TIFF25 REVIEW: Whitetail [20XX]

Rating: NR | Runtime: 103 minutes
Director(s): Nanouk Leopold
Writer(s): Nanouk Leopold

In falling, they are given wings.

It’s impossible to move forward if you’ve never confronted that which you hope to move on from. So, no matter how much Daniel (Andrew Bennett) wishes for his daughter to restart her life after decades of stagnation stemming from a traumatic incident in her youth, pleading with her isn’t going to be enough. Jen (Natasha O’Keeffe) knows this. It’s why she’s stayed in their sleepy Irish town to make penance both by working as a rewilding conservationist and by refusing to let go of her suffering. And, in that respect, Oscar (Aaron McCusker) knows it too. It’s why he did leave hoping to escape the pain. But it never went away.

Our entry point into Whitetail is a prologue showing us what happened that fateful day. Writer/director Nanouk Leopold wants us to understand the connection shared between Jen and Oscar before tragedy strikes so we can better comprehend their dynamic afterwards too. Because the real meat of the film begins after we fast-forward to the present and learn about his return. The news stops Jen in her tracks before she can catch herself to pretend like it doesn’t matter. If you somehow believe this ruse, she will soon fully let the stoic façade slip upon finally seeing him and promptly turning right back around.

His presence brings her back to that day—not that she ever forgot it. No, Jen was simply able to put up her defenses and cope as long as the people around her allowed it. But Oscar? She can’t look at or think about him without dredging up the pain. He is inextricably tethered to that event and, unhealthy or not, his prolonged absence helped hold those feelings at bay. So, of course the nightmares would restart. Of course her actions would grow more unstable as everyone asks if she’s spoken to him yet. Oscar is a harbinger of death to Jen now. In her mind, the only chance to stem the darkness is for him to leave.

What we’re shown is therefore her gradual acceptance of reality insofar as no longer being able to fool herself that everything is fine. We learn about failed relationships (Rory Nolan’s Bobby), unwanted flirtations (Aidan O’Hare’s Liam), her father’s wish to sell their land and meet his new girlfriend (Hélène Patarot’s Pei), and the poacher roaming the preserve at night and leaving decapitated deer carcasses in sections where hunting is illegal. Add Mona’s (Simone Kirby) doting to turn her into a bridesmaid and it’s as if the walls Jen built around her are closing in. Her stubborn rejection of dealing with any of it is suffocating.

All the earmarks of avoidance are present from Jen doubling down in her work to catch this rogue hunter to her chasing vices (a random hookup outside of town) to hopefully quell the nightmares. But the dreams don’t stop. Images of her father buried in the dirt with the insects she has saved through her conservationism crawling atop him. It’s always nature permeating her subconscious because it’s nature that she most closely connects to what happened. That’s where it occurred. That’s what she’s devoted her life to protecting. Every new hunter personifies the callous destruction she combats. The destruction she wrought in youth.

O’Keeffe delivers an unforgettable performance in the lead role, wearing her character’s anguish throughout whether via explosive rage that must be released if she’s unable to flee the source of sensory overload or the quiet sorrow of mini panic attacks she cannot control. We recognize the fear behind that anger too—especially when targeted at Oscar considering he’s finally come to terms with the fact that their shared wound has remained open this entire time. Because she’s not afraid of him. Not really. He’s simply a mirror of grief she can’t bear to peer into because it will reveal everything she’s been hiding from.

Some might knock Whitetail for its climax circling back to its beginning, but I’d hardly call the act a convenient narrative bowtie. Yes, it’s a bit heavy-handed, but it’s also the perfect path out of the emotional echo chamber Jen has imprisoned herself within. What better way to finally allow herself to be vulnerable than to step into the opposite shoes from those she wore previously? Leopold has been effectively coaxing her towards it with a series of release valves. Oscar. Her father. The trees themselves. Little by little she’s finally begun to reclaim her soul as penance makes way for peace.