Latest Short Film Reviews

After receiving zero birthday wishes across his social media platforms, a young man ruminates on what he calls this ‘shitty life’.

Kshitiz (Sharma) is finding growing up in the real world to be far more disappointing than he ever envisaged. Every day seems like every other and there doesn’t seem to be anything special about any of them. Even today, his birthday, is going along like any other day, and he still has to overcome the constant battles which make up his daily life. Nobody seems interested in wishing him a happy birthday, even across the platforms which are supposed to prompt your friends to do exactly that, and Kshitiz is feeling especially dumped upon by the daily grind of the outside world.

As he wakes up on this special day, Kshitiz is rudely disturbed from slumber by his roommate’s ridiculously loud alarm. Having to get out of bed to switch it off himself, as his roommate really doesn’t seem to care, he then waxes lyrical about just how ‘shitty’ this life is for him. In what then appears to be a pretty on-the-nose thematic visual, Kshitiz spends most of the rest of the nine-minute film in the cubicle of a public toilet, complete with all the disgusting accoutrements which you would expect from such a space.

Kshitiz then spends his time, sitting on the pan, checking his social media, and despairing over the emptiness of recognition in his life. This is shown to us somewhat haphazardly in quick cuts and fast edits of random things which don’t necessarily link together. It seems as though these are supposed to be snapshots of what Kshitiz’s regular life might entail, but narratively everything is so messed up and banged together all over the shop that none of it really makes much sense. Images of Kshitiz supposedly with some of his pals are intermingled with wider shots of campus grounds and social environments where people gather, while over the top he continues his monologue from the crapper about how ‘shitty’ his life is.

Overall, The Tuvalet Bash is a narrative mess, with images coming at you thick and fast which don’t really give anything to the main story. There’s a sense of arthouse direction going on, where that narrative is hijacked by the imagery, and the sound design plays a bigger role in establishing the narrative than anything in the dialogue or characterisation manages to do. There’s a certain energy and immediacy to the film which pushes it through its nine-minute runtime, but underneath that there’s really nothing else going on. Whatever it is that Kshitiz is trying to say about life, it gets lost in amongst the frantic visuals and the chopped-up ideas, meaning that the viewer comes out the other side wondering what on earth it was all supposed to be about.

Considering it was made in about a week-and-a-half to meet a competition deadline, Gnome Heist truly makes you wonder what writer, director and also star Alice Dieli, not to mention their clearly very adept crew, could do with even just double that production time. And by achieving everything it does in a runtime that barely squeaks past the four-minute mark, Gnome Heist proves the age-old adage of quality over quantity.

Right away we catch up with Mia (Dieli), who clearly has had a day of it already, long leather coat dripping wet from apparent run-ins with fountains and pigeons as she strides through the blazing sunshine to finish a favour for her unique ex-boyfriend (Nicosia). Hating herself every minute along the way for agreeing to it all in the first place, Mia’s favour sees her carting a bursting suitcase all the way across town to meet him for the drop-off. The contents? Gnomes, of course. But these aren’t just any ordinary gnomes, and upon final delivery, Mia soon realises that the gnomes hold a somewhat valuable secret.

Having already successfully shown off their skills within the horror genre with their previous impressive short What’s Your Poison?, Dieli proves they are just as capable with the lighter stuff here as well. Gnome Heist, bounced along by slick editing and a soundtrack of amped guitar injects a very silly premise with a lot of fun, swagger and style, and Dieli’s performance in front of the camera is just as strong as behind it, Mia striking an interesting character full of quirks and snappy quips but who is also clearly a bit of a mess, a character that could easily entertain us for much longer.

Of course, at only four minutes the film does leave you yearning for a bit more, and especially at this kind of enthusiastic pace it’s all over in quite a flash, and we don’t get to explore certain characters maybe as much as we'd like, or indeed the joy of seeing Mia’s preceding debacles wrestling with pigeons and falling in fountains. But everything we need to know is conveyed quickly and effectively in what is a contained but nonetheless complete story, and actually, it says a lot more about Dieli’s ability for entertaining storytelling that even after the credits start rolling, we want to keep hanging out in this world for just a little while longer.

Gnome Heist is punchy, it’s silly and it’s just plain fun, while also being sharply written and beautifully shot to boot.

