Latest Short Film Reviews

A short drama written and directed by Josh Cox and starring Lucas Nealon and Jarid Dominguez.

Two male youths (Nealon and Dominguez) arrive at an isolated beach. There, they undress and go for a playful swim. Then, they lay on the grass and get intimate. However, all does not seem to be well.

Two young men, alone, in the countryside. With this simple premise, this short tells a dramatic story about a romance that may already exist or could be just beginning. By having very limited dialogue and providing almost no information about the lives of the two protagonists, the story is mysterious and that is probably because the goal was to concentrate on the relationship, the romance, which appears to be unstable. Things start out joyfully, with the two youths enjoying each other's company and after they get intimate, the atmosphere changes, making it questionable whether the romance that develops is welcomed by the youngsters.

Cox took on many roles for this project, including cinematographer and editor and the result is a viewing experience that contains wonderful shots of the beach, the ocean, the forest and the sky. The fact that the weather is unsettling adds to the drama and so does the beautiful music.

The story centres on the two characters and they are the only ones in the film. The are brought together by the fact that they are attracted to each other, however, Dominguez's character appears to be the one who is unsure about the relationship, much to the dissatisfaction of the other guy.

Through a homosexual romance, the screenplay explores happiness, peacefulness, self-discovery, as well as regrets and uncertainty.

A four-and-a-half-minute-long film about an unsteady homosexual relationship between two young men. During its short duration, the script is able to generate a great deal of drama and end on a note of significant character development. A moving and thoughtful viewing.

Just the Usual is a rich and emotional Danish film about an older hairdresser, Ole Benny (played terrifically by Søren Sætter-Lassen), and how exactly he spends his final day before his beloved barbershop closes. He encounters a few other characters through the story who each illuminate a different facet of his professional life – much like the narrative structure of a fable. But at its heart, this is a tale of a deeply lonely man who is about to lose a significant aspect of his identity: his passion. The film’s running time is 27 minutes. It’s a slow, textural, contemplative film; one which won’t entirely sit right with everyone for its slow place. Yet, this is an immensely accomplished piece – masterfully designed, performed and constructed. A wonderful picture.

There’s plenty to discuss when it comes to the visuals. The first thing that strikes you is the flawless set-design. The Wes Anderson-feeling colours; the vintage lights; the pleasing combination of materials and eras. That, combined with what Ole Benny looks like as a character – the particularities of his formal wear, his use of hairspray and black-rimmed glasses – really infuse the story with a fully-realised sense of style. Directorially, this is an incredibly confident piece. The camera is seemingly always in the right place, as the lenswork, in turn, complements the arrangement of the location.

One characteristic of the cinematography which I’d like to draw attention to is the effective yet sparing use of the dolly shot. In the opening shot – in addition to one or two shots later on – the camera slowly slides forward through the location, and it’s incredibly satisfying. It’s a form of camera movement whose sensibility seems to match nicely with the lines, operations and smooth surfaces of the establishment; – and heightens a certain sense of meticulous care and focus from the protagonist himself.

Writer-director Nanna Tange has done a truly immaculate job with the mise-en-scene of this movie. There’s not a detail in any frame which doesn’t please the eye or stimulate the senses in some way. I found myself becoming very relaxed due to the pastel balance of the colours, the softness of the light, the crispness of the sound, and of course, the slow flow of the pace. Anyone can tell that, from the form and technicalities alone, this movie is a wonderful and positive work. But I’d argue that it’s the central performance – its tenderness, charisma and emotional depth – that elevates this smooth aesthetic into genuinely moving territory.

The conceit itself if quite random; this isn’t a setup we’ve seen before, and in addition to that fact, it’s being depicted in a uniquely restrained, matter-of-fact manner. Some may find such a setup intriguing, but maybe too mundane to sustain their attention. But it’s the opinion of this critic that the concept and lax runtime provide a refreshingly open space for the filmmakers to form their tone, and – maybe most importantly – for the lead performer to find the beauty and complexity in his character. In summation, this is a near-masterpiece; and potentially a film which, due to its refined, comforting tone and deep sense of identity, a film I may be inclined to revisit.

