Aurora

An astronaut is the sole survivor of a catastrophic mission into the depths of space, where an unknown entity reaches out to grasp at the humanity within his soul.

Commander Freddie Ballard (Kent) is in a bit of a pickle. He can’t quite figure out just where he is, or whether he has actually already been on the mission that has been assigned to him by his superior officer (DoQui). Rather anachronistically he is called back to himself through the time-tested cinematic device of a telephone ringing. At first it’s his girlfriend (Ponraj) who picks up the phone, even though he tells her not to, but time and again we are brought back to that same room, and that same ringing of the telephone, so that Freddie can receive his limited narrative motivation and move onto the next sequence of his story.

Interspersed with Freddie’s home life and military debriefing is the time he spends in space, or has spent, or will spend, or will spend again. You see, Freddie appears to be caught in some sort of time loop, or space loop, and it is unclear whether he is remembering his story, looking to the future, or is caught in some sort of simulation. In reality there are no answers for Freddie, because there are no answers for us as the audience, but that is only a secondary concern when it seems that what we are all here for, especially the filmmakers, is the stylised visuals.

Writer/director, Angad Aulakh takes great pains to set his scenes exactly the way he wants them, with production designer, Leah Berman helping create a classic neo-noir feel to every industrialised walkway, cargo bay, and corridor within the spaceship. Things are far more Nostromo here than they are Enterprise-D. The black-and-white presentation also heightens this stylisation, grounding the mystery elements of Freddie’s investigations into the unknown, while also giving the visual effects room to breathe without revealing any of their secrets.

In fact, the visual effects are so well polished around the edges, in 4K, that it’s a wonder that visual effects artists, Stuart Lippincott and Ian Mills Miller, were able to get it all done with just the two of them working on it. Aurora succeeds or fails on the scale, grandeur, and believability, of these visual effects shots, and each of them is pulled off incredibly, with remarkable detail, clean finish, and perfect lighting the whole way through. Around half of the film exists in these shots alone, and when they are also doing the job of holding up the narrative, their gravitas and intention needs to shine through just from their composition and movement, which they manage to do seamlessly.

While borrowing elements from such space opera classics as Solaris (1972), 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968), and Star Trek V: The Final Frontier (1989), Aurora instead only uses the symbology, aesthetic, and overall intention of these pieces, rather than digging down into the issues, characters, and themes which underpinned them and made them great. Plot is unceremoniously jettisoned only to be supplanted by cinematic devices and garbled storytelling, while the space scenery does all of the heavy lifting. The thing is that you can see in the fifteen minutes of Aurora that there’s a full feature aching to emerge from it. There’s enough of other films, and of a narrative that does make sense in the round if you like things a little Lynchian – all jumbled and mysterious – but it’s also easy to see that without a stable story or compelling characterisation, fifteen minutes is probably about all that most people could take.

Aurora needs to be seen to be believed, and is a tour-de-force in visual effects and design. Its scant narrative is subsumed into the wider visual spectacle with no real loss of engagement, and is carried by strong performances into a realm of wonder and awe. If visual language is what you’re after, Aurora shines bright through the darkness.

Aurora will premiere at the 2026 HollyShorts Film Festival