2024 International Documentary Festival Amsterdam: A Want in Her Review

 

Perhaps, many have filmed their families and the particular vulnerabilities and struggles they endure. Yet, only few have a story to tell. 

Myrid Carten, with her debut feature film, takes a defiant stand against the assumed singularity of such stories, and does so adeptly. In factuality, Myrid’s family , including her mother, have been ravaged by mental issues, leading to severe social aberrations. Nuala Carten has battled with dipsomania for around 20 years. A pathological drunk, who has been several times missing, literally and metaphorically. In her own laconic and biting words, ‘half of you knows your brain is breaking down; the other half is away with it.’ Her condition deteriorated substantially upon the death of her mother, the grandmother of Myrid. Often referred to as a symbol of matriarchy, her grandmother was the pillar of a residence in the countryside of Ireland that housed sequenced histories of insanity; love somehow has survived.  

Myrid’s fascination with filming has served as a reflection of the sentiments of this house. Being a trained artist, her camera deftly drifts around the weary walls and ceilings of the house, paired with nearly eccentric conversations occurring within, some of which imbued with natural wit evoke bursting laughs. Through confessions on the record, partial interviews and partial personal conversations, of Myrid’s family evince the implications of mental instability on each other. 

The story at many points is openly forged—or, better yet, edited, as the end titles suggest—a fact that is hardly ever concealed. Starting with previous audiovisual iterations exhibited as artistic works in galleries, Myrid has explored many different corners of her footage collection and storytelling. In this extensive and encoming take, every shot is presented with originality, peeling back layers of performance and re-enactment. It’s a fascinating stance on interpreting reality, functioning both as an exercise in stamina and an invitation to emotional alignment. By collaging moments into a crafted timeline, the filmmaker achieves an encircling narrative centred on one singular subject: the fraught, dissenting nature of the relationship between a mother and a daughter—always disquieting and treasured, marked by the impossibility of either escaping or fully succumbing. No mother ever fully releases her daughter, and ever does no daughter truly let go of her mother. Even if you haven’t experienced this complex yourself, you must agree; unconditional love does exist. Painfully beautiful, isn’t it?

The work of Myrid Carten is a reclaim of the artistic values within documentary making, elevating its impact beyond mere reporting on facts and events; it exposes complexities and emotions, while maintaining a near-religious focus on the subject of inquiry. Her technical approach is equally imaginative and inventive, skilfully merging the fictitious elements of nonfiction with the fabricating liberties of cinema-making. The result, bying a pure representation of a stagnant reality, is a colourful take on truth. I guess the term hybrid documentary scarcely does justice to the achievement of this picture, which aims rather to contribute to a wider discussion of what documentary and filmmaking at large can and will do.

At the world premiere of A Want in Her, I found myself seated behind Myrid, who was sitting next to Nuala. As I watched them watch the film together, one thought was stubbornly strolling in my mind: how many of us have witnessed our mothers’ suffering, and suffered alongside them?

I carried this thought with me as I left the theatre, practically fleeing my sobbing tears. The bustling streets of Amsterdam reminded me of filmmaking’s profound ability to illuminate. Myrid, ed by an irably long list of collaborators and institutions (including NL Filmfonds, BFI, and IDFA, to name a few), succeeded in at least one remarkable task: conveying the haunting legacy of past relatives and generations. A legacy that exceeds the conventional limits of property disputes or inherited illnesses, and although I presently lack the words to name it, I can at least vouch for its legitimacy and relevance.

 

Director: Myrid Carten /  Cinematography: Donna Wade, Myrid Carten, Sean Mullan / Editing: Karen Harley / Music: Clarice Jensen