Member Insights: Iain Henderson
In The Flame We Reveal Ourselves
Filmmaker Iain Henderson joins us in conversation with Virgina Heath to discuss her new short, In The Flame We Reveal Ourselves.
In Virginia Heath’s new short film, In The Flame We Reveal Ourselves, Carina Birrell plays a woman in a red dress walking through nature, carrying the weight of a world in crisis without collapsing under it. She bears witness.
At a time when climate anxiety runs deep and ecological collapse feels both abstract and hyper-personal, the film offers a rare space to feel, observe and begin to resist. Drawing on myth, memory, music and the clarity of the female gaze, Heath delivers a piece of visual poetry that refuses easy solutions; instead, pulsing with the possibility of collective healing. At just under fifteen minutes, it carries the heat and unease of our climate crisis alongside moments of beauty and stillness to provide a collective breath.
Through an eco-feminist lens, Heath shows how creativity can serve as both resistance and repair; a way of holding on to wellbeing when the world feels like it’s burning. In The Flame We Reveal Ourselves calls for resilience, equality and collective care in the face of global crises.
I spoke with Virginia Heath about the film and the ways it explores the intersection of nature, feminism and human responsibility.
The woman in the red dress, emerging from the sea and walking through landscapes, witnessing destruction, feels very symbolic. When I was watching the film, the woman appeared tightly connected to the earth and the natural world. Particularly in the early sequences, she’s an observer. Where did she come from for you?
Iain Henderson
Virginia Heath
Well, I wanted to give expression to quite a personal feeling that I have: I feel strongly about the beauty and preciousness of our environment, of the natural world that we live in. I’m also aware that it can feel overwhelming at times, facing so many forces of destruction. What can one individual do to safeguard this beautiful environment? So, I suppose the idea of the woman in the red dress is that she represents a tension within us that we need to confront. She embodies the dilemma of loving nature while simultaneously confronting the destruction we face.
To me, it was important to cast somebody genuinely connected to nature. I cast Carina Birrell, whom I’ve worked with before, because she embodies a real, profound connection with nature. She’s an actress and performer, and she’s also an environmental activist in her own right, so it’s true to her life. That was important; it wasn’t just someone acting the role, but truly believing in what they were doing.
The film tackles climate anxiety, which is a constant for so many – especially younger generations. It also brings to the fore something else: a kind of fierce, defiant hope. What’s the importance of art in providing hope in the face of adversity?
IH
VH
I think as artists we have a responsibility to face the dark side of what’s happening in the world, but also provide some sense of hope. I wanted to connect to this sense of primordial female energy represented by the masked figure – a deep female connection to the earth. This isn’t some hippie-trippy idea; it’s a grounded sense of creative spirit, connected to the environment and drawing inspiration from it.
The film begins with the female witness in her red dress, almost seeing herself as part of the destruction: entangled in trees as the forest burns, clinging to a rock overwhelmed by the sea, then immersed in cold water, floating to the surface. These are dark images of how we are implicated in the destruction around us. We, as humans, have created some of these problems, and she confronts and embodies that.
As the film progresses, she seeks connection with others – dancing on the beach, experiencing beauty, joy and the redemptive force of love. Yet anxiety returns nonetheless, gripping us until we can shake it off. The film traces this cycle: feeling gripped by fear and destruction, then finding a way out and doing something positive, offering inspiration along the way.
There is no narration, or dialogue, in the film. The key elements are music, image and sound design, and as a result this choice gives the audience space to feel rather than be told what to think. Could you talk to how you came about this stylistic decision?
IH
VH
I made a feature-length film called From Scotland With Love, which told the history of 20th Century Scotland through music and image. So, I thought I could apply that approach to a film about the climate crisis and provide some sense of hope at the end. Listening to the album We Are The Animals In The Night by Afterlands [Rick Anthony and David McAulay], I heard three songs and an instrumental section that I thought could form a poetic structure for the film. I call it a documentary poem in four verses, with those songs as the spine. Then my imagination set to work, exploring how to express in images the emotions within the music. I didn’t want the images to be literal interpretations of the lyrics; they needed to exist at an oblique angle to each other. The lyrics tell their own story in counterpoint to the images and that’s why it works.
