This is why I find a movie like The River both timely and timeless. It bravely dives into the long-standing and emotional argument of land: its ownership, use and responsibility. At first glance, The River is a story of an ordinary American farming family and the hardships they undergo to maintain and defend their livelihood and the lifestyle they are used to. As one watches further, it becomes evident that the film is also a commentary on the existing American social and economic order. But it is a film that also resonates in the Philippine experience.
In watching the film, questions arise. Does big business have more right to resources than the "smaller" people? What right does one person have over another to get the other’s job? Must prices of goods of small producers be dictated by big business? Must bankers be so cold and heartless with foreclosures? Content-wise, The River flows deep, and the film does not disappoint with its depth.
The film opens dramatically with an arresting sequence of action wherein a family struggles valiantly but vainly against the rising waters of the river, made heavy by the strong rain, in order to save the planted crop and their property from being inundated. Early on in the film, the conflict is established, setting the tone and mood by which the movie will proceed from beginning to end.
But such an ambitious storyline would be for naught if the characters do not come alive. Sissy Spacek as the farmer’s wife is most impressive, and her acting an excellent study of the American country spouse: simple, loving, hardworking, faithful and above all, woman. A very young Mel Gibson, still fresh from his Mad Max series fame, is a surprise (this film pre-dates his The Passion of the Christ). He conveys on the screen such internal intensity of emotion that it is more effective than any utterances to show grim determination. Not that Gibson’s lines are not worth hearing.
Setting is important in The River, as it is about land. It is important to note that farming in the US is largely a family operation of 300 to 400 acres or less. Yet, these "small" farms can be competitive and productive as the larger "commercial farms." This point is not lost on the director of The River. The viewer partakes in the greenness of the cornfield, the sweet aroma of freshly-baked bread, even the odor of sweat in the steel factory.
Vilmos Zsigmond shows that he deserves his reputation: quite simply, he is a master of photography. There is subtle poetry in focusing the camera on droplets of rain falling on the surface of the waters of the river. There seems to be a painter’s hand in the scene of a small child fishing by the riverbank and in the long shots of the wide picturesque fields of farmland.
As the title suggests, the river is the primary symbol of the film. As it snakes around the farmlands, it evokes a god-like image, whereby it spells destruction or prosperity for the farmer. The storm at the beginning of the movie is a forewarning of the struggles seen throughout the story. And the rampaging river, so beautifully shot, conjures images of Amos and his exhortations on justice and punishment. And what of the scene of a fawn, where, completely surrounded by laborers, it urinates from fear? The close-up of its panicky eyes is accompanied by the background sound of heavy breathing and machinery. The result: a disconcerting feeling of finite-ness where one’s survival depends on the goodness of the stronger creature. Like the river itself, the film is an elemental tour de force, challenging the viewer to review his priorities – whether they are for individual gain, or for society’s betterment as a whole. The River brings into focus the inevitable flow of nature with its cycles of creation and destruction. It also reminds us that despite our frailty, the nobility of the human spirit will always be unsinkable – that even the most ordinary of us can rise above the turbulent waters of fate, and still live extraordinary lives.