Churchill defines mainstream American films as "objectively racist on all levels" (p. 231). Thus, as I proffer this "confession," I may not even be allowed the qualifier "ignorant." However, if those like Churchill–and others within American Indian communities–would withhold judgement to read these thoughts, a much-needed dialogue may be established. Then, I could begin to learn a more complete US history through film–from the perspective of American Indians. I could sit with new-found friends and listen. As I write this, however naively, this is my hope.
Past and Present–Absent Indians
As a child, I played "Cowboys and Indians"; the Indians wore feathers and used bows and arrows, and the cowboys, boots and six-shooters. I don't remember much more about it, but the cowboys probably "won." As an adult, I'm mesmerized by movies–especially those that tell of cultures other than my own. I sometimes watch westerns: High Noon, Gentle Persuasion, Last of the Mohicans. They are not my favorite genre; but, I watch them. I have never known a Cherokee or a Choctaw–or any American Indians. So, all I have learned about Indians, I have learned from film.
As Jacquelyn Kilpatrick writes in Celluloid Indians, "movies and television are so pervasive that they can't help but affect our lives in significant social, emotional, and psychological ways" (p. 233). I believe, in this media age, most Western peoples build histories from film. Further, it seems obvious that the cinema perpetuates stereotypes, across and within cultures. It is not so clear, however, that when this "entertainment"–often based loosely on US history–deals with Native peoples and issues, it harms the present-day American Indian community.
This is not particularly due to the fact that the gross majority of films have been made by non-Indian filmmakers. Nor, that in these films Anglos or Latinos have often portrayed American Indians. Overlook these two significant factors for a moment, as I build on the thoughts of Kilpatrick and Churchill. The essential issue is that Natives and Native concerns have been treated as irrelevant. This is one reason I mentioned the westerns High Noon and Gentle Persuasion; these two very different classics of the genre fail to include any reference to American Indians.
As a child and an adult, I thought of Indians as noble, free and absent; they were part of a lost world. Westerns set in the 1800s, like The Searchers and Dances with Wolves, did nothing to contest this view. Even the haunting Soldier Blue–which revisits the massacre of Cherokee Indians at Sand Creek, Colorado, not far from my home near Sterling–may not have led me to more than deep remorse. After all, that happened at the turn of the century, and Indians are gone now. It's all a historical regret. Right?
Wrong. But only a few years ago when driving through a reservation in Nevada–where billboards and TV commercials features American Indians–were my old ideas challenged. This experience exemplifies the harmful myth of which Churchill writes: "The Indian has been restricted in the public mind, not only in terms of the people portrayed (the Plains Nations), but in terms of the time of their collective existence (roughly 1825-1880)" (p. 232). So, I slowly began to realize Natives exist now. But, where are they?
In the cinema, they are "reservationalized" in contemporary documentaries like Incident at Oglala (Apted, 1992) and dramas like Thunderheart (Apted, 1992). These two films, based on the same series of historical events, reveal that at Pine Ridge from 1973 to 1976, at least 56 people were killed and hundreds were terrorized by BIA (Bureau of Indian Affairs) police, GOONs (Government of the Oglala Nation) and the FBI. The victims were AIM (American Indian Movement) members and supporters. Most of these deaths were never investigated.
These films collide with reality in several ways. In a positive sense, I'm faced with injustices for which my government is directly responsible. Land claims and mineral rights are two central issues; however–like most American concerns–the bottom-line is money and power. Unlike the resolution of Thunderheart, though, no enlightened Anglo (or more accurately, masala) is rushing in to save the Natives and their land. Further, unlike Incident at Oglala, there are no sounds of Indians mobilizing for action–none that reach Anglo ears, at least.
