The Wind (2018)

In the late nineteenth century, a couple attempt to settle in a small farmhouse on the desolate prairielands of New Mexico during the American Frontier. When her husband must travel to the nearest town – a journey of several days – Lizzy is left alone and begins to suspect she is being stalked by a malevolent presence which seems to emanate from the very land around her.

Written by Teresa Sutherland and directed by Emma Tammi, The Wind (not to be mistaken with the 1980s psychological slasher of the same name) is an atmospheric slice of Weird West cinema. Combining elements of the traditional frontier setting of the Western with supernatural horror, The Wind unfolds as a Gothic character study, following the mental anguish and breakdown of its protagonist as she battles isolation, paranoia and an ambiguous demonic threat. Tammi’s direction, coupled with striking cinematography from Lyn Moncrief, creates a powerful sense of the maddening solitude endured by the characters, as they live their hard lives amidst a landscape of barren surroundings and lonesome horizons. The non-linear narrative, which depicts events out of chronology, not only creates a sense of foreboding, but conveys the fracturing of Lizzy’s mind as she struggles to hold it together and make sense of what is happening. Is there really a demon prowling around in the dark of night, or is her difficult life, the hardships of her situation finally taking a toll, loosening her grip on sanity and ushering her towards breaking point? Caitlin Gerard bestows Lizzy with a toughness and resilience that speaks of the past trauma and harsh realities she has endured, but she also lets us see Lizzy’s vulnerability, her flaws and humanness. In flashbacks we learn that Lizzy had a stillborn baby, and in another scene, we see her fend off wolves from the cabin, so we know she’s suffered unbearable loss, and that she’s tough as hell.

Teresa Sutherland’s screenplay features flawed and complex characters whose lives are eked out in a harsh, inhospitable environment far from civilisation, while Tammi’s directorial style of storytelling is to show the audience, not tell us, what we need to know, with information conveyed through images and atmosphere, music and mood. An atmospheric, unnerving score by Ben Lovett evokes a lonesome, folksy melancholy suffused with an underlying dread, conjuring the harsh landscape the story unfolds within, his use of unconventional instruments, such as the bass flute and nyckelharpa, creates a spooky, rustic dissonance. Parts of the film act as snapshots of folklife at this time, depicting a hard existence in an unforgiving place. Even though the characters are at the mercy of the elements, their hostile environment, and the isolation it ensures, what proves to be their downfall are their all-too human foibles and emotions. The introduction of another couple who move into a nearby empty farmhouse and the tentative friendships that begin to form, bring a shift in dynamic between Lizzy and her husband. The two husbands help each other with farming, while Lizzy reads a copy of Ann Radcliffe's The Mysteries of Udolpho to Emma (Julia Goldani Telles), who works on her embroidery (in a haunting moment of foreshadowing we see her stitching the words ‘Forget Me Not’, which could well be a plea to the other lonely souls who share this space with her).

Elements of folk horror emerge, as the land itself appears to play a major part in the downfall of the characters, and snippets of dialogue conjure a world of foreboding and dread: at one stage, Emma whispers to Lizzy ‘The land is funny, it plays tricks on your mind’, while someone else later utters ‘This place is wrong, we’re not supposed to be here.’ After a tragic death, Lizzy is left alone by her husband and their only surviving neighbour, who must journey to the closest town. The vast empty space her cabin sits within takes on a much more sinister atmosphere, particularly at night, when the darkness evokes a strange sense of claustrophobia despite the wide-open space. There is a sparseness and haunting quality that recalls the paintings of Andrew Wyeth, particularly 'Christina’s World', 'Wind From the Sea' and 'Maidenhair', with subjects placed in empty spaces, engulfed by their surroundings, or indeed, the sense of space and emptiness without a subject given centre stage. The absence of dialogue in many scenes adds to the feeling of sparseness and unease, as does the effective use of silence, and the eerie sound design with the near constant moaning and sighing of the wind becoming a presence, a demonic entity of the prairie. Tammi’s measured direction builds a growing sense of unease, and a couple of scenes featuring Lizzy beset by someone or something trying to gain entry to her home, are immensely chilling.  

If you’re after a quiet, spooky horror, with a strong, compelling character at its heart, and lashings of psychological/demonic mayhem, all set in an utterly desolate, lonely landscape, The Wind is for you.