Three friends meet up for their monthly attempt to land the fabled fish known as ‘The Big Pelvis’ before their arch-nemesis gets to it first.

It’s that time of the month. The time when ‘The Big Pelvis’ comes out to play and is active enough to be caught, but only for a brief, short window. Three teenage friends who have been searching for ‘The Big Pelvis’ for quite some time now, are together again to go fishing down by the pier, in the hope of landing the biggest catch of their lives. The Cast Master (Jeavons), Knot Master (May), and Bait Master (Mook), who prefers to go by the name of Brad, are all suited and booted in their cargo shorts, tie-string bucket hats, and short-sleeved shirts, ready to take their shot at ‘The Big Pelvis’, while their close rival, Other Brad (Nichols) also wants a piece of the action.

We watch as the scene plays out down by the lake, with the three stooges bouncing off one another in that bumbling, annoying, nonsensical way, as they argue over who should be doing what, and who is the most/least useful in their group. Then thrown into the mix comes Other Brad, who approaches the simplest member of the group on his own first, coming over all nicey-nicey while actually listening to and being considerate of this mostly overlooked of the three friends. Knot Master thinks it might be quite a good idea if they let Other Brad join the group and the hunt for ‘The Big Pelvis’, but when faced with the staunch disdain of the Cast Master and Bait Master/Brad, it soon becomes clear that this is not going to happen.

So, what we’ve got is a home movie style of video, shot on a digital camera, with four friends acting out a scene down by the lake thinking they’re funny, while the world goes on around them in the background. The dialogue at least has been scripted and is then delivered, but that doesn’t mean that it’s any good or makes any real sense to anyone outside of the group, or that the performances are any better for it. The direction and sound are as basic as they can possibly get, with a home camera being pointed in people’s faces as they stand around statically talking with one another, and everything being picked up ‘as is’ from in front of the lens and the microphone.

There’s also some background incidental music as well as a process of editing going on behind the scenes, which helps The Big Pelvis mark itself out as an actual production, but beyond that there’s very little for the viewer to enjoy. It seems as though the teenagers behind the film wanted to make some jokes around their idea of ‘the fish that got away’, and their puerile humour comes through at every mention of The Big Pelvis and the fact that ‘they want their shot at it’, or they ‘don’t want to distract it from coming’, and other such basic double-meanings. It’s obvious that ‘The Big Pelvis’ is a metaphor for sex and judging by the poor, poor quality of this film, it’s something that the filmmakers are going to be chasing after for quite some time.

A short crime drama written and directed by Dave Shecter and starring himself, Scarlett Vaill, Jason Whited, Amy DiLorenzo and Carl Covington.

Teenaged Amber (Vaill) lives in a small town with her parents. One school day, she goes out, ostensibly to meet with a friend, however it soon becomes evident that her true intentions are to steal here and there. She enters a convenience shop and steals some sweets, before wondering around the area and breaking into a car. Eventually, she ends up in a restaurant, where she sits at a table with a stranger, a middle-aged man named Bradley (Shecter) and he tells her interesting things about him and offers her some advice.

The narrative takes place over the course of a few hours and focuses primarily on exploring Amber and Bradley's lives, as well as several other characters, including a shopkeeper (Whited), Agent Grey (Covington) and two police officers. It is when Amber meets Bradley that things turn very dramatic and the film reaches its peak, communicating important lessons about life. There is great character development and the inclusion of tense and interesting music adds to the atmosphere.

This may be a minor observance, nevertheless, it should be acknowledged as it is obvious. When Amber is at the restaurant, why does she sit with Bradley, a person she has never seen before? This does not really matter, but when people go to places like these, they do not tend to sit at the same table with stranger.

As Bradley, Shecter portrays a career criminal, a theif to be precise. However, he is not proud of his illegitimate actions, on the contrary, he deeply regrets having chosen such a life, particularly due to a terrible incident and when he meets Amber he becomes a sort of mentor, trying to persuade her not to follow in his footsteps. Wearing a black jacket and headphones, Amber is a rebellious teen who is going down the wrong path.

Crime is a main theme in this short, especially the fact that crime does not pay. The film's primary objective strongly appears to be to communicate the message that turning to crime will only end in tragedy. Alongside this, this is also a story about law enforcement, self-reflection, regrets and the ups and downs of marriage.

