Directed by: Felipe Gálvez
Distributed by: MUBI
Written by Michael Clawson
70/100
A neo-western epic from Chilean director Felipe Gálvez, “The Settlers” ravishes with its spare, painterly images of the windswept terrain of early 20th century Chile, but until its final act, it too often lacks critical distance from the colonial brutality it strives to lay bare. In contrast to “Killers of the Moon,” where a more subdued depiction of Indigenous genocide allows for a kind of historical witness-bearing, “The Settlers” opts for an aggressive, immersive rendering of racial violence committed by heinous men at a foundational moment of modern history. Formally, the movie is impressive – I love the analog quality of the cinematography and the staccato, Ennio Morricone-esque score – but “The Settlers” ultimately called for greater restraint, which might have lessened the feeling that Gálvez is reveling in the misery he puts on screen.
The structure initially resembles certain Anthony Mann westerns: a small group sets out across a treacherous landscape as distrust, cynicism, and the danger of betrayal festers among them. For Gálvez, the group consists of a former British officer, an American mercenary, and a mixed-race Chilean, who’ve been hired by a wealthy landowner to clear his territory of its native people. The movie is at its worst when it shows them effectively carrying out their mission: in the film’s most viscerally cruel moment, the trio slaughters a peaceful Indigenous tribe on a fog-shrouded morning; under Gálvez’s direction, the scene plays out like an exercise in suspense and style, rather than a reckoning with a bleak historical truth. The final act is altogether more incisive than anything that comes before it. Trading displays of physical carnage for a more insidious kind of cultural violence, the ending poignantly captures an act of resistance against forced assimilation.
“The Settlers” Trailer
Michael Clawson is a member of the Seattle Film Critic Society you can follow his passion for film on Letterboxd.
