‘Rebuilding’ Review: Josh O’Connor Is Heart-Wrenching in a Tender Portrait of Post-Wildfire Loss and Resilience

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Jan 30

A Quietly Devastating and Deeply Human

Story About Family, Community, and Moving Forward

Josh O’Connor delivers yet another mesmerizing performance in Rebuilding, a film that finds profound beauty in loss, resilience, and the bonds that tether us to the past even as we try to move forward. Directed by A Love Song helmer Max Walker-Silverman, this achingly tender drama unfolds in the aftermath of a catastrophic wildfire, centering on a father and daughter reconnecting in the face of shared devastation.

A poetic, melancholic meditation on grief, community, and legacy, Rebuilding avoids grand dramatics in favor of quiet, deeply felt moments that accumulate into something quietly staggering. As with A Love Song, Walker-Silverman wields the American West as both a striking visual backdrop and an emotional landscape, this time eschewing romantic love in favor of an even more delicate form of longing: a father trying to rebuild not just his home, but his connection with his child.

Set in the aftermath of a wildfire that has decimated a small Colorado community, Rebuilding follows Dusty (O’Connor), a once-proud rancher whose livelihood has been reduced to ash. Having spent months drifting in limbo after losing his family’s four-generation ranch, he reluctantly settles into a FEMA trailer, among others who have also lost everything. But unlike his neighbors, Dusty isn’t looking to start over—he’s looking to reclaim what was.

His former life, however, remains out of reach. His young daughter, Callie-Rose (a luminous Lily LaTorre), has grown accustomed to a world without him—a life now firmly rooted in the town with her mother Ruby (The White Lotusbreakout Meghann Fahy). When Dusty unexpectedly reappears, Callie-Rose is both wary and fascinated. For the first time, he has time for her, something his old life never afforded. Slowly, tentatively, she lets him in.

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In one of the film’s most quietly powerful moments, Dusty teaches Callie-Rose to saddle his horse. Once a distant figure always occupied with the demands of the ranch, he now stands still, patiently guiding her through the steps. In return, she invites him into her world, decorating his trailer with glow-in-the-dark stars, transforming the cramped space into something magical. Their bond is rekindled in small but seismic moments—gestures that feel deeply lived-in and authentic.

O’Connor’s performance is a masterclass in restraint. He embodies Dusty with a worn, weathered vulnerability, a man who has always let his work define him and is now adrift without it. His physicality speaks volumes—slouching slightly, hands buried deep in his pockets, carrying the weight of both his past and his uncertainty about the future. LaTorre, meanwhile, is a revelation, capturing the natural intelligence, skepticism, and yearning of a child who isn’t sure if she can trust her father to stay.

Walker-Silverman crafts Rebuilding with an unwavering gentleness, allowing the characters and landscapes to breathe. The film’s pacing mirrors the slow, uneven process of healing—there are no grand confrontations, no sweeping gestures, just the gradual accumulation of small, meaningful moments.

The supporting cast rounds out this rich, textured world with understated but deeply human performances. Amy Madigan brings warmth and no-nonsense grit as Dusty’s former mother-in-law, while Kali Reis (True Detective: Night Country) delivers a grounded performance as Mali, a widow who helps Dusty see beyond his own loss. The ensemble is rounded out by a diverse collection of first-time actors, subtly challenging the idea of a homogenous rural America.

Cinematographer Alfonso Herrera Salcedo captures the raw, untamed beauty of the American West, juxtaposing its vast openness with the intimate, contained spaces of Dusty’s new reality. The film’s visual language is steeped in natural light—soft morning hues, flickering firelight, the stark contrast of a burned-out forest against a slowly regenerating landscape.

The film’s emotional climax is not a confrontation but a conversation: Callie-Rose working on a family tree, her parents and grandmother filling in names and stories, a simple act that carries the weight of generations. It’s in this moment that Rebuilding cements its quiet, devastating power—not as a film about loss, but about the choice to keep moving forward.

Rebuilding is a breathtakingly tender film about love, loss, and resilience. It is a story of people who have been broken and are trying, in their own imperfect ways, to put themselves back together. O’Connor delivers one of his most deeply felt performances yet, anchoring a film that understands the power of small moments, of quiet gestures, of simply being there.

With Rebuilding, Walker-Silverman further establishes himself as a filmmaker uniquely attuned to the emotional landscapes of the American West, crafting stories that resonate far beyond their rural settings.

This is a film that doesn’t shout—it doesn’t need to. Its quiet honesty lingers long after the credits roll.