Kilpatrick mentions Indians involved in the production of Thunderheart who cited "inaccuracies, such as shape shifting being attributed to the Lakotas although it is not part of their belief system" (p. 211). Even more troubling to Natives was the "commodification" of spirituality–such as the "desire to film sacred ceremonies" (p. 211). Churchill is sarcastic, describing Thunderheart as a "twisted plot featuring an Indian FBI agent ... who jumps in to save his backwards reservation brethren," and the "agent-hero" as a "cross between Mike Hammer and Tonto" (p. 247). From various viewpoints, then, American Indians are still hidden.
Smoke Signals–Signs of Indian Life
There are signs of Indian life in the contemporary milieu, though. In today’s cinema, Natives are transgressing the reservation’s border. One film that depicts this is Smoke Signals (Eyre, 1998). What distinguishes this film is its writer, director and (co)producers. Kilpatrick notes, "While it is not the only film ever made by Native Americans, as the hype surrounding the film would have us believe, it is the first to get such widespread publicity–and Mirimax as its distributor" (p. 232). So, how are American Indians depicted in a contemporary story told through Native eyes?
Smoke Signals made this Anglo laugh, as very few films do–especially comedies. Is this "the gentle, irrepressible humor of ‘the People’" which Kilpatrick mentions (p. 129)? It’s jokes about reservation traffic reports–which include big trucks, the current domestic spat, or cloud shapes–and short Apaches (like Geronimo) playing basketball. Or, the community (non)quote: "Some days it’s a good day to die; some days it’s a good day to play basketball." Or "… have breakfast." Or "… be indigenous." It’s even Thomas Builds-the-Fire’s (Evan Adams) annoying, "Hey, Victor!" which always precedes a question. But, there’s more.
Just after receiving news of his father Arnold’s death, Victor Joseph (Adam Beach) stops by the local store to cash his mother’s check–which will fund a trip to Arnold’s place in Phoenix, Arizona. When Thomas interrupts to express his sympathy, Victor asks how he heard about it. "I heard it on the wind. I heard it from the birds. And your mom was just in here crying." What about this: "The only thing more pathetic than Indians on TV is Indians watching Indians on TV." Considering most filmic representations, I though this was funny, too.
But, Smoke Signals also made me cry. I cried with the storyteller, Thomas, for "children who aren’t really children at all," but "pillars of flame" like Victor and like Thomas "pillars of ash." Again, I cried with Thomas, who lost both parents in a fire and now "only [has] the stories. And in every one of those stories, I could fly." I cried with Victor, the child breaking beer bottles against the side of a car–the adult struggling to forgive his father and understand himself. I cried because I understood. I cried because I didn’t.
Most of all, Smoke Signals made me think. Knowing the $40 Victor has isn’t enough to get from Idaho to Arizona, Thomas offers him his own money–if he can go too. When Victor’s mother encourages him to travel with Thomas, then makes him promise to return to the reservation, he smiles: "Do you want me to sign a paper or somethin’?" "No way," she responds. "You know how Indians feel about signing papers." I don’t know; but, using other relevant films as background, I can imagine.
Later, two young women–who always drive their car backwards and drink Coke instead of beer–come upon Victor and Thomas walking along the highway. They ask if the two have their passports to leave the "res." Thomas replies, "It’s the United States." "Damn right it is," one woman asserts, to which the other woman quips, "That’s as foreign as it gets." Other scenes in Smoke Signals–and documentaries like Incident at Oglala–reveal no little irony in this statement. Yet, it’s one particular scene that helped me see US history more clearly through Native eyes–if only for a moment.
"How long do you think it will take us to get there?" Thomas asks. "We’ve been travelin’ a long time, i’nt it." Walking along a dirt road to Arnold’s place, Thomas relates an oral history to Victor. First, Columbus invades and Indians "walk away from that beach." Then, Custer "moves in, driving down property values," and Truman tests the atomic bomb on Native land. Now, American Indians can "see where [they’re] going" (and it’s not to the moon with Neil Armstrong). Thus, as the two men progress on their journey–laughing, crying, thinking–so do I.
