First Cow (2020): Ending Explained

Kelly Reichardt's First Cow (2020) is a quiet, meditative drama set against the rugged backdrop of 1820s Oregon Country. Co-written with Jonathan Raymond and based on his novel Half-Life, the film explores themes of friendship, survival, and the harsh economics of frontier life through the story of two unlikely partners: a mild-mannered cook named Otis "Cookie" Figowitz and a resourceful Chinese immigrant called King-Lu. With its slow-burn pacing and emphasis on human connection amid exploitation, the movie culminates in a poignant, understated ending that ties together its central motifs of impermanence and quiet rebellion. If you're searching for a breakdown of the film's ambiguous close, this analysis dives into the literal events, symbolic layers, and broader implications—spoiler alert, of course.

Quick Recap

In the present day, a woman walking her dog along a misty riverside stumbles upon two skeletons nestled together in a shallow grave, hinting at a long-buried tale of camaraderie and tragedy. The story then flashes back to 1820s Oregon Country, where Cookie (John Magaro), a gentle chef enduring the crude harassment of fur trappers, encounters King-Lu (Orion Lee), a fugitive Chinese immigrant hiding from retribution after killing a Russian man. Cookie shelters Lu overnight, and their paths reconverge at a remote fort outpost, where Lu invites the cook to share his modest home.

As they bond over dreams—Lu's vision of starting a farm, Cookie's longing for a bakery in San Francisco—the duo spots opportunity in the arrival of the outpost's first cow, owned by the wealthy English trader known as the Chief Factor. Lamenting how the poor can only get ahead through fortune or crime, Lu and Cookie embark on a risky venture: nightly thefts of the cow's milk to bake sweet, oily cakes infused with honey. Their "Chinese secret" recipe quickly becomes a sensation at the market, sparking bidding wars and long lines among the trappers. As their illicit business booms and they amass wealth, the pair navigates the growing dangers of their scheme, weighing the thrill of success against the ever-present threat of discovery in a lawless land.

What Happens in the Ending

The film's ending unfolds with a deliberate restraint, bookending the narrative by returning to the present-day frame while implying the tragic fate of its protagonists in the 1820s. After their cakes achieve wild popularity—drawing crowds who shove and bid frantically for the last pieces—Lu and Cookie revel in their newfound prosperity. Lu, ever the pragmatist, prioritizes the money, even overlooking a minor injustice when a burly man pushes aside a smaller one for the final cake. They refine their operation, sneaking under cover of night to milk the unattended cow outside the Chief Factor's grand house, with Cookie handling the extraction and Lu keeping watch from a tree.

As their riches grow, the duo decides it's safer to press on, but the inherent risks of their crime catch up. The narrative subtly builds tension through the outpost's volatile atmosphere—bar fights, aggressive trappers, and the looming presence of the Chief Factor, whose cow represents untouchable privilege. Though the film doesn't depict a violent confrontation outright, the story implies their downfall: the skeletons discovered in the modern day are unmistakably those of Cookie and Lu, buried side by side in a shallow riverside grave. This revelation comes full circle as the woman and her dog uncover the remains, the bones intertwined in a final, tender embrace that echoes the deep bond formed over stolen milk and shared ambitions. The camera lingers on this quiet exhumation, fading out on the river's gentle flow, leaving the specifics of their deaths (likely at the hands of the Chief Factor or his men) to the viewer's imagination.

The Meaning Behind the Ending

At its core, the ending of First Cow symbolizes the fragility of human endeavors in the face of systemic inequality and inevitable decay. The skeletons, locked in eternal companionship, represent not just the literal end of Cookie and Lu's lives but a metaphor for how fleeting moments of ingenuity and solidarity can be crushed by the machinery of power. Their illicit business—born from necessity and a spark of creativity—highlights the moral complexity of survival in a frontier economy where the poor must steal to thrive, yet the riverbank grave underscores the ultimate futility: wealth accumulated through crime offers no lasting escape.

