This review is part of Cinepunx’s coverage of the 2025 Woods Hole Film Festival
There’s something beautiful about The Arborist that’s impossible to ignore. It’s in Dan Kennedy’s gorgeous cinematography. It’s in Suja Ono’s eclectic production design. It’s in Lucy Walters’ vulnerable and complex performance. It’s all over the place, if you look for it. Unfortunately, what makes The Arborist truly stand out is just how dumb it is, over and over again. And, that’s not a fault in the screenplay, or the actors, or the craftspeople – it’s the fault of everyone who knowingly allowed such idiotic actions and plot holes to happen in the first place. Overall, I am going to be recommending this picture, but it’s with more caveats than I usually care to provide.
After a brief (probably too brief) and tragic prologue, Ellie (Lucy Walters) and her teenage son, Wyatt (Hudson West) arrive at the sprawling estate of Arthur Randolph (Will Lyman), who wants them to remove some trees from his property. This is strange to Ellie because, as a professional arborist, saving trees is typically her goal, not tearing them down. But, needing the money and a distraction, Ellie gets to work, and weird, supernatural things begin happening, almost instantly. Eventually, we learn of a group of orphans who were killed on the grounds, and how that may or may not tie into Ellie’s family history and her own tragedy.
What works here is the script from Andrew Mudge which feels entirely authentic to the mother and son dynamic on display here. Ellie and Wyatt clearly have their issues. She’s not grieving the way he thinks she should. He’s a typical bratty teenager who finds every chance he can to push his mother’s buttons. She thinks she’s hiding her alcoholism. He calls her out on it with zero hesitation. The father’s absence is never really explained, nor do I remember him ever being mentioned, which was a welcome relief. It would have added nothing.
The real triumph in this picture is in Lucy Walters’ performance. I was unfamiliar with any of her previous work, but she makes the kind of dynamic splash here that instantly catapults her towards the top of my ‘can’t wait to see what they do next’ list. She brings such world-weariness to the role, always on her guard, questioning the intentions of those around her, and never allowing any moments of levity, as that would distract from the job they are there to do. She has taken her grief, turned it into a ball of anger and resentment, and refuses outside help in any form, as it would water-down the way she sees herself – a strong, independent single mother. Walters carries the screen with a real confidence and swagger.
Now, let’s tackle these idiotic happenings and lazy-ass allowances:
- There is an exchange, between mother and son, about how he wishes he had brought his sleeping bag, but she assures him it’s fine because it won’t get that cold. With all the sunlight on display, and the fact that mom is wearing Summer clothes, this tracks. What sort of takes us out of that is the fact that you can see the son’s breath in the cold Winter air during scenes when it’s clearly supposed to be warm and inviting. Now – I know independent films don’t have the same technical capabilities of a studio picture, but I refuse to believe someone couldn’t have removed that in post;
- Mom’s liver must be shot. We learn, early on, that mom is an alcoholic and attempts to hide straight vodka in a duct tape covered Nalgene bottle, but that’s a big bottle, and that’s a lot of vodka, and mom is downing that stuff pretty hardcore. Shockingly, we never see her drunk, or even out of sorts because of it. Either mom is an alcoholic or why even introduce the thread in the first place? It doesn’t go anywhere;
- The primary antagonist of this picture seems to be a large decorative ball that one might expect to find on the clearance rack at Pier 1 Imports. It’s, essentially, a tumbleweed that is somehow supposed to be scary? This is in sharp contrast to the design of the children in the film, which is surprisingly effective given the budgetary restrictions of the film. Just pick one – either the creepy theatre kids, or the Wicker Ball from Hell.
Those might seem like ‘small potatoes’ in the grand scheme of things, but they speak to a frustrating laziness that turns what could have been a terrific horror film into something middling and less remarkable. There’s so much craft on display here that deserves better. But, thanks to Walters’ powerhouse performance, some chilling ghost designs, and a fabulous location, The Arborist works in spite of itself. I’m definitely interested in what filmmaker Andrew Mudge does next, but hoping he has a larger budget and a more attentive script supervisor to make it all happen in a way that produces something truly remarkable.
Rating: ***/***** (currently playing the film festival circuit)