A story about crime that centers on a life-changing encounter between two strangers. The strongest aspect of this film is the fact that it encourages people to say no to crime and that is enough for it to be categorised as a viewing of considerable significance.

If I Could Get You To Stay is a touching love story which follows a young man, James (Hamish Wolstenholme), who struggles to find the courage to ask his long-distance girlfriend, Yvonne (Erin Thwaites), to stay with him as they prepare to part ways once more. It is a relatively grounded narrative that's tough to witness as both characters delay the inevitable and make the most of the final time they have together.

The writer/director Michael Spencer sublimely ushers the viewer into the final time James and Yvonne have together, using steady camerawork to ensure both characters are always in the centre of the frame. Consisting predominantly of extreme close-ups and fixed camerawork by cinematographer Jeason Hanson, it's an incredibly intimate experience that feels meditative and a window into the love the two characters share for each other. Vanya Korolchuk’s musical score is low-key and moving while anchoring the touching nature of the narrative and quieter moments of recollection as James attempts to muster up the courage to speak before it's too late. It's an inevitably tragic story which makes the most of its short-lived runtime to flesh out both characters to a suitable degree. This is clearly a deeply personal piece of filmmaking that the performers and crew had joy making with a distinct love and passion for the material in every frame, while making astounding use of its budget limitations.

The chemistry between the two leads is endearing, and they convey their characters’ emotions with such empathy and raw tenderness that it's incredibly heart-wrenching to see them both attempt to make the restricted time spent together as special as they can. While the characterisation for both central characters is paper-thin, the screenplay still manages to ground both characters well enough, and the formal elements soar to anchor the understated nature of the material to impressive heights. However, the short-lived runtime is a detriment to the experience, and there is ultimately not that much to chew on thematically. A broader runtime could have fleshed out James and Yvonne’s relationship more deeply to make it fully emotionally resonate with the audience. Perhaps reworking the material into a feature-length narrative could be a potential idea down the line, as the performances and filmmaking are profoundly moving. The piece still manages to be consistently engaging until its emotionally driven climax. Both actors clearly have a bright future ahead of them, considering what they were able to accomplish with such limited material.

While the conclusion to the piece is ambiguous and leaves the viewer wanting more, it's a suitable place to leave it, as the audience can decide for themselves the further journey both characters end up on. The conclusive moments are emotionally overwhelming and deliver on the film’s steady build-up, effectively wrapping up both character arcs in a satisfying manner.

If I Could Get You To Stay conveys the meditative and low-key journey of two individuals making the most of the time they have together before their inevitable departure. Held together by two outstanding central performances from Hamish Wolstenholme and Erin Thwaites, and Michael Spencer’s formalism, it's an intimate and touching piece of filmmaking that depicts the power of love between two individuals having the courage to reach out to one another.

A poet invites a small group of his mates round to read to them a retrospective of his most formative work.

In 2004, Mark Anthony Thomas released his second major work of poetry, The Poetic Repercussion, containing a series of poems he wrote between the ages of twenty-one and twenty-four. The poems described his journey to manhood, and self-discovery, as a gay black man growing up in Atlanta, Georgia, and tried to relate the experiences, feelings, and desires he encountered along the way; those which shaped him into the man he would eventually become. Now, more than twenty-years later, and living in Baltimore, Maryland, Thomas has decided to revisit his earlier work and plans to release a trilogy of films about his poetry. This first film, In Need Of Seawater, intends to look back at ‘the past’, while it is assumed that the next instalments will focus on ‘the present’ and ‘future’ respectively.

In Need Of Seawater, then, takes us back to 2004, when Thomas’ feelings were so strong that he just had to get them out onto the page. The poems are full of growth, and becoming, and clear sight, and quiet understanding, whilst distilling the energy of turmoil and inequality into reasoned words and rhythms. Thomas gathers a few of the faithful, people who know him from his work in publishing, civic leadership, or from his poetry, and gives a private reading for them in an uptown, modern, Baltimore apartment. The film records this event intimately, moving between the guests and the performer, watching the emotions spread across the faces of the gathered, as well as the nodding heads and the knowing glances, as Thomas reads his poetry aloud.

