Drowned Land will make its Texas premiere at Thin Line on Friday, April 25, at the Greater Denton Arts Council’s Patterson-Appleton Arts Center. Directed by Colleen Thurston, Drowned Land follows the fight to preserve the Kiamichi River in the Choctaw Nation in Oklahoma and the fraught histories of displacement faced by the Choctaw and other tribes that were relocated to Oklahoma.
The film weaves themes of environmental conservation, Indigenous diaspora and Thurston’s own family history. Among other accolades, Thurston has been nominated for Thin Line's Best Emerging Filmmaker for her feature directorial debut.
Hallie Harper, a third-year Master of Fine Arts student of documentary production and studies at University of North Texas, interviewed Colleen Thurston on behalf of Thin Line.
For more information about screenings and the festival, visit thinline.us.
Responses were edited lightly for clarity and length.
Hallie Harper: Do you mind talking a bit about how you started the journey of making this film? It’s very apparent throughout the film that this topic has deep ties to your family and your family history, and so I would love to hear more about kind of the process of starting this project.
Colleen Thurston: Yeah, my tribe, Choctaw Nation, was in the process of a very long lawsuit to protect the water in Sardis Lake, which is in the reservation in the southeastern part of the state, for years, and I was really interested in learning more about Sardis Lake, and so the project really started with an exploration of Sardis Lake. The community that was there has, you know, since been displaced.
And from there kind of evolved into a larger exploration of the man-made lakes in Oklahoma — in the film, I discussed how my grandfather was involved in the design and implementation of some of these lakes. As I was doing a lot of research and talking to people from those communities, I just kept hearing: “You know, this story that you’re telling, that you’re wanting to tell, that’s in the past, and that is still relevant, but there’s a current effort to protect this other water source, the Kiamichi River, which is the watershed in which Sardis Lake is located. And that’s the story here. That’s the story you should follow.”
So, I really, you know trusted the community, trusted the residents who live there, who know the stories of the land, who are part of the stories of the land, and ended up following that direction more to make the documentary. So yeah, the documentary started out as one thing and really took a shape of its own and became more about the river and this cycle of displacement.
Just out of curiosity, was there something specific that inspired you to make a film in particular about this, as opposed to using some other medium to talk about what was going on?
That’s a really great question. I love that you asked that because I used to teach. I’m not currently teaching. But I would always ask my students: Is this a film? Is this actually a film, or would this make more sense as like a written piece?
I am a filmmaker, that’s how I’m trained. So, I actually don’t really have any background on writing; I’ve done a little bit of podcasting. But for me, and actually how this story kind of started with Sardis Lake — you know, the community of Sardis doesn’t exist anymore. Oh, well, I shouldn’t say the community. The community still exists.
The town doesn’t exist, and all that’s left is this island cemetery. That is such a visual image. And it’s quite striking. And shocking as well. So, it’s imagery like that, that I think this is a visual story.
I also did not find in my research ... a lot of media on the area in general about lakes there. There’s been a couple of state government-produced kind of PSAs — or propaganda, if you will — about why the creation of lakes is a good thing from their perspective. But in terms of the community voices, I really wasn’t finding those. I wasn’t hearing or seeing those.
And because I am a filmmaker, that’s what interests me. I love writing, and I really respect the news and news journalism. But to hear and to see people from their own perspective, from their own voices, was really compelling to me and continues to be.
So, kind of jumping from that a little bit: One of the things that really stood out among others from your film was the visuals and the cinematography of it. I was just wondering what you have to say about the process of capturing the natural beauty of the area, and why you think that’s important to the topic.
Charles Elmore is the director of photography. He’s a dear friend of mine and, you know, longtime collaborator. He was somebody that I tapped not just for his skill as a cinematographer, but he’s really led by relationships, and I knew that he would not and did not see this project as just kind of a work-for-hire job. Like, he was very in tune and he made friends with the protagonists, and he got to know the land and he really developed his own relationship with the land, which then informed his style.
So, we talked a lot about what this would look like, and early on, we talked about using mostly natural light — like, this is outside, it should look like it looks, right? We didn’t want to construct something that didn’t feel authentic, or maybe felt a little too controlled. Really, the look of it is in large part Charles — I say in large part, it is Charles and how he felt like the land, the river, really informed the visuals of the story.
