Kelly Reichardt is a household name now if you’re into the kind of slow, meditative cinema that makes you think about trees and silence for three days. But back in 1994, she was just a filmmaker from Miami trying to figure out how to subvert a genre that had already been done to death. That’s where the River of Grass film comes in. It’s her debut. It’s gritty. It’s kind of a mess in the best way possible. Honestly, if you watch it right after First Cow or Certain Women, you might not even realize it’s the same director, except for that specific, lingering gaze she has for people who are fundamentally stuck.
The movie isn't a thriller. Not really. It’s more like an "anti-road movie."
Most road movies are about the thrill of the open highway and the transformation of the soul. In River of Grass, the characters barely make it out of the county. They’re stuck in the humid, stagnant suburbs of Broward County, Florida. It’s a landscape of strip malls and sun-bleached asphalt that feels more like a prison than a paradise. Lisa Belzberg and Larry Fessenden play Cozy and Dick, two people who think they’ve committed a murder and decide to go on the lam. The twist? They haven't actually killed anyone. They’re just bored and desperate enough to believe they’re outlaws.
The Florida That Isn't on Postcards
When people think of Florida movies, they usually think of Miami Vice or maybe the neon-soaked chaos of Spring Breakers. Reichardt went the opposite direction. She grew up in Dade County—her father was actually a crime scene investigator—and she used that intimate, slightly cynical knowledge of the area to paint a picture of Florida that feels damp. You can almost smell the mildew through the screen.
It’s a low-budget wonder. We’re talking about a film shot on 16mm with a budget that would barely cover the catering on a Marvel set today. But that graininess is essential. It gives the River of Grass film an authentic, lived-in texture.
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- The jazz-heavy score creates this weird, cool-cat vibe that clashes perfectly with the characters' total incompetence.
- The editing is jumpy and restless.
- It captures the 90s indie spirit—think Jim Jarmusch meets a very depressed episode of Cops.
Cozy is a housewife who doesn't particularly like being a mother or a wife. She's not a "bad" person in the traditional cinematic sense; she’s just profoundly disengaged. When she meets Dick at a bar, it isn't some grand romance. It's just something to do. They find a gun. They accidentally fire it. They run. But since they have no money and no real plan, their "escape" involves checking into a local motel and trying to figure out how to cross a toll bridge without any cash. It's pathetic. It's hilarious. It’s heartbreaking.
Why the "Anti-Heist" Trope Works
We’ve seen Bonnie and Clyde. We’ve seen Natural Born Killers. Those movies are about the glamor of the crime. Reichardt is interested in the logistics of the crime—or the lack thereof. Dick is a loser who still lives with his mother. Cozy is a woman who literally walks away from her kids and doesn't look back, not out of malice, but out of a sort of existential fog.
The River of Grass film stands out because it refuses to give the audience the "cool" factor. Even the gun, which usually symbolizes power in these movies, is just a heavy, dangerous object that neither of them knows how to handle. It’s a deconstruction of the American myth of the fugitive. In reality, being a fugitive is mostly just sitting in a cheap room wondering where your next meal is coming from.
The Reichardt Evolution
Looking back from 2026, it’s easy to see the seeds of Reichardt’s later masterpieces like Wendy and Lucy or Meek's Cutoff. She has always been obsessed with the "un-hero." Her characters are often defined by what they lack—money, luck, or a sense of direction.
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In River of Grass, you see her experimenting with rhythm. There are long takes where nothing happens, but everything is being said. You see her focus on the environment. The Everglades—the "River of Grass"—looms in the background as this vast, indifferent entity that doesn't care if these two idiots survive or not.
"I wanted to make a road movie where nobody goes anywhere," Reichardt once mentioned in an interview with Film Comment.
She succeeded. The film is a loop. It starts with dissatisfaction and ends in a place that looks remarkably like where it began, just a little more tired.
The Restoration and Why You Should Care
For a long time, this movie was hard to find. It existed on crappy VHS rips and late-night cable airings. Thankfully, a few years ago, it got a beautiful 2K restoration thanks to Oscilloscope Laboratories and the Sundance Institute. Seeing it cleaned up is a revelation. The colors—those weird Florida pastels and the deep greens of the brush—finally pop.
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If you’re a film student or just someone who likes movies that don't follow the "Save the Cat" beats, this is essential viewing. It’s a lesson in how to use your surroundings. Reichardt didn't have money for car chases, so she made the lack of a car chase the point of the movie. That’s smart filmmaking.
The Practical Side of Watching
If you’re going to dive into the River of Grass film, don't expect a fast-paced thriller. Clear your schedule. Turn off your phone. This is a "vibes" movie before that term was ruined by social media.
- Check the Soundtrack: The music by Shayne Brown and Dickon Hinchliffe is phenomenal. It’s got this wandering, bohemian quality that keeps the movie from feeling too bleak.
- Look for the Father: The character of the father (played by Stan Kaplan) is actually based quite a bit on Reichardt’s own dad. It adds a layer of personal melancholy to the detective subplot.
- Context is Everything: Remember this came out in 1994. The indie film boom was happening. While everyone else was trying to be the next Quentin Tarantino with fast-talking hitmen, Reichardt was doing her own thing.
Honestly, the movie is a bit of a miracle. It’s a debut film that knows exactly what it wants to be, even if what it wants to be is "a movie about people who don't know what they're doing." It’s awkward, sun-drenched, and totally unique.
To get the most out of your viewing, start by looking for the restored version on platforms like Criterion Channel or MUBI. Avoid the old, blurry uploads on YouTube if you can; the cinematography by Jim Denault deserves to be seen in high definition. Once you've watched it, pair it with a viewing of Wendy and Lucy to see how Reichardt refined her "minimalist" approach over the next decade. Pay close attention to how she uses sound—or the lack of it—to build tension without relying on a traditional score. This isn't just a movie; it's the blueprint for one of the most important careers in modern American cinema.