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Celluloid Indians: Native Americans and Film
Native American characters have been the most malleable of metaphors for filmmakers. The likeable Doc of Stagecoach (1939) had audiences on the edge of their seats with dire warnings about “that old butcher, Geronimo.” Old Lodgeskins of Little Big Man (1970) had viewers crying out against the demise of the noble, wise chief and his kind and simple people. In 1995 Disney created a beautiful, peace-loving ecologist and called her Pocahontas. Only occasionally have Native Americans been portrayed as complex, modern characters in films like Smoke Signals.
Celluloid Indians is an accessible, insightful overview of Native American representation in film over the past century. Beginning with the birth of the movie industry, Jacquelyn Kilpatrick carefully traces changes in the cinematic depictions of Native peoples and identifies cultural and historical reasons for those changes. In the late twentieth century, Native Americans have been increasingly involved with writing and directing movies about themselves, and Kilpatrick places appropriate emphasis on the impact that Native American screenwriters and filmmakers have had on the industry. Celluloid Indians concludes with a valuable, in-depth look at influential and innovative Native Americans in today’s film industry.
Celluloid Indians is an accessible, insightful overview of Native American representation in film over the past century. Beginning with the birth of the movie industry, Jacquelyn Kilpatrick carefully traces changes in the cinematic depictions of Native peoples and identifies cultural and historical reasons for those changes. In the late twentieth century, Native Americans have been increasingly involved with writing and directing movies about themselves, and Kilpatrick places appropriate emphasis on the impact that Native American screenwriters and filmmakers have had on the industry. Celluloid Indians concludes with a valuable, in-depth look at influential and innovative Native Americans in today’s film industry.
280 pages, Paperback
First published September 1, 1999
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Displaying 1 - 7 of 7 reviews
February 6, 2019
Well-written. Academic without the dryness. Part of the deconstruction of film tropes includes setting them against the eras in which they were being made, so what other factors were affecting public perception of Indians. It is also a good look at many films that can be hard to locate.
I appreciate that Kilpatrick managed to be both fair and optimistic.
I appreciate that Kilpatrick managed to be both fair and optimistic.
December 30, 2019
I'm not a huge film buff, but some of these films seemed interesting (although most are close to impossible to find copies of) to read about. It was useful to me to learn more about indigenous-made films versus films with non-indigenous depictions of native people. Overall though, wasn't the most interesting or intriguing read of my life.
August 9, 2024
really good insightful analysis, just wish she expanded upon the last chapter, it felt a bit rushed. the section on smoke signals in particular really should have been expanded upon in my opinion.
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April 20, 2021From Follett: Native American characters have been the most malleable of metaphors for filmmakers. The likeable Doc of Stagecoach (1939) had audiences on the edge of their seats with dire warnings about "that old butcher, Geronimo." Old Lodgeskins of Little Big Man (1970) had viewers crying out against the demise of the noble, wise chief and his kind and simple people. In 1995 Disney created a beautiful, peace-loving ecologist and called her Pocahontas. Only occasionally have Native Americans been portrayed as complex, modern characters in films like Smoke Signals.
Celluloid Indians is an accessible, insightful overview of Native American representation in film over the past century. Beginning with the birth of the movie industry, Jacquelyn Kilpatrick carefully traces changes in the cinematic depictions of Native peoples and identifies cultural and historical reasons for those changes. In the late twentieth century, Native Americans have been increasingly involved with writing and directing movies about themselves, and Kilpatrick places appropriate emphasis on the impact that Native American screenwriters and filmmakers have had on the industry. Celluloid Indians concludes with a valuable, in-depth look at influential and innovative Native Americans in today's film industry.
Celluloid Indians is an accessible, insightful overview of Native American representation in film over the past century. Beginning with the birth of the movie industry, Jacquelyn Kilpatrick carefully traces changes in the cinematic depictions of Native peoples and identifies cultural and historical reasons for those changes. In the late twentieth century, Native Americans have been increasingly involved with writing and directing movies about themselves, and Kilpatrick places appropriate emphasis on the impact that Native American screenwriters and filmmakers have had on the industry. Celluloid Indians concludes with a valuable, in-depth look at influential and innovative Native Americans in today's film industry.
February 24, 2015
I love film criticism, especially when I'm not super familiar with the subjects. Celluloid Indians is about the portrayal of Native Americans in Hollywood and independent film, which I've always been hazy about, and I couldn't have asked for a better resource. This book is super comprehensive and outlines history from the beginning of film to the late nineties, tying the subject matter in with American history that's been long covered up for modern eyes.