That’s really interesting. I’d like to know more about the collaboration with Afterlands and the music, which helps carry the emotional architecture of the film. What was the creative process like and how did the music lead the image, or, vice versa? What was the process to get the music into the four-verse structure?
IH
VH
When I listened to the whole album, three songs really stood out as potential architecture for the film. The first, Bones of the Earth, is dark and feels like it’s confronting the environmental crisis – I felt it was perfect for the beginning. The second, Whale Song, is a beautiful, lyrical love song [a duet with Jill Lorean] that also references the environment, so I used it for a dance sequence; it’s very hopeful. Then there’s an instrumental bridge, which I felt expressed anxiety well. The final song, with the refrain “don’t let this go by without a fight,” seemed like a strong way to end the piece. It’s not a simple song; it carries the tension between letting things slip by and having the spirit to fight – a tension that feels vital for the future. I also wanted a female voice to be woven through the sonic narrative. This led to the beautiful vocal sequences performed by Jill Lorean, which shape key emotional moments in the film.
And the title for the film is taken from a lyric. What do these words mean to you: “In the flame we reveal ourselves?”
IH
VH
I think it’s about when we face adversity; that’s when our true selves come to the fore. How we face it is really important. Do we get subsumed, give up, feel overwhelmed; or does it engender a desire to fight back, to say “no, we’ve got to change things?” The title has that duality: we are already in the flames of the climate crisis, and how we show ourselves in those flames will determine whether the earth is saved. If we don’t step up, things could go badly.
I agree with that. The film is described as being told through an eco-feminist lens. What does this mean to you, and how does it shape the way you tell stories?
IH
VH
Well, I think eco-feminism takes many forms and has many proponents, but it’s a sense in which feminism is deeply connected to how we relate to the environment, the world and other humans. The two are very intertwined. I was inspired by a range of eco-feminist artists, particularly sculptors and painters as opposed to filmmakers; fine artists and performers doing really interesting work in this sphere. The sense of female embodiment was important, and the image of Carina clinging to a rock was inspired by a photograph I’d seen. I did a lot of research on these artists and took inspiration from their work, thinking that even though these were still images or sculptures, I could do something similar in moving image. I really wanted Carina to embody nature herself and convey that through the film.
The climate crisis, as we know, is overwhelming; we are not alone in feeling that way. Was solidarity – emotional, collective – something that you were reaching for?
IH
VH
Yes. I’ve been a feminist all my life; since I was old enough to know what it meant. I think we can’t solve this crisis alone, so solidarity is really important, and women coming together to take action on causes they care about has incredible value. There have been many wonderful activist films, and I wanted to do something a bit different. The activism thread of the film is subtle; it’s not upfront but serves as a bedrock in the background. I was very inspired by the film about Nan Goldin, All the Beauty and the Bloodshed, and the Die-In scenes performed in galleries protesting the Sackler opioid scandal. That inspired the Die-In scene in the forest for me. Even though the women are lying on the forest floor with placards, there’s a real power to it; they are connected to the earth and trying to protect it against the odds.
The idea of wellbeing is often framed as individual self-care, but your film seems to push against that, towards something more collective. This film is rooted in resistance; how do you think we can redefine wellbeing in an age of climate crisis?
IH
VH
Our own wellbeing as individuals is very much dependent on others’ wellbeing. It’s about empathy and connection with other people, which is crucial. If we’re going to change things, we need a sense not only of our own wellbeing, but of the wellbeing of everyone we share the planet with. We can’t have individual wellbeing without caring for the wellbeing of others. It’s essential to see wellbeing in the broad perspective of the planet and all who live on it. It’s sad that things are pushed toward division, with some promoting their wellbeing at the expense of others. That won’t solve the planet’s problems – it only exacerbates them. The idea of wellbeing as a collective process is crucial.
