Matewan (film)
Based on Wikipedia: Matewan (film)
In the summer of 1920, the hills of West Virginia were not merely a landscape; they were a pressure cooker waiting to detonate. The air smelled of coal dust and impending violence, a tangible tension that would eventually ignite the Battle of Matewan. Decades later, in 1987, this forgotten chapter of American labor history was resurrected not as a dry historical record, but as a visceral, breathing drama by John Sayles. The resulting film, Matewan, stands as a monumental work of independent cinema, a gritty testament to the human cost of industrialization and the fragile, often bloody, birth of the American labor movement. While the film struggled at the box office, grossing less than $2 million against a $4 million budget, its critical legacy has only grown, earning an Academy Award nomination for Best Cinematography and a revered place in the Criterion Collection.
The story begins with the arrival of Joe Kenehan, a character who embodies the quiet, desperate hope of the era. Played by Chris Cooper in his film debut, Kenehan is an ex-Wobbly with a distinct philosophy: pacifism in the face of overwhelming force. He steps off a train into Matewan, a small, isolated town in the Appalachian hills, to organize the miners working for the Stone Mountain Coal Company. These miners are already on strike, their wages slashed, their dignity eroded by a system designed to keep them in perpetual debt. Kenehan's mission is immediate and fraught with peril. He witnesses a mob of desperate miners, driven by fear and misinformation, beating black workers who were tricked into crossing the picket line. The racism of the coal operators, who used black and Italian workers as strikebreakers to divide the union, is laid bare in this opening scene.
Kenehan finds his foothold in the boarding house run by Elma Radnor, a widow whose husband was likely claimed by the mines, and her fifteen-year-old son, Danny. Danny is a figure of profound complexity; he is a miner himself, yet he is also a budding Baptist preacher, a young man trying to reconcile the brutality of his daily labor with the spiritual comfort of his faith. The tension in the boarding house mirrors the tension in the town. The miners, resistant to the idea of integrating black or Italian workers into their union, are being manipulated by C. E. Lively, a company spy embedded within their ranks. Lively is the architect of the chaos, goading the miners toward violence while secretly funneling intelligence to the Baldwin-Felts Detective Agency, the ruthless private police force hired by the coal companies to crush unions.
The arrival of the Baldwin-Felts agents, Griggs and Hickey, marks the escalation from tension to war. They seek residence in the Radnor boarding house, a move that would have displaced the widow and her son. In a moment of quiet heroism that defines Kenehan's character, he voluntarily moves into a hotel, clearing the room for the agents and averting immediate conflict for Elma. But this act of charity is a drop in an ocean of hostility. Hickey and Griggs immediately launch a campaign to evict union miners from the company-owned houses, a tactic designed to break the strike by leaving families homeless. They are met not by a passive populace, but by Chief of Police Sid Hatfield and Mayor Testerman. Hatfield, a local hero in the making, refuses to let the agents evict anyone without a writ from Charleston, effectively challenging the corporate authority of the coal company. He deputizes the men of the town and gives them a chilling, necessary instruction: "Go home and get your guns."
The conflict moves from the streets to the miners' encampment outside of Matewan, where families are living in tents. The Baldwin-Felts agents turn their attention here, firing shots into the camp at night to terrorize the strikers. The next day, they attempt to seize food and clothing purchased with company scrip, a currency that locked workers into the company store. Their arrogance is halted by the arrival of the "hill people," locals whose own land had been stolen by the coal company. These rugged men, armed and sympathetic, compel the agents to leave empty-handed, a rare victory for the miners that highlights the complex alliances forming in the mountains.
Yet, the union's greatest enemy is not just the bullets of the detectives, but the internal fractures within their own ranks. Delays in receiving strike funds from the United Mine Workers of America test the patience of the miners. Disillusionment breeds violence, and Kenehan's warnings against retaliation fall on deaf ears. A night-time shootout erupts between the miners and the agents, wounding a miner named Sephus. In the chaos, Sephus realizes that Lively is an infiltrator, a traitor in their midst. Lively, desperate to maintain his cover, concocts a sinister plot to disgrace Kenehan. He convinces a young widow, Bridey Mae Tolliver, to falsely accuse Kenehan of sexual assault and plants a letter to make it appear that Kenehan is the spy working for the company.
