I was over the moon when I heard Kelly Reichardt was making a western. It's not often that I'm able to drum up any amount of excitement for a new entry in the genre, but there have been, recently, some pleasant surprises (True Grit, Appaloosa), and having loved her previous two films, Old Joy and Wendy and Lucy, the opportunity to see her tense, methodical, naturalist sensibilities applied to the Old West seemed like a dream. Now, about a year and a half after first hearing the film announced, Meek's Cutoff has become just about my favorite post-classical Western.
Reichardt's naturalism is apparent from the first, wordless scene. I was lucky enough to see it as intended, in the now-rarely-used Academy ratio (1.375:1), which Reichardt uses to create stunning, indelible images, but also in the opening shots to place the American wilderness center stage, as wagons and settlers drift about the edges of the frame, creatures of the open plains, easily crushed and forgotten. What is nearly the film's most haunting image occurs in this first scene: Paul Dano's Thomas Gately, visible only from behind at left of the frame, etches the word "LOST" into an uprooted tree, before wandering out of sight as the camera lingers on the message that will remain for years after their party has gone their way, or died of thirst.
The settlers include the determined Solomon and Emily Tetherow (the consistently awesome Will Patton and the most miserable girl in America, Michelle Williams - seriously, the most lighthearted role she's had in three years was when she drowned Leonardo DiCaprio's children), the young Thomas and Millie Gately (Dano and Zoe Kazan), and the religiously inclined William and Glory White (Neal Huff and Shirley Henderson, her ghostly face and plaintive squeal used to great effect here, while never becoming shrill), and their son Jimmy (Tommy Nelson). They are led (in a loose sense) by Stephen Meek (an unrecognizable Bruce Greenwood), whose knowledge of the way west seems increasingly in doubt as their supplies dwindle and water is nowhere in sight. Meek is an astonishing creation, born out of Western myth and the films of Anthony Mann. While his tales of the frontier are cheery and have the feel of a raconteur, his conversations with Mrs. Tetherow, which are the most gripping scenes of dialogue, veer into philosophy and dark interpretations of gender roles. As well, Meek buries himself behind a beard worthy of Rip Van Winkle and a wide-brimmed hat, self-consciously projecting the image of a man wholly part of the wilderness. It's obvious, though, that he is costumed more heavily than any of the settlers, and immediately recognizable as a self-affected fraud.
Those familiar with Reichardt's work might have guessed how her political fascinations manifest themselves in this tale of survival; while the allegory for the settler's aimless trek as a symbol of the Iraq war and Meek as a clueless Dubya type is obvious (made more so by the mounting tensions and paranoia that occur once the band encounters an anonymous Indian), she manages as always never to preach too heavily. First, Meek is not directly comparable to Bush - his character includes elements of a slick demagogue that the President never was (though some more cynical, or perhaps well-informed, than I may disagree). More importantly, as soon as the allegory becomes obvious it fades once more into the background as the film becomes less an examination of a particular administration (its period trappings limit the potential for effective dissection) and Reichardt explores more fully her harrowing vision of America stripped to its core: an ideologically diverse band of tense, well-intentioned and near-suicidal creatures with the shared purpose of survival and the mutual problem of trust.
There are other small delights within the film: the brief scenes of confrontation, Reichardt's gorgeous framing (most particularly a shot of Patton crouching behind a wagon wheel that seemed, at least to me, a clear homage to Man of the West), but most of all the understated love story between the Tetherows, who seem not to have known each other for long or very well. Solomon's staunch, frustrated masculinity and Emily's simmering contempt for her role as a woman makes the growing respect between them a small miracle.
Possible, vague spoilers: The film's ending appeared to confound the half dozen other people in the theater with me. I was thrilled. I often think to myself, when watching the climax of a film, that a particular moment would make a great, daring ending, and I cross my fingers that the credits roll at just the right moment - but they never do. Meek's Cutoff ends at just the right moment, on an astonishing note of near-Biblical imagery (religion is treated warily throughout the film, as the de facto heroes, the Tetherows, are seen noticeably silent during multiple prayers) and a haunting final line that sticks with you almost as much as the shot that follows.
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