of modern capitalist systems. This perspective contests narratives of progress and development, proposing rather that American imperial expansion has consistently relied upon the domination of Aboriginal communities and the exploitation of natural resources, developments that have simply shifted rather than radically altered across long spans of time.
The Calculated Pace of Defiance
Reichardt’s approach to cinematic rhythm represents far more than aesthetic preference; it functions as a deliberate act of pushback against the accelerated consumption trends that shape contemporary media culture. By rejecting conventional pacing, she opens room for viewers to observe the granular details of power’s operation, the nuanced methods in which hierarchies establish themselves through routine and repetition. Her films demand patience and attention, qualities becoming scarce 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, compelling viewers to sit with discomfort rather than escape into narrative catharsis.
When confronted with descriptions of her work as “slow cinema,” Reichardt resisted the language, recalling a particularly memorable broadcast exchange with NPR’s Terry Gross about “Meek’s Cutoff.” Her rejection of this label reflects a broader philosophical position: that her films unfold at the pace required to genuinely examine their subject matter rather than adhering to market-driven norms of entertainment consumption. The deliberate unfolding of story operates as a formal choice that mirrors her conceptual preoccupations, creating a cohesive creative statement where form and content reinforce one another. By championing this approach, Reichardt pushes spectators and commercial cinema to reassess what cinema can accomplish when released from industry expectations to amuse rather than challenge.
Countering Corporate Deception
Reichardt’s refusal to accept accelerated pacing functions as implicit criticism of how capitalism shapes not merely economic relations but experience of time itself. Commercial cinema, determined by studio interests and advertising logic, trains viewers to expect rapid cuts, mounting tension, and quick plot resolution. By refusing these conventions, Reichardt’s films expose how entertainment industry standards serve to naturalise consumption patterns that benefit corporate interests. Her measured rhythm becomes a means of formal resistance, arguing that meaningful engagement with complicated social and historical matters cannot be forced into standardised structures intended for maximum commercial appeal.
This temporal resistance goes further than simple aesthetic decisions into the realm of genuine political intervention. When audiences sit through extended sequences of landscape, labour, or quiet conversation, they experience time differently—not as commodity to be efficiently managed but as substantive material deserving consideration. Reichardt’s films thus train viewers in alternative modes of perception, encouraging them to observe the workings of power in moments that conventional cinema would consider narratively inert. By protecting these spaces from commercial manipulation, she creates possibilities for critical consciousness that rapid editing and manipulative scoring would foreclose, 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 counters the entertainment sector’s acceleration of consumption and attention
- Temporal resistance enables viewers to cultivate critical awareness and historical awareness
Reality, Storytelling and the Documentary Drive
Reichardt’s method of filmmaking breaks down conventional boundaries between documentary and narrative fiction, a separation she views as increasingly artificial. Her films operate with documentary’s commitment to observational truth whilst drawing on fiction’s narrative frameworks, establishing a combined method that questions how stories are constructed and whose perspectives influence historical narratives. This working practice reflects her view that cinema’s power doesn’t reside in spectacular revelation but in sustained scrutiny of overlooked details and peripheral perspectives. By resisting sensationalise or dramatise her material, Reichardt insists that real comprehension arises from prolonged focus rather than contrived affective moments, encouraging viewers to recognise documentary value in what might initially seem ordinary or undramatic.
This commitment to truthfulness informs her examination of historical material, particularly in films addressing Western expansion and early American capitalism. Rather than promoting frontier mythology or heroic conquest narratives, Reichardt’s films examine power structures, exploitation, and environmental destruction by focusing on those typically rendered invisible in conventional histories. Her documentary impulse thus becomes a form of ethical practice, insisting that cinema document suppressed stories and alternative perspectives. By preserving stylistic restraint and resisting predetermined meanings, she creates room for audiences to develop their own critical understanding of how American power structures have historically operated and continue to shape contemporary reality.