The pure poetry lingering beneath Wild River is not to be underestimated, and should be addressed almost immediately when discussing a film that seems to be far more overpowering than we’d expect from looking at it on a purely superficial level. By the time he made it, Elia Kazan didn’t really have to prove anything – he had several masterpieces firmly under his belt, and looked poised to continue making great films that pushed the boundaries of the narrative form in different ways. Wild River was the first in a loose trilogy of films that looked at the socio-cultural milieu of the first half of the twentieth century (or in the case of America, America, the years directly preceding it) in the United States, all centered on the elusive concept of the American Dream. Somehow, through the sheer willpower of strong source material (taken from two independent novels that are seamlessly woven together by Kazan and screenwriter Paul Osborn), and a sense of both visual grandeur and intimate, character-driven complexity, we’re presented with a small-scale epic that seeks to get to the root of social unease at a time in which the country was facing some of its most overwhelming challenges. Situated between the peak of the Great Depression and the eve of the Second World War, Wild River is a layered film that combines elements of an anti-capitalist manifesto and deep melodrama to create an unforgettable tapestry of a singular moment in American history – and like many of Kazan’s films, it seeks to condense enormous themes into a single narrative thread that traverses so much more than we’d expect from its smaller scope, which it utilizes in poignant and unforgettable ways, and creates a work that feels like it is saying a great deal more than we bargained for when venturing towards it.

Ultimately, one of Kazan’s stronger efforts, and a mesmerizing glimpse into the trials and tribulations of ordinary folk trying to navigate a hostile period in their country’s history, Wild River is an astounding work that makes a legitimate claim to be a substantial entry into the canon of great American films. It does this in two distinct ways – firstly, it is a great film made by Americans – a cast assembled of veterans and newcomers alike, and shepherded by a director who embodies the idea of the American Dream himself (on accounts of being an immigrant to the country, and someone who persistently strove to look at his chosen homeland with a loving glare that many of his contemporaries who were native to the country failed to do on quite the same level), the film is remarkably well-formed. Secondly, and the point that is most significant, is that Wild River is an astonishing film about America. Kazan had a knack for telling stories that seemed far more attuned to the general consciousness than many of his contemporaries. Fiercely proud of his identity as a new citizen, Kazan crafts a film that is insatiable in its patriotism – perhaps even to the point where some may consider it quite counterproductive, since he seems to be glossing over some of the more necessary details that would otherwise derail a perfectly resonant story of solid values triumphing over adversity. However, seeing it in this way is overly cynical, and strips Wild River of some of its most profound commentary, which is its strong approach to the human condition in a time of great despair, and how persistence is necessary for survival in any context, especially in such a challenging period. Beautifully-composed, to the point where it actually feels like a true American epic, the film wears its heart on its sleeve, and seems to be going in search of something far more complex than we’d anticipate based on the simple but effective premise we’re introduced to at the outset.

Wild River is a film about America, as told through the perspective of a few characters who find themselves at the grassroots of the culture. As a result, most of what makes this film so impactful comes from the actors, many of which are doing staggering work that has gone seemingly unnoticed when discussing canonically great performances. Montgomery Clift was such an extraordinary actor, and even in the years after the accident that physically and emotionally scarred him, he continued to do incredible work. Wild River doesn’t often come up in discussions of Clift’s work – but this is less of a statement on the quality of his performance, and more on the fact that he was capable of hitting such remarkable heights. Chuck Glover isn’t a particularly noteworthy character – he’s essentially a pencil-pushing bureaucrat sent to the southern states to supervise the eviction of an old woman so that his organization can take her land for their capitalistic cravings. In the hands of many other actors, this character would’ve bordered on villainous, or at the very least not nearly as endearing as he was when put through Clift’s performance. He’s such a compelling actor who can hold our attention with such elegance, but also never come across as inauthentic. Every word that comes from Clift resounds with a genuine sense of dedication to the role – one of the finest actors to ever work in the medium, Clift is very much complicit in the resounding success that comes from Wild River. However, the film is gradually stolen by another performer, the incredible Jo van Fleet, who matches Clift beat-for-beat, and turns in an unforgettable supporting performance as Ella Garth. At first, we’re led to believe Ella is a stubborn hag who refuses to let go of her land out of selfishness, until we learn why she is so attached to it – and even at her most callous, van Fleet finds the humanity in a character that could have so easily been a plot device. She’s simply extraordinary, and leaves such an immense impression on the film. There’s absolutely no doubt that of the many reasons to seek this film out, her performance is one of the most significant.

Beyond these performances, Wild River succeeds because it is quintessentially the work of a director who always paid attention to the stories he was telling. It never once veers off course, staying firmly within its narrative lane and rarely deviating from what is a simple but effective story. Based on the premise, one would normally be led to believe that the film requires an in-depth knowledge of Depression-era economic machinations, particularly since Franklin D. Roosevelt’s New Deal policy is referenced throughout the film. However, the film is remarkably free of any such constraints, being perfectly adaptable to any viewer with just a passing interest in the subject matter. This isn’t merely the story of someone being sent to enforce governmental policies onto unsuspecting victims – it’s a film about family and identity, with each of these characters grappling with their own personal quandaries. It allows the film to shade in the nuances in a very effective way, never coming across as trite or too overly convoluted in terms of its politics, which are remarkably scant from a storyline that seems to be built on them, with the saturation of ideas being more focused on the interpersonal conflict. The emotions evoked by this film are earnest and direct, and come across as entirely authentic, which means so much more than anything Kazan could’ve done had he been more focused on the more formal aspects of the story. By the end of it, we aren’t invested in whether or not Chuck will manage to get Ella off her land, but rather in how these characters interact and overcome not only the conflict that exists between them, but their own personal issues that cause them great despair. Not a particularly easy film in the sense that Kazan plumbs some harsh emotional depths, but nonetheless a truly compelling work that takes an unconventional approach to a very powerful story.

A fundamentally human story more than anything else, Wild River achieves the rare feat of describing America without feeling compelled to traverse every corner of the country, both thematically and geographically. Kazan seemed to have a fundamental understanding of how the nation functioned, perhaps not at the higher level of governmental policy, but rather in terms of how he keeps everything at the fundamentally human level throughout. Wild River doesn’t need too much from us, and in return gives us a sophisticated drama about feuding groups that realize that finding a resolution is key – but the specifics of a solution that will satisfy both is far more complex than either entailed. Poetic but not overwrought or saccharine, the film oscillates between different genres in an effort to present different sides of this story – occasionally funny, consistently heartfelt and understated to the point of bordering on social realism, and just a generally beautiful experience from beginning to end, Wild River is a tremendous achievement. It may not be Kazan’s finest work, but like we said about Clift, this is a testament to the incredible quality of the work he did throughout his career – but still stands as a layered, nuanced piece of filmmaking that goes in many different directions, but never loses itself once in the process. A staggering work of poignant fiction, Wild River is well worth the time of anyone interested in seeing a well-formed, earnest drama that cuts to the core of some deep issues, and remains brilliant and concise throughout, even at its most complex.