THE STORY – Shows 12 scenes of Fogo Island, Canada, with kids playing amid coastal landscapes. Lockhart captures blues, greens, geology, and geography while static shots reveal natural movement and color.
THE CAST – N/A
THE TEAM – Sharon Lockhart (Director/Writer)
THE RUNNING TIME – 70 Minutes
Visual artist and photographer Sharon Lockhart’s latest film offering, “Windward,” depicts still shots of landscapes and nature. While her eye has an undeniably remarkable ability to capture color and tell a subtle story through movement, this latest entry, which premiered at the 63rd New York Film Festival, is mostly devoid of what makes her compositions so interesting. Yes, nature is visually striking and contemplative, but with almost no human movement to give it life, the project feels overextended and ultimately flat.
“Windward” consists of 12 still images, or tableaux, all set along the foggy, windswept coast of Fogo Island, itself off the coast of Newfoundland, Canada. Fogo Island is archetypal of Canada’s vast expanse. It lies at the outer extreme of the American continent, thousands of miles from New York City, about one-third of the way to Ireland. It’s pretty dreary, though its vastness is beautiful and its somber lighting somewhat transfixing. And, did I mention, it’s pretty windy?
Each set piece lasts about six or seven minutes. You simply observe the landscape as the wind affects it, with the waves crashing and the grass swaying. It unfolds in real time, so you don’t really see the clouds move or change shape. You hear a lot, the rustling and bustling winds, and almost nothing at all. Not a single word is spoken during the mercifully short 70-minute runtime. You see some humans, mostly two young girls (her daughters?), though they appear mainly in the distance and rarely do much of anything.
One of the still shots features a cliff overlooking the North Atlantic on a windy fall afternoon. The wind blows loudly, and Lockhart captures the sound with great precision and magnetism. The cliff overlooks not just the water but also the smaller islets surrounding Fogo. For the six or seven minutes that you sit there, seeing only the breeze and listening to the wind, you may wonder what it’s like to live there, to walk by that cliff. You may think about the winter, or even recall other moments of peaceful but ever-present nature you’ve experienced. This is the power and beauty of Lockhart’s composition in “Windward.” We all need time to take a breath, take a break, and meditate.
Another shot centers on a rundown shed, with the two girls playing nearby. Another captures a hilltop, from which the girls and a third child emerge. You can’t help but wonder about the children. Who are they? What are they doing? Who is watching after them? Is something awful going to happen, or something beautiful?
Lockhart’s approach is meditative, inviting viewers to slow down and immerse themselves in the sensory experience of the island’s environment. The absence of narrative structure or dialogue places the entire focus on the interaction between landscape, weather, and the viewer. It encourages personal reflection, but the style feels too experimental, more alienating than rewarding.
In other words, after a while, “Windward” leaves you wondering. It would be different if the film showed entirely distinct landscapes, or even, in some strange way, the same shot from different angles. Instead, you are treated to different parts of Fogo Island. But without anything beyond the wind and the island itself to connect the various set pieces, it’s difficult not to ask what the entire movie is about.
To be sure, there is a profound beauty to the composition, and much to admire in Lockhart’s unique aesthetic. But this sort of display seems better suited to an artist’s installation or an exhibition in a gallery or museum, where the audience can walk in and out, contemplating the beauty of the wind as they pass by. Whatever Lockhart’s point may be in having the audience observe the wind blow off her island for 70 minutes, it’s never clearly made, subtly or explicitly.
Ultimately, “Windward” is a film that tests the patience of its audience, demanding a willingness to engage with its slow pace and minimalist aesthetic. For viewers accustomed to traditional storytelling, the lack of plot and character development may be frustrating. Still, those open to a more introspective and sensory-driven experience may find moments of quiet resonance. Lockhart’s film stands as an invitation to pause and contemplate, though its rewards may reveal themselves only to the most patient and receptive viewers.
