The rugged climate and terrain of South Dakota’s Badlands give way to something gentle and warm in Kate Beecroft’s stunning directorial debut, East of Wall. Beecroft’s docu-feature is a work of fiction, starring non-professional actresses Tabatha Zimiga and her daughter Porshia as versions of themselves, making the kind of eye-opening screen debuts in a rich, observant film similar to the work of Andrea Arnold or Chloe Zhao. This quietly powerful drama captures the spirit of the American West with a modern spin and, from a female perspective, the grief and loneliness of those trying to find connection with others and with the world around them.

To look at Tabatha, one might think she’s someone to steer clear of. The ruggedly built woman, with her heavy tattoos and eye makeup, her hair that she styles into an intimidating warrior cut, appears to be designed to handle the harsh terrain of the Badlands. She certainly doesn’t look like the caretaker-type. Looks are deceiving, though. Tabatha is a horse trader, marketing and then selling horses using TikTok. Along with her daughter Porshia, a champion rider at the age of 14, they use social media to earn income and expand their horizons. It’s not enough. They are still reeling with grief from the death of Tabatha’s husband and Porshia’s father, John, which has left them struggling to keep their heads above water in a place where alcoholism and suicide are extremely high.

If it were just the two of them, mother and daughter could probably make it.  There’s also Tabatha’s infant son, her moonshine-swilling mother Tracey, her boyfriend Clay, and a pack of kids she has taken in from broken homes. There isn’t enough to go around for everybody, but Tabatha continually sacrifices the freedom she wishes she had in order to care for others. She’s very much like the wild horses she’s been known to tame, earning her the title of Horse Whisperer (or “witch” depending on who you talk to). Tabatha and Porshia were meant to run free, their hair blowing in the wind, and they are constantly at odds with the prison that is their lives.

Beecroft and cinematographer Austin Shelton draw parallels between the Badlands’ harsh beauty and East of Wall‘s subjects. It’s said that playing yourself is the toughest performance to give, and perhaps Tabatha’s inexperience is what allows her such a sensitive, open-hearted portrayal. It’s only matched by her daughter Porshia, whose anger at the chaos around her is mostly heard in voiceover, or felt as she’s seen through camera phone racing on horseback.

While the vast majority of actors are unknown and playing versions of themselves, Beecroft does snag a couple of well-known character actors for key roles. Jennifer Ehle, unrecognizably covered in grime, sporting a do-rag, and with a cigarette glued to her lips, plays Tabatha’s hooch-drinking momma, Tracey. The two share a difficult past, and in Tracey we see the fate that Tabatha is constantly trying to avoid. She wants to be a better mother than Tracey was to her, and perhaps that’s why she takes on so much.

The other is Scoot McNairy as Roy, a wealthy Texas rancher with his own tragic luggage he’s carrying around. He takes a shine to Tabatha and her situation and sees an opportunity for profit and to help the women out. But he’s also exuding some of that toxic white male energy that is so prevalent in the male-dominated West, but such a stark contrast to the stoic pride seen in its women. He offers to buy Tabatha’s 3,000 acre ranch and let them continue living on it. While Roy may seem like a potential savior, Tabatha and Portia are both reluctant to give up this thing they’ve lived for so long, and to entrust their future in another man because that’s never worked out before. Roy’s story, like so many others in this wide ensemble, gets short shrift from Beecroft’s screenplay.

We think of cowboy culture and the frontier as a place for men, and we scarcely think about the burdens placed on the women alongside them. At a party celebrating Tabatha’s birthday, she and a group of women down moonshine and rather than cracking jokes and dancing, they talk about their economic hardships, the tragedy, and the violence of their pasts. The Badlands are called that for a reason. East of Wall is a celebration of women, with all of their beauty, grace, and strength, who have survived the worst and emerged more resilient than ever.