In the film, the past, present and possible futures bleed together as time is folded in on itself. Could you talk about where we are in time, as presented in the film?
IH
VH
The film is shot on a Scottish island, and Scottish landscapes are always seen as beautiful, pristine – but also very ancient and full of history. In the film, you see ruins of a medieval house and chapel: remnants of people who lived there and are no longer present. We have the rocks, going back to the beginning of time, the goddess figure in the mask representing Celtic mythology and primordial forces, and a contemporary woman in the red dress moving through a landscape marked by different stages of time. Time is a fluid element in the film. It’s about connecting past, present and future to build a better world. Civilizations have come and gone, leaving marks. The film asks the question: what mark will we leave? What will our legacy be?
You’ve said that the women connect with the fierce primordial female spirit of Celtic mythology. Was this a conscious reclaiming of myth and folklore as sources of strength? And how do we draw power from stories that go deeper than the news headlines?
IH
VH
The figure of the mask represents a Celtic mythological figure. It’s ambiguous: on one hand, it’s fierce, overlaid with lightning, embodying force and potential destruction. But at the same time, it’s a force of creativity and rebirth. It plays with the tension between humanity’s destructive forces and the way we constantly renew, which is hopeful. We just have to try to keep hope and inspiration alive, and the mask was an important element of this. It was great working with Hazel Brown on this. She had done the artwork for the Afterlands album and had already referenced Celtic mythology. As artwork, the mask is a two-dimensional work, but for film, you need to bring that to life. Hazel made the mask entirely from recycled materials, completely handcrafted, and very much made with love. It does a great job of conjuring that duality of fierceness and creativity.
The film itself is very poetically shot. Could you talk about your process there and how the music influences the shot list?
IH
VH
The film was shot by Thomas Hogben. I’ve worked with him before and we have a really dynamic creative relationship. I come up with mood boards and ideas for the shots and framing, but when you move from a flat mood board into an environment, you need to respond to the space. You start with an idea, but if you see a better one in the environment, the skill is to use your eyes and find what will make a poetic rendering of the shot. That’s something you do together with the Director of Photography.
Sound is also really important in this film. We had an amazing sound recordist, Pete Smith, who captured a lot of wild sounds because sometimes sync sound wasn’t useful; the wind was so powerful. He did specialist ambient sound recording, much of which is in the film. It’s not just music: David McAulay, one of the musicians from Afterlands, did the sound design and wove natural sounds into the soundscape, so you really get a feeling of being on the island.
We did a mix of the soundtrack with the brilliant John Cobban at Blazing Griffin in Glasgow. We’ve tested it in the cinema, and it sounds really awesome; very rich. It was important that it wasn’t just music – the natural sounds and sound design play a strong role in the soundtrack. It gives the film a very different feel from listening to music on an album. In the cinema, it has a very different function because you’re projecting out to a bigger audience, rather than an audience at home.
Something else I noticed was the visual overlays used by the editor, which is also something I use a lot in my own work. What do you like about this technique and why did you choose to composite images?
IH
VH
It’s about dialectics and it’s about getting more than one meaning from a shot. I worked with a very creative editor, Stella Heath Keir, who is brilliant at visual overlays. For example, in the shot with Carina entwined in the tree, it appears so she’s almost part of it. And then we thought it would be really powerful if we overlaid a burning forest. So, it’s like she’s witnessing herself being consumed by the destruction. On a wider level, it’s almost like we’ve created this destruction, and then we witness ourselves being consumed by it. I remember when I first saw that image of Carina in the burning trees: I was quite shocked.
