A Scent is a film about something we cannot see, but can nonetheless profoundly feel. Inspired by the true story of Joy Milne, the short drama follows Nancy, a nurse who discovers she can detect Parkinson’s disease through scent, turning an extraordinary ability into something that begins to reshape her understanding of the world around her. Directed by Johnny Russell, the film balances magical realism with an intimate portrait of illness, care and the complexities of being gifted with something you cannot fully understand. I sat down with Russell to discuss the real-life story behind the film, working alongside the Parkinson’s community, translating scent to the screen and what he discovered about himself as a filmmaker in the process.
I watched A Scent a couple of days ago and thought it was incredible. I believe the film is inspired by a true story. What was it about this story that captured your imagination as a filmmaker?
I read an article in The Guardian about Joy Milne about five or six years ago. I thought it was fascinating. It was this stranger-than-fiction sort of tale, and I put it away in my box of ideas.Then, about three years ago, I was writing magical realist stories. Alongside that, sadly, a few members of my family were experiencing neurological illness. I was sitting there one evening and was reminded of Joy’s story. Because of those two things happening concurrently in my life, my love of magical realism and the fact that I was dealing with some difficult personal circumstances, I felt I had a personal connection to it. I could really sympathise with and relate to it.That was when I thought I might be in a place where I could tell a story inspired by her life.
Authenticity clearly feels central to the project. How important was it for you to work alongside Parkinson’s UK and Virtual Motion throughout the development of the film?
Virtual Motion Dance were key players in the film from pre-production onwards. My producer Harry Moore and I went to a lot of Parkinson’s dance classes, firstly to understand the therapy, but also to participate within the Parkinson’s community and better understand their perspective on what it’s like to live with Parkinson’s. We saw the trials and tribulations, but also the joy that comes from these groups, as well as the support, kindness and humour that you find there. It was really important in terms of grounding the film in truth. Whilst the story has a sense of fantasy and magic, we thought it was imperative that it felt very real in order for it to be as powerful as possible.
Several people living with Parkinson’s also appear in the film. How did their involvement influence the performances and the emotional truth behind the story?
Early in pre-production, when discussing those scenes, we basically sat down and said, “We’re not going to make the film unless, in those scenes, the dancers are people living with Parkinson’s.” It wouldn’t have felt right otherwise. When it came to those scenes, as a director, it’s often a testament to simply setting the environment and allowing people the space to have a real sense of reality and potency. When you’re working with really brilliant actors like Cal MacAninch, Josie Walker, Laura Rollins and Rob Jarvis, if you create the right working environment, it can often be as simple as saying, “You enter from here, you stop here,” and letting them do what they do best.
“How do we tell the story of this unknown presence, this smell, slowly disrupting this wonderful person’s life?
Your actors are incredible in the film. I was wondering about the casting process. How did you find them?
God bless Lucy Amos, our casting director. She’s a phenomenal casting director with an incredible understanding and knowledge of actors, but also an incredible understanding of the story we were trying to tell. It’s quite a nuanced story because much of the film relies on Josie slowly working things out and gradually putting everything together. Every scene is almost a very minor gear change. For that role, it was incredibly important to find an actor who was expressive but knew how to control that expression.
Smell is obviously a massive part of the film, as it’s right there in the title. It’s probably one of the hardest senses to portray on screen. What creative challenges did you face when trying to communicate scent?
That’s when you sit down with your key collaborators and, especially on a budget, you really have to figure out how you’re going to tell the story of this unknown presence, this smell, slowly disrupting this wonderful person’s life. We fixated on two primary techniques. One was the use of a zoom because it has this slightly uncanny feeling and a slightly horror sensibility. It was a really simple and effective way of doing it. We knew that if we used that piece of visual language very simply, and only in those moments, an audience would subconsciously register it and relate those two ideas. Then, in post-production, it became very much about the music. The scent has a theme, and every single musical cue in the whole film revolves around that one theme. The theme is about five or six notes. The idea was that, slowly, as she begins to discover it, those five or six notes, which at the start are very disparate, slowly come together to form this idea. Once she discovers it, the idea moves in a darker way as it begins to tear her life apart, or a more hopeful way as it begins to bring it back together. You’re trying to use these subconscious elements without being too spoon-fed. It was definitely a balancing act.
I noticed that throughout the film the lighting changes quite drastically. By the end, everything feels much lighter. Was that deliberate, perhaps to represent clarity?
Absolutely. A big part of the film is the discussion of whether this is a gift or a curse: Nancy’s ability. From a design standpoint, that was often the question we asked: how much of it is a gift and how much is a curse? One of the beautiful things about filmmaking is allowing accidents to occur and waiting for them, because that’s the sort of magic you can’t engineer. There’s a very beautiful moment in the café when one of the characters comes back. It’s Nancy’s first moment of realising, “Ah, this might be something.” We were shooting on the fourth story of an abandoned hospital with no balcony, so we couldn’t light it externally. Whatever the weather was going to be that day was what we were going to have. We arrived and there was this perfect sunset beaming through the windows. It was very much the idea that when there is a sense of light in the film, we almost thought of it as something divine, as if our character had been blessed by the sun gods. As silly as that sounds.