As part of this progression, Smoke Signals did something few films do–it enticed me to learn more. For me, the most revealing, and repeated, images were of Indians on a journey: Victor (the boy) running away; Thomas and Victor walking along a highway, riding a bus, or driving in a battered pickup; Victor’s father, Arnold, driving this same pickup or walking on a dirt road with his neighbor; and, finally, Victor (the man) running toward his father, forgiveness and his future. Even the wide, flowing river emphasized travelling.
In a positive sense, Smoke Signals left me pondering questions. How does time function in American Indian cultures? Why does Thomas wear his hair in two braids instead of leaving it loose? What does fry bread taste like? How deeply did Harry Truman, Jimmy Carter and Neil Armstrong impact Native history? What does the Indian flag symbolize? Why does Victor cut his hair when mourning for his father? And, how do American Indians make such a funny song about John Wayne’s teeth?
Through Smoke Signals, Chris Eyre (director) and Sherman Alexie (screenwriter) offered me something I didn’t know was missing–something more than even a Native presence. I laughed like a friend had just told me a joke. I cried like I empathized, even a little–especially about my relationship with my father. I thought about what is involved in seeing through another’s eyes: work, struggle, misunderstanding. I considered risk–of words, actions, relationships. I was reminded of the need to forgive and be forgiven. I began a journey to learn more.
Shattering Stereotypes–Shaping a Present
I believe that all non-documentary films base characters on stereotypes–since drama relies on "sketches" of people and situations. Smoke Signals is no exception. Thomas, at his simplest, is the wise side-kick, the comic relief, the endearing misfit or "geek." Victor, again in basic terms, is the heroic rebel, the "leading man"–dashing, yet with much to learn. While this use of stereotypes could be construed as a weakness, I consider it a strength. For me, Smoke Signals used stereotypes only to shatter them.
The film begins by addressing, arguably, the biggest Native stereotype: what a "real Indian" looks like. Is it Thomas, the Native storyteller who, according to Victor, is "always trying to sound like some damn medicine man"? Thomas, who wears two braids, a smile and a suit–until he trades it for a superhero T-shirt? Soft-spoken, intelligent, awkward Thomas, who doesn’t know when to be quiet, but knows "fry bread turns any meal into a feast"? Initially, it seems Thomas has the heart of an American Indian; but, his exterior doesn’t match. Stereotype one.
Isn’t Victor more of a "real Indian"? Victor, the noble warrior with flowing, black hair who advises Thomas to "get stoic"–and that "an Indian man ain’t nothing without his hair"? The free Native who is nonetheless bound by anger and distrust? Handsome, pensive, troubled Victor, whose favorite Indian is "nobody"? Victor, whose bad memories of physical abuse, alcoholism and growing up with a sole parent seem the only memories that accompany him? Since Victor looks "the part," noone questions his heart. Stereotype two.
As the film progresses, however, Thomas changes his hair and clothing to look "more Indian"–then, he changes it back. Victor, on the other hand, has a harder time discovering his identity–his soul. When Victor retaliates against Thomas’ stories about Arnold Joseph (Victor’s father) by saying Thomas didn’t know him, Thomas retorts: "Maybe you don’t know who you are!" Thus, as Smoke Signals ends, it has shattered stereotypes, convincing me both Victor and Thomas are "real Indians"–moreso because they are distinct individuals.
In the same powerful way, Smoke Signals also creates Anglo stereotypes. Victor and Thomas confront two sets of Anglos on the bus trip to Phoenix. The first is a young gymnast absorbed with her past–an Olympic opportunity stolen by President Carter. The second is two "cowboys" who usurp the seats of Victor and Thomas. When they object, one Anglo looks on. His overbearing companion retorts: "Now listen up. These are our seats now, and there isn’t a damn thing you can do about it. So why don’t you and super-Injun there find yourself somewhere else to have a powwow, OK." It was easy to translate "our seats" into "our land" to understand the subtext.
