Serafima Serafimova

A cross necklace swings along with the rhythmic movement of its bearer, the distinct sounds of flesh smacking against flesh and the muffled moans of pleasure. In just a few seconds, the iconic opening shot of Lucy McKendrick’s My Shepherd does two things – it reveals the core ingredients of the narrative, and sets it up as an exploration of a world we can observe as outsiders, safe in the knowledge that it is far removed from our own. But what it doesn’t prepare us for is the chill-instilling events that unfold and the pitchfork McKendrick plants in the heart of a very current issue that’s far too close to home. 

Rooted in the fertile soil of religious oppression and social isolation, My Shepherd is a provoking study of pain and fear that shines a spotlight on the horrific consequences of taking away a woman’s rights over her own body. Though the setting threatens to dip into a quicksand of cliches and tired tropes, the eleven-minute film proves to be intelligent and highly compelling. The latter is partly down to the parallels it draws between fiction and reality, but also the captivating storytelling and nuanced characters. McKendrick has unknowingly created a film that is both ahead of its time, timely and timeless all at once. 

“Some people told me that showing the abortion in real time was too upsetting”

As the story follows a religious young couple who have accidentally got pregnant, as they are faced with the prospect of being excommunicated from their community, or forced to marry each other and raise the unwanted child, they are left with no other option but to perform a secret at-home abortion. They find the tools they need – an empty house, a laptop with instructions and a coat hanger – and begin the termination. Where other films would swiftly jump cut through what follows, My Shepherd remains with its protagonists and forces the audience to share in the experience of the agonising procedure, for an excruciatingly long and difficult to stomach six minutes. 

“I wanted to make a film with a more personal, humanist approach about a couple who fear their souls are at stake, but know in their hearts that having a child is not a viable option for them” – McKendrick shared with S/W – “Some people told me that showing the abortion in real time was too upsetting or gratuitous but that is exactly why I wanted to do it. I think it’s important in times like these that we, as a society, do not turn a blind eye to the horrific reality that so many birthing people are faced with when their right to choose is stripped away.”

I wholeheartedly agree that not shying away from the raw brutality and very real dangers of illegal abortions is vital when raising awareness about them, and My Shepherd does it without even a flinch. For me, however, what makes the film a triumph are the tender moments between the couple, understanding the reasons behind the choices they make and observing their evolving relationship.

Mike Patton (L) and Clair Lahey as the young couple at the centre of McKendrick’s story

Much like having a child together, the shared experience of the pregnancy termination changes both characters right before our eyes. He grows from a God-fearing and cowardly boy, into the strong and sensitive man she needs, whereas she evolves from being strong-minded and independent, to someone who allows herself to expose her vulnerability and accept his support. The parallels between giving birth and having an abortion are also reflected in the final scenes of the film, where he holds her tightly, stroking her sweat-streaked face, whilst she’s pushing and screaming until it’s finally over and they collapse in each other’s arms. The score here – a superbly evocative symphony of heart-rendering strings, beautifully enhancing the realisation of their little miracle – a second chance to live the life they want. 

At the end of the film, you are left wondering what will happen to the young couple after they depart. More importantly, My Shepherd leaves you with the burning question – how many people actually go through something like this, and how many of them are as lucky as the two nameless characters, to come out the other side.