First Cow Review

After six months of being unable to see any new A24 releases (I missed this one when it was in theaters before the shutdown), First Cow has finally come to VOD, and I've finally gotten a chance to see it. I was somewhat skeptical of this one - the trailer sort of looked like an overly-sappy romanticization of the brutal colonialization of America, and that isn't really something I'm interested in by any stretch of the imagination. After hearing rave reviews for it, though, I decided to give it a watch. I was pleasantly surprised.

While I can say that there is a soothing, gentle feel to First Cow that comes off almost like a warm, weighted blanket, it certainly is not sappy nor a romanticization of anything. It's actually an incredibly subdued story with a strong layer of melancholy underneath. For all its simplicity, it's a remarkably complex work with lots to unpack brimming beneath its surface.

Right off the bat, the most striking thing about First Cow is just how immersive it is. Director and editor Kelly Reichardt and director of photography Christopher Blauvelt's cinematography and editing create quiet, colorful images that brings the lush forests and wildlife of the Oregon territory to life in spellbinding detail, with every rustle of grass in the wind and ever scuttle of a mouse in the undergrowth captured on film. It creates a hypnotic effect that pulls you in and makes you feel there, inside one of the most wholly realized filmic depictions of historical America.

There's an additional facet to this style of cinematography; there's a sense of eternity to the natural wonders on display, and in their most calm, collected moments, the characters seem almost to be another part of the backdrop, a feature of the natural vista around them, their actions not separate from but rather a part of the natural order. This is especially true for the few natives that are shown in the film are framed as natural parts of the American frontier; natural populations that are being disturbed by the onset of white settlers. In many ways, this is a rather tokenizing and dehumanizing portrayal of native Americans that is by far my biggest complaint towards the film, but it does add to the film's critique of European class structures and capitalism and its impact on nature.

This is the true tragedy of First Cow. Throughout the story, characters make reference to how timeless the land of the frontier seems. "History hasn't happened here yet," one character remarks. They talk about how it is coming, and seem to look forward to embracing it, yet is that really such a good thing? History runs quickly in places like Paris and London, where industry runs supreme, and fashions change in an instant, eating up natural resources in the process. The men that represent this coming of history are generally despicable, caring more for themselves and their capital than nature and their fellow man. It is the death of the timeless eternity of nature in the wake of capitalist "progress" that makes up the central thematic focus of First Cow, and the despair at its heart.

The plot revolves around two men - Cookie and King Lu, played by John Magaro and Orion Lee, respectively - and the friendship that they forge. In a world full of tough-as-nails alpha males, they are drawn to each other's kindness and empathy and begin to make their way together. They discuss going down to San Francisco and starting a hotel, or a bakery, or other potential business ventures, but they lack the means to do so. You need "capital", says King Lu - and that is clearly something that they don't have.

The local rich man, the chief factor of the nearby fort, imports a cow - the first in the territory, according to rumors. On a whim, they begin to sneak in to steal the cow's milk at night, and use it to bake oily cakes, which sell for high prices to eager men. They begin to save wealth, and start their own business, but they gradually begin to draw the attention of the chief factor himself.

The critique of capitalism here is impossible to miss. The chief factor owns the means of productions - thus being the cow - but uses it more as a status of wealth, to use heavy cream in his tea. He does little with her and little work at all. Other people in the area want to make a living, but they cannot, because they need milk, and he owns all of it - and doesn't use it. Though the protagonists are by definition stealing, they are far kinder and more empathetic to the cow in question than the chief factor is ever seen to be, with every milking scene being accompanied by genuine tenderness and care between man and beast. These men don't "own" the cow, but the cow should not be rightfully owned - certainly not by someone who sees her as just another piece of property instead of a being deserving of respect.

Already, the pillaging of natural resources and the suffocation of workers and wildlife is beginning to creep its way into these lands from Europe, and while the ending leaves off on a rather ambiguous note, a rather somber opening scene leaves it clear precisely what happens to the men at the center of this story. The American frontier is an oft-romanticized period of exploration and growth, but there's a bitter loss that it brought about - the loss of this natural land of riches, and the destruction of life and nature in the name of historical progress. This isn't something we can ever take back, but perhaps there's a lesson to be learned in the skeletons of this age that are still visible if we know where to look.