Obviously, you create meaning by editing shots together, but you can also layer meaning by combining shots that weren’t originally intended to be combined. When you find this magic moment, it’s something really special.
Scotland looks stunning in the film and, as we know, it has great natural beauty but also rugged coastlines battered by the elements. What motivated you to use the locations chosen in the film?
IH
VH
It’s shot on the island of Islay, but it’s a kind of symbolic landscape in the film. The parts we filmed in are absolutely stunning – quite awe-inspiring to be in. Yet there’s a contradiction: they’re incredibly beautiful, but also being eroded by the sea. So, it’s all the beauty and the bloodshed: jaw-droppingly beautiful yet facing destructive forces. The sea is both a giver and taker of life. I love playing with these contradictions of destruction, renewal and rebirth.
You spoke previously about the four verse structure, and the film takes a bit of a turning point in verse four where there’s a momentum shift as the cast take action. Could you talk about the significance of this change?
IH
VH
I think it’s important to take action. What kind of action you take is obviously quite a personal thing. And, for me, making a film is a form of taking action. Something that I can do that I hope is useful. I thought it was important.
I had this image in my head of the wind turbine with the red cloth. And there’s something quite powerful about that, because you have the strength of the wind, which is huge and that’s being harnessed by the wind turbine, but it’s also kind of scary. It’s so strong and she’s battling against that.
And then she’s in the protest in the forest, and I think that all culminates in her scream of rage and her going to the sea and just sort of holding her own. There’s something about her embracing the danger of it and the power of it. The sea could wipe her out at any minute. It was so rough, but the fact that she holds herself in the waves is a really powerful moment.
There’s a standout line in the music, “Don’t let this go by without a fight.” What does resistance look like for you personally right now, as an artist, as a woman and as a witness?
IH
VH
There are all sorts of different ways of resisting. One aspect which I find intriguing and inspiring is the Red Rebels and the way in which they use art and performance to stage creative demonstrations. I suppose I find them, and that kind of protest, quite moving, because it’s very quiet in some ways. All the noisy stuff we constantly see and hear about the environment on television can feel overwhelming, so I think sometimes protest that’s thought provoking and contemplative can be just as powerful and really encourage people to think.
It’s important for me to do what I can, the best way I can, and I am able to make films. So, for me, that is a way in which I can actually try and make a difference. But I also hugely admire people who find different ways of protesting. It’s important to go on demonstrations and to do things collectively as well, which I regularly do.
How do you see the role of the creative industries, particularly film and music, in shaping responses to the climate crisis? Does art help us understand issues in a way that’s different from a policy decision or scientific information?
IH
VH
I think art, music and film encourage people to think, to question. They give you space to really reflect on how things are, and how you might change the world. It’s a hugely important issue that we’re all facing. What are we going to do to turn things around? Of course, changing policies is absolutely crucial too, but I think that art and music can raise awareness, and get people to think. They can maybe speak to people who might not listen to the news, but they do enjoy listening to music, and they enjoy film and other art works.
So, I think it’s our duty to get people to think and to question and to imagine a better kind of world. Imagination is incredibly important. And, you know, we can imagine amazing things, and we can achieve incredible things, if we have the will to do it. And so it’s about building that will to create change and music and art can really contribute to that.
Thank you so much for such an insightful discussion. Finally, where can people watch the film and find out more information?
IH
VH
I’m thrilled to say that the film will be screened at ‘LandxSea,’ Scotland’s Environmental Film Festival in Montrose at 7.30pm on Saturday Sept 13th along with a live performance of songs by Rick Anthony of Afterlands. The film is screening together with the feature documentary ‘Lowland Kids.’
The festival describes the film as, “A haunting, wordless hymn to our burning, beautiful world. An audio-visual odyssey paired with Afterlands’ soundtrack. Through flickering landscapes and historical echoes, it reveals how destruction, complicity and devotion burn together, inviting us to feel climate grief and spark the hope that emerges when we face the flames.”