The River Wild (1994)

#21 — Gail Hartman, a rafting expert whose distracted husband and disgruntled son will soon turn out to be the least of her problems…

This article was initially published at The Film Experience.

Matthew: The River Wild opens with the rather surprising sight of Meryl Streep rowing a kayak with steely determination and brisk athletic prowess down the lengthy expanse of the Charles River. Watching Curtis Hanson’s waterborne caper for the first time in 2018, I asked myself with stunned curiosity the same question that surely rolled through the minds of ‘90s audiences upon the film’s release: How exactly did she get here? The River Wild is a light rip-roarer that could have easily ended up as little more than a forgettable IMDB entry in the filmography of Sigourney Weaver or Geena Davis or Linda Hamilton were it not for someone’s out-of-the-box idea to transform one of our most famously worldly and erudite thespians into a hard-bodied, take-charge action heroine.

Streep’s participation here almost seems to willingly solicit the accusations of miscasting that have shadowed the actress throughout her entire career, sometimes fairly although oftentimes not. But her involvement also lends the film a level of prominence and critical consideration that a star more accustomed to blockbuster productions might not have necessarily provided. Streep indeed carries over an undeniable cachet to this unsubtle studio suspenser, but she also, much more importantly, supplies an interestingly atypical approach to the central role of Gail Hartman, a Boston-dwelling wife, mother, and teacher to the deaf who is also a recognized rafting specialist. This talent will prove especially handy when her son’s birthday trip down Idaho’s Salmon River is hijacked by a pair of dastardly bandits (Kevin Bacon and John C. Reilly), who intend to make their escape from a recent robbery by having Gail transport them through “the Gauntlet,” a series of treacherous rapids that have killed and paralyzed past rafters and are consequently forbidden to the public.

Is Streep miscast in The River Wild? Not exactly, although one of the aforementioned actresses — or, even better, Angela Bassett, an equally accomplished but far less likely alternative with impending ass-kicking, bodyguarding credentials — might have nailed the defining intensity of this genre archetype with a formidability that just doesn’t seem to interest Streep. But, then again, you don’t cast Meryl Streep to merely fill in a template, and what the actress ultimately brings to this particular movie are traits we rarely see applied to parts and projects of this variety. From moment to moment, Streep is a sprightly and perceptive presence perpetually open to spontaneity, nicely offsetting her character’s choppy, exposition-laden exchanges with loved ones and strangers alike. She colors outside the lines of the script, which was rewritten without credit by famous script doctor and noted Streep pal Carrie Fisher, but she also dares to inject insouciant energy and emotional urgency into this already high-stakes river-run.

In its best moments, The River Wild comes alive, very briefly, as a portrait of an average middle-aged woman, saddled with a chirpy son (Joseph Mazzello) and a fuddy-duddy, work-addicted husband (David Strathairn), as she melancholically takes stock of the discouraging state of her life. Sure, the event that precipitate these revelations is a death-dealing river voyage instigated by a psycho-bandit who looks great with his shirt off, but Streep ably conveys this deeply personal reckoning all the same, often without the aid of dialogue. When Bacon’s Wade, who has brazenly flirted with Streep’s reciprocative Gail from his very first scene, teases her with the suggestion of an independent life and its possibilities for adventure, Streep communicates her character’s intense unsettlement with a subtly anxious shift of the eyes, averting Bacon’s own coolly penetrating stare and driving home Gail’s firm familial ties, but also the guilty curiosity of wondering what lies beyond them. The rest of the film rarely affords Streep equal moments for emotional truth and vulnerability, but there are still a few pleasures to be found along the way, most of them a result of Streep’s introspective inclinations, which may not make her a most memorable action heroine, but at least make her a distinctive one. Then again, Streep works up a mighty mettle, not least of all when goading Bacon to do his worst, her voice and vision full of unveiled disdain, right at the juncture when Wade’s lewd fixation on Gail could easily turn violent. What stands out for you about Streep’s venture into troubled waters?

