In 1952, when director Norman Foster’s politically radical semidocumentary-style Navajo was originally released, most cinematic depictions of American Indians were as warring scalp-collecting savages being driven out of the American West by the forces of manifest destiny led by the likes of John Wayne or Randolph Scott.
But Foster’s oddly poignant mid-twentieth-century story is about a seven-year-old Navajo boy living in the wilds of Arizona in open defiance of the white man’s culture that’s threatening his tribe’s livelihood. The boy, known as “Son of the Hunter,” was played by Francis Kee Teller (his inner thoughts articulated via voiceover), who won a Golden Globe nomination for his convincingly powerful (silent) performance here.
For Foster’s boy protagonist, everything seems copacetic at first. He lives peacefully away from the reservations with his mom and a sort of surrogate grandfather Grey Singer on a tiny patch of arid Arizona desert land, with sheep to tend to and a reliable water source. But then everything begins to go wrong. One day Grey Singer is convinced that an owl’s hoots are a forewarning that bad luck was coming their way, and they must find a new place to live immediately.
Unfortunately, grandpa’s animal-world telepathic powers aren’t what they used to be, as their new desert-dwelling place soon proves a bust: the water quickly dries up, and their cattle begin dying. Then, even worse, Grey Singer is soon on his deathbed. And suddenly, the seven-year-old Son of the Hunter is the man of the house. But when he makes his way into the nearest town to try and beg for provisions, word gets to the local reservation school that a truant is afoot.
Next thing you know, Son of the Hunter finds himself in the white man’s school for Native boys on the reservation. But the resourceful young Navajo still has a few tricks up his sleeve for his white captors. What’s so striking about the film, besides the stunning images of the pristine Arizona desert, is the hardcore anti-assimilationist politics that are (quite believably) expressed by this pint-sized but preternaturally intrepid young Indian brave. He considers the white man his sworn enemy and is completely committed to resisting the reservationist status quo. In the end, however, after he’s seemingly outwitted his pursuers—and seriously endangers their lives—he’s overcome with the spirit of clemency. This climbdown from his previous hostility seems like a cop-out at first, perhaps to placate 1950s film censors; but it’s doubtful this shift in attitude comes from out of the blue. More likely, Son of the Hunter is simply recalling the sage advice of the now spirit-world-dwelling Grey Singer, who always preached forgiveness and mercy toward one’s enemies—even those pesky palefaces. Highly Recommended.