Goldfish

Akhil Kumar’s Goldfish may only be a single shot that lasts 2 minutes, but it’s got an awful lot to say. The short explores themes relating to our modern technology-entangled lives, and the disparity between social isolation and endless connectivity. Kumar’s decision to shoot Goldfish from one perspective is not an entirely novel concept, but it’s used thoughtfully enough to move beyond a gimmick, becoming an essential component of the short.

As mentioned previously, Goldfish is shot in one single take above a living room table. Sat on the sofa is the film’s largely unseen protagonist, portrayed by Theresa Lee. The audience is immediately left to determine who they think the protagonist is based on her belongings on the table; we see her phone, a vape, tarot cards, a video game controller, a cup of tea, and a remote control (which we see her using to rapidly flick between tv channels). While Lee’s face is never seen on screen, her physical performance using just her hands is the closest the audience gets to connecting with a human character, and she should be praised for how much personality she manages to convey. Tapping of her fingers on her swaying knees, Lee’s fidgeting conveys a relatable sense of restlessness. There’s barely a moment for her to sit back and enjoy her tea when her phone buzzes with a text from work, or she gets distracted by an endless stream of TikTok videos.

Kumar puts the audience in the protagonist’s headspace by keeping utilising a constant chaotic rhythm. Like Lee’s character, the audience hardly gets a second without some disturbance from the phone while the diegetic sounds of the television constantly drone in the background. Goldfish excellently mimics the pace and sound of short form media the way one might hear someone else watching videos on their phone on the bus. It makes for a visceral and sometimes comedic experience, where what appears on the phone screen feels random and unexpected. In a sudden and shocking moment which feels most like what Kumar wants to grapple with in this short, the protagonist sees a glimpse of a Palestinian child crying on her feed, and she instantly looks away and puts the phone down. It’s not long before she’s picked the phone up again to browse handbags on sale. The film doesn’t linger on this, and it’s upsetting to see how quickly the protagonist moved on. In this moment, Goldfish holds up a phone shaped mirror to the audience where we can see ourselves and our own reactions most clearly, contending with the burden of knowledge but our own powerlessness to stop it. It’s far easier to put the phone down or to simply scroll to the next video.

The name of the film brings to mind our short term memory in the age of infinitely accessible information - we only have to think about tragedies elsewhere for as long as we can see them on a screen. Perhaps we are goldfish in our tanks, contained in our homes with our easily accessible amenities and luxuries. It feels significant that in the film’s final moment, the protagonist gets up to answer her doorbell, and the ambiguity in who rang leaves the audience to make up their mind. Is the protagonist ready to escape the bowl and connect with someone, or has she ordered food in? Kumar is clearly interested in asking questions about how we navigate a modern world that devalues real connection, and ultimately it’s these questions that audiences will come away from the film asking.

Goldfish is a curious and powerful short that succeeds in raising challenging questions without pointing an obscene or hypocritical finger at the audience. There’s no sense of moral grandstanding here, more so an observation at the absurdities and horrors of living alongside so much technology in the 2020s. Goldfish ultimately goes to show that less absolutely can be more, whether that’s less dialogue, or less doomscrolling.