Slotted into the narrative of the readings, between the lines and verses, are some staged scenes, historical footage, and home movies, which represent the themes, events, and emotions that Thomas is trying to convey. These interludes take us away from the enclosed space of the well-lit apartment, and whisk us away to the sea, to the park, to the homes and neighbourhoods of others, and to the past, giving us a visual insight into the words that we hear; those that flowed from Thomas’ pen. We are both at once, listeners and viewers, as we are also invited into this small space to experience the creative expression Thomas gives to his feelings, and we go on the journey with his audience, partaking in the literary emergence of a man who feels he must share with us all of who he is in order to survive.

For twenty-six minutes we sit with Thomas as he moves around the room and reads his poetry from loose-leafed pages. This starkness of intimacy somehow leans us away from the semblance of art, however, and fully puts us in the frame of a personal documentary. It is clear that Thomas’ poetry is mostly about his singular experience of growing into who he is, wedged into a particular time and place, reacting to the social issues and politics of the day whilst trying to take account of all that has come before, and so we sit as an audience member, listening but not necessarily engaging, feeling truly that we are at a poetry event rather than watching a film. This is great for those who want to spend half-an-hour in the presence of a poet, and who want to be at such an event, but for those looking to watch a film or gain insight into the author beyond his published words, there is nothing else on offer. If you are not a person who would come to Thomas’ poetry on your own, you are not likely to get anything much out of the experience of watching In Need Of Seawater.

It is a feeling of nostalgia which seems to have motivated Thomas into these new films, or at least this one, as he reminisces over the man he used to be at a private event for the chosen few. The choice to create films around the work seems oddly extraneous and unnecessary, when all that we get is a reading that we could have got from an audiobook, along with a few nice visuals thrown in. There is no exploration or analysis of the work, how it was created or what methods were used, and there’s no delving into the background and history of the young Thomas, either. While the focus of the film may well be artistic, creative, and true, the end result feels rather more like a clutching at the past, a determination to stay the inevitable passing of youth, whilst allowing the poet an opportunity to reconnect with his work through veiled self-promotion.

A gruesome murder leads to a husband’s descent into darkness in Marion’s Lilies, Marcello Mantero’s short psychological thriller that confronts the realities, consequences and heartbreak of revenge.

Reeling from the death of his wife at the hands of shadowy serial killer ‘The Owl’, David (Neil Bishop) obsesses over enacting revenge on the man responsible. Enraged by the sluggishness of the police, he embarks on his own investigation using his friendship with a homeless witness of the crime, Andy (John Britton), to try and find his own leads. As time goes by, David considers ever more extreme lengths to take revenge – to the point where his own morality abandons him.

Unless your film stars a muscle-bound 80s action hero and features at least 12 explosions, filmmakers are honour-bound to conclude that revenge is, in fact, a bad thing. But few films imbibe this lesson quite as much as Marion’s Lilies. Taking place in the aftermath of a murder, Neil Bishop’s David is already a husk of a human at the film’s opening. Overwhelming grief quickly turns to anger and bloodlust, and our overall picture of the character is that of a ruthless and committed vigilante. The degree of David’s darkness actually asks a question that may be more interesting than the filmmaker intended at the film’s origin: is this darkness within us? Or is it caused by outside factors? David’s mother and items around his home suggest David has been turned by the event of his wife’s murder. But his resourcefulness and embrace of anger suggest this side of him is one that has always been present. The speed at which he grows tired of the police and the callousness he treats those who offer him kindness are further evidence of this.

The noir influences are clear to see in the shadowy night-stalking sequences that are truly thrilling, as David puts his revenge plan into action. The film looks fantastic, with the streets David walks suitably consuming and hostile. For a film as dark both in terms of content and appearance, it is lit beautifully – avoiding the pitfall that so many contemporaries fall into when important action scenes end up barely visible due to a need to black-out the shot. Mantero avoids this comfortably, understanding that drama outweighs visual authenticity in such moments.