I do use quite a bit of drone. We did capture quite a bit of drone and use it. I’m often not a fan of using a lot of drone, but to show the kind of vastness of the area, to show the landscape, to give it a good sense of how this place really looks, especially, you know, from an aerial view — you get such a wide angle; we did decide to use that. I’m not always into it because ... you can feel detached from the place, and I really want people to feel like they’re in the place most of the time.
Also, Shane Brown worked quite a bit on this film, and Cole Chandler — they’re both Cherokee filmmakers and cinematographers who contributed some really lovely and meaningful footage, as well as a few other few other cinematographers.
This is something I thought about watching the film: Do you think that the way all of you together visually represented the area — the visuals — will help future efforts to protect the land as well?
I really hope so. Somebody early on saw a work sample, like a scene select, and this is somebody who’s not familiar with the area, and we were working with as a funder, and they said: “I had no idea Oklahoma looked like this.” Because people think Oklahoma, where the wind comes sweeping down the plains — they think it’s very flat ... vast swaths of prairie, which that is true for one part of Oklahoma.
But the part of Oklahoma that I live in, and that I think is the most beautiful part of the state, is hilly and lush, and [has] lots of water. And so, I think if people can see this place as beautiful, then maybe that can help inspire conservation and protection efforts. When you look at environmental protection organizations, NGOs, things like that, for their marketing, they always have these like gorgeous imagery, right? That often have mountains and like a lake in front, and it’s a very obvious message of: “This place is beautiful, so we should take care of it.” And I think Oklahoma, that has been presented as this, like, prairie wasteland — if we look at it as somewhere that is beautiful and if we see this imagery that is gorgeous, then we should want to protect it.
The people that live here know, they see that every day, and I think to get that message out to a wider audience is really important, and I do hope that that inspires more of a widespread effort, widespread mindset, of caring about a place that has, as I said, in the film often been presented as a throwaway place.
I lived in Tulsa for like several years as a child, and I didn’t ever get to see that side of Oklahoma, so I was pretty stunned to get to see that. ... It was kind of wonderful to see it presented that way.
Thank you for saying that. I feel pretty lucky because I’m from Tulsa, but you know, as a kid, and even now, getting out of the city is something that’s very important to me. A couple of years ago, I took a friend of mine, just like a Tuesday afternoon, I was like, “I’m going out to Skiatook Lake to paddleboard. Do you want to come?” And she was like, “OK, I’ve never been out there.” And she was like: “This is gorgeous. I had no idea.” And I’m like, “We are 25 minutes from downtown Tulsa, like, that is nothing.”
So, I think your story is pretty common, right? People just don’t know everything that’s around us and how beautiful it is.
Along with the environmental aspects of your film, displacement is a really strong theme that you talk about throughout the film. Would you mind speaking to how understanding that history of displacement that you discuss informs other contemporary issues as well?
Being an Indian person in Oklahoma, displacement is like a core part of who we are. That’s literally how we got to Oklahoma, right? And of course, it’s not just my tribe. There’s 30-something tribes here that have been displaced here, and then, in the process of making this film, at some point I [started] asking people: What’s the worst-case scenario? What happens if this water is contaminated to the point it’s not usable? What happens if too much of this water is diverted outside of the watershed?
As a storyteller, I’m asking that not to catastrophize, but to really understand the breadth of this issue, and [I was] being told: “Well, the worst-case scenario is that people who rely on this water would have to move.” And then I had already seen that happen with Sardis Lake, a community that had been completely displaced. ... And I just started thinking, you know, the Trail of Tears to the Dust Bowl displaced a lot of people. The floods that we had before we had the lakes displaced people. And then we have had the creation of the lakes, and now potentially this further commodification of our water sources and how that could potentially displace people, and it’s like, why are we doing this?
People’s identities are enmeshed with the land and the place, and especially people that have already been displaced — you have to get to know the land again. You have to understand yourself in a different way as it relates to the land, and there’s certain aspects of culture that are lost if you’re displaced. Just from Choctaw Nation, we’ve lost language because of displacement; we’ve lost traditional ecological knowledge. We lost versions of our artistic practices when we were displaced. ...
Everything changes when you move. And when you’re moved forcefully, then there’s a trauma that comes with that. So, whether you’re moving states away or whether you’re moving a county away and watching your land be flooded, or you’re being forced to move because there’s no more water, that is traumatic.