On the return trip to Corte de Leone, Victor and Thomas come upon two more sets of Anglos. Finding two female victims in distress (a foil of the two racist males) after a drunk-driving accident, Victor volunteers to run to the next town for medical assistance; this saves a woman’s life. Ironically, the two Natives are then blamed for the accident. After the police chief (a foil of the self-absorbed gymnast) leads Victor and Thomas into an office bedecked with rifles and old-time cowboy portraits, he asks them their story. As they deny the charges, the chief reads a statement from the drunk driver’s wife: "… he is, and I quote, ‘an asshole’." Charges dropped.
I value that, in a film made by American Indians, Anglos are neither portrayed as the "great White hope" nor the "mentally unbalanced" villain. The first stereotype has been predominant in films labeled sympathetic to Native Americans, and to oppressed groups in general. The latter is a stereotype seen by Kilpatrick as newly emergent; she continues, "This is a problem because in relating violence and cruelty to the madness of a few, it releases the general public from responsibility" (p. 128). Thus, as Smoke Signals shatters stereotypes, it shapes a present. This is especially true within the context of a Native community.
When Victor suggests that to look authentic Thomas should look like he’s just returned from killing a buffalo, Thomas replies that their tribe, the Corte de Leone of Idaho, "were fisherman." "Do you want to look like you just came back from killing a fish?" Victor asks. By adding such details, the Native filmmakers seem to avoid what Churchill deems a Eurocentric stereotype based on "the implied assumption that distinctions between cultural groupings of indigenous people are either nonexistent (ignorance) or irrelevant (arrogance)" (p. 236).
In broader terms, too, Smoke Signals emphasizes the heritage and values that Victor and Thomas share: respect for women elders, like Victor’s mother and Thomas’s grandmother; aversion to alcohol and appreciation for fry bread (and Coke); and, an awareness of significant events for the wider American Indian community (though Victor’s is initially slight). With all these things in mind, would Churchill revise his statement that "there has not been one attempt to put out a commercial film which deals with native reality through native eyes" (p. 236)?
Yet, perhaps the good I find in Smoke Signals exemplifies only the trend (in reverse) that Ward Churchill observes regarding the Native characters in Journey Through Rosebud. "Most Native Americans viewing them ranked them as the most accurate and convincing ever to come from the studios." Film critics, however, described the same characters as "wooden Indians" (p. 234). Am I merely seeing what I want to see, immune to the genuine because I have never known an American Indian or particulars of the Native situation?
A Future–Through Indian Eyes?
Churchill criticizes Hollywood for regularly "attaching Eurocentric values to native acts"–thus depriving American Indian characters of appropriate "context" and "motivation" (p. 235-236). One criticism Smoke Signals avoids, then, is the use of an Anglo narrator; Thomas, a Native, tells this story in the first-person. Further, the filmmakers provided "cultural grounding and explanation" for the characters’ actions (p. 235). Still, as an Anglo, there were many things I didn’t fully understand; and surely there were other things I merely assumed I understood.
However, while a film’s viewers and the culture portrayed may differ, this doesn’t preclude inter- or cross-cultural understanding. Jacquelyn Kilpatrick notes, in fact, that "the audience for this film is not [only] a Native American audience"–which is what Alexie and Eyre intended (p. 230). "American Indian audiences are used to that," she concedes. "[Smoke Signals] is a very funny story told in a way that is a least partially recognizable as ‘Indian’" (p. 230). Kilpatrick continues, again on a positive note: "The Native Americans are shown as contemporary humans with contemporary problems, emotions, and reactions" (p. 230).
Sadly, not all Kilpatrick sees in the film is positive. Contrary to the stated intentions of Alexie and Eyre, "the specters of alcoholism, injustice, and loneliness form the skeleton upon which this film hands" (p. 230). I agree. Kilpatrick’s final argument, though, is the most tragic: "the fact that [Smoke Signals] is very funny doesn’t keep it from showing a Native present that is devoid of much hope for the future" (p. 230). She describes the stories of Alexie used as source material as "clever, funny, and bleak"; "the implied acceptance of defeat in the film is also rather disturbing" (p. 230-231).