There are a few moments where the film stretches credibility. Much of David’s investigation relies on police reports on TV and Radio – an effective way of demonstrating his amateurish tendencies (that he cannot see in himself) but raising a natural question of why such information would be made public at all. Exposition-heavy dialogue in general rears its head one too many times, with David himself outright stating his motivations and characters around him outlining the story’s message and themes in ways that feel easily improved upon with a stricter edit. And whilst Neil Bishop impresses in general as David, his unhinged explosiveness is ropey in parts, and the performance could have benefited from more restraint.

Revenge has rarely been so prominent in a film’s narrative as it is in Marion’s Lilies. From the filmmaker’s own description of the project, it is possible that some of the intentions of the narrative are not met by the delivery of the production. Some of these (like the darkness David embraces) are actually to the film’s benefit, whilst others (the bluntness of the dialogue) detract from it. Nevertheless, this is a memorable, unrelenting thriller that looks great and isn’t afraid to take chances with its script and characters.

Dedicated to his late father, this short drama is A.J. Fitzgerald's directorial debut, that he also wrote and it stars Maria Todero, Tenaya Cleveland, Danielle Rodd and Don-Dimitri Joseph.

Janine is not well. It is her 30th birthday and she has not been well for ages due to a loss. Her condition has alienated her from her loved ones, damaging her relationship with her partner, Scott (Joseph), testing her friendship with co-worker Miranda (Rodd) and causing her to ber less competent at work, much to the dissatisfaction of her boss (Cleveland). Scott and Miranda are planning to take Janine to a restaurant for the special occasion and there, things will get quite dramatic.

Here is the thing: Janine is an inflatable doll. Just a doll, lying on a bed, sitting at a desk at work, listening to a smart speaker or sitting at a table at a restaurant with friends. She is treated by others as an actual person: they talk to her the same way they would speak to a friend and the doll is also dressed in clothing, although she does not move or speak, she seems to be an object, not one that is magically alive. The fact that a doll appears to be the protagonist and all characters view her as a real person is probably what makes this film stand out the most, as it is an intriguing technique. The reason that Janine is presented as a doll is revealed eventually, meanwhile one cannot help but wonder whether the doll possesses supernatural powers or whether the characters have lost their mind. Without spoilers, the answer is neither. With a doll as a protagonist, this story goes into deep drama, filled with emotional pain and confrontations with the atmosphere being enhanced by Julien Monette's music.

Throughout the film, several quotes appear that are about a variety of themes, such as happiness and bravery. Although their apparent intention is to add further meaning to the viewing, ultimately, they are not required in order for the film to have an impact.

The performances are strong. Rodd and Scott play characters who are concerned about Janine's well-being but do not seem to be able to get through to her. Cleveland plays a different role, that of a selfish employer who is more concerned about people's performance at work than their mental health. Todero is arguably the one who stands out the most, thanks to her terrific job as a broken woman who is being torn apart by loss and has become isolated.

The film begins with a title card stating that this story contains distressing subjects such as grief and depression and it is a correct statement as what follows heavily involves these themes and it also brings attention to alienation, anger, self-reflection and the importance of support. Furthermore, the significance of smart speakers is brought forward, how much people rely on these devices in today's world.

A dramatic and emotional story about loss that focuses on the aftermath of a passing. Great acting, great drama and a doll as a protagonist being the most memorable aspect. Doll aside, this film does not differentiate itself much from other films that deal with similar subjects.

CATACLYSM is a cinematic music short piece, a passion project born from the idea of the writer, director, and producer, Marcell Betlej. The filmmakers aimed to create a piece that bridged the worlds of surrealism and grounded reality through the mediums of dance and music. Marcell Betlej wanted the visual storytelling of the video to remain separate from being described as a music video to accompany the producers of the music and, preferably, to have its own singular directorial vision.

