LFF Review: Wildfire
This was originally published on November 16th, 2020.
In loving memory of Nika McGuigan.
Set on the fractious Irish border, Cathy Brady establishes the tone of her feature-length debut, Wildfire, by opening with archival footage of the conflict and terrorism linked to The Troubles, and more recently, the divide caused by Brexit. The social and political unrest simmers in the background of the film’s main story, as the small town suffers from old wounds that its residents won’t let heal — including the suicide of a mentally ill woman who left behind two young children.
Wildfire is about those two very children, now adults, whose strong and fiery bond is reignited when Kelly (Nika McGuigan), the titular wildfire, returns home after being missing for a year and presumed dead. Lauren (Nora-Jane Noone), who works a dull factory job and lives with her husband Sean (Martin McCann), finds her quiet life turned upside down when Kelly begins spreading her destructive and volatile behaviours all over town. Lauren also finds herself lashing out at her gossip-fiend coworkers when they pass judgement on mental illness by comparing Kelly to her late mother.
Although it affects them differently, the sisters are bonded by their mother’s death, as well as their father’s, who died in an IRA bombing. No one understands them but each other, which makes Lauren cling to Kelly more, through fear of losing her again. As products of their trauma, Kelly finds it hard to deal with her own grief and mental illness, while Lauren buries hers deep inside so she can live a relatively normal life. Ultimately, Kelly’s return begins to cause problems for Lauren’s marriage and work-life as her repressed trauma begins to resurface. It’s impossible for them to avoid talking about their mother, and impossible for Kelly not to resemble her mother in both looks and behaviour as she grows more erratic throughout the film.
Wildfire is a compelling character study as Lauren and Kelly have to fight through their murky memories, revealed in flashbacks throughout the film, to face the ugly truth behind their mother’s passing. Brady’s uneven script doesn’t hinder the experience too much, as the two leads are a force to be reckoned with. This is exemplified in a scene where the sisters are manic-eyed, drenched in sweat, and dancing wildly in a bar to “Gloria” by Them, which they play on repeat. They are intimate, ferocious, and unstoppable — like they’re the only people in the world.
The film’s slow burn feels messy, both in story and style, which many viewers may find frustrating. However, I found it was the most effective way to tell this particular story, as it evokes Lauren and Kelly’s state of minds, building to the height of their freedom and chaos. The final act is soaked in melodrama, but it reminds us that trauma, grief, and mental pain can make us do “crazy” things. McGuigan and Noone deliver two emotionally complex performances, made all the more poignant when the end credits reveal that McGuigan passed away from cancer during post-production.
Wildfire is a psychological drama that has many worthwhile messages in its emotional and tender story, but ultimately it’s about how old wounds grow out of control if they aren’t dealt with. While some parts could’ve been strengthened with more emotional depth, it all comes together and pays off in the end when the sisters have their own Thelma and Louise moment, which is fortunately not as tragic.
