Photo via february.yearproject - Instagram
‘February’ by Nathan Deming
‘February’ by Nathan Deming
In stillness and snow, between seasons and shadows is where silence speaks the loudest. Wisconsin’s Nathan Deming tells us this story in his newest film chapter, titled February. He is not just a filmmaker of place, but of presence, reminding his viewers to slow down, to observe, and to find peace in the waiting. In an era of hyper-connectivity, where cultures clash and merge, his films offer a reflective pause, asking one to explore the friction between belonging and alienation, tradition and modernity, small-town nostalgia and the complexities of a globalized world.
Deming’s work is neither grandiose nor overstated. Instead, it captures the quiet, the mundane, and the monotony that stitch together our days. But make no mistake—beneath these simple rhythms lie vast emotional landscapes. The second installment of his ambitious Year Project, a collection of 12 films each capturing the essence of a month in Wisconsin, is aptly named after midwinter’s passage. It’s a film that sits heavy on the chest, much like the dead weight of winter itself, and at just 48 minutes, February feels like a soundless snowfall. A brief but poignant moment that settles softly, leaving an imprint long after its final frame fades and the credits roll in.
“The Year Project is a 12 film cycle I am doing based on the months of the year and all set in the same small town in Wisconsin,” says Deming. “They will each focus on a different set of characters, sometimes overlapping with previous films, but all in their own stand-alone story inspired by that month. As the series continues, there will be common themes that emerge and a general exploration of community, Wisconsin, and, dare I say it, America itself, as well as the relentless march of time and how not only our environment but the time we are in shapes who we are.”
Small Town Wisconsin
Raised in the small, unassuming town of Tomah, Deming’s films unfold like carefully composed love letters to forgotten corners of the world, where every shadow, every fleeting glance, has its own language. His films offer a quiet yet profound exploration of character, time, and place, all while retaining a distinct sense of intimacy—yet, his vision is not solely bound by the pastoral serenity of rural Wisconsin. “[I’d like to] document culture and life here, from the odd little stories to the big ones. I really like what a concept like that can do to give you structure and an excuse to explore more “plotless” elements, or to take the audience on a more unique journey...our environment does so much to shape our mood and our perception of the world.”
Deming, whose own life has been shaped by his movements between places, peoples, and cultures, is uniquely positioned to tell these stories. His films are deeply personal yet carry universal resonance. His work can be traced to an eclectic range of influences: Mike Leigh’s emphasis on character development through improvisation, Sufjan Stevens’ meditative exploration of time and place, and Deming’s own Midwestern roots all combine to form a uniquely textured cinematic style. Deming weaves together character and setting with a finesse that makes the ordinary feel profound. Leigh’s improvisational methods definitely find their echo in February, where characters seem to breathe and unfold naturally, their stories often told in the silences between words, and in the flicker of unspoken emotions, framing local stories within larger cultural and socio-political contexts by using the specific to speak to the universal.
Harshness and Promise
The film, like the month it is named after, exists in the in-between, caught between the harshness of winter and the promise of something warmer. A liminal space where identities are both formed and questioned. We are introduced to Miguel (David Duran), a Mexican immigrant in search of belonging in a predominantly white Midwestern town. Duran’s portrayal of Miguel marks his first film performance, and his natural ability to display a deep sensitivity and vulnerability brings a sense of realism to the role. Equally compelling is Carl (Ritchie Gordon), a character cast via Craigslist, as Deming sought to include a “real deal” ice fisherman for the role. Gordon's authentic, nuanced performance adds a layer of rawness to the film, particularly in his portrayal of a man seemingly comfortable in the traditions of small-town America.
There is a poetry in the way February holds its silence, letting the chill of weather do the talking. In the snow-laden town of Wisconsin, Miguel's world is bathed in the quiet, relentless pulse of winter. His journey unravels with a sensitive and subtle grace, every moment imbued with the weight of the frostbitten air that surrounds him, mirroring his inner battle between belonging and isolation. The unvaried, piercing landscape coupled with the emotional weight that accompanies the protagonist's journey become extended motifs for his solitude, symbols in his discomfort to exist in a place that doesn’t quite know what to do with him. It is here, out on the frozen expanse of a lake, where Miguel finds a delicate sliver of peace, and like the calmness of the ice beneath him, his sense of self is fragile, almost uncertain of when, or if, it might crack.
In contrast to Deming’s protagonist in January, Miguel represents someone new to the community, young and disconnected, adding layers of contrast and complexity to the story. “I’m really interested in how vastly different our experiences of a place can be simply based on our age, gender, what’s going on in our lives,” Deming says. “January follows a 75-year-old white church volunteer. In the same town is Miguel, a brand-new immigrant, their experiences are obviously vastly different.”