Streep’s knack for emotional transparency within particularized personas doesn’t necessarily fail her here because it’s not really solicited in the first place. August only needs Streep for her gauzy beauty in the early passages and then her somber, weeping nobility in the film’s halting latter half before finally calling upon her to embody a soothingly angelic apparition in her final scenes.

There’s nothing worth savoring much less saving in this performance, but the sincerity of Streep’s approach continually asks us to take these fragmented scenes seriously, but it’s a mostly futile request. If I’m being generous, there are a few instances in which Streep rises above the rubbish, if only for a nanosecond, like the moment in which August lingers on Streep’s transmogrifying face as Clara receives a message from The Beyond, a shot that holds our interest if only for its relative slowness, a rarity within this rushed and risible case study of how not to adapt a novel for the big screen. Streep also fares well in a reassuring mother-daughter bedroom conversation with Ryder, but everything the actress does here has already been achieved by her with more certainty and credibility on prior occasions. She distills the character into blanched displays of maternal concern and sage dotage, neither of which resonate in or after the moment. Streep can’t salvage anything in this ambitious but abominable production that simply doesn’t deserve Streep, whose unfailing conviction is so awkwardly applied in this wisp of a role. Why do you think Streep came onboard this sinking vessel? And do you find it symptomatic of what some might categorize as Streep’s arguably career-long problem of proper role-picking?

John: Isn’t it odd how Streep’s presence alone makes you reassess your understanding of a fundamentally conventional film? You’re thinking not only about how Streep “fits” into the genre, what she brings to it, where it factors into her filmography, but also about what she saw in The River Wild, why she accepted this blockbuster role, and her own ideas about the film. It’s precisely because we’re not watching a more unfettered presence like Sigourney Weaver, Linda Hamilton, or even your inspired suggestion of Angela Bassett, flex her biceps and paddle for her life, The River Wild becomes a film about an “ordinary” mother and wife who summons immense strength and courage in increasingly arduous circumstances to save her family from bumbling, armed idiots. Despite its contrivances, the film’s adventures and mishaps feel plausibly grounded in reality, its flashy set-pieces spun out from the story rather than spectacles amped up by a plot.

Of course, this sense of the real is almost entirely care of Streep’s performance, a compendium of thoughtful and exciting choices that, although unsurprising in the context of her career, play with the possibilities of the film’s amusement park-ride aesthetic. I wouldn’t say that Streep is miscast, but rather that her casting is the point: the film deliberately presents an action heroine as active in thought as she is in action. In a lovely New York Times profile, Streep noted, “Here was a woman in a sort of non-victim heroic part, a mother, someone I could relate to, who was really closer to me maybe than other things I've done.” As Gail Hartman, Streep is spry, toned, and unwound, rocking tank tops and Tevas, and generally using her body in ways that her other films rarely require. It’s thrilling to watch Streep strategize and problem-solve, testing her verve against vicious yet moronic criminals. Aside from the impressive river-rafting, half of which was actually done by Streep, there are immense pleasures in watching her spar with Bacon, fluctuating between mockery and disdain, laughing at his ineptitude only to then vow with a bitter resolve that she will kill him. And as preposterous and improbable as that may be given the circumstances and Gail’s genial backstory, you believe her.  

Equally thrilling is Streep’s “return” to the top of the box-office in a bonafide Hollywood hit. (The film opened in first place in its September ‘94 debut.) Adjusted for inflation, it remains one of the top-grossing films of Streep’s career, having earned more than Silkwood, Postcards from the Edge, and even Sophie’s Choice. And as much as I hate to indulge the narrative that Streep’s film career was in any sort of dire hiatus or jeopardy during the early ‘90s, Streep’s success with The River Wild certainly assured producers that the actress could indeed carry an expensive movie and get butts in seats, while perhaps reassuring gatekeepers of both her versatility and commercial appeal. As Bernard Weintraub explained, in his aforementioned Times profile, “studio executives and film makers are examining Streep's skills in a different light: sure she's a great actress, sure she does accents, but maybe she'll open a movie now, maybe the audience will warm to her, maybe the hits will finally resume.”

Matthew: Weintraub’s words are fairly prescient. As next week’s film will show, one such touching, crowd-pleasing hit would be right around the corner…