We are in Oregon Territory of the 1820s. The countryside is, as of yet, still abundant, and the landscape is filled with cascading groves of fern. Otis Figowitz, known as Cookie (John Magaro), works as a scavenger for a boisterous group of fur trappers, which puts him in a precarious position, since, when he cannot find food, they are more than ready to threaten his life, and we sense that the slightly built, soft-spoken cook is someone who, when it comes to breast-beating masculinity, is very much at the mercy of others. 

While foraging, Cookie comes across a man (Orion Lee), naked and ensconced by the foliage. He first assumes that this stranger is a Native American but immediately finds out that he’s Chinese. He introduces himself as King-Lu and reveals that he’s running from a group of Russians, after having killed one of their men. It was an act of vengeance after they killed one of King-Lu’s friends, and hearing him explain the incident, it’s much easier to believe that he is fiercely loyal than violent. Without being asked, Cookie agrees to give him shelter, hiding him in his tent from his fellow fur trappers. Much later, Cookie and King-Lu reunite at Fort Tillicum, and their reunion roughly coincides with the arrival of the outpost’s first cow. 

With a career that spans two and a half decades, director Kelly Reichardt has established herself as a consistent model of artistic integrity. One could argue that sometimes her minimalist aesthetic is overdone, and I found some sections of her last film, Certain Women, more compelling than others. Nevertheless, her filmography attests to an unwavering commitment to her vision and a refreshing lack of interest in the more commercial aspect of the industry. I have always enjoyed her films, and somehow, I was unprepared for exactly how good First Cow is. 

Reichardt’s emphasis on silence, gesture, and naturalistic dialogue is perfectly suited to the frontier world she creates. The backwoods she photographs are vast, and one senses that the characters depicted are not entirely sure of their place in it. Even the figures more representative of imperial power, the Chief Factor (Toby Jones) from England, for instance, are not especially fluid in conversation and inhabit their roles uneasily, though everyone is ostensibly there to stake a claim to the land and make a fortune one way or another. 

Cookie and King-Lu, thrust together by chance, end up living in the same cabin, taking care of one another, sharing dreams, and going into business together. This involves clandestinely milking the Chief Factor’s cow by night and using the ingredient for Cookie’s deep-fried oily cakes to sell to the famished frontiersmen.

It’s striking how little the duo resemble their cinematic counterparts. They are not, like There Will Be Blood’s Daniel Plainview, ruthless and selfish, and they are not, like the figures of Deadwood, highly verbal, violent, and scheming. These two are dreamers in their way, but they are both cunning, gentle, and of few words. They also are not, and never have been, men of power, and they know that their place in the world is precarious. As such, they are unusual heroes, and their quiet, riveting story is refreshingly unusual. 

What emerges is a film that is complex, mesmerizing, and unlikely in the sense that Reichardt’s approach to her material makes a backdrop as familiar as the American West appear unfamiliar. In doing so, First Cow tackles many issues—race, class, masculinity—in a way that is not overstated, feels true to the time period, and is rooted in character and situation.

While celebrating kindness, First Cow does not turn its back on cruelty, bad luck, and sadness. It’s a rich contribution to Reichardt’s work and contemporary American film.