This book will enlighten you, teach you the shit school never bothered with, and give you some good movie recommendations along the way.
This book will enlighten you, teach you the shit school never bothered with, and give you some good movie recommendations along the way.
February 9, 2009
An insightful book into film in America and the "role" Native Americans have played in them. Great presentation of subjects and film as examples. Everything is laid out for the reader. All you really have to do is let it sink in and open your eyes. It's all there for the reader to see. This book may even motivate you to watch films for the first time or with a new perspective altogether. A book worth reading. Recommend it highly.
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April 4, 2018Jacquelyn Kilpatrick’s 1999 book Celluloid Indians (Nebraska Press) is a fine work of film analysis that focuses on the deconstruction of Indigenous stereotypes occurring throughout the history of film. Kilpatrick, herself, is of Choctaw, Cherokee, and Irish descent. She assembled this comprehensive series of analyses while employed as an English professor at Governor’s State University in Illinois. She currently serves on the board of directors at the School of Arts at California State University San Marcos. Kilpatrick’s research and writing have focussed on Aboriginal perspectives in film and literature and Shakespeare performance and production. Students, teachers and readers interested in social and cultural theories and/or film studies may enjoy this accessible book. High school teachers of arts and humanities might find a place for it within their classrooms for its easy-to-read emphasis on film stereotypes, which is a reoccurring curricular theme. Furthermore, filmmakers and instructors may wish to combine the reading of this book with segments of the film Reel Injuns (2009), as this more recent film offers additional visual, audio, and critical embellishments to corroborate the points Kilpatrick raises. As poet E. Donald Two-Rivers insists, this book is a “must” for filmmakers seeking to present Indigenous people with a judicious conformity to facts.
Celluloid Indians features an introduction and seven chapters of overview of the history of the Hollywood film industry. The films Kilpatrick analyzes are presented in chronological order by the year of their release, and her analyses are chaptered by the decade. Films listed in the filmography page include: Edison’s vignette peep shows, the history and transition of Buffalo Bill’s travelling show to silent picture format, The Battle at Elderbrush Gulch, Allegheny Uprising, Stagecoach, Broken Arrow, The Searchers, Tell Them Willie Boy Is Here, Soldier Blue, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, War Party, Powwow Highway, Dances With Wolves, The Last of the Mohicans, The Sunchasers, and Smoke Signals. These films are accompanied by black and white stills – contributions of Tom King, Gerald Vizenor, and A.A. Carr. Kilpatrick’s prose is mainly informal, and she unapologetically acknowledges that her analysis at times shifts to an “irritated if not genuinely angry tone” (xvii).
Kilpatrick asserts that she does not intend to conduct a detailed review of every film that uses real or imagined Indigenous people. Rather, her aim is to present a chronologically linear exploration and explication of certain pivotal films, to situate these films within their historical context, provide a historical overview, and deconstruct the stereotypes and “pseudo-realities” in depictions of Indigenous people. In defining the term “stereotypes,” Kilpatrick borrows a working definition from the late sociologist Theresa Perkins: “[S]tereotypes are evaluative concepts about status and role and as such are central to interpreting and evaluating social groups, including one’s own” (xxi).
Kilpatrick begins by examining the notion of the American hero through the methodology and lens of Bakhtin. Film, Kilpatrick writes, enters what Bakhtin calls a “dialogically agitated and tension-filled environment” (xvi). These tensions, she explains, are characterized by the struggle for dominance and supremacy that embodies American Nationalist ideology. The hero of James Ford films, for instance, is a caricature conceived in conjunction with the war efforts. Incidentally, Indigenous people are presented as savage, while John Wayne embodies “white valor”(54) and the “larger-than-life, courageous and honourable American male for an America about to charge into a second world war” (53). These national symbols “become part of each individual through the media [and] they effectively break down the separation between public and private, local and national” (5) which inevitably results in the formation of a national discourse and mythology. Later decades, Kilpatrick adds, mark an era of “win some and lose some” – that is to say that Hollywood shifted to exhibit a polarized and sometimes sympathetic view of Indigenous people. Lastly, Kilpatrick analyzes the popularity of films such as Dances With Wolves and The Last of the Mohicans, how they deploy Native American characters for allegorical purposes. Her critique holds resonance with modern receptions of films such as The Revenant where First Nations characters remain accessories to the development of the central heroic character.
Kilpatrick divides the stereotypes of Indigenous people in film into three categories: “mental, sexual and spiritual, the most meaningful of which is probably the mental” (xvii). Her analyses refer back to these categories.
