Louisa Connolly-Burnham, the writer, director and star of the recently BAFTA long-listed short film Sister Wives, is acutely aware that hers is far from the first bit of media centred on Mormon sects in recent years.

“There is something in the zeitgeist right now where everybody is just obsessed with Mormons,” she smiles, talking to PinkNews via Zoom from her South London apartment.

The big streamers know it, too. From Disney+ series The Secret Lives of Mormon Wives (2024) to Netflix and BBC documentaries Keep Sweet: Pray and Obey (2022) and The Mormons are Coming (2023), it’s clear that we’re fascinated by how the other half – or rather, how 0.2 per cent of the world’s population – lives.

Sister Wives is specifically rooted in the Fundamentalist Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (FLDS), a group that broke away from its Mormon origins due to differing stances on polygamy (mainstream Mormonism rejected polygamy in 1890). The film sees Connolly-Burnham as Kaidence, a dejected young woman married, without feeling, to Jeremiah (Michael Fox). “We are to become three,” Jeremiah says one day, as Kaidence silently scrubs their washing up.

Galilee, an even younger, slightly more unfettered woman – played by star of 2023’s bruising coming age consent film How To Have Sex, Mia McKenna-Bruce – is to join their marriage.

Jeremiah is then serendipitously called out to Nevada on a religious mission, leaving Kaidence and Galilee in the quiet unease of each other’s company. Soon, over delicate hair brushes, the discovery of alien recipes (bolognese), and, hilariously, Galilee introducing Kaidence to playing Snake on a Nokia, the pair find themselves falling for each other.

“Is queerness happening within the FLDS?” Connolly-Burnham asks herself. “It’s hard to prove it or to know it; there haven’t really been many stories that have come out of the FLDS yet.”

Despite Mormonism and its related sects increasingly encroaching on popular culture, little has been created about LGBTQ+ people within the religions. There are ample former members of the church – “escapees”, as Connolly-Burnham describes them – many of whom she has attempted to contact for insight. Bar one individual, who replied to thank her for the film, there has been radio silence. 

Still, the actress speculates that there are lesbian relationships hidden within the FLDS, despite its strictly anti-LGBTQ+ beliefs.

“The reason I wrote Sister Wives is because if a man has 30, 40, 50 wives, it’s impossible for him to make sure that all of those wives are equally cherished. It must be incredibly lonely for the wives, and I imagine, quite competitive. So I wrote it because I think it must be happening. There must be sister wives that are turning to one another for affection and love and attention,” Connolly-Burnham says. Then, with a glint of sadness, she adds: “I hope the women are looking after each other.”

Aged just 32, Connolly-Burnham has been in the industry for two decades. Her filmography began with small parts in Doctors and Outnumbered, with bigger roles arriving later in CBBC’s Wolfblood, Nickelodeon’s House of Anubis, and most recently, Peacock horror, Vampire Academy (in the latter, McKenna-Bruce also starred). She’s also written and created five short films.

Yet Sister Wives, despite being filmed less than a year ago, has eclipsed the rest of her career: at the LGBTQ+ Iris Prize last year, the film scooped three awards. It’s now been longlisted for a BAFTA, and is both an Oscars and a BIFA contender. A feature-length version, with McKenna-Bruce reprising her role, will film this summer. “I’m just a girl from Birmingham,” she laughs, incredulous. “It’s mad.”

Though Connolly-Burnham herself is queer, this is her first foray into queer cinema. “The LGBTQIA+ audience are so engaged in a way that I’ve not experienced before,” she says. “Like, if they like what you’ve made, they will ride at dawn for you.”

But in addition to being a queer story, Sister Wives has female companionship, the power of the patriarchy, and bodily autonomy at its core. It may be just 30 minutes long, but it’s both surprisingly funny and gut-punchingly sad.

“I think what’s terrifying is that when I wrote it a couple of years ago, Sister Wives felt almost dystopian,” reflects Connolly-Burnham. Yet, with US politics about to enter disarray post Trump’s re-election, “I don’t feel like Sister Wives feels like this unrealistic stretch anymore,” even outside of the FLDS sect. 

In one early scene, on the night Jeremiah weds Galilee, he aggressively takes her virginity, too. Afterwards, Galilee desolately presents Kaidence with bed sheets, stained red with blood. “I can’t get it out,” she whispers. In that moment, Kaidence softens. “It is such a visceral, palpable moment for her,” the actress says. “She remembers that moment; her wedding night was probably no different. And when you see something as explicit as that, I think it becomes bigger than you.”

By purposeful contrast, Galilee and Kaidence’s later sex scenes together are tender, perfectly crafted with pillow-soft kisses and featherlight touches. “It’s sex that they chose, and sex that they desired, and it’s romantic and slow and sensual and beautiful. I just think it’s so powerful,” she says. 

Connolly-Burnham first met McKenna-Bruce 12 years ago, during their CBBC days; the latter’s breakout role was as Tee Taylor on Tracy Beaker Returns. Given their shared history, and now friendship, were those intimate moments strange to film?

“All sex scenes are really, really strange. They are awkward. They are quite uncomfortable. They are always the scenes the actors are dreading,” she says, beaming. She radiates with pride speaking about all facets of the film, permanently buoyed by the reception it’s received.

Thankfully, her pre-existing connection with McKenna Bruce helped, rather than hindered, filming. “Because we’ve known each other for so long, there was a level of safety and comfortability that we could go into that scene with. I feel very protected by her. I hope that she feels protected by me.”

Unsurprisingly, they had an intimacy coordinator who “choreographed it very carefully and very methodically,” she explains. Well, as much as was possible: they originally set aside two hours to film the scene, but overran making other scenes. “We had 20 minutes [left] and we just…” she pauses. “I was about to say, ‘bashed it out’, but that’s probably not the right vocabulary.” She laughs again.

With the prospect of major accolades looming, and that upcoming feature film extension, Sister Wives could be about to reach a much larger audience. She’s dazzled with gratitude by it all now, but greater visibility also equates greater pushback and vitriol, particularly for films melding queerness and anti-queer religions. The director has been unscathed thus far, but is she concerned? Absolutely not.

“It doesn’t worry me,” she says, slowly, but defiant. “I have been an actress for 20 years, which comes with a lot of bruising, so I’ve got quite a thick skin. Also, art in all forms is always going to be divisive. And if Sister Wives sparks conversation, then brilliant. I don’t write to pander to anybody. I just try and write beautiful characters and beautiful connections. It will p*ss some people off, and it will also heal people as well. So no, I think: ‘Bring it on.’”

For now at least, she’s only got the prospect of a BAFTA to contend with. She’d like to make shortlist, and win, of course – “I would be so proud to take a female-led, British queer film, queer indie film, to the BAFTA” – but if not, that’s fine too.

“I’m really proud of how far we’ve come already, and I know that Galilee and Kaidence and Jeremiah’s journey is only just beginning,” she says, upbeat, smiling still.

Sister Wives is streaming now on Channel 4 streaming and YouTube.

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