Parasocial is the second film by director Joseph Jeavons I’m discussing – the first being Wrists Tied – and I would argue that this is the superior of the two. As enjoyable and bonkers as Wrists Tied was, there’s a cleanness; a comic succinctness present in this one which is just outstanding. Parasocial is – and I kid you not – a laugh-a-minute comedy. This is an unashamedly dense movie, joke-wise, but it’s also not just the humour which makes this a great, low-budget short. Jeavons demonstrates a constant sense of play and chaos which really makes the whole cast feel endearing. This also lies in its structural ability to have each scene be a stimulus, or space for new jokes – as opposed to a scene meant to simply explain the plot.

The film follows the character of Ricky (played by Jeavons): an innocent, easily manipulated young man who just wants to find a best friend in his roommate Dylan (Sam Teague). Dylan is a criminal investing in “illegal meats” (horse meat), stringing Ricky along for the money and the apartment. Eventually, Dylan involves Ricky in his escapades, leading to an amusing cop double-act getting involved, and an eventual shootout.

Both central performances are big and fantastic and really make the movie. These performers understand comic timing; even if the jokes are simple and infantile, it still works because the viewer can clearly see how much fun they’re having. These films feature an extensive cast of performers, which is rather impressive for a no-budget work made by young people at the beginnings of their careers as filmmakers. Already they demonstrate such a willingness to collaborate with others, using film as it should be used in the early stages, a fun space in which to bounce ideas back and forth and come up with something wholly unique.

Continuing with the theme of collaboration, I should also mention that Parasocial was written by three individuals: Joseph Jeavons, Owen Swift and Bala Brown. Some might argue that too many cooks spoil the broth, but quite frankly, I would say that doesn’t apply to comedy – particularly not in this instance. In the same way that Edgar Wright requires a little sprinkle of Simon Pegg to make his sensibility truly engaging, this script operates in a way that just gels together. You can tell that these jokes have been tested, for they land nicely, and with practice. For instance, one bit which is consistently funny involves Ricky turning to the camera – Malcolm in the Middle style – and saying something like “I wish Dylan was my best friend”. Dylan, of course, then hears what he says and reacts accordingly, as if Ricky’s gone mad. It’s a simple bit, and one concedes it’s been done before, but it’s great because of the rhythm, the editing, the sincerity of performance.

Parasocial has a clear premise and a tight structure. Despite once again taking from the Bottle Rocket handbook of criminality = comedy, and to also endear us to the characters, this film in fact demonstrates that Jeavons has a unique vision and an artistic clarity. I’m excited to see more from these filmmakers.

Writer and director Elijah Bigler cites John Carpenter’s films as the central influence behind Higher Knowledge, and it is clear to see how the legendary horror auteur’s legacy has left its mark. This college-set sci-fi short punches above a student budget to deliver a film that is fun, atmospheric and eye-grabbing.

Graduate students Ray (Jaden Besteda), Howard (Devin Hite) and Eric (Jose Antonio Otero) spend much of their time pondering research, but a run-in with their professor Jonathan Dante (Jon Schaffer) opens their eyes to scientific potential that they never even dreamed of. When it turns out a creature has taken possession of the man they look up to and left a strange equation on his chalkboard, it is up to the trio to figure out the power it hides – and to decide if it belongs in this world.

Passion and inspiration are always evident in a film, and Higher Power has both in spades. Bigler and co. were clearly having a blast in this short’s production, injecting loving references to John Carpenter’s work and experimenting with how far they can push their budget into the sci-fi/horror sphere. The eccentric performance of Jon Schaffer is something of a summation of this work – just teetering on the edge of over-the-top but staying grounded enough to balance out the otherworldliness. That is until a gloriously gory sequence of disembowelment that will stun audiences out of any malaise.

There is a retro ambiance to the film that sits nicely with the story, another clear influence of Carpenter’s work. Warm, wide shots in the college halls act as a calm before the storm, before the lecture hall begins to close in on the trio as the gravity of their discovery becomes clear. It is in these sequences that the characters are really fleshed out and the film builds substance as well as style. Bigler’s eye for a shot keeps momentum during these sequences as the sci-fi story beats are baked further into the narrative. There are a couple of moments where viewer immersion gets broken such as a distracting red visual effect that flashes on the screen when a knife is used, but these are few and far between.

Jaden Besteda, Devin Hite and Jose Antonio Otero feel right at home as the three leads, with Otero in particular standing out with a strong performance as the inquisitive but cautious Eric. Each performance feels distinct and deliberate, approaching the equation from different angles in order to keep audiences on their toes.

Higher Knowledge is a really entertaining short – a snippet of a larger story in reality but one that leaves audiences longing for more. Elijah Bigler’s sense for atmosphere is its biggest asset, and having characters that stand out is not far behind.

