‘The Wolves Always Come At Night’: London Review

Dir. Gabrielle Brady. Australia/Mongolia/Germany. 2024. 96 mins

What is a herder without his animals? This question of identity permeates Gabrielle Brady’s docudrama The Wolves Always Come at Night, which follows a Mongolian family grappling with the seismic impacts of climate change. Although over 30 percent of Mongolia’s population still leads a pastoral existence dependent on livestock, this traditional culture is increasingly threatened by pressing environmental and socio-economic factors which have hastened migration to urban areas.

Gets right to the heart of the matter

It was while researching this topic in the Mongolian capital of Ulaanbaatar that hybrid filmmaker Brady, whose last film was experimental Christmas Island doc Island Of The Hungry Ghosts (2018), encountered a family who had just relocated from the countryside. She set about not only documenting their adjustment to a stark new reality, but also accompanied them on a visit to the grasslands to recreate the lifestyle they reluctantly left behind. By blending documentary and fiction elements, Brady’s exploration of the profound trauma caused by physical displacement gets right to the heart of the matter.

The Wolves Always Come At Night plays London after premiering in Toronto’s Platform and audiences should respond to how Brady tempers a reverence for Mongolia’s splendidly rugged landscape with the realisation that unreserved human affection for the environment is not always reciprocated. Specialty distributors with a theatrical profile should be interested in how Brady has clearly conveyed intertwined issues through striking visual storytelling and immersive sound design.

In Mongolia’s expansive Bayankhongor region, herders Daava (Davaasuren Dagvasuren) and Zaya (Otgonzaya Dashzeveg) are happily raising their four children – until an incredibly harsh sandstorm wipes out half of their cattle. Accepting that herding is no longer financially viable, Daava and Zaya decide to follow in the footsteps of countless others by seeking employment opportunities in the city.

Upon arriving in Ulaanbaatar, the family makes a new home in the Ger district. A shantytown settlement on the city’s outskirts where many former herders reside in yurts, the area is not only overpopulated but also heavy polluted because of the reliance on coal as its primary fuel source. Daava secures a job on a mining crew, but he struggles to assimilate to urban life, dreaming vividly of the rolling pastures and the beloved stallion he was forced to sell.

The film’s apparently menacing title refers to what was once the biggest worry for herders; the wild predatory animals that primarily survive on a diet of grazing livestock. Such attacks are still a concern, but the title also evokes a yearning for a simpler time when pastoral work did not come with a litany of other issues or it was at least possible to anticipate certain hazards. Taking one family as a representation of a dwindling community, Brady illustrates how climate change is making their livelihood untenable. Fly on the wall footage from a town hall meeting raises concerns of desertification, whereby land becomes interfile due to drought, but it is the abrupt sandstorm which eradicates Daava and Zaya’s hopes in one fell swoop. Recreating their misfortune in similar conditions prompts a visceral sense of helplessness in the face of extreme weather events.

Despite the risk of aggravating open wounds, the central couple bare their souls and shed light on the emotional and psychological fissures caused by migration. Daava in particular struggles to reconcile aspects of his new profession (the excavation of untouched land) with his nomadic nature, and ends up singing along to a melancholic folk song in a bar after a long shift rather than returning to his family. It is possible to discern the staged scenarios that underline these points in the city-set second half. Yet incorporating scripted scenes does not detract from the overall verisimilitude, as they stem from the deeply felt experiences of its participants (who are credited as the film’s co-writers).

On the technical front, The Wolves Always Come At Night finds Bady reuniting with the team responsible for Island Of The Hungry Ghosts, which dealt with forms of migration around the Australian external territory of Christmas Island. Here, similar techniques are deployed with a greater emotional focus. Michael Latham’s tactile cinematography again captures the wonder of the natural world, with thrilling opening footage of Daava charging across the plains on his stallion setting the rhythm for the film’s evocative first half. Aaron Cupples’ transfixing ambient score takes its cue from Mongolia’s howling winds.

The film’s countryside/city juxtaposition is familiar but nonetheless dispiriting. Wide shots foreground the limbo-like settlement against a smoggy backdrop with industrial noises creeping insidiously into the soundscape, although the film closes with a poignant flourish of magical realism allows cautious optimism for the future.