It's evident from the awe-inspiring opening wide shot of the sky with the clouds in the centre that there is a distinct vision the filmmakers clearly aimed to set out. This is a jaw-dropping formal decision, and the cinematographer Milán Maruszki clearly has a keen eye for spectacle and drawing an audience into a piece of filmmaking from the landscapes alone. While the majority of the runtime consists of fixed camerawork, the delivery of extreme close-ups and the shallow depth of field is effectively implemented, although sometimes over-relied upon. The shifting aspect ratios can become jarring; however, they are an effective tool that anchors the frenetic edit from Marcell Betlej. This ultimately makes the experience pulse-pounding, accompanied by some pulsating music that works alongside the VFX. Visually, the piece at times feels claustrophobic with its use of surrealism and the incredible fantastical elements that close in on the central characters' dance choreography. Even with its minimal budget, the VFX are genuinely fantastic.

Brigitta Egyed's dance choreography is breathtaking and consistently engaging to witness, thanks to Egyed’s committed central performance that never lets up until the end of the piece. However, it can become repetitive after a while and grating towards its conclusive moments thanks to a lack of thematic prowess visually. While its heart is clearly in the right place with the profound passion that lingers behind and in front of the camera, the piece sadly fails to elicit anything that is thought-provoking outside of its camerawork and central performance. Creating a bridge that blurs the line between the ‘world of unseen’ and grounded reality is an interesting concept on paper; however, the short-lived runtime and lack of visual symbolism make the whole experience feel undercooked and diminish its staying power after its conclusion. Perhaps tying the thematic nature of the music more with the visual flair could have anchored its symbolism and made the experience ultimately more rewarding. The conclusion to the piece also wraps up abruptly and, unfortunately, doesn't showcase anything that is momentous outside of its ambitious offerings formally. However, as a debut project, it's still an exciting piece of work that displays Marcell Betlej’s technical prowess and leaves the door open for more compelling work from him down the line.

CATACLYSM is an ambitious independent offering from Marcell Betlej that demonstrates an exciting new voice, as his expertise as a writer, director, and editor is truly splendid. His commitment to perfecting the dance choreography is also commendable alongside Brigitta Egyed. It may suffer from offering fairly minor metaphorical symbolism outside of blurring the line between the ‘world of unseen’ and grounded reality, and tedious imagery. However, Brigitta Egyed’s dance performance is electrifying, and it boasts some astounding VFX along the way, even with its shortcomings.

Drenched in regret and tragedy, Johan Wickholm’s poignant short film Letters of Love deep dives into the choices we make in life and how these often come back to haunt us. 

The writer-director himself plays the lead character of Peter, a troubled young man we meet early on in the movie but later in his life, reflecting on his past regrets. We then flashback to his early adolescence, where his strong bond with Raymond (Derek Duce) is peppered with turbulence, after Peter gets himself more deeply involved with drugs. The ne’er-do-wells that Peter becomes embroiled with lead him on a catastrophic course for calamity, and it’s only his volatile yet emotional relationship with Ray that could possibly save him. 

Presented as a proof of concept for a feature film, Letters of Love has a variety of strong elements going for it. The central characters are intriguing, and the conflict in their relationship creates a palpable tension for the audience to connect with. Viewers may also sense an aesthetic akin to classic crime dramas and gangster flicks of the 60s and 70s, with the use of European locations and costumes. A section of the film told without dialogue, seeing Peter engaging in the nefarious activities of drug-dealing was certainly Godfather-adjacent.

At times, the performances spill into melodrama as the deeply rooted and intense feelings between Peter and Ray attempt to be communicated on screen. Perhaps a less-is-more approach would have helped display this better, and certainly eschewing the amateur punching for something more visceral would be commended. Emotional outbursts aside, however, Wickholm and Duce make for a compelling on-screen duo, and a longer version of this story would help develop their relationship even further for the audience. 

There is a brooding intensity to Letters of Love as a short film. From the opening, Peter feels like a DiCaprio-esque “stoically grieving” protagonist, coolly smoking a cigarette against the beautiful rural backdrop in the opening moments of the film, before we submit to the violent entanglement that follows. 

Crime and narcotics stories are ten-a-penny, and Letters of Love is certainly not penning anything unique here. Peter’s downfall is familiar cinematic territory, and the themes of regret, loss, longing and addiction have been tackled by huge numbers of filmmakers. However, Wickholm has created a potentially rich and abundant landscape to develop this idea further, hopefully capitalising on the tender central relationship, which is the main strength of the 20-minute version we have currently, and taking the story into charters unknown.