A short drama written and directed by Toby Kearton and starring Dominic Thompson.

A war veteran (Thompson) is in his home. However, in many ways, he is still in the battlefield and all around him there is chaos. And this is not because there is actual warfare is taking place in his current location. It is because even though he is far away from where combat occurred, the memories are tormenting him and the sounds of everyday products are causing him to remember trumatic events involving his time in the war zone.

Over the course of one minute, this short places the viewer in the tormented mind of a young man who is suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. The general concept is an ex-serviceman man sitting inside one of the rooms of his home and being dramatically affected by the noises of simple items, as they remind him of his experiences when he was fighting. Through creative sound techniques by Connor Ashmore, methodical editing, Kearton's detailed directing and Thompson's performance, this film develops an atmosphere filled with dread, agony and fear. To give a few examples, a fan is on and the sound of a military helicopter is heard, indicating that the noise reminds the veteran of an event involving an aircraft. Then, popcorn popping reminds him of gunfire. The crying of his baby through the baby monitor reminds him of screams of agony. All these are accompanied by his troubled face, with close-ups of his eyes filling with tears and his hands clutching together. A man is now away from actual combat, however, psychological combat is still with him and a way that it emerges is by sounds that resemble his experiences in combat. And the presence of a young boy (probably the man's son) cheerfully playing a video game suggests that people around him are oblivious to what he is going through.

To state that this short is a film might be misleading. It would probably be more accurate to categorise it as a message that raises awareness of the PTSD that war veterans are living with and encourages the public to support them. And it succeeds in doing all that very significantly.

This short would have such a dramatic impact without Thompson's strong performance. Constant close-ups of his face and body language reveal that he is suffering tremendously although he is now home with his loved ones. He is trapped by the horrors that he went through, living in a world of psychological torment that is not being acknowledged by those around him.

Arguably, the main subject here is mental health involving war veterans, the PTSD and trauma that they experience after they have left the battlefields and how it affects them through the sounds of everyday objects.

This dramatic piece of work encourages support for people who have fought. It definitely catches the viewer's attention due to the tense atmosphere and the awareness and support that it motivates. This is an achievement that should be shown on television and the internet and become known to as many people as possible.

In The Road Back, rapper Cricchi paints an emotional story of a man trying to rebuild his life after being sent to prison. A simple but well-delivered music video accompanies personal, moving lyrics to a song inspired by its creator’s real experiences.

The video features Cricchi performing his song on a vibrant rooftop overlooking a city backline – sacred ground for heartfelt, rags-to-riches rap. Interspersed with the performance is footage of Cricchi’s story of homelessness, prison and drug addiction – before a recovery to the man he is today. The tone of both video and song is optimistic, even with the heavy subject matter, with a stated aim to help those who are in a similar boat.

Truthfully there isn’t anything revolutionary in the production of The Road Back. The video covers ground personal to the performer, though it must be said that it is a (sadly) common enough journey to have been addressed in rap videos before. The settings of prison cell, suburban streets and sunset-rooftop also feature in more music videos than mid-2000s Ludacris, so genre fans will feel cosy in their surroundings. But no envelopes are at risk of being pushed.

Whilst originality is in short supply, quality is not. The video is crafted and considered. The streets Cricchi walks bursting with life and authenticity to deliver a real sense of background to his story. The rooftop sequences allow for some experimentation with lighting – a jump between day and night shots in this setting acting as an interesting visualisation of the dark and light sides of his personality. The prison scenes are a little less inspired and lack the same dynamism as the rest of the video, unintentionally echoing the impact prison itself can have on an individual’s life.

Cricchi’s performance throughout is natural, emotive and raw. The rapper has spoken about his aim to act as an inspiration through art and to act as a voice for the broken, and that aim is successfully achieved through both words and performance here. It takes courage to lay out ones’ failings and retrace old missteps, and Cricchi does so without feeling the requirement to implant false bravado or toughness.

The Road Back is an effective if not outstanding music video, ticking all the boxes required of it and making sure its message lands with impact. The real boldness is in its accompanying song and the personal lyrics of its artist, with the video a vehicle for their delivery. In this it succeeds in allowing the artistry to shine.

In filmmaker Declan Smith’s Fade In: To Murder, film festival organiser Martin Hughes (Dobson) is found murdered in the middle of his own festival. Luckily, method actor Grace Goodman (Banton) is on hand to step in and help solve the crime.

