Council Brandon Probes the Fragility of Control in “Last Island”

Brandon developed the project after speaking with virologists and marine biologists and visiting research labs to understand how their work unfolds in the field. “What surprised me most was just how easily things can tip over into disaster,” she says. “We’re incredibly dependent on ecosystems working in harmony, and when one viral outbreak knocks just a couple of things out of sync — like the pupping season of a seal colony or the seagull population of an island — that creates ripple effects which can happen quite fast.” She also discovered how rapidly these viruses change. “Viruses like H5N1 or PDV are constantly evolving, creating new strains that compete for survival in their hosts. Viruses will continue to evolve alongside our immune systems, and I find that both incredible and terrifying.”

Her conversations with scientists shaped both the tone and pacing of the film. “There’s tension between your goal and the time it takes to get there,” Brandon says. Laboratory tests can take hours; field excursions can stretch for days; and the process of compiling and interpreting data extends far beyond that. “With virology, there’s a natural race against time, a sort of ticking clock, in that you want to stay ahead of the virus’s evolution and try to anticipate where it might go next. Zoonotic spillover, in which a pathogen is transmitted from an animal to a human, is only avoided if we can stay a step or two ahead of the disease.”

That balance between urgency and precision became the film’s underlying rhythm. “When you add emotion to the mix, and interpersonal drama, there’s so much room to play,” she says. “When we get emotional, we rush, we make mistakes, and that always has consequences.”

Visually, “Last Island” moves between naturalism and allegory. Brandon and cinematographer Bill Kirstein built the film around the idea that the island itself has presence. “The island is definitely its own character in my imagination, with a sort of mind of its own,” she says. Kirstein understood the feeling she wanted to capture: “nature’s timelessness and vital force, the way that humans are rendered somewhat insignificant by it.” That sensibility informed every decision, from framing and pacing to how scenes were approached on set.

The performances from Ariela Barer and Bree Elrod needed to remain grounded while carrying emotional depth beneath the surface. “I needed actors who understood that there is more to the story emotionally,” Brandon says. “I really credit Ariela and Bree for their ability to take on the physical challenges of their roles while holding onto the emotional threads.”

Sound was treated as a living part of the world. “I always was able to hear the world of the island as I was writing the screenplay,” she says. “I wrote in many sound cues with wind and ocean waves, trying to underscore how key the natural sounds would be in creating this atmosphere. Sound design can be so powerfully immersive, and if you do it well, you can really ground a setting with sound while elevating the emotion of a scene in nearly imperceptible ways.” Her background in audio engineering and music guided that attention. “I wanted the sound environment to feel unsettling, both familiar and unfamiliar.”

The production mirrored the volatility of the story. Brandon and producer Albert Tholen spent a week scouting the Maine coast before finding the stretch of beach that became their “hero” location. Once filming began, weather forced improvisation. “Our first shot was up at five in the morning; by seven it was pounding rain,” she says. “The entire film is set outdoors, and our cast and crew were somewhat outfitted for weather, but a full day of filming in crazy wind, rain, and thunder for a narrative project is impossible. I decided to create a research field station inside a small shed on the state park we were filming in — it was just a storage room behind the park restrooms — and I reworked a couple of scenes on the spot so that we could do the second half of our day indoors.” She calls the experience the most improvisational of her career so far. “It gave us so much in the way of dramatic tension, and allowed us to keep working.”

Brandon learned to trust simplicity. “I certainly learned that less is more, even when you’re dealing with a technical subject that you might feel the need to explain,” she says. Early drafts contained extended dialogue about RNA and recombination, but she realized the story was clearer when told through images: “needles, blood, dead birds, lab equipment.” “The longer you let the question hang in the air, the more you hopefully draw an audience into your world.”

For Brandon, inevitability was always central. “I’m frequently amazed and frustrated by human behavior that assumes any control over nature,” she says. “Civilization is built on the idea that we can predict and control our planet… I don’t really believe that we have any control.” The ocean and wind became key visual and sonic elements, creating an environment that could shift direction at any moment. “No matter who comes out the ‘winner’ in this battle, the virus will still take whatever course it wants, and the island will still exist far beyond the lifespan of any human that goes there.”

Brandon used both distance and intimacy to express that idea. She and Kirstein built wide shots with depth and isolation alongside close-ups that allowed emotion without overstatement. “Film is also a representation of time, and throughout the process of making this short, I tried to stay true to the timing of the island and the environment,” she says. “Sometimes I’d tell my actors to wait for the wind before giving a look. When the wind cued them, something felt more true.”

Find Council Brandon here: councilbrandon.com and @_council