THE STORY – Jen has carried the guilt of a tragic accident since her teens – now, the past catches up, forcing her to find a way forward.
THE CAST – Natasha O’ Keeffe, Andrew Bennett, Aaron McCusker, Hélène Patarot, Rory Nolan, Simone Kirby & Aidan O’Hare
THE TEAM – Nanouk Leopold (Writer)
THE RUNNING TIME – 103 Minutes
Nanouk Leopold’s “Whitetail” wastes no time settling audiences in the earthly splendor of Southern Ireland’s forestry. The beautiful greenery makes the perfect setting for a lovely evening between two young lovers, Jen and Oscar. The pair talks about their lives, uses Jen’s father’s hunting rifle in an attempt to hunt deer, and, as most hormone-raging teenagers do, hook up. This dreamy date, which should’ve blossomed into a relationship for years to come, instead births a nightmare that will forever bond the two together. It’s a heavy way to open a film, especially one of such an understated register. Yet despite Leopold starting “Whitetail” off on a strong note, it becomes as buried as the emotions Jen so desperately wants to keep to herself.
The film picks up in the decades since that fateful day in the forest. Jen spends her days burying herself in her work as a park ranger, where she works alongside her ailing father, Daniel, played by Andrew Bennett, hooking up cameras along the hunting trail. It’s a quiet life fitting for someone who wishes to be left alone by anyone who isn’t her father. Things change when an older Oscar, played by Aaron McCusker, returns to their hometown, which resurges a multitude of feelings within Jenn that slowly spiral her into an internal reckoning with feelings she has been avoiding for years. What makes viewers so instantly entranced by Leopold’s haunting exploration of loss is the film’s lead performance by Natasha O’Keeffe, who plays the older version of Jen. Despite being a predominantly reserved performance, O’ Keeffe speaks volumes in silence, successfully conveying decades worth of anguish burrowed deep behind every glance she takes. Her effortlessly dependable supporting work throughout her career has prepped her for a role of this stature, and she more than holds her own. Leopold’s direction elevates everything O’Keeffe brings to the character, even if the writing doesn’t always give her much to work with.
The sullen atmosphere that Leopold strives for is realized through the team assembled behind the scenes, mainly the wonderful cinematography of Frank van den Eeden. Prolonged sequences of the landscapes allow the viewers’ minds to stray from admiration of its natural beauty to the abyss of isolation that is totemic of the trauma that is burdening these two former lovers. Stephen Rennick’s score also adds a level of melancholy that is on par with some of his previous works in terms of quality, despite never eliciting an emotionality that would rise above the film it accompanies. While Leopold manages to engage audiences from the film’s prologue, its languorous pacing slowly chips away at an already simple premise, molding it into a feature that comes off far more redundant in its messaging than it desires to be. Leopold subtly prods Jen into an emotional downward spiral, leading to intriguing characterization on her part. What hurts it is that she’s surrounded by a world where everyone else around her, besides possibly Oscar, is far less captivating. Jen’s ability to properly interact with others, whether platonically or socially, leads to instances of her lashing out at herself, which leads to others getting hurt. It’s nothing that hasn’t been explored before, but at least the quiet intimacy of the locale adds a regional specificity that gives a “Whitetail” a flavor of originality it needs.
Leopold’s screenplay comes off as far less conceptualized than her direction, driving either down familiar territory or focusing on aspects that feel all but distracted. There’s a storyline centered around Jen’s complicated relationship with her father, or more so, his frustrations with how his daughter is choosing to live. Her purposefully rudderless life is also, in a way, holding him back from living his own as well. It’s an intriguing dynamic that morphs into this overtly symbolic representation, mainly through the involvement of Hélène Patarot’s Pei, the woman with whom Jen’s father is now in a relationship. At least everything involving Aidan O’Hare’s romantically pushy Officer Liam, tied into furthering the story and serving Jen as a character in a far more purposeful manner. Leopold does have one moment involving Jen and Oscar, where the performances by O’Keefe and McCusker take it to another level.
The entire run of “Whitetail” builds to this wonderful sequence where everything about Leopold’s vision takes complete hold of the audience. It’s fleeting, and the moments where “Whitetail” works in perfect synergy with vision and execution feel too sparse for a movie that wholefylly takes its time for what transpires.