The town turns on Joe. The miners, deceived by the forged evidence, plot to kill him. The tragedy deepens when Hickey discovers Danny eavesdropping on a conversation between Griggs and Hickey, where the scheme to frame Kenehan is discussed. Hickey threatens the boy, setting the stage for a confrontation that will define the film's moral core. That night, Danny takes to the pulpit of the Freewill Baptist Church. He does not preach a sermon of anger, but a parable of Joseph, a story of deception and ultimate truth. His words convince the miners they have been manipulated. Meanwhile, the inebriated Griggs and Hickey giggle in the back of the church, oblivious to the shift in the room's gravity. Lively, however, is paying attention. He slips out the rear of the church and flees town, his cover blown.
The violence, once averted, is merely postponed. Hillard Elkins, Danny's friend, runs to the camp to stop the mob from killing Kenehan. Sephus, wounded but lucid, confirms Lively's betrayal. In a rage, the miners burn down Lively's restaurant. The cycle of retribution continues when Danny and Hillard, while stealing coal from the mine to survive, encounter the agents. Danny hides, but Hillard is caught. The torture that follows is brutal and futile; Hillard offers five names of confederates, only to be killed anyway because, as Lively reveals with cold efficiency, those men died in a mine accident years ago. Lively warns the agents that the death of a boy like Hillard will stir the people up, a prophecy that proves terrifyingly accurate.
The funeral for Hillard Elkins is a turning point, a moment of collective grief that transforms sorrow into a unified resolve. The tension becomes unbearable as Baldwin-Felts reinforcements arrive with orders to carry out the evictions. As Mayor Testerman makes one last desperate attempt at negotiation, Joe Kenehan runs into the street, his hands raised, trying to stop the bloodshed. The sudden movement is the spark. The exposed Baldwin-Felts men open fire, and the armed townspeople, firing from rooftops and barricades, return the volley. The Battle of Matewan has begun.
It is a chaotic, short, and devastating firefight. Chief Hatfield survives, shooting two men, but the cost is high. Joe Kenehan, the pacifist who sought to avoid violence, is killed in the crossfire. The mayor is shot in the stomach. Griggs is brought down, while Hickey escapes to the Radnor boarding house, only to be met by Elma herself, who kills him with a shotgun. Seven Baldwin-Felts men and two townspeople lie dead. The mayor eventually succumbs to his wounds. The battle is won, but the war is just beginning.
The film does not end with the battle. It moves forward in time, offering a somber epilogue that cements the historical tragedy. The mayor's wife marries Chief Hatfield, a union of grief and resilience. But the victory is short-lived. Hatfield is later gunned down in broad daylight on the steps of the McDowell County Courthouse, with Lively delivering the final shot. The narrator informs us that this murder marks the start of the Great Coalfield War, a conflict that would rage for years. The film closes not with a sense of triumph, but with the heavy realization that the struggle for dignity in the coal fields was a long, bloody road.
The Landscape as a Character
Sayles did not just tell this story; he filmed it in the very soil where the events occurred. Matewan was shot on location in West Virginia, with the town of Thurmond standing in for the real Matewan. The rugged terrain of the New River Gorge National Park provides a backdrop that is as much a character as the miners themselves. The cinematography, which earned an Oscar nomination, captures the claustrophobia of the company towns and the vast, indifferent beauty of the Appalachian mountains. The camera lingers on the faces of the workers, the dust on their clothes, and the shadows of the mine shafts, creating a visual texture that is both gritty and poetic.
The authenticity of the film is further enhanced by its score, composed and performed by Mason Daring, a frequent collaborator of Sayles. The music is not a traditional orchestral score but a collection of Appalachian period music that grounds the film in its cultural context. The inclusion of Hazel Dickens, a legendary West Virginia bluegrass singer, adds a layer of soulful authenticity that is rare in cinema. Dickens sings the title track, "Fire in the Hole," and appears in the film as a member of the Freewill Baptist Church. Her voice leads the congregation in an a cappella rendition of "What A Friend We Have in Jesus," a moment that transcends mere background music to become a narrative force.
"Mason and I both wanted to get Hazel Dickens involved from the beginning. Hazel grew up in West Virginia coal country hearing the songs and sermons, and her voice carries all the mournfulness and strength of the hill tradition... When she sings at Hillard's funeral it is not only background sound but an important action in the story. There is a sense of tragic destiny in many hill ballads, and the expression of that resignation to doom is as palpable an antagonist to Joe [Kenehan] as the Baldwin-Felts agents are. As he stands at the graveside and Hazel sings we wonder how can he go against fate – how can he fight all that?"
This quote from Sayles captures the essence of the film's emotional landscape. The music is not just an accompaniment; it is the voice of the hills, singing of a tragic destiny that the characters seem unable to escape. Dickens' performance of "Hills of Galilee" over the closing credits and "Gathering Storm" at Hillard's grave serve as a mournful elegy for the lost youth and the shattered dreams of the miners.
