A film about a pair of crusty backwoods Vermonters of the 1920s (loners who make cedar oil in wooden vats and get around in birch-bark canoes) holds a certain attraction for local theatergoers. It promises all the state pride of a tree-sapping contest, unfolding against the same breathtakingly serene landscape.
So when we discover at the film's start that the rustic existence of these folk is threatened by the huge power company that wants to open a mult-million dollar dam on their land, one feels betrayed by the same exhausted story line, lone man against big company, granola man against buttoned-down man. Thankfully, "Where the Rivers Flow North" becomes much more than this.
Noel Lourdes (Rip Torn) is the stubborn hillbilly who refuses to sell his strip of land so that Vermont can be "wired up to the 20th century," in the words of the snivelling, spats-sporting executives. Lourdes is so vehement that no one will run him off his land, he turns down $ 5,000, a small fortune in 1927.
While this could get tiresome (Director Jay Craven gives us quaint shots of the company men muddying their shoes, and running away from Lourdes and his shotgun), it is saved by the drama of the tension-filled but hilarious relationship between Lourdes and his Native wife Bangor (Tantoo Cardinal), and by some fine minor performances.
Though playing a supporting character, Cardinal steals this movie with her sly reproaches, her toothless merriment, and the lion's share of good lines. The audience identifies with her, most closely during the denouement, which finds her crying at a picture-show.
Surprising to find here, in an independent film made on grants and goodwill, is Hollywood's ex-darling, Michael J. Fox, playing the electric company honcho with an uneasy Vermont accent and too much fiddling with a cigar. Another pleasant appearance is made by Treat Williams, as the manager of a chain-fighter unlucky enough to match mettle with Lourdes.
