A long, hard look at life on the margins
The “true events” referenced in the opening title card in Taylor Sheridan’s Wind River do not pertain to one story. The plot is an amalgam of all the rape-murders of Native American women that are never investigated, solved, and/or chronicled by the same databases that take such care in compiling crime stats concerning white women. The bigots, who have felt empowered of late to flaunt their bigotry like a badge of honor, would argue that this was because of the insular nature of life in a reservation, and uncooperative tribal councils rejecting “outsider” involvement. The obvious question, of course, is why were these people living in reservations to begin with? The answer to that might offer a clue to Native American skepticism of “outsider” help.
But that’s another can of worms. Actor-writerdirector Sheridan’s focus in Wind River is squarely on crafting a taut thriller with something to say. The third in an unofficial neo-western trilogy, along with the stellar Mexican border thriller Sicario that explored the militarized policing, and the desperation of the Texasset Hell or High Water that delved into class, moves north, replaces sand and dust with snow and sleet, and tackles the thorny issue of crime through the filter of race.
The mystery opens with the stark image of a woman running, from what we don’t know, across a wintry expanse of Wyoming’s Wind River Indian Reservation. She’s running barefoot, and before long collapses in the snow. A day or so later, Fish and Wildlife Service animal control ranger Cory Lambert (Jeremy Renner) is tracking a pack of mountain lions across the same expanse when he discovers the frozen body. It turns out she’s a friend of his deceased daughter Natalie Hanson (Kelsey Asbille). Tribal sheriff Ben (Graham Greene, Dances with Wolves) knows this case exceeds his resources, and so green FBI agent Jane Banner (Elizabeth Olsen) arrives from Las Vegas in heels and a thin jacket. And that too in a rental car in the middle of a blizzard! “We’re used to no help,” Ben cracks at one point. The rest of the action unfolds like a standard thriller. Banner enlists Lambert’s help, and they discover there’s a larger conspiracy at play.
Wind River has its problems — chief among them is its repeat of Sicario’s plot beats, including an ominous SUV convoy. It’s the little details and blink-and-you’ll-missit moments captured so vividly that give Wind River its life and emotional heft. For example, there’s Tantoo Cardinal as Lambert’s mother-in-law reluctantly lending Banner her dead daughter’s winter clothing. Plus the rapid swing of Martin Hanson (the brilliant Gil Birmingham, best known for Twilight) from rigid FBI resister to grieving father when a sympathetic face appears. Chip Hanson’s (Martin Sensmeier, The Magnificent Seven) despondent reaction to the news of his sister’s death feel utterly real, and are all the more affecting for it.
Since his directorial debut with the little-seen, wholly-forgettable horror flick Vile, Sheridan has found his thematic groove as an astute observer of life on the margins and modern American masculinity. He’s also earned attention for his slow-burning thrillers. These don’t talk down to the audience and boast some sparkling dialogue. Sheridan’s work as an actor (Sons of Anarchy) could be the reason he pulls terrifically nuanced performances from his actors, in particular Renner as the philosopher cowboy, who finally fulfills the promise displayed in The Hurt Locker. And look at that! Native characters played by Native actors. See, Hollywood? That’s not so hard.
If Sheridan has a weakness it’s the reductiveness of his women characters. He never stoops so low as to make them into houseplants, but Emily Blunt in Sicario and, here, Olsen are naive and idealistic to the point of being reckless, and are drawn that way only to make a statement (though Olsen’s last line is utterly devastating). If Sheridan can remedy that, he’ll be a director worthy of his own writing.