The Cast and the Critique
The cast of Matewan is a testament to Sayles' ability to draw out nuanced performances from a mix of veterans and newcomers. Chris Cooper, in his first film role, brings a quiet intensity to Joe Kenehan. His performance is the heartbeat of the film, a portrayal of a man who believes in the power of organization over violence, even as the world around him descends into chaos. James Earl Jones delivers a standout performance as "Few Clothes" Johnson, a black worker whose dignity and strength shine through the darkness of the strike. Jones' presence is described by Variety as practically glowing in the dark, a beacon of humanity in a story defined by dehumanization.
David Strathairn, a Sayles veteran, brings a grounded realism to the role of Chief Sid Hatfield, a man caught between his duty to the law and his loyalty to his community. The supporting cast, including Kevin Tighe and Gordon Clapp, flesh out the world of the Baldwin-Felts agents, portraying them not as cartoonish villains but as professional killers doing a job, which makes their brutality all the more terrifying.
Variety praised the film for its "heartfelt, straight-ahead tale of labor organizing," noting that it "runs its course like a train coming down the track." The film does not offer easy answers or a tidy resolution. Instead, it presents the messy, painful reality of the labor movement. It is a film that understands the complexity of class struggle, the insidious nature of corporate manipulation, and the enduring spirit of the working class.
A Legacy of Resilience
The failure of Matewan at the box office was a reflection of the times rather than the quality of the film. In 1987, the American public was not hungry for a story about labor unions and class warfare. The film's critical success, however, ensured its survival. It found a new life through home video, television broadcasts, and academic study. The Criterion Collection re-release in 2019 brought the film to a new generation of viewers, reminding them of the historical struggles that shaped the modern labor landscape.
The story of Matewan is not just about 1920; it is a story that resonates today. The themes of economic inequality, the power of corporate interests, and the struggle for workers' rights are as relevant now as they were a century ago. The film serves as a reminder of the sacrifices made by those who fought for the rights we often take for granted. It is a tribute to the miners who stood up to the Baldwin-Felts agents, to the women who kept the families together, and to the young men like Danny and Hillard who gave their lives for a cause greater than themselves.
In the end, Matewan is a film about the cost of dignity. It asks the audience to consider what is worth fighting for and what price we are willing to pay for justice. It is a story of tragedy, yes, but also of hope. The hope lies in the community that formed in the face of adversity, in the music that sung of their struggle, and in the enduring legacy of those who refused to be broken. The film leaves us with the image of the hills of West Virginia, silent and watching, as a testament to the lives lost and the battles fought. It is a powerful, moving, and essential piece of American cinema that demands to be seen and remembered.
The soundtrack, released on LP by Columbia, captures the spirit of the era. Besides Dickens, the album features performances by John Hammond and Phil Wiggins on harmonica, Gerry Milnes and Stuart Schulman on fiddle, Jim Costa on mandolin, John Curtis on guitar, and Mason Daring on guitar and dobro. The music is a bridge between the past and the present, connecting the listener to the emotional core of the story.
As we reflect on Matewan, we are reminded that history is not just a series of dates and events; it is a collection of human stories, filled with pain, joy, and the unyielding desire for a better life. John Sayles' film is a masterful retelling of one such story, a story that continues to resonate in the hearts of those who understand the power of unity and the cost of freedom. The hills of West Virginia still echo with the songs of Hazel Dickens, a reminder that the struggle continues, and that the spirit of the miners is alive and well.
The film's impact extends beyond its narrative. It is a study in the power of community, the danger of division, and the resilience of the human spirit. It is a film that challenges the viewer to look at the world with new eyes, to see the struggles of the past as a mirror to the present, and to recognize the ongoing fight for justice and equality. Matewan is not just a movie; it is a call to action, a reminder that the work of building a fair and just society is never truly finished. It is a film that demands our attention, our empathy, and our commitment to the values it so powerfully portrays.
In the final analysis, Matewan is a masterpiece of American independent cinema. It is a film that succeeds in capturing the essence of a pivotal moment in history, bringing it to life with a depth and authenticity that few films achieve. It is a story of love, loss, and the unbreakable bond of community. It is a story that will continue to inspire and challenge audiences for generations to come. The film stands as a testament to the power of storytelling to illuminate the past and inform the future, a reminder that the voices of the forgotten must never be silenced. The hills of West Virginia may be quiet now, but the song of the miners still rings true, a testament to the enduring spirit of the human race.