The American Motion Picture

This summer I’m teaching a film class here at Delta called The American Motion Picture. It’s one of my all-time favorite classes to teach - partly just because of the subject matter. Yes, the world is filled with fascinating branches of national cinema, but I love American movies. They are so intimately tied to our national identity both at home and abroad and to the intellectual, economic, religious, racial, and technological developments of our country. The stories American movies tell and how those stories are told say a lot about how we view ourselves as individuals, as fellow citizens, and as members of a larger global community. Talking about what movies say about the United States is one of my favorite subjects.

The class meets twice a week for seven weeks, and each week, we focus on a different genre of film. On Tuesdays, we watch a classic, traditional western, horror, sci fi, or comedy. Then on Thursday, we watch a more contemporary, often revisionist version of that same genre. So we might watch the 1931 version of Dracula on Tuesday and then watch 1999’s The Blair Witch Project on Thursday. The Marx Brothers’ Duck Soup from 1933 on Tuesday, Will Ferrell’s Step Brothers on Thursday. 

What’s interesting about genre is how their variations often reveal the country’s mood and outlook. Comparing and contrasting movies from the same genre but from different time periods often leads to really interesting conversations.

Genre, of course, is a French word for “type” or “kind” and it’s one way we categorize film. We know that a western is different than a horror movie because there are certain expectations of each kind of film. Those expectations are called conventions. For instance, Westerns usually take place in the American west, often during the 19^th century. There are cowboy hats and horses, six shooters, and saloons. They often address the conflict between wilderness and civilization, the needs of the lone hero individual versus the needs of the community.

There’s no more American genre than the Western. They are our national origin stories, the myths we tell that help explain who we are and how we got here. Because of that, they are often really productive movies to compare and talk about.

In John Ford’s Stagecoach from 1939, a group of disparate strangers travels together across dangerous territory in hopes of reaching safe haven at the end of the road. In Kelly Reichardt’s 2010 film, Meek’s Cutoff, there’s also a group of varied individuals trying to make their way across western wilderness in hopes of safety in their destination. But the two films couldn’t be more different.  

Stagecoach, while wonderful, is simpler and more direct. The macho male hero conquers the Indians, kills the bad guys, and gets the girl. A white, masculine point of view prevails. I mean, it was made in 1939 after all. Meek’s Cutoff, on the other hand, practically wallows in its ambiguity. A group of pioneers headed for Oregon gets lost and wanders for weeks as food and water grow scarce. The film subtly examines the power dynamics between the sexes as the women in the group begin to question whether or not the men know where they’re going. Instead of encountering a horde of stampeding Apache, the group captures a lone Cayuse Indian who doesn’t speak English and isn’t particularly interested in helping his captors. Thematically, it’s a much more complicated film than Stagecoach and suggests that the point of view of the white, male conqueror isn’t the only one worth considering.

If talking about differences like that interests you, you should sign up for the class. There’s still room. I can think of a lot worse ways to spend part of your summer than watching great movies and talking about them.