LIVE, LEARN, & LOVE SERIES #83. Wildlife (film, 2018)

Do you take delight in watching films, listening to pop music, or reading books? For English learners, movies, songs, and books are one of the most wonderful sources to explore the language! You can indulge in your favorite pastime and still learn some expressions, words of wisdom, and oftentimes good lessons while you’re at it.

 

#83. Wildlife (film, 2018)

Set against the vast, haunting landscapes of 1960s Montana, Wildlife follows fourteen-year-old Joe Brinson, the only child of Jeanette, a devoted homemaker, and Jerry, a golf professional whose quiet life begins to unravel. As a relentless wildfire blazes near the Canadian border, the flames seem to mirror the growing turmoil within the Brinson family. After unexpectedly losing his job—and with it his sense of identity and purpose—Jerry makes the impulsive decision to leave home and join the firefighters battling the inferno. His departure leaves Jeanette and Joe to navigate an uncertain future on their own. Thrust into adulthood far too soon, Joe becomes the silent observer of his family's slow disintegration.

 

(Mom Jeanette says to son Joe): “You know what they call trees in a forest fire? Fuel. You know what they call the trees left up when the fires go by? They call them the standing dead."

ð     Jeanette talks to her son about emotional stagnation, quiet despair, and the devastating cost of compromise. It reveals her deepest fear—not of dying, but of surviving without truly living. To Jeanette, becoming one of these "standing dead" trees is the most frightening fate of all. It symbolizes a life stripped of passion, purpose, and hope—a life endured rather than embraced. She refuses to accept mere survival as a substitute for genuine happiness.

The metaphor unfolds on several symbolic levels. In a wildfire, some trees are completely consumed by the flames. They become the fuel, representing those whose lives are overwhelmed by tragedy, loss, or circumstances beyond their control. Others remain standing after the fire has passed, yet they are charred, hollow, and lifeless. Though technically alive, they have lost the vitality that once defined them.

The image also mirrors the slow collapse of the Brinson family's marriage. As Jerry retreats into unemployment, emotional detachment, and his desperate search for meaning, Jeanette finds herself suffocating beneath the weight of an increasingly empty relationship. Rather than quietly accepting a marriage that has become emotionally barren, she longs for a life that is authentic, independent, and fully lived.

(Jerry said to his wife and son): “They are making people afraid for no reason.”

ð     On the surface, his words seem casual, almost reassuring. Beneath them, however, lies a quiet attempt to suppress the growing fear, shame, and uncertainty that accompany his sudden loss of purpose. By dismissing these anxieties as something society has manufactured, Jerry tries to convince both himself and his family that everything will be all right. At the same time, the quote foreshadows the film's powerful central metaphor—the raging wildfire burning across the Montana wilderness. Just as the fire spreads beyond anyone's control, fear and insecurity quietly consume Jerry's emotional stability. Both forces are relentless, threatening to destroy not only the landscape but also the fragile foundation of family life. The wildfire becomes a visual reflection of the invisible turmoil burning within Jerry himself.

The film's greatest irony lies in Jerry's inability to live by the wisdom he expresses. Although he insists that these fears are exaggerated, he ultimately becomes overwhelmed by them. Desperate to reclaim his dignity as a husband and provider, he leaves his wife and son behind to join the dangerous effort to fight the wildfire. His decision exposes the tragic contradiction at the heart of his character: the very societal expectations he dismisses ultimately dictate his actions, driving him toward choices that fracture the family he is trying to protect.

 

 

** Jean’s Small Thoughts:

Wildlife is a quietly devastating film that leaves you with a lingering sense of sadness and unease. It follows the widening cracks in what was once a happy family of three, revealing how quickly a seemingly stable home can unravel. Thrust into an unexpected crisis, each member of the Brinson family struggles to cope in a different way, drifting farther apart with every passing day.

Through the eyes of fourteen-year-old Joe, we witness his mother's desperate attempt to preserve their fragile household while searching for her own identity, freedom, and dignity. Forced to grow up long before his time, Joe comes face to face with the painful realities of love, disappointment, and the irreversible loss of innocence. Against the backdrop of smoke-filled skies and a relentless Montana wildfire, he gradually discovers that the most destructive fires are not the ones consuming the forest, but the ones silently burning through the heart of a family.

Whenever I see couples drifting apart, my thoughts inevitably turn to their children. They are often the forgotten casualties of a broken marriage—caught in the emotional crossfire, trying desperately to remain grounded while the foundation beneath them crumbles. Many carry their grief in silence, convincing the world that they are fine while quietly mourning the loss of the home they once knew. Perhaps they fear that if they allow themselves to fall apart, they may never find solid ground again, believing their roots have been severed forever.

As the film so poignantly suggests, we are all a little like the wildlife wandering through an unfamiliar landscape. When life is shaken by uncertainty, we instinctively search for somewhere—or someone—to belong. We long to be seen, embraced, and reassured that we matter. Yet the film gently raises a question that lingers long after the credits roll: 'Why do we so often seek fulfillment in someone else when the deepest, most enduring love may have been quietly surrounding us all along?' Perhaps, in our desperation to be rescued, we overlook the love that has never stopped waiting for us.

The film's closing scene is unforgettable. As Joe stands between his mother and father for one last family portrait, the camera captures more than three faces—it captures the fragile remnants of a family suspended between memory and reality. The photograph becomes a silent vessel of hope, preserving a moment that has already begun to fade. In Joe's heart, it may represent the quiet, unspoken wish that one day his family will somehow find its way back to one another. It is a deeply moving ending that left an indelible imprint on my heart, reminding me that some photographs preserve not only the people we love, but also the dreams we are reluctant to let go.