So much of the American cowboy mythos — the way they talk, the silhouette they cut, the clothes they wear — has been codified, if not invented wholesale, by Hollywood. From first shot to last, Kate Beecroft’s “East of Wall” expands our perception of those iconic horse wranglers to consider the women so often overlooked. In the tradition of Chloé Zhao’s “The Rider,” this eye-opening 21st-century Western was inspired by real people: Debuting writer-director Beecroft convinced the Zimiga family — most notably single mom Tabatha and her daughter, Porshia, a TikTok star and rodeo queen — to participate in a drama extrapolated from their own lives, all but rewriting the genre with the result.
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Beecroft derives unquantifiably rich scenic value from the stunning South Dakota backdrops, whether handheld shots of magic-hour vistas or weightless drone shots through the vast, corrugated folds of the Badlands. But it’s the tough, sun-blasted faces of her largely nonprofessional cast that lend “East of Wall” the sense of raw, lived-in experience that sets Beecroft’s yearslong project apart. The helmer rounds out the ensemble with stars Jennifer Ehle and Scoot McNary, who are convincing enough as the moonshine-brewing grandma and deep-pocketed Texas rancher, respectively. And yet, while you can teach an actor to drawl, spit tobacco and ride a horse, those shots of Porshia bolting across the horizon faster than her mom’s pickup truck can keep up … well, there’s just no faking that.
A magnetic maternal presence, with tattoos down both arms and her long blond hair shaved on one side, Tabatha Zimiga has three kids of her own, but welcomes those from broken homes to pitch in and stay on her 3,000-acre ranch. “Wranglin’ the girls is harder than wranglin’ the horses,” says this fierce den mother, who gave up her passion after the death of her husband John. Blessed with the ability to diagnose what a traumatized animal needs, she still gentles feral horses but doesn’t dare get back in the saddle, lest a fall leave her injured and unable to care for the human herd that depends on her.
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Porshia, who is sulky at times and an unbridled firecracker at others, resents her mom for what happened to John. By Porshia’s account (whispered over quiet segments of the film, à la the naive-child narration in “Beasts of the Southern Wild,” right down to the roiling-earth sound effects), John taught her to ride and was a better father to the kids than her biological dad was. But there’s more to the story than the ungrateful teen realizes. Late in the film, Tabatha gathers around a campfire with her screen mom (Ehle, smoking and swearing like she grew up in boots), her real-life mom (Tracey Osmotherly, briefly seen in braids) and a handful of hardened frontier women, and she tells the whole story.
They may not look like kin, but the dynamic between Porshia and Tabatha feels genuine in moments of both camaraderie and conflict. When Tabatha asks her daughter to duck into the store and buy provisions on credit, Porshia shoots her a look that suggests it’s a well-trod routine, and one that’s grown unbearably embarrassing. Porshia acts out when she can, clearly hungry for her mom’s attention, which is split between two younger brothers and half a dozen strays whose parents are behind bars or otherwise unfit. Tabatha sometimes runs into those folks around town, and they make hollow promises to send her money.
She could use the help. Tabatha hasn’t been earning enough selling her tamed horses at local livestock auctions, where her gals (not just Porshia, but also the adoptive teens she supports) put on a good show, doing tricks to rap music in the ring. Still, the sales barns have been disastrous, and the Zamiga family is running out of options. Enter Roy Waters (McNairy), a wealthy Texas rancher who drives a six-door megatruck and knows something special when he sees it.
The subplot between Roy and Tabatha is slow to emerge, if only because Beecroft seems more interested in presenting a docu-adjacent portrait of Tabatha and her clan — one poetically enhanced by eloquent narration and authentic-sounding dialogue. “Life’s a real metaphor,” Ehle’s rugged-as-jerky Tracey observes. That might not be true of your life, but Beecroft organizes the Zamigas’ chaotic struggle into something poetic, using Roy’s uninvited involvement as the backbone of what follows, as this self-made outsider makes an offer to buy the ranch and underwrite their operation.
Tabatha’s horse work depends on trust, getting a skittish animal to accept that she means no harm. Now, the equation is reversed, as Roy extends his support to Tabatha, who’s reluctant to accept. No wonder he admires her: Compared with her own loose-cannon mom (whom Ehle plays as a wild spirit with a blood alcohol level well above the legal limit), Tabatha has brought order to the land, the livestock and the ragged chosen family that surrounds her.
As photographed by Austin Shelton, the widescreen images — and even the vertical TikTok videos braided alongside — convey a hopeful vision of their future, more fresh start than elegy. As metaphors go, Roy might mean well, but he also represents an outdated Western ideal, different from the one Tabatha and her family are committed to forging. As one character aptly puts it: “Welcome to the New West, old man.”
