‘The Wolves Always Come at Night’ LFF 2024 Review: Climate Crises in the Indigenous World
Gabrielle Brady’s hybrid documentary-drama The Wolves Always Come at Night screened at the London Film Festival as a submission for the Official Competition award. I was struck by the poignance of the film's description; tackling themes simultaneously close and distant from us, such as the climate crisis, is no easy feat, and this film accomplishes it with nuance and grace.
Set in rural Mongolia, the film follows Davaa and Zaya, parents of four children, and owners of a small flock of sheep and a brood of horses that help them stay economically afloat. The film opens with simple scenes that show Davaa’s connection with his flock; he cares deeply for their wellbeing and safety and does everything in his power to keep them safe from the “wolves” that haunt the first half of the film. His compassion extends to his love for his wife Zaya and their children. Their life in the desert is calm, but quickly disturbed; news of the rapidly changing climate and its adverse effects on the indigenous herders’ livelihoods underpins the narrative. When the “wolf” finally claims its pound of flesh from the family, they make the difficult choice to move to the city and find steady, dependable work there for the sake of their children’s education and future. The film’s closing scene, of Davaa’s horse finding him in the alleyways of the city, and Davaa riding away into the sunset, gives this tale a bittersweet reconciliation of the indigenous Mongolian man with his culture.
The film’s exploration of generational time and tradition serve as powerful catalysts, deepening the impact of the overarching storyline. The audience aches for Davaa and Zaya; losing half of their flock to a freak sandstorm, devastating their livelihood, is a haunting memory for those who endured the uncertainty of the Coronavirus pandemic. Having one’s job threatened by an uncontrollable environmental factor hits close to home to the context and narrative of the film. This tragedy forces the couple to reconsider their futures, ultimately compelling them to leave their community, ancestry, and tradition behind to seek out the “future” shaped by urbanism and industrial work. The herding community was close-knit, sharing information on weather abnormalities and supporting each other to sustain their livelihoods; the community meetings shown were lively and inclusive, reflecting a deep sense of solidarity. Their departure is bittersweet - they acknowledge, respect, and greet the people they are leaving behind, and look backwards at the generations of herders who had been in their positions, and how they acclimated. When Davaa and Zaya’s family enter the outskirts of the city, they are aided by their neighbours, who have seen countless families move in and join urban life. Despite the physical distance from their roots, the legacy of the Indigenous Mongolian community is carried forward even through urbanisation.
Sacrifice is a continuous theme throughout the film. Davaa and Zaya are consistently surrounded by, and making sacrifices. Labour and parenthood in the first half of the film are things that bring unbounded joy to both the sheep and the family. However, as the film progresses, they become stressors and cause internal conflict for the characters. When the sandstorm hits, Davaa chooses to free his herd of horses instead of leaving them trapped in their enclosure, so that they can seek shelter and be safe. When Davaa witnesses the aftermath of the sandstorm on his flock, he is visibly broken. His unrest and quiet are foreign emotions to the audience, who had thus far seen him as a loving, involved, and witty father and herder. After their move to the city, Davaa confides in Zaya, admitting that, after failing to protect his flock, he no longer feels capable of anything. Zaya comforts him and lets him grieve with patience. The sacrifice made to move to an urban area, the sacrifice made to leave their community and elders behind, and the sacrifices made during their labour in Ulaanbaatar are not forgotten by the narrative. While working as a construction worker operating heavy machinery, Davaa is instructed to break ground on land that has remained untouched by humanity. He questions his superior, asking if it is right to exploit this land. His superior dismisses his concerns and instructs him to continue. When Davaa proceeds with the task, his connection to his culture is severed, and the last beats of the film involve short scenes of a lost Davaa trying to find himself in the city. The ending of the film, with one of Davaa’s horses finding him on the outskirts of Ulaanbaatar, and him riding his horse into the sunset, demonstrates that connection being healed; but at the cost of leaving his family behind. No choice is made without repercussions in the society that Davaa and Zaya were forced to choose.
The cinematography of The Wolves Always Come Out at Night demonstrates the intimidating vastness of the desert that the indigenous Mongolian population calls home. Davaa, Zaya, their children, and everyone in their community can seamlessly recognise cardinal directions, and make out imperceptible landmarks in the vast desert. Their knowledge of the landscape is a powerful reminder of their competence and culture, but also the tragedy of Indigenous populations being forced to leave home due to climate crises. The commentary on climate change, in tandem with the storyline of the film, offers essential reminders to the audience.
Edited by Humaira Valera, Co-Film & TV Editor
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