Politicians on both sides of the aisle exploit the cultural divide between urban and rural citizens by alternately painting the latter as either “real Americans” or uninformed obstacles to progress. Doing so obscures the fact that life in the country presents a different set of needs than those experienced by city dwellers. The glacial pace of Chivas DeVinck’s second documentary, The Great Basin, paints a slice-of-life portrait in a rural Nevada stretch of land where its denizens have ample reason to feel marginalized. By juxtaposing protracted static shots of quotidian activities with roving windshield shots as a car traverses smalltown streets and country highways along the “Loneliest Road in America,” DeVinck captures the sense of place where both outside forces and inertia impact the citizenry.
Incorporating majestic vistas of sheepherding country and miles of turbines spinning on wind farms, Yoshio Kitagawa’s cinematography finds aesthetically pleasing images even in the mundane. The repeated image of popcorn rising and spilling out of the pan in a movie theater popper. Old men making small talk about roofing materials while standing outside a post office. A seasoned brothel worker fixing her hair in front of a vanity mirror. Each image resonates in its own way while also evoking a broader sense of place and community.
DeVinck also makes the choice, however, to feature extended scenes of the tediously mundane, as a lengthy early scene at an unremarkable town council meeting demonstrates. Yet even here, there’s more to see if the viewer looks closer. Though the topics of discussion are often beside the point, we see the concerns of the council and community members plainly revealed, such as a “less government, more freedom” conservative councilmember struggling to apply his political philosophy to a particular issue, or a concerned citizen moved to tears over reckless pruning of elm trees in a nearby park.
Later, we get more of a sense of perceived threats to the community, as a sheep rancher articulates how Las Vegas has worked for years to get a water pipeline approved to pump one of the area’s most integral resources into Sin City. He laments that nobody in Vegas seems to realize the water will one day run out, and that his community will bear the brunt of that ecological devastation. Elsewhere, a Native American elder tells of her family and cultural history, alluding to promises unkept while pointing out areas on a map, and a younger family member explains how Indian boarding schools rose up generations ago to teach Native folks “how not to be Indian” and that they were unfortunately quite successful in their mission.
Wisely, the film doesn’t dwell on any specific issue for very long. Instead, its more interested in an overarching theme of marginalization, and how spending years occupying the same place can be both a virtue and burden. The coronavirus specter was looming at the time of filming, then just an overseas threat, and there is mention of national politics and an upcoming election. There are moments when ideologies bubble to the surface, but mostly these are just people going about their lives. And yet, even in small communities, we see a compelling diversity of cultures and interests. Whether its evangelists leaving religious tracts with polite yet uninterested brothel staff, or the sheepherder explaining how he’s the only English speaker on his ranch with a handful of Spanish-speaking employees and his Chinese wife, the film does well to highlight that people are both products of their environment and far too complex to be easily lumped together. With a patient camera, DeVinck lets defining aspects of individuals and the collective emerge on their own as he casts an empathetic eye toward people who occupy just one of the American landscape’s many expanses.
Photo courtesy of Circle Collective
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