Thematically, the close meditates on time's erosive power, with the present-day discovery framing the 1820s tale as a half-life, much like the novel's title suggests. The cow's milk, a nurturing force turned commodity, mirrors how exploitation permeates even the most intimate acts—Cookie's baking evokes lost comforts from his Boston past, but it's tainted by theft. Societally, Reichardt critiques the American Dream's underbelly: in Oregon Country, a land of promise, the Chief Factor's cow arrives without mate or calf, symbolizing barren colonialism, while Lu and Cookie's partnership subverts racial and class divides, only to be interred together in anonymity. This ending isn't triumphant; it's a contemplative elegy for underdogs whose quiet rebellion against fortune's cruelty ends in obscurity, urging viewers to ponder the human truths beneath history's sediment.

Character Arcs and Resolution

Cookie and Lu's journeys resolve in a arc of profound intimacy amid devastation, transforming them from isolated wanderers into soul-bound partners whose fates are inextricably linked. Cookie begins as a passive figure, enduring the trappers' abuse and nursing quiet yearnings for a stable life—his milking of the cow is an act of gentle reclamation, turning vulnerability into creation. By the end, his arc completes in quiet acceptance; the skeleton's pose suggests he died protecting or embracing Lu, fulfilling his innate kindness even in death.

Lu, the bold visionary fleeing persecution, evolves from lone survivor to collaborative dreamer, his "Chinese secret" a clever mask for their shared ingenuity. His arc grapples with moral ambiguity—prioritizing profit over fairness in the market scene reveals the corrupting pull of ambition—yet his bond with Cookie redeems him, culminating in their joint burial as equals. Their resolution isn't redemptive in a conventional sense; it's a poignant closure that affirms the depth of their psychology. In a world that marginalizes them—Lu as an immigrant, Cookie as a soft-spoken everyman—their ending cements a legacy of mutual reliance, where personal growth is measured not in survival, but in the enduring echo of their connection.

Alternate Interpretations

First Cow's ending is inherently ambiguous, inviting multiple lenses without spelling out the duo's demise. One reading posits a heroic defiance: perhaps they were killed confronting the Chief Factor, their skeletons a testament to standing against exploitation, subverting the frontier myth of rugged individualism. Alternatively, it could be a cautionary tale of hubris—their decision to continue despite growing risks leads to inevitable capture, emphasizing how crime's "fortune" is illusory in a rigged system.

A more existential interpretation sees the grave as a metaphor for forgotten histories: the skeletons, undisturbed for centuries, suggest Lu and Cookie's story persists only through accidental discovery, mirroring how marginalized lives are erased from official narratives. Some might view it romantically, focusing on the embrace as eternal love transcending death, while others highlight tragedy's irony—the cow outlives them, her milk source of both rise and fall. These layers ensure the ending resonates differently based on whether one emphasizes hope, critique, or melancholy.

Themes and Symbolism

The ending reinforces First Cow's core themes of economic disparity, interracial friendship, and the passage of time, while subtly subverting expectations of Western genre tropes. Symbolically, the river—site of Lu's initial escape and the final grave—represents flux and oblivion, washing away ambitions like the duo's stolen milk. The cow embodies commodified nature and class divides: her loneliness parallels the partners', and milking her at night evokes a subversive nurturing, challenging the Chief Factor's hoarding as a commentary on colonial greed.

Broader societal undertones critique manifest destiny's underclass struggles, where poor men like Lu and Cookie must "commit a crime" for a chance at prosperity, only to be buried in unmarked equality. The film subverts heroism by denying spectacle—no shootout, just quiet interment—highlighting moral complexity: their theft is both ethically gray and sympathetically human. Ultimately, the ending amplifies themes of impermanence, portraying life as a half-life of borrowed moments, where true fortune lies in bonds that outlast the body.

Final Thoughts

Kelly Reichardt's ending for First Cow works masterfully because it trusts the audience to fill in the gaps, turning potential frustration into profound reflection. By framing the story with those intertwined skeletons, the film avoids melodrama, instead delivering a substantive meditation on friendship's quiet power against overwhelming odds. It's not a crowd-pleaser, but for those attuned to its contemplative rhythm, it lingers like the river's mist—a reminder that in life's harsh currents, the deepest truths are often the unspoken ones. If First Cow leaves you pondering the cost of dreams in an unequal world, that's precisely its triumph.