In Isolation

In Isolation takes us right back, willingly or not, to the quiet horrors of a time that seems distant now to those who were unaffected but painstakingly fresh to those who were.

In Isolation follows the lives of three housemates confined to their living quarters during a severe military lockdown. More specifically, it locks onto one of the housemates, played by Edmund C. Short, who both wrote and directed this short (taking heavy inspiration from the socio-political landscape of the UK when it saw its first wave of Covid 19). The role doesn’t require much of him but that’s no matter because the acting is a secondary substance, it’s more the palpable sense of desolation that’s primary.

In Isolation adeptly navigates the headspace of this man, known only as “The Other Guy” while he copes with the recent loss of a dear friend. Interestingly, no character’s name is directly mentioned, oppositely all are relegated to the mere labels the narrative assigns them to: “The Boyfriend” (played by Mathias Herman Löffler) and “The Girlfriend” (played by Fuen Vera). This was a wise choice from Edmund C. Short as it doesn’t detract from any of the personalities and only serves to be more reflective — each of us is able to replace these characters with someone we know and give them a name. This household is just a microcosm for all of the UK, or the world for that matter. 

Anyone or anything that has been harmed by the invisible hands of the virus.

This short takes place entirely in interiors — it narrows onto the smaller mundanities of life that can hold the biggest significance. In that way, it’s wholly personal and even more so relatable. Standing at just 10 minutes, In Isolation feels much larger than it is and more affecting than a lot of feature-length films you’ll see, tackling heady subject matter in a relatively brisk manner without sacrificing potency. The short opens with vast empty spaces that should be sprawling with life yet there’s not a soul in sight. Images of playgrounds and school yards linger for a few seconds; enough to realise these places with an supposed inherent vibrancy, feel drab and sucked of colour, focused on with a blank stare.

From then on, a backdrop of silence permeates each frame. We’re deaf to the diegetic sounds that seem too crisp to be ordinary — with the help of disorienting camera angles, harsh close-ups and off-kilter focus, we get the sense these scenes feel more reminiscent than present. We know what’s coming but that doesn’t make it any less harrowing, a feeling that’s in no way alleviated by the growingly frequent dark hums reverberating through the sound design as dread arises and the coughing starts. For the entire 10 minutes there’s an undercurrent of melancholy, I say undercurrent but it’s unmissable, there’s a clear absence of all pleasure (a notion that’s alluded to best in a scene where a man masturbating feels more akin to a chore than a satisfying pastime).

Despite the weightiness of the themes, Edmund C. Short is able to inject elements of comedy, albeit unnerving ones. There’s an almost cruel humour that lies in the fact that as one of the most pernicious viruses sows devastation and a man is on the verge of breaking, all he can hear is the sounds of people incessantly scoffing down meals with a comfort that’s almost disturbing. He’s tormented by it. What’s also admirable is that the film avoids a formulaic maudlin tone that most would employ to achieve that saddening impact more easily. But In Isolation doesn’t go for easy, it goes for effective. There’s no overbearing score, no screaming characters and the audience isn’t even present during the death. Instead, the entire film is so painfully tragic but quite without tragic grandeur. So by the end the suggestive smacking of lips while our characters eat, is replaced with a reluctant glance at a meal which we know will have no flavour. Not anymore.