Because films have historically, and problematically, held the “final word” on how society perceives First Nations cultures, Kilpatrick contemplates the dialogical agitations at work and questions whether Indigenous people hold spaces within Hollywood films for utterances and responses of their own making. She demonstrates enthusiasm for the film Dead Man for Jarmusch’s “significant effort to depict a Native existence stripped of the stereotypes of the last hundred years of filmmaking” (174).
Kilpatrick argues that because America is an immigrant-filled nation, Indigenous people by default become reduced to a visible “Other” in film. For instance, Indigenous characters are portrayed as savage counterparts to Spencer Tracey in Northwest Passage, as noble, uncomplicated, and stoic in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, and eventually as a sidekick for the white hero in Dances With Wolves and The Last of the Mohicans.
Kilpatrick delivers a final chapter that examines attempts in modern cinema for Indigenous people to direct, act, and attempt to participate dialogically. She alludes to Smoke Signals as an example of a film written, directed, and produced by Aboriginal people that also achieved widespread success, yet fails to embody a “truly American Indian aesthetic” (230). She adds, “in significant ways, [Smoke Signals] falls into the clichéd stereotypes of mainstream Hollywood films; its saving grace is that the Native Americans are shown as contemporary humans…” (230). Smoke Signals is Kilpatrick’s final analysis, and the chapter that follows contemplates the future of filmmaking and the possibility of locating within film a place for respectful representations of Indigenous characters – a respect that “doesn’t preclude laughter, tears, pleasure, or even subversion” (233).
Kilpatrick’s focus on visual/aural tools is limited– scarce are her references to film technicalities such as framing, depth of focus, camera angles, editing, etc. Absences of these considerations result in a perceptibly superficial analysis, which might not resonate as forcefully with filmmakers as E. Donald Two-Rivers might wish. Inclusion of such methods would have enhanced the dimension and supplied reinforcement to all of Kilpatrick’s arguments. She does, to be fair, examine film technicalities within her analysis of Imagining Indians and with several of the more modern films in her book. This book is, nonetheless, very pertinent for professors seeking to use tangible, teachable examples of how the film industry has perpetuated nefarious misrepresentations of Indigenous people.
While Celluloid Indians is a compelling, comprehensive asset to teachers and students of Film, Media or Indigenous studies, a multitude of books have since been published with the same themes in mind and might compete in the eyes of a modern scholar. Internet podcasts and online video streaming also offer accessibility to various voices on this subject matter.
Kilpatrick’s hope is that representations of Aboriginal characters be unravelled from the “cocoon of misunderstanding, derision, hatred, and nostalgic guilt” (233). A challenge in this aspiration is that today we are left with a “confused image of American Indians” (233) who, Kilpatrick notes, are presented and misrepresented as symbols of New Age mysticism, the Left, environmentalism, alcoholism and disempowerment. Kilpatrick’s book thus ends on a wondering note: is “confusion better than certainty when the certainty is based on fallacy”(179)? The message imparted is that stereotypes founded on lies do, in the long run, inflict the greatest, most unreasonable damage to a cultural identity. This book is therefore a solid resource for assisting in an improved understanding of current dialogues of representation and redress.
Celluloid Indians features an introduction and seven chapters of overview of the history of the Hollywood film industry. The films Kilpatrick analyzes are presented in chronological order by the year of their release, and her analyses are chaptered by the decade. Films listed in the filmography page include: Edison’s vignette peep shows, the history and transition of Buffalo Bill’s travelling show to silent picture format, The Battle at Elderbrush Gulch, Allegheny Uprising, Stagecoach, Broken Arrow, The Searchers, Tell Them Willie Boy Is Here, Soldier Blue, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, War Party, Powwow Highway, Dances With Wolves, The Last of the Mohicans, The Sunchasers, and Smoke Signals. These films are accompanied by black and white stills – contributions of Tom King, Gerald Vizenor, and A.A. Carr. Kilpatrick’s prose is mainly informal, and she unapologetically acknowledges that her analysis at times shifts to an “irritated if not genuinely angry tone” (xvii).
Kilpatrick asserts that she does not intend to conduct a detailed review of every film that uses real or imagined Indigenous people. Rather, her aim is to present a chronologically linear exploration and explication of certain pivotal films, to situate these films within their historical context, provide a historical overview, and deconstruct the stereotypes and “pseudo-realities” in depictions of Indigenous people. In defining the term “stereotypes,” Kilpatrick borrows a working definition from the late sociologist Theresa Perkins: “[S]tereotypes are evaluative concepts about status and role and as such are central to interpreting and evaluating social groups, including one’s own” (xxi).