Is this, indeed, reflecting what the Anglo majority–and the Hollywood elite–set out to accomplish: a denial of history, identity, and personal responsibility? Churchill asserts "when the cultural identity of a people is symbolically demolished, the achievements and very humanity of that people must also be disregarded…. This is the real meaning of Hollywood’s stereotyping of American Indians" (p. 239). In the terms of colonization, then, Native land, resources and heritage are the spoils of the victors–the Anglos. This cannot be the final word for America, for humanity. With God as our creator and witness, it dare not be.
I am not a politician or a person with money or influence; I am not a great thinker. I am only one woman with a film camera–and a conscience. Churchill contends, "only a literal blocking of modern realities can be used to rationalize present circumstances. Only a concerted effort to debunk Hollywood’s mythology can alter the situation for the better" (p. 241). In this light, I long to be part of a distinct school of independent filmmakers, as well as a new influx of astute media viewers and critics. I echo the words of one Native man quoted in Imagining Indians (Masayesva, 1992): "I get so tired of hearing, ‘It’s just a movie" (Kilpatrick, p. 211).
Kilpatrick observes that while Hollywood is "a profit-driven industry," it also "[must] carry the responsibility of preserving culture" (p. 233). I agree. Unfortunately, considering the main offerings of the commercial cinema, relying solely on it doesn’t seem particularly promising. Independent films have the greatest freedom to be historically accurate and depict their subject in a balanced and complete way. Yet, Kilpatrick asserts, "deconstructing the stereotypes can’t be done solely by independent filmmakers, American Indian or not" (p. 233).
There are feature films funded by minorities–and distributed in Hollywood–which bridge between the two worlds: Get on the Bus, Mississippi Masala, Spitfire Grill. Still, I feel the most intriguing "hybrid" is the short film The Witness. Funded by Native Americans and directed by a two-person team, one Anglo and one Native, the filmmaking process and the product, considering Kilpatrick’s review, have inherently benefited from the mix (p. 228). In fact, with financing "where American Indian filmmaking is at its weakest," perhaps an inter-cultural cinema, a hybrid cinema, is the most viable option (Kilpatrick, p. 217).
Churchill relates that "the US mainstream population finds itself under no particular moral or psychic obligation to confront the fact of Native America" (p. 234). I believe dramas like Smoke Signals, documentaries such as Imagining Indians, and short films like The Witness are each steps toward an inter-cultural dialogue which can change this. In addition, these films contain, as Kilpatrick puts it, "the ‘second’ of reality necessary to make the existence of American Indian filmmakers ‘real’ for the film industry" (p. 232). When such films lead to a deepening ethos or the US at large, then all of us–filmmakers and viewers, Anglos and Natives, and anyone in between–can have a future and a hope.
Conclusion–A Dialogue
I turn to the introduction to Churchill’s book, which features words from M. Annette Jaimes: "A great deal of damage can be carried out under the cloak of benevolence. ‘Friends of the Indian’ have furthered the control of American Indians by whites" (p. 3). These words remind me what’s at stake in a dialogue such as this. From any side, I may be misunderstood or chastised; I may be laughed at or ignored. Still, hypothetically, that only puts me in the place where Natives currently are with the federal government–and with the mass media at large.
I ponder the thoughts of Churchill and Kilpatrick, with shame, amazement and anticipation. As an Anglo, a Christian and a filmmaker, I don’t want to lend my voice to those denying human dignity and justice; I want to live well and take part in uncovering the truth, past and present. Thus, my "confession" is complete, and I can no longer claim the qualifier "ignorant." Through film, I have begun to learn a more complete US history–at least partially, from the perspective of American Indians. I have said my part, and I await a Native response. As I sit listening, however naively, this is my hope.
Editor's note: This article was written in 2000, and therefore does not consider such recent films as "The Fast Runner" or "Whale Rider". The author hopes to address these films in a follow-up article if time permits.
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