In places like Oklahoma, what is so special is that people do have this deeply rooted connection to place — that I think, if you live in other places, maybe that’s in America, maybe that’s not as evident. Maybe that’s not as much as who you are as a person. Or a culture. Or a community. But in Oklahoma, we’re very special because people have been here for many generations. ... I really just wanted to shed light on like how important it is for people who identify with a land, whether they’re Indigenous or not, to stay connected.
I think you talked about this a little bit already as well, but can you speak to working from a place of being a guest in the community and being transparent in your filmmaking process? Like, can you discuss why that’s important to you and how you go about doing that?
Yeah, I will say I have seen, and I think many people have seen, people coming into their communities telling their stories, taking their stories and leaving. And that can also cause a lot of harm. I’ve been trying to work from a place of building real relationships. Building trust, considering that access is kind of ongoing, that it’s something that I have to continue to make sure, “Is this OK?”
And there were people that didn’t want to work with me, and they didn’t want to talk to me, and I understand that. Like, I think, if I were in their position, I would be very wary myself, especially being part of the media. I don’t know that I would agree to be on camera in those situations. So, I totally understand that. And, yeah, that kind of just trying to let people know what I’m doing.
I did invite our four main protagonists — Sandy and Charlotte and Ken and Lauren — they all saw a rough cut of the film. They all had an opportunity to provide input and feedback. I did make a couple of changes based on their feedback. And then we did a screening in Choctaw Nation and invited folks that were involved with the film to come to that as well. This was all kind of before the film premiered, so I think that we made our efforts.
There’s probably ways I could have done even better, and one thing that I did find was kind of a challenge is that for one, my reservation is huge, and for two, even these communities along the Kiamichi River, they’re not exactly next-door neighbors. Sometimes they’re like hours apart, and so trying to connect in that way is hard. Not living there is hard sometimes, even just connecting with people. Like, I live in very much an email-based world, like working very fast trying to do this, and that’s not always the best or right way to connect with people. Like, you need to have lunch or at least a long phone call or something, and that could be a challenge when I’m three hours away.
So, I will say, we had we had these ways of working at the forefront of our minds and really had relationship-building at the top. I did not want to just come in and take a story and leave. ...
I’m giving myself a little bit of grace because I realize like, OK, if I had this fully funded from the beginning, I could have spent durational amounts of time there. But I do feel like I really developed my own relationship with the river. I do feel like I developed my own relationship with the land and the place and relationships with some of the people. And I’m deeply grateful for the people that trusted me and trusted my team, like Charles, and let us in and showed us around and were vulnerable with us and honest with us, and we obviously wouldn’t have made the documentary without that.
I always like to ask this, as a student — I love asking filmmakers this: What is the biggest lesson you would say you’ve learned while working on this project in particular?
I think I have two lessons, I will say. One was just — this is kind of this project-specific. ... This is not how I like to operate, but I would try to plan a shoot, for example, and think, “This is what’s going to happen.” I talked to people, I set it up and then it would go totally a different direction. And nothing would happen that we planned. ... Everything always worked out and I feel like that was kind of letting the story guide me.
The other big takeaway was being from a place like Oklahoma, the stories that are told about this place, that I’ve kind of already talked about, are devastating. The Trail of Tears, the Dust Bowl, we’re 49th in education, you know, Gov. [Kevin] Stitt, you name it. Everything is just, like, depressing, devastating. Everything is a trauma we have to overcome. So, to be in this location, and hearing people really trying to fight make the effort to protect this waterway, I’m like, “This is not going to happen. This is Oklahoma. You’re going up against oil and gas; it’s not going to happen.”
And to see the project, to see the permit getting pulled, like, OK, that doesn’t happen here. And then to see there was other things that aren’t in the film — there was a kind of an angel investor that came in and bought some of the land that was originally going to be used for the lease for the project. And it was just this kind of protection after protection after protection, and that didn’t involve major players. It didn’t involve celebrities. It didn’t involve full-time environmental activists. It didn’t involve major NGOs. It didn’t involve tons of money. ... It literally was coming from the heart place, in a spiritual place. And to see this protection happening was unreal to me. And so it’s still needed, right? Like the river’s still under threat. But that was such a shift in my mind to realize if this can happen in Oklahoma, if this can happen in the reddest state in the Bible Belt of this nation, then this can happen anywhere.