A Want In Her is a bold, deeply personal journey that pulls you into the heart of a fractured family. Myrid Carten’s first feature film isn’t just a documentary—it’s an immersive experience that lays bare the complex emotions and struggles within her own family, making it impossible to look away. But here’s where it gets controversial: it doesn’t shy away from the darkest corners of grief, addiction, and mental illness, challenging traditional documentary storytelling in ways you might not expect.
Myrid Carten, a talented artist from Donegal, uses her camera to explore her family’s painful story—a family torn apart by sorrow, a bitter battle over inheritance, and her mother Nuala’s ongoing fight with alcoholism and mental health challenges. This film is far from your typical documentary; it blends deeply personal interviews with her relatives and striking 16mm cinematic shots of Donegal’s hauntingly beautiful yet desolate landscapes.
Adding to the film’s unique style are old camcorder recordings from Carten’s childhood, which feel oddly prophetic, alongside glimpses of her work as a visual artist. The story unfolds in a looping, non-linear fashion, reflecting the tangled and lasting impact addiction can inflict on loved ones. These themes are tough to face, but Carten handles them with impressive sensitivity, balancing moments of dark humor while showing genuine affection and respect for everyone in the frame. What results is a film that’s both touching and powerful.
The story is sparked by Nuala’s disappearance, which forces Myrid to return home from London to search for her mother and confront the growing tension within her family. Her uncle Danny, himself struggling with mental health, is living in a neglected caravan on land owned by his brother Kevin. Kevin, who inherited the family land and house outright after their mother passed, is visibly overwhelmed by the responsibility of looking after his sister.
At its core, A Want In Her wrestles with the agonizing question of how to love someone suffering deeply without losing your own sense of self. It refuses to give easy answers, instead inviting the audience to sit with discomfort and ambiguity.
This film raises compelling questions—how do families cope when the very bonds that hold them together are tested by illness and loss? And where do we draw the line between support and self-preservation? Does this intimate lens on personal trauma cross boundaries, or is it a necessary confrontation with reality? Share your thoughts—do you agree with the film’s approach, or do you find it too raw? The conversation is wide open.