It might not have all the twists, turns and turbulence of an Agatha Christie classic, but with a company of colourful characters, a unique setting and of course, a murder, Fade In: To Murder is a fun poke at the murder mystery genre that still has quite a bit going for it.

Fade In: To Murder is much less a whodunnit, but more a whydunnit. The who, the when and the how are all revealed very early on, and in some ways flipping the whole thing on its head still carves an interesting path for the film to follow, letting us know its secrets beforehand and inviting us to stick around and see how it will all play out. Choosing to set such a high-stakes scenario within something as mundane as a low-key film festival also grants the film a kind of hilarious absurdity which allows one to warm to this film rather easily.

But even so, seeing the crime play out in full within the opening few minutes somewhat hobbles the film in realising its full potential for suspense and shocks, not to mention slightly wasting the film's interesting and varied cast of characters that could have made up quite an entertaining gallery of potential suspects for Grace to interrogate.

So instead, the majority of the film is set in the aftermath, mostly playing out Grace’s very own “just one more thing” dénouement, which oddly despite its limited revelations, actually comes together fairly well. Banton laps up their Columbo moment with relish, leaning into the dramatic and ridiculous that culminates any good murder mystery. Others such as main suspect William (Crudginton) wear the guilt-soaked desperation well and as motives become clearer, that is where the film, and Banton in particular, hit their stride.

As well as including the aforementioned staples of any good whodunnit, the film also boasts a snappy pace and score that puts you right into that lovely whodunnit mindset, ready for a mystery to be unravelled. And while it might not be the most suspenseful crime fiction, Fade In: To Murder has indubitable quality in technical filmmaking feeling slick and zippy throughout, making it just a really fun watch.

A young girl in British Bengal sees her life change when her parents marry her to an older man during hard times.

There is a revolution of fire taking hold in British Bengal, and while the movers and the shakers are busy making power grabs in amongst all of the chaos, the local people are having to endure less money, less food, and more difficult living conditions. Even though she tries to do well for her family, and is still underage, Pakhi’s (Roy) parents have decided to marry her to an older man in return for a dowry. Pakhi is still very young, and she seeks guidance from an older widow, Khandi (Saha) as well as listening to the story her mother tells her, of the beautiful natural purity of the river.

Pakhi’s longing to see the river one day is a guiding light for her, especially when she finds out that marriage isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Sadly, a life out beyond the boundaries of her existence, outside the vicinity of her parents’ home or her husband’s compound, will only ever be a dream to her. As the burning revolution takes place all around, Pakhi must deal with her own rights being forever ignored.

From writer/director, Anuparna Roy, Run To The River takes us on Pakhi’s journey, settling us into her life and her relationships while she waits for destiny to come for her. At twenty-six minutes there’s plenty of time for this to happen, as well as for some nice establishing shots of life in the Bengal countryside. The dialogue itself is actually pretty sparse, and a lot of the narrative comes from the situations we see on-screen, detailing the daily lives of the people on the land. While this might at first seem like it keeps Run To The River a little light on story, it’s the context that matters, and Roy creates acres of space for her story to grow into from the time we spend witnessing Pakhi’s life turn around.

There’s a strong sense of authenticity in Run To The River, which Roy has been careful to collect and curate in her depiction of rural life at the time. Managing to convince people from her own village to participate in the film, Roy encapsulates the story she knows so well and shows it as close to how she knows it to be through her camera. There’s an other-worldly nature to the film, which opens up a window to somewhere most of us have never been, and shows us in great, gentle detail how life there took shape. In an almost documentary type manner, we’re asked to peek into Pakhi’s life as she goes through a traditional rite of passage, all the while there’s revolution happening in the background.

There’s real depth to Run To The River, with layers of story being piled upon the youngster who is coming-of-age, and big themes getting expressed in a real-world setting. Roy’s visual storytelling helps pull all of this together into the frame, and despite a rather leisurely pace and gentle feel, there’s real horrifying truths being shared across the camera. Run To The River showcases a real talent for visual language from the filmmakers, transporting the viewer into Pakhi’s life for a short half-hour, and allowing us to live there with her, even if we are then left forever dreaming of a far-away river we may never get to.

Wrists Tied is an amusing new crime-comedy short from director Joseph Jeavons. It tells a story of two young guys – Melvin (Beckett Nichols) and Doug (Hank Holbrook) –who have been friends since childhood. After some failed business ventures, Melvin concludes that he’d like to get involved with a Get Rich Quick Scheme; this, however, quickly turns out to be a front for some kooky criminals wishing to rob banks. While Melvin is still willing to go along with the scheme, Doug is more sceptical and refuses to proceed. What follows is a watchable and humorous tale of corruption, betrayal, and leg hair.

