Kent MacKenzie's 1961 film The
Exiles has been
hailed as a landmark in American independent cinema, and called one of the most
honest portrayals of contemporary Native American life ever filmed. Both those
claims are verifiable. Compared to the slick approach that Hollywood took even
to the "social problem" films of the era, The Exiles is bracing and raw, more akin to
the French New Wave and British kitchen-sink dramas. And compared to the
Westerns and comedies of the time, The Exiles is infinitely more complex in its
characterizations of Indians who struggle with poverty and loneliness in Los
Angeles. But it would oversell this movie to say it's still as fresh as it must
have seemed in its day. The cinematic landscape has since witnessed more than
four decades of spare, virtually plotless foreign and indie films about people
hanging out, and if anything, The Exiles feels a little protozoan.
Better then to admire The Exiles for its specific docu-realist
elements, which preserve places and moments that viewers won't find in any
other film. MacKenzie shot most of the movie in L.A.'s Bunker Hill neighborhood
(serviced by the inclined trolley known as "Angels Flight"), and in and around
the cramped apartment shared by Homer Nish, his pregnant common-law wife Yvonne
Williams, their Mexican acquaintance Tommy Reynolds, and a handful of others. The
Exiles accentuates
the fuzzy neon of bars and liquor stores, and moves to the rumble of the
garage-rock band The Revels. While Nish, Williams, and Reynolds roam from
markets to parties, they take turns narrating, describing their boredom with
the routine, and how much they miss the open spaces and sedate pace of the
reservation.
MacKenzie doesn't try to pretend
that his subjects are saints. The men manhandle their women, get into fights,
and seem to go out of their way to avoid paying a check. But MacKenzie poeticizes
their lapses, and lets all the wandering and carousing culminate in a haunting
climactic scene, in which dozens of Native Americans gather on Hill X after the
bars close, to beat drums and drink until they fall into an ecstatic stupor.