Kilpatrick begins by examining the notion of the American hero through the methodology and lens of Bakhtin. Film, Kilpatrick writes, enters what Bakhtin calls a “dialogically agitated and tension-filled environment” (xvi). These tensions, she explains, are characterized by the struggle for dominance and supremacy that embodies American Nationalist ideology. The hero of James Ford films, for instance, is a caricature conceived in conjunction with the war efforts. Incidentally, Indigenous people are presented as savage, while John Wayne embodies “white valor”(54) and the “larger-than-life, courageous and honourable American male for an America about to charge into a second world war” (53). These national symbols “become part of each individual through the media [and] they effectively break down the separation between public and private, local and national” (5) which inevitably results in the formation of a national discourse and mythology. Later decades, Kilpatrick adds, mark an era of “win some and lose some” – that is to say that Hollywood shifted to exhibit a polarized and sometimes sympathetic view of Indigenous people. Lastly, Kilpatrick analyzes the popularity of films such as Dances With Wolves and The Last of the Mohicans, how they deploy Native American characters for allegorical purposes. Her critique holds resonance with modern receptions of films such as The Revenant where First Nations characters remain accessories to the development of the central heroic character.
Kilpatrick divides the stereotypes of Indigenous people in film into three categories: “mental, sexual and spiritual, the most meaningful of which is probably the mental” (xvii). Her analyses refer back to these categories.
Because films have historically, and problematically, held the “final word” on how society perceives First Nations cultures, Kilpatrick contemplates the dialogical agitations at work and questions whether Indigenous people hold spaces within Hollywood films for utterances and responses of their own making. She demonstrates enthusiasm for the film Dead Man for Jarmusch’s “significant effort to depict a Native existence stripped of the stereotypes of the last hundred years of filmmaking” (174).
Kilpatrick argues that because America is an immigrant-filled nation, Indigenous people by default become reduced to a visible “Other” in film. For instance, Indigenous characters are portrayed as savage counterparts to Spencer Tracey in Northwest Passage, as noble, uncomplicated, and stoic in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, and eventually as a sidekick for the white hero in Dances With Wolves and The Last of the Mohicans.
Kilpatrick delivers a final chapter that examines attempts in modern cinema for Indigenous people to direct, act, and attempt to participate dialogically. She alludes to Smoke Signals as an example of a film written, directed, and produced by Aboriginal people that also achieved widespread success, yet fails to embody a “truly American Indian aesthetic” (230). She adds, “in significant ways, [Smoke Signals] falls into the clichéd stereotypes of mainstream Hollywood films; its saving grace is that the Native Americans are shown as contemporary humans…” (230). Smoke Signals is Kilpatrick’s final analysis, and the chapter that follows contemplates the future of filmmaking and the possibility of locating within film a place for respectful representations of Indigenous characters – a respect that “doesn’t preclude laughter, tears, pleasure, or even subversion” (233).
Kilpatrick’s focus on visual/aural tools is limited– scarce are her references to film technicalities such as framing, depth of focus, camera angles, editing, etc. Absences of these considerations result in a perceptibly superficial analysis, which might not resonate as forcefully with filmmakers as E. Donald Two-Rivers might wish. Inclusion of such methods would have enhanced the dimension and supplied reinforcement to all of Kilpatrick’s arguments. She does, to be fair, examine film technicalities within her analysis of Imagining Indians and with several of the more modern films in her book. This book is, nonetheless, very pertinent for professors seeking to use tangible, teachable examples of how the film industry has perpetuated nefarious misrepresentations of Indigenous people.
While Celluloid Indians is a compelling, comprehensive asset to teachers and students of Film, Media or Indigenous studies, a multitude of books have since been published with the same themes in mind and might compete in the eyes of a modern scholar. Internet podcasts and online video streaming also offer accessibility to various voices on this subject matter.
Kilpatrick’s hope is that representations of Aboriginal characters be unravelled from the “cocoon of misunderstanding, derision, hatred, and nostalgic guilt” (233). A challenge in this aspiration is that today we are left with a “confused image of American Indians” (233) who, Kilpatrick notes, are presented and misrepresented as symbols of New Age mysticism, the Left, environmentalism, alcoholism and disempowerment. Kilpatrick’s book thus ends on a wondering note: is “confusion better than certainty when the certainty is based on fallacy”(179)? The message imparted is that stereotypes founded on lies do, in the long run, inflict the greatest, most unreasonable damage to a cultural identity. This book is therefore a solid resource for assisting in an improved understanding of current dialogues of representation and redress.
Displaying 1 - 7 of 7 reviews