When SoCal was sweltering in the grip of the summer’s third
heatwave, I decided to take myself to the movies. A perfect choice was a film
set in early spring in the frozen wilds of Wyoming. True, Wind River was filmed mostly in Utah. But its sense of place is so
powerful that for the length of the movie I felt a genuine chill.
“Wind River” refers
to an Indian reservation, one that’s about as desolate as can be imagined. In
the film’s early going, a character who makes his home near the rez explains the implications of this lonely
place: “My family’s people were forced
here, stuck here for a century. That snow and silence—it’s the only thing that
hasn’t been taken from them.”
It’s an apt quote, because this is a film about loss. Which
means it’s tremendously sad, but also exhilarating, because the characters who
people Wind River are so human:
angry, funny, stoic, despairing, and determined to live out their lives on the
best terms they can get. They include Jeremy Renner in another of his masterful
from-the-gut performances as a hunter with the Fish and Wildlife Service,
Elizabeth Olsen as an unlikely FBI agent, and a clutch of remarkable Native
American actors, including Graham Greene, once nominated for an Oscar for his
supporting role in Dances with Wolves.
Dances with Wolves,
which nabbed seven Oscars (out of 12 nominations) back in 1991, makes an
interesting contrast to Wind River. When
the Kevin Costner vehicle made its debut, it was hailed for its picturesque and
highly sympathetic portrayal of Native American life. Unlike classic westerns
in the John Wayne mold (see Stagecoach or
The Searchers), it did not show Indians as heartless marauders, but rather
as a sophisticated culture with a rich heritage. Of course, that was a period
piece, as well as something of a romance, with the Indian characters coming off
as noble savages. The Native Americans in Wind
River have ordinary American names (Ben, Natalie, Martin) and wear ordinary
American clothes. Old tribal rituals seem to have little appeal for them. Some of these characters have aspirations to
do more with their lives than just hang on. But most seem stuck in a place that
discourages dreams. There’s hopelessness and drug abuse. And young Native
American women blessed with beauty and spirit are all too vulnerable to threats
from both within and without. The film ends with a shocking revelation: the FBI
keeps no statistics on missing Indian women, whose numbers remain unknown.
Taylor Sheridan, a native Texan, is best known as an actor for
his role in TV’s Sons of Anarchy,. Recently he has written three important
westerns: Sicario, Hell or High Water (Oscar-nominated for
its screenplay), and Wind River. The
latter, only his second film as a director, takes him far from his roots in the
American Southwest, but allows him to air his strong concerns about Native
American life in today’s United States. Wind
River also shows us what’s best about an actor’s approach to screenwriting
and directing: the characters are complex, and the script avoids on-the-nose
dialogue at all cost. At this year’s
Cannes Film Festival, Wind River won
plaudits and a Best Director award in the Un Certain Regard competition. Here’s
part of Sheridan’s Cannes speech: “There is nothing I can do to change the
issues afflicting Indian country, but what we can do as artists -- and must do
-- is scream about them with fists clenched. What we can do is make sure these issues aren't ignored.”
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