★★★ Directed by: #ShaunOConner Written by: #PaulCahill Starring: #AmberDeasy, #CoraFenton, #JackHealy Film Review by: Alex Matraxia As the film begins, we see a young girl anxiously approach a telephone box. She enters. She is wearing a medical gown. We don’t know why - and yet, it’s not hard to figure out. This predicament summarises my experience watching Shaun O’Connor’s short film, A White Horse, which offers us the unexpected while also being predictable. The young girl, Bridget (Amber Deasy) phones up her parents to inform them that she’s run away from the medical institution that’s been holding her. Bridget’s parents (played by Cora Fenton and Jack Healy) seem naturally anxious, concerned about their ‘abnormal’ little girl’s well-being. I appreciate the unique way in which the director and writer (Paul Cahill) invert our expectations (and inversion as a concept is at the heart of the film). When Bridget brings up the possibility of reuniting with her old friend, Niamh, Bridget’s mother abruptly changes her tone, no longer the loving and maternal woman we thought her to be, but in fact a rabid and unsympathetic homophobe. In fact, Bridget’s incarceration isn’t the result of a mental breakdown but a queer self-realisation. A White Horse is not an ordinary tale of a young girl having to confront what others think is best for her. Something exciting happens in the mid-way reveal, the tonal shift which momentarily enlivens the film. But then it all too quickly falls back into predictability, without much narrative strength. I’m sure the ending was intended as a sincere representation of the horrors of conversion therapy, and it’s a commendable effort. But having electro-shock therapy act as a narrative conclusion seems gratuitous albeit well-intended, and what’s more disappointing is, it’s unenlightening. A filmmaker needs to ask themselves, after having many films already made about homophobia and conversion therapy, is it not more pressing to explore the incentives, beliefs, and subjectivities of those who are active participants in prejudice and those who are its victims, rather than just show the apparatus of violence. There is nothing to learn from A White Horse about homophobia that we didn’t already know, no matter how traumatic O’Conner tries to make the film. One issue that may be responsible for this shortcoming is that Bridget doesn’t quite feel real to us, even though the ten minute film tries to stuff in photographs and back-stories that make her seem more real. But nothing insightful is conveyed to us by Bridget herself, just by the props and people around her. This is more of an issue I have with the writing than the acting - and the film is undeniably well-acted, with Amber Deasy and Cora Fenton offering a solid and poignant mother-daughter relationship, sifted through a claustrophobic dimension by Jass Foley’s cinematography. I admire how the film creates a story out of its opening scene (something which most short films fail to do, mistaking the first scene as the whole film) and the mysterious metaphor offers moments of intrigue - a white horse, which Bridget fears is following her during her escape. A white horse? Whether symbolic of the white-coated medical establishment on her tail, or tapping into mythological folklore (white horses having a rich cultural history, associated with saviours, war heroes, or portents of death), it heightens the film’s potential. Perhaps as a feature, with more time to broaden the story and characters, this motif could really build into something powerful. And indeed, A White Horse, though limited in its power, shows that O’Conner and Cahill have potential.

