Review: 'First Cow’ Rewrites the Aesthetics of the West
“History isn't here yet. It's coming, but maybe this time we can take it on our own terms”
The opening sequence of First Cow introduces the film’s main characters about 200 years after their deaths. A contemporary young woman (Alia Shawkat) and her dog unearth two sets of remains, held in tender embrace by the natural world for eternity. It is not morbid or grim, but a soft reminder of the simple philosophy of living. Then director and co-writer Kelly Reichardt transports us back to when the two had done their living, in the Oregon Territory amidst the 1820s.
Before we see his face or know his name, we learn that Otis Figowitz (John Magaro), also called Cookie, has an inner kindness to him that is nearly overwhelming. Never wishing to draw attention to himself, his compassion seems tonally at odds with the world of man; not at home amongst the cold hardness of the old west and not in the barrenness of modernity. Yet his tenderness is the perfect compliment to the mossy undergrowth, so gentle it’s heart-aching. It is evident that Cookie can see the value of every life from his very first glimpse, including fellow outsiders. King-Lu (Orion Lee), a Chinese immigrant on the run from some vengeful trappers, is equally transfixing among the ferns and moss. More outwardly thoughtful, his ambitions and strong moral compass draw him closer to civilization. They share a great deal in common in their hopes and dreams, as well as the desire to outrun the tragic moments of their pasts.
The two connect through pure and instant empathy, a mutual trust in each other that the days to come will be prosperous. Together they hatch a scheme that entwines their skills with the inherent skill of one particular animal: the first cow brought to the territory. Shipped up from the gold rush city of Saint Francisco, the bovine belongs to the local British trading magnate Chief Factor (Toby Jones), a man known for his scrupulous attention to his own image and standing. The cow herself seems to give off warmth and light, a symbol of nurturing, yet also tragic and lonesome. She is something of a kindred spirit to Cookie, who might be the first person in her solitary life to show her sympathy.
With little more to conceal their offense than the cover of night and Factor’s dignified obliviousness, Cookie and King-Lu secretly take the cow’s milk for themselves. With the most precious resource in the region, Cookie makes fried oily cakes, which are instantly the greatest craving of their frontier town. While hard at work making their living from the looted milk, they dream of a more idyllic and prosperous future together, perhaps owning a farm or a hotel in the far off land of California. The world is boundless to them, the opportunities are truly theirs to claim for the first time in their lives. They cheers to “…something,” and with an elusive grin, the film captures untold prospective optimism. In the forests of Oregon, where belief and being are mutable concepts, they have the chance to define their own existence.
While such characters’ lives are seemingly unremarkable on a grander scale of Western expansion narrative, the film’s attention to them actually gets to a core truth many others have purposefully omitted. It knows better than to just base the White Male Experience as the only one present when the taking is good. Instead, many languages, faces, and cultural signifiers are folded into the images of the town. Reichardt is doing her part in deconstructing the myths of the American frontier, rejecting the whitewash that has shaped our imaginations of the bygone era. First Cow clears the depressingly low bar of acknowledging the existence of Indigenous peoples in a Western setting. The Chinook people, to whom the land and waters of Oregon originally belong, are present throughout and impossible to ignore. The Chinook Wawa language is spoken aloud, while intentionally and deferentially left unsubtitled.
First Cow succeeds in the delicate balancing act of telling a story from the perspective of colonizing figures while exposing the fallacy and violence of Manifest Destiny. We are heartened by Cookie and King-Lu’s dreams of claiming ownership of “untouched” territory, even though we know they are really only settlers on Indigenous land. The drama of the film is ultimately centered on capitalism and the natural world failing to coexist. After stashing the profits of scores of cakes, King-Lu insists they’ve barely even begun their entrepreneurial careers. One can never have enough money once they’ve started collecting it, and will justify any means necessary to continue. They hinge their futures on greater risks, seeking greater rewards. It’s a futile struggle against the insatiable greed, and even our protagonists cannot stay ahead forever. Even the titular declaration "first cow” is something of a boastful predictor, the herald of a different world on its way to soon replace the trees and rivers.
For a piece that approaches the enormous problems of filmmaking for that period and genre, it remains well rooted in contemplative specifics. Reichardt and cinematographer Christopher Blauvelt’s ability to establish atmosphere is unmatched, and the 4:3 aspect ratio is an intimate, often layered way of seeing into the antiquated world. Fair few manage to contain the verdant, saturated colors of temperate rainforest undergrowth on screen so effectively. Remaining averse to violence and conflict, they instead prioritize a soft adoration towards animals and details.
Another way to look at it is as a film about the simple human joy of food, with all the nostalgic connections and desire it bears. It’s a mode of interpersonal connection, especially valuable for the lonely and far from home. Like a morsel baked by a loved one, First Cow nourishes the spirit beyond physical satisfaction, and comforts the heart.