It doesn’t sound silly at all. Did you take inspiration from any other films or filmmakers when it came to the story or the look of the film?
My previous films have been very fixated on having core references. For this film, particularly because I’ve worked with my cinematographer five or six times now and he’s one of my closest friends, we decided to take a slightly more “less is more” approach. We grew up together watching films, so we knew how we were going to shoot it and what sort of colour palettes we wanted to use. But we didn’t want it to simply look like something else. Our mood boards are usually exhaustive, but this time there were a couple of key references. One was Chernobyl. Obviously, in terms of story and scale, they’re very different, but the idea of the unknown and a sickness that you can’t see made a lot of sense. There was also Dekalog by Krzysztof Kieślowski, which was a huge source of inspiration for us because of its divine aspect. The idea that there is something behind the scenes augmenting things, and that there’s something almost holy about it. Obviously, Dekalog is very stylised at points, but it’s also very real. We spent a lot of time trying to understand that and how we could emulate it.
You describe the film as a token of support for the NHS and nurses. What conversations were you hoping the film would start around that?
You look at the statistics around the NHS and, in terms of public perception, it’s at its lowest point in years. I’ve known people very close to me who have worked as nurses, and you see the intense struggle, the hours and the amount of patience they have to exhibit in order to look after people. Hopefully, A Scent is simply a story that, to one extreme or another, tells the story of someone who really just wants to care. When you’re next slandering the NHS or sitting there annoyed about waiting times, perhaps you might give a bit more compassion to those in front of you doing the job. A lot of the time, what’s happening is out of their control. They’re just the people who have to pick up the slack.
Were there any moments during production that surprised you or changed your own understanding of the story?
The lighting idea, definitely. I knew it would be vital on the ground, but when it presented itself, I realised how fundamentally important it was to telling this relatively simple story. I’d also never used non-actors in my films. I thought I understood the significance of using non-actors, but really, in those scenes, that was when I realised, “Okay, this is actually imperative.” It really heightened the film in a way that I could never have re-engineered.
The story itself is relatively simple. It was very much about following through with the writing and making sure we were hitting all of those moments. There’s a moment at the end of the film where Josie speaks to Cal. What was originally written was essentially that his hand comes into frame and his movements, which were once quite stiff, become more flowing and languid. Josie then added all the whispering to him, those words of calm and affection, and that became a metaphor for the film. That was very lovely.
“You’re Just Trying to Find the Truth”
Looking back now that the film is complete, did it teach you anything about yourself as a filmmaker?
A huge amount. I’m actually primarily a comedy director. Everything I’ve made previously has been very darkly comic, but the intention has been to make people laugh. With this story, the intention was very much to make people feel as strongly as I could make them without bringing in a sense of ego, whilst keeping it as truthful as possible.
There’s a lovely idea I heard from Denis Villeneuve a few weeks ago while listening to a podcast. He talked about how there’s often a moment in filmmaking, particularly with drama, where your cinematographer and actors are so tuned into the project that their decisions will actually be stronger than your own. They’re working in their own corner, but it’s very specifically focused on the material.
A lot of the time, as a comedy director, I’d come in and think, “How do we make it more interesting? How do we do this? How do we do that?” Very quickly, I realised that you’re actually just trying to find the truth. A lot of the work I did was in preparation: a year of writing and really getting all those ideas out on the page. I think it taught me to release my grip a little bit at a certain point because all the important work had been done. It was then important to let the actors do what they do best.
Did you find it difficult to make that shift from comedy to something much more serious?
I did, actually. The intention is very different.
With comedy, there’s a thing of making the best take possible because comedy is really built in the edit. You’re trying to find those weird, magical moments to ping-pong off each other. I think, actually, I’ve found that this space of slightly surreal, sentimental drama is somewhere I want to continue exploring. I think that’s where I’ll probably be moving next with my work.
That was actually going to be my last question: what’s next for you?
I’ve got a feature film. It’s about a mudlarker who has this potential capacity to sense treasure beneath the surface of the banks of the Thames. It’s a mystery as to whether he genuinely has this ability. It’s a meditation on growing up. He’s a young man in his early twenties who’s emotionally not stunted, but young. It explores the idea that, growing up, we all think we’re incredibly special. When you’re five or six, you might think you’re Jesus. You have this sense of destiny: “What am I going to become?” The film examines whether he’s able to let go of that idea and accept normalcy.
With A Scent, Russell has created something that feels both deeply grounded and quietly otherworldly, using the unseen to explore some very human questions about illness, care, identity and the things that make us feel extraordinary. His next project will continue that fascination with the senses, following a young mudlarker who believes he can sense buried treasure beneath the Thames. If A Scent is anything to go by, Russell’s exploration of the unseen is only just beginning.
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