★★★ Directed by #JennieFeyen Written by #JennieFeyen Starring #KeiIkeda Film review by Alex Matraxia Jennie Feyen’s ‘Sakura and Steel’ is an innovative take on representing war trauma and national recovery. Commissioned by Mosman Art Gallery, the film delves into abstraction and interpretive dance as a means of representing the journey of Japanese war submarines during World War 2. Part of what makes the short film effective is that the director is aware that they're directing a film and not just a dance. The camera shifts between close up and long shot offering us footage of dancer (Kei Ikeda) in a vast dark space - the echoing sound of a submarine eerily transforms the dark dance space into something which feels submerged, beneath the surface in the depths of the ocean. A submarine is, after all, an object manoeuvring through the negative space of the sea; the use of dance is perfectly used to convey and render vulnerable the act of war, as the dancer pushes through various obstacles to have their body persist through the space around them. Abstraction, as Alan Resnais proved in his haunting film about collective trauma, Hiroshima Mon Amour (1959), is powerfully effective in bringing to the surface the strange weight of the past and how it effects the way we move through the present. Kei Ikeda is great in ‘Sakura and Steel’ because their performance doesn’t just revolve around the technicalities of dance - their movement and face are full of expression and perseverance. Matt Bedford’s cinematography captures Ikeda’s beautiful gestures in light of the vacuous space around them, and the first half is perhaps the strongest part of the film. Structurally, the film is quite simplistic, perhaps naively so. It is split in two parts - the initial dance in which the dancer must move through nets, depths, and presumably the weight of the past, only to then undergo a form of spiritual recovery and rebirth. While beautifully shot and a calm rhythmic shift, the rebirth sequence is handled a little obviously, with a saccharine score that doesn’t help. Perhaps if the director stayed within abstraction, with an implicated soundscape like in the film’s opening, then the second half would fulfil some if its ambitions a little better. The transformation from despair to hope is bridged by footage of cherry blossom (Sakura), the national flower of Japan, representing a time of renewal and optimism. When the dancer opens a seemingly defeated hand to reveal that they have been clutching onto the flower, it becomes clear that the dancer is potentially Japan itself - a collective body that has been marked by trauma during the Second World War, but whose heritage and cultural identity has been renewed, revived and rekindled. In this regard, it is well made film and overall quite compelling. While conceptually a little on the two dimensional side, Feyen has promise as a filmmaker and as an artist.

★★★ Directed by: #AliMoazen Written by: #AliMozaen Starring: #MahyarPourbabaei, #NeginTahamtan, #KiarashDadgar, #PouyanFereidooni Film Review by: Alex Matraxia Ali Moazen’s short film The Return is a stylistically courageous undertaking. It refrains from all the things that we associate with films - close ups, tracking shots, background score. The Return, through a confident use of minimalism, tells the story of Amir Ali (Mahyar Pourbabaei) who returns to Iran for a short trip after having spent the last seven years in Germany. He visits his old friend Mahyar (Kiarash Dadgar), who lives with his sister Mahsa (Negin Tahamtan) as well as Keivan (Pouyan Fereidooni), an aloof lover who has been dating Mahsa for the last six months but finds himself unable to commit to her. Rather than a warm reception full of revelry and catch-ups, it’s clear that there’s a fair level of tension, secrecy and nuance between the four characters, which Moazen and cinematographer Soroush Hazrati highlight in the use of a severe, unmoving camera. Each scene consists of only a single, long-enduring shot. This physical deadpan is reminiscent of early Jarmusch and the recent work of Joanna Hogg, in which human interactions, recollections, and departures are all rendered awkward, somewhat cold, somewhat distant. This element of distance is what makes The Return an interesting, albeit imperfect film. Moazen hasn’t taken up time establishing the characters, building up who they were in order to have it contrast with who’ve they’ve become. The secrecy that comes to structure the characters’ relationships seem to place the viewer in a similar place of unnerving distance. In The Return, a reunion is an uncanny experience, where you see friends and family with a mix of familiarity and unfamiliarity (stressed in a scene where Mahyar muses over his relationship with his long-time friend, ‘He’s changed… we’ve been friends for a long time’). The film’s primary source of interest resides more in Keivan’s mysterious departure (which perhaps eclipses the dramatic stature of Amir Ali’s return). Though Keivan excuses himself on the basis of having to resolve a work issue, his departure is clearly unusual considering that he doesn’t tell anyone he’s leaving apart from Amir Ali, who he barely knows. The viewer is left to speculate over the real nature of his absence. It’s perfectly timed that when Keivan leaves, Mahyar tells his sister that Amir Ali always had a crush on her. After all, The Return seems to focus on the inarticulate nature of relationships - thoughts that are unspoken, perhaps because they’d prove detrimental, and yet despite all this reluctance to communicate, these people share the same space together; the static camera truly supports the unfolding of the film (perhaps a blessing and a curse for Moazen). Conversations continue in the screen’s periphery - we witness phone calls where we don’t know who’s on the other side, and arguments are only half-listened to. Relationships become crippled by this sense of partiality, perhaps obscuring the premise of the film - when Amir Ali returns, it’s not quite clear what he’s returning to.

★★ Directed by #PrabhakarMeenaBhaskarPant Written by #PrabhakarMeenaBhaskarPant Starring #