Rita Walsh is an award-winning producer based in Los Angeles, but working between Australia and the USA, on a series of cross-fiction and non-fiction filmmaking projects embodying a strong directorial vision.
Her most recent collaboration is with director Gabrielle Brady on the hybrid feature The Wolves Always Come at Night, which premiered in Platform Competition at TIFF 2024 and screening at this year’s Sydney Film Festival, before arriving in national theatres in July.
As the Sydney Film Festival commences, Peter Gray spoke with Walsh about the feature and what it was that drew her to telling the story, balancing artistic ambition with ethical care, and the conversations she hopes the film generates.
I always find it interesting when documentaries take on that traditional narrative. I wanted to ask was there a moment, either in research or on the ground, that crystallized your sense that this movie had to be made? What was it that drew you to this story and this family in particular?
I think it was the moment we met Davaa and Zaya in Mongolia, because Gabrielle, the director, (her) ties to Mongolia go back, like, 15 years, and she’d gone back after a long absence and met a lot of friends who’d moved to the city. This urbanization was happening, and Mongolia, one of the last places on Earth, if not the last, where most people when they’re hanging out only go back one generation. They’re nomads, and that culture is so present and real, but it’s fast disappearing now due to climate and socio-economic stuff. So, I guess Gab was fascinated by this.
I remember the voicemail, I actually saved it because I wasn’t in Mongolia at the time, but Gaby was like, “We met some very special people. They want to tell their stories. They want to make this film with us.” That’s where you start getting into the kind of creative collaboration that the film is. One of the things about the film that we feel is very truthful, but traditional documentarians might turn their nose up at, is because Davaa and Zaya are co-writing their stories, which is where the second half of the film is more or less shot observationally. Gab calls it filming in retrospect, and that was the way that we felt was the most truthful and honest and collaborative way to show this story.
How do you find producing a documentary compares to your work in fiction? Are there different muscles you’re utilising? Is there more crossover than people think?
I’ve accidentally found myself specializing in what some people called hybrid, and some people call docu-drama, and some people refuse to use either of those labels. I worked on Kitty Green’s film (The Assistant), and I worked with Tina Sattler on Reality with Sydney Sweeney, all of which have DNA from both sides in different proportions. The simple answer is, they all feel like movies, and that’s fine. I think with documentaries, and with your smart question about when did it feel real? Documentaries can take a year or so to find that, like, “Here it is. This is it. We’ve got it now.” I know how to make it. You can do quite a lot of speculating with documentaries. And then you remake it entirely in the edit.
When you’re telling a story that crosses borders and languages, particularly stories of vulnerability, are there responsibilities that you feel as a producer? How do you balance artistic ambition with ethical care?
Screen Australia made it a condition of their funding in an official, kind of slightly more bureaucratic way, but with good intentions. I think the thing that Gab does, and I’m not sure if you’ve seen her first film, Island of the Hungry Ghosts, which is another hybrid, it’s one of those thing that hybrids allow. I think you’ve already picked up on this, Peter, but it allowed for them to control their story and the story they want to tell. They also watched the edit several times in the process and approved it. For us, that was very baked into the strength of the story.
Obviously if you’re making the Michael Jordan-Chicago Bulls story, and he’s got sign off on the edit, that’s a slightly different power dynamic to Davaa and Zaya. For us, it was just the right way and the ethical considerations were just part of the creative in many ways. One of the things I’m very proud of about the film from a producing perspective, is that it’s the world’s first Mongolian/German/Australian co-production. It’s a real co-production to the extent that we couldn’t comply with proper treaties, which, don’t get me started on those, but we insisted on sharing the copyright equally between all three countries, regardless of where finances were sourced. And creative control also fits between the three countries, with profit being split. Not that we’ll get to profit, probably, but it’s split between the key creatives, which are Davaa, Zaya, Gabrielle and the producers.
Are there conversations you’ve had, or hope to have, around this film’s impact regarding displacement, climate change, cultural preservation?
I hope there’s a lot more to come, for sure. I guess one of the things that we loved about making this film, and as I’m the daughter of Victorian sheep farmers I understand the way farmers can really understand the land and the way things change more than they’re given credit for, I believe that the film can have a really good conversation about climate migration. There’s socio-economic reasons that Davaa alludes to, like the kids being able to go to school in the city. I think one of the other things that I like about this film is that the conversations that can happen about the value and the sustainability of the nomadic culture.
There’s some amazing work being done now by Mongolians, a lot of work underway to make sure that everyone learns how to live precious, present lives. We could all take a lesson from that. Sadly, USAID was doing a lot of good work there, but they’ve lost their funding, thanks to a certain president. There’s a lot of conversations to be had.
That’s one of the great things about a film like this getting a platform, because it does open up conversations that some people might not have thought to have had. I love learning and watching, and this was one of those films that gives you a whole new perspective on so many things. It’s a testament to people like yourself for putting in the effort and the time to make something so beautiful.
Oh, thank you so much. Just to quickly close, I think one of the things that Gab really loves, and I do too, and so does Davaa really, is the inexplicableness, the ties that are ruptured when you move to the city. There’s a scene (in the film) where the animals are heard at night, and it’s that haunting of the animals that they no longer have. It’s a very real scene, and there’s something so beautiful about it. But the industry also needs writers like you, Peter, so keep working!
The Wolves Always Come at Night is screening as part of this year’s Sydney Film Festival, running between June 4th and 15th, 2025. The Wolves Always Come At Night will play on both June 10th and 12th, before opening in Australian theatres on July 3rd, courtesy of Madman Entertainment.
