YDA-winner Michael Hili on finding both beauty and pain in the story of a mother’s loss

Can you talk us through how you came to make the film The Public Diagnosis?

The project was my first collaboration with production company FINCH, which has become a cherished creative home for me. EP Loren Bradley and founder Rob Galluzzo brought me to the project through the wonderful Stu Turner, ECD at the Royals. Up until then, my primary focus had been music videos. 

I was given permission to take a real swing at the project on a conceptual and visual level. 

I'm still struck by FINCH’s confidence in my ability to navigate the emotional intricacies of The Public Diagnosis. Loren gave me permission to take a real swing at the project on a conceptual and visual level. Rob challenged me to question what I thought I could achieve and Stu Turner was pivotal. He allowed me to explore and experiment while offering invaluable insights.

You have found such an innovative way to convey memories, both of trauma and of happier times from Lachlan's childhood; tell us about the collaboration with his mother Amy.

The creative idea is a direct result of closely working with Amy. Amy has a very particular and unique strength. She is a committed mother, willing to transcend her own grief to share her experience and her son's life. Over a series of calls Amy taught me about her son Lachlan – his generous spirit, commitment to his family, his battle with his illness, and ultimately, his passing.

I'm a theatrical set designer by trade, so often I have an unexpected take on how to stage images.

Her trust in me was profound, and it was through this deeply personal process that we began to craft the vignettes and incorporate archival footage.

We stayed close throughout the process, I'd regularly check in to ensure that each moment was imbued with authenticity and emotional resonance. She continues to be an unflinching supporter of the project. I’m humbled by her grace and drive.

The film has a theatrical element in the way the scenes are ‘staged’ against a dark background, can you talk us through that choice?

I wanted to capture a spectrum of moments from Lachlan and Amy’s lives, not just the moment of diagnosis. Amy shared her photos and iPhone videos of Lachlan and these memories inspired the concept of recreation as a sort of dream gallery for Amy to retrace.

Film is very good at rendering out dreamspaces, which means letting go of strict naturalism.

I'm a theatrical set designer by trade, so often I have an unexpected take on how to stage images. I'm very sensitive to texture, materiality and colour. Film is very good at rendering out dreamspaces, which means letting go of strict naturalism, striping ideas back and storytelling through all the visual tools. 

Our approach was to embrace the unknown, and create a space where both beauty and pain could coexist.

I worked on the sets with an incredibly talented set designer from Sydney, Charles Davis. He has an uncompromising approach and works with generosity and heart.

Above: BTS images from the shoot.

The film has is at times almost unbearably painful, while also having moments of ethereal beauty; how did you strike the right balance in tone?

By surrendering to the essence of the idea and letting the process light the way. Instead of meticulously pre-visualising each sequence, we crafted a visual grammar that allowed us to find the emotional truths in every scene.

Like a well-worn tape, memories fade, retreating to the edges of recollection.

This approach meant embracing the unknown, creating a space where both beauty and pain could coexist. We didn't set out with a precise measure of either, but when these moments surfaced, we recognised them and captured their poignancy.

The sound design and score so brilliantly guide the storytelling, can you share something about their creation.

I'm elated that the score has garnered attention. The idea to use Kylie Minogue's Can't Get You Out of My Head seemed to materialise simultaneously for Stu Turner and I. It was crucial to anchor the song with a conceptual depth and I got hooked by the notion of taking a pop anthem and placing it on the precipice of recognition—mirroring how Amy described her memories of her son. Like a well- worn tape, memories fade, retreating to the edges of recollection.

In projects like these, there's a temptation to lean into the easy currency of tears.

I enlisted two of my most cherished Australian artists, Kirin J Callinan and Jack Ladder. Under the direction of Kiah Gossner, Kirin and Jack delicately teased out the melody on piano, wove in hospital sounds on synths, and interrupted the beauty with searing sonic ruptures. The result was a hauntingly beautiful soundscape that echoed the film's emotional core.