Waiting for a Thaw
Carl, the mysterious man who invites Miguel to fish, then, works as an emissary: a character that bridges the gap between our protagonist and a world that has yet to fully embrace him. Their journey onto the ice, where the frigid stillness almost swallows their presence, is the film’s emotional core: here, in the heart of winter, Miguel finds not just an activity, but a reflection of himself, suspended between worlds, waiting for a thaw. The pivotal moment of ice fishing in the film, a common Wisconsin pastime, serves as a metaphor for connection, cultural exchange, and survival during the barren winter months. Suddenly, ice fishing, a pursuit that feels at once foreign and familiar to our Miguel, offers him a sense of unity, and it is through these small, nuanced moments where Deming’s genius lies, drawing viewers into the minutiae of everyday life and turning simple acts into reflective moments of human connection and conflict. Perhaps it is a lesson for breaking the surface within oneself: for digging beneath the cold, impenetrable layers of community, culture, and finding something deeper. “I think I maintain a belief that in our day to day lives, most people want to connect,” Deming continues, “Most people want to understand people different than them ... these are our best impulses.”
The visual world of February is shaped by Director of Photography Leo Purman, a Milwaukee native who lends a fresh lens by breathing life into Deming’s tale. His cinematography feels like a gesture of gratitude to the Midwest's stark winterscapes, immersing the viewers in an atmosphere that is blinding and beautiful as it is desolate and bleak. Purman, who recently made waves at TIFF with The Legend of the Vagabond Queen of Lagos, finds here a quieter, compelling canvas, dawdling just long enough on the stagnant nature to make you feel the chill in your bones.
His camera lingers, almost meditatively, on the vast whiteness, the leaden sky, and the small, intimate moments of life trudging on beneath the weight of the season. Each frame whispers a truth about the passage of time, and with it, Miguel carries with him the hushed ache of displacement, his search for connection in this strange new town unfolding with all the deliberate inactivity of an ice-bound lake. There is a slowness to this survival, a beauty that silently evolves in the spaces where nothing seems to happen.
The narrative, too, mirrors this pace. Deming’s intention is not to overwhelm with dramatics but to invite us into the rhythm of life in a small town, where the greatest dramas are often internal: between the long, unspoken worries, pauses and silences, repetitive car drives, or the shuffling of boots on snow. Deming's style is unmistakably influenced by Mike Leigh’s improvisational techniques and attention to the intricacies of human emotion. At the core of his vision lies an exploration of time—how it slips away unnoticed, how it drags in its monotony, and how it transforms us in subtle, imperceptible ways. The rhythm of the film is slow, deliberate, as if time itself freezes alongside the characters. Like the town itself, they all progress between stasis and movement, caught in the ebb and flow of the seasons that define their lives, such as Rosa’s (Nayeli Hernandez) hushed fear and Louie’s (Erick Inestroza) indifference. “Like the films of Mike Leigh, I just wanted to simulate real life as much as possible,” Deming tells me. “The characters don’t just exist to move the plot along, we’re literally lifting up their roof to see what they’re up to. Louie is tired after work and just wants to veg out, Rosa is juggling worries about her daughter’s cold – there’s little subplots going on in the background for anyone paying attention.” Deming’s choice to alternate between Spanish and English further adds layers to his characters’ state of mind, especially Miguel’s fractured psyche, allowing us to slip into moments of deep contemplation before plunging us into the striking reality of his isolation.
The film’s accolades speak for themselves. Having won the Golden Badger Award and the Audience Choice Award at the Wisconsin Film Festival, February already seems to have captured the hearts of critics and viewers alike. The work stands as a visualized invitation to sit with the faint discomfort of life’s transitions, to appreciate the spark in the humdrum, and to find commonality in our differences. During a time when cinema often seeks to dazzle, Deming reminds us that the most moving stories are sometimes the simplest ones, emerging not in grand gestures, but perhaps instead in the soft falling of snow, the stretch of silence, or a man learning to fish in a frozen lake. In the end, our shared humanity exists across divides—racial, cultural, political—if only we are willing to break the surface and listen to the stories buried beneath. The film’s restrained beauty stands in stark contrast to the loud, fast-paced world we live in, offering a chance to stop, to consider, and to breathe. And in a world that rarely makes room for such stillness, Deming’s work feels like a gift.
As he continues his Year Project, it’s clear that Deming has found his own way of capturing time—one month, one moment at a time.
February will screen 1 p.m. Saturday, Nov. 16 at the UW-Milwaukee Union Cinema, 2200 E. Kenwood Blvd., followed by a Q&A afterward.
