Could Be
Meek's Cutoff begins demurely. Three wagons, and several oxen, horses, and people forge a river, the women carrying baskets on their heads to keep them dry. They move without speaking or interacting with each other — or with us. The camera presents them quietly. We don't know who they are, where they are, or where they are going. We don't know much more than this at the end of the film either, except that we hardly noticed the most important element in the scene: the water.
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Directed by Kelly Reichardt, this understated, underrated film redirects our attention from the conventions of film viewing (plot, action, character, dialogue) to the constraints of the film frame itself. What is in the frame and what is left just outside it? The story of a westward migration along the Oregon Trail in 1845, the subject matter is well suited to grappling with this question. Outside the frame there may be desert, gorges, cliffs, hostile peoples….the terrain is literally unmapped around the edges. Inside the frame are three different families and their guide, Stephen Meek. Inside are wagon wheels, tin pans, buckets, kindling, rifles. There are daily routines of scouring, knitting, cooking, fixing, and walking, walking, walking. What is knowable is only what is right in front of your eyes and feet.
Reichardt emphasizes this by her visual choices. In an inteview she discussed using the 4:3 aspect ratio of television shows because it cuts off peripheral vision from side to side. This limited vision echoes the view from the narrow bonnets the women wear, as well as the settlers' situation in the wilderness. The effect is unsettling and tensions spiral for characters and viewers. We want to see more, and know more, but Reichardt refuses to indulge us. In this commitment to uncertainty and ambiguity the film seems deeply anti-cinematic. Indeed, by the end we know little more than we did at first, and neither do the embattled characters, now desperate for water.
Within the film's frame there are a few particular enigmas. One is Meek himself, who may be as lost as the settlers feel. As performed by Bruce Greenwood, his bluster sounds hollow but it is impossible to know for certain what he knows. As one of the women remarks, "I don't blame him for not knowing the way, but for saying he did." This woman, almost nameless and storyless, gradually becomes the central figure of the film, as if emerging organically from the hills and dust. When a nameless Native American enters the frame she is the only character who tries to engage with him. It is a testament to Michele Williams' performance and Reichardt's direction that this character too remains enigmatic: is she right in suspecting Meek, in trusting the Native American? The balance of power between these three semi-articulate figures comes to a head in the formal confrontation above. The camera cuts between close ups of different faces, resisting long shots until the three opponents are shown in their triangular stand off. Between Meek's arrogant threats and the "savage's" silence the film seems to side with the woman's simple action. When Meek taunts her with what could be "over those hills" she accepts it laconically: "could be." Perhaps that is the ultimate message of the film: in desperate straits, when there is no way of knowing what is true or right, one must simply act. It is bold and confident filmmaking.
