Rebuilding

In Max Walker-Silverman’s Rebuilding, loss arrives quietly, in the spaces where fire has already passed. There are no roaring infernos or frantic rescues, only the blackened outlines of what used to be a home, a barn, a herd, and a way of life. The film opens in the ashes of a Colorado ranch, where Dusty, played with subdued intensity by Josh O’Connor, stands on soil that is at once familiar and alien. Generations of work and identity have gone up in smoke, and what remains is not simply land stripped bare but a man without a compass. Dusty’s quiet despair runs through every frame, and yet there’s something deeply human in his refusal to turn away. The question the film asks, again and again, is not how to prevent tragedy but how to live with what is left behind.

The strength of the film lies in its attention to the fragile bonds that hold Dusty together. His estranged daughter, Callie Rose, played with luminous restraint by Lily LaTorre, becomes a mirror for his failures and his tentative steps toward repair. Their relationship is handled with a gentleness rare in cinema; there are no big speeches, only small acts of care—helping with schoolwork at the library, watching her hang glow-in-the-dark stars on a trailer wall, letting silence do the work words cannot. Opposite them, Meghann Fahy brings a fierce grace to Ruby, Dusty’s ex-wife, who has learned to survive without him but still carries the memory of what once bound them. Amy Madigan, as Ruby’s mother Bess, embodies pragmatic wisdom, her simple observation “You got what you got” resonating like a hymn for everyone displaced. These relationships do not explode in conflict but build in quiet recognition, showing that rebuilding a family is as fragile and uncertain as rebuilding a ranch.

Outside of family, the community that grows around the FEMA trailers gives the film its pulse. Survivors share food, firelight, and stories, creating a fragile refuge among ruins. Kali Reis, as Mila, lends the film its spiritual center—a widow who organizes dinners, reminds others to lean on each other, and makes survival feel collective rather than solitary. Some of these characters are played by non-professionals, like musician Binky Griptite, blurring the boundary between fiction and lived truth. Their presence keeps the film grounded, echoing the authenticity of works like Nomadland while still carrying Walker-Silverman’s distinct tenderness. The sense of community that emerges does not erase Dusty’s grief but reframes it: he may not be able to restore the ranch, but he can find new roots in connection.

The visual and sonic language of the film reinforce this duality of devastation and hope. Cinematographer Alfonso Herrera Salcedo captures wide skies over scorched forests, the land both beautiful and brutal, reminding us that nature is indifferent yet still generous in light. Music by Jake Xerxes Fussell and James Elkington is spare, built around soft acoustic tones that drift like smoke rather than dominate scenes. This restraint avoids melodrama; there are no manipulative swells, no easy catharsis. Instead, the film trusts silence, the weight of a look, or the sound of wind against a burned fence post. For some audiences, the patience of this rhythm may feel austere, but for those willing to sit with it, the result is quietly devastating.

What makes Rebuilding resonate most deeply is its immediacy. When it premiered at Sundance, wildfires had only just torn through parts of California, and festivalgoers were scrolling headlines between screenings. That real-world backdrop made Dusty’s story impossible to see as fiction alone. The film is haunted by the line “There are things we lost that I’ll never remember,” which becomes less a character’s lament than a reflection of collective memory—how disasters strip away not only homes but intangible, unrecorded pieces of life. In this way, the film becomes larger than itself, a story not just about one family but about the growing number of communities across the world learning to live in the long shadow of climate catastrophe.

And yet, despite its weight, Rebuilding never surrenders to despair. Its title is not ironic but sincere. Max Walker-Silverman makes clear that rebuilding is not about re-creating the past exactly as it was—it is about finding what remains and daring to shape it into something livable. Dusty does not recover his ranch. He does not win an easy redemption. But he finds something perhaps more enduring: a daughter who begins to trust him again, neighbors who share food around a campfire, and the faint glow of plastic stars against the dark ceiling of a temporary shelter. These are small things, but in the film’s patient telling, they feel monumental.

Rebuilding may not satisfy viewers who want sweeping drama or clear resolution. Its power is quieter, rooted in humility and attentiveness, in an understanding that healing after loss is slow, uneven, and deeply human. In Josh O’Connor, the film finds an actor capable of expressing entire histories in silence, and in Max Walker-Silverman, a filmmaker willing to linger where others would rush. The result is a work that lingers, carrying the ache of fire’s aftermath but also the flicker of resilience. It is, ultimately, a story about what cannot be burned away.

Rebuilding 
Written and directed by Max Walker-Silverman
Produced by Jesse Hope, Dan Janvey, Paul Mezey
Starring  Josh O'Connor, Meghann Fahy, Kali Reis, Amy Madigan
Cinematography : Alfonso Herrera Salcedo
Edited by Jane Rizzo, Ramsi Bashour
Music by Jake Xerxes Fussell, James Elkington
Production companies : Cow Hip Films, Fit Via Vi, Present Company, Spark Features
Distributed by Bleecker Street (United States)
Release dates : January 26, 2025 (Sundance), November 7, 2025 (United States)
Running time : 95 minutes

Seen September 11 2025 at the Deauville International Center

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