There’s a unique mixture of comedy styles present in this short film. For instance, much of the overall tone is reminiscent of a John Hughes style of youthful humour. The boys naturally joke back and forth, toeing the line between endearing and annoying. At the end of the day, this is a comedy; we’re meant to laugh at and with these characters as well as the absurdity of the scenario. The best jokes in the movie are more visual. To provide an example, at one point Doug phones Melvin while Melvin is at one of the criminal meetings. He lies about this, pretending he’s home and that his mother’s calling him. When we cut back to Doug and the camera pans over, it turns out that Doug is stood outside the meeting. “I’ve always known”, he says – an advancement of the plot, and a great punchline.

This temperament of depicting young, disillusioned people turning to crime – not because there are no other options but simply because it is an option – is very reminiscent of what feels like this movie’s main inspiration: Wes Anderson’s short (and later debut feature) Bottle Rocket. Jeavons’ film does an amazing job at replicating, and paying homage to, Anderson’s classic comedy – particularly through how the friendships and comradery are placed at the forefront of the story's focus.

I’d like to talk a bit about the difference between editing and structure. From an editorial standpoint, this is a really well-put-together piece. But sometimes, for whatever reason, the film feels as if it lacks focus. This is a consistently well-cut movie; it’s the scenarios and the dialogue which occasionally cause the film’s pace to meander. For instance, the first few minutes of the runtime work well to establish the crux of the story: this friendship. And yet, its overly plotty, explanatory “1 Year Later” structure (so to show that Melvin’s hypothetical business isn’t working out) could have been achieved smoothly in less time. Only to say that – while this short is terrifically entertaining – when it lacks propulsion, it’s more due to the overall structure. The cutting feels just about right.

Wrists Tied is an immensely enjoyable watch. While the cinematography has its flaws – specifically the use of autofocus settings – there are still plenty of interesting shots on show. This film was made by people who know movies, and understand the rhythms, patterns, and visual traits of the good ones (Bottle Rocket as the prime example). It’s an absurdly endearing work from beginning to end, made by creatives at the beginning of a promising career.

Kate Moore’s Amaterasu is an imaginative retelling of the Japanese myth of a sun goddess. It is an admirable lower-budget effort from the filmmakers – restrained by its budgetary constrictions but still managing to hit some visually-interesting highs with solid costume design and bookend shadow-play sequences.

The film is a short retelling of the Amaterasu myth. It follows the fallout of the titular sun goddess (Wingsze Chung) and siblings Tsukuyomi (Ankit Chawla) and Susanoo (Ashutoshkumar Jha). Sure to relay powerful messages about inner light and the importance of balance, the grace of the goddess eventually overcomes a coming darkness.

Amaterasu is a scrappy short film with a lot of rough edges, but there’s areas were the production values it demonstrates are genuinely impressive. The opening and closing shadow sequences, whilst a rather simple technique, stand out as unique and aligned to the film’s themes of light and darkness. Wingsze Chung’s silky and fluid movements bring an ethereal quality to her character, an otherworldliness that carries over when the film switches to a more traditional drama. The costume design and makeup efforts are another triumph, helping the film transport the viewer back to ancient Japan.

The lower budget and grassroots production do end up hurting the film elsewhere. Performances from the cast are quite wooden and one senses little chemistry between them – perhaps this was a result of an attempt to portray these mythical, god figures as mysterious beings but ends in stilted interactions and general awkwardness. Those unfamiliar with the myth beforehand may also struggle to gain follow the story and meaning behind some of the characters.

A short runtime (the film is only 6 minutes long) is a similar throttle that prevents much depth behind the characters from being established. Myths and fables tend to be more focused on meaning, themes and allegories – and so the story of Amaterasu and the intended message of the timeless Japanese myth is able to be realised within the film. However, most viewers will expect meatier characters even with this in mind, particularly with regards to the motivations for the divide between ‘light’ and ‘dark’.

These issues are more than hiccups and do derail the efforts of the filmmakers, though it should be said that the overall intention of the film and the message it wants to convey still come through quite strongly. Bringing to life Japanese mythology is no easy feat and is an underexplored area for many western audiences, so viewers will find something original and engaging in the setting and story. Much like its starring subject, the light in this film does find its way through.