Boys and Girls

In a secluded countryside, a modest farm hums with the quiet rhythm of a trade few outsiders know: the raising and pelting of silver‑foxes. The land is bounded by tall fences and a single locked night door, a reminder that the world beyond the property is deliberately kept at bay. Within this self‑contained realm, the family’s daily life is dictated by the seasonal cycles of fur and the steady, unspoken agreement between necessity and cruelty.

The story follows a young girl, Margaret, who has grown up amid the scent of the barn and the cold precision of her father’s work. Her father, Ian, runs the operation with a steady, pragmatic hand, while her older brother, Laird, moves through the same space with a mixture of admiration and rivalry. Their grandmother, a steady presence, offers a contrasting, gentler model of femininity that Margaret sometimes tries to emulate as a way of coping with the harsher aspects of farm life.

The film’s tone is both intimate and austere, allowing the viewer to feel the weight of the landscape and the quiet tension that threads through the family’s interactions. Light filters through the winter sky, casting long shadows over the enclosures, while the sounds of horses and distant machinery create a backdrop of routine that is both comforting and oppressive. Margaret senses an unspoken boundary—one that marks her as “only a girl”—and this subtle pressure shapes her perception of herself and her place within the family.

Through careful, unhurried observations, the narrative invites us to contemplate how gender expectations can seal doors as firmly as any fence, and how a young person’s yearning for agency quietly collides with the immutable structures of tradition and labor. The atmosphere remains poised, hinting at the inner conflicts that will surface as Margaret navigates the delicate balance between belonging and self‑definition.

Last Updated: December 04, 2025 at 16:17