Cane River (1982) is a remarkable cinematic time capsule, frankly portraying Creole life near Natchitoches, Louisiana, one of the first free communities of color. It tells the story of Peter Metoyer (Richard Romain), a college football star who turned down the N.F.L draft, choosing instead to return to the titular town so he can work on his father’s farm and write poetry. Peter’s homecoming is a point of departure for lyrical meditations on the colorism and classism within his mixed-race Creole family and community. When he meets and falls for Maria Mathis (Tommye Myrick), a tour guide at a well-preserved 18th-century estate that was owned by his ancestors, the film’s images – of people, animals and landscapes – become infused with the symbolic weight of American history. The legacy of slavery and the Civil War become intimately tied to their conversations, informing topics ranging from contemporary Black love to land ownership. When Cane River premiered in the early ‘80s, there had been few films like it. The 1970s Blaxploitation era had come to a close and Spike Lee’s first feature, She’s Gotta Have It (1986), which initiated a wave of young black American filmmaking, was still a few years away. Other than Charles Burnett’s Killer of Sheep (1978) and Haile Gerima’s Ashes and Embers (1982), films representing race issues without mainstream cinema’s conventions were a rarity. It was in this context that Horace B. Jenkins, known for his Emmy-award winning television production (Sesame Street, The Advocates), wrote, directed and produced Cane River, his only feature film. Tragically, Jenkins died after filming and, despite Richard Pryor’s efforts to bring it to Hollywood, Cane River went undistributed for over 30 years. It took on a near mythic status, as it was considered lost in the annals of filmic history. Incredibly, a negative of the film was recovered in 2013 and, in 2018, a digitally remastered version was released. Its lore provides important commentary on how the contributions of Black American independent filmmaking post-segregation are often eclipsed. Given the nation’s recent conversations around race, rights and representation, Cane River’s reemergence could not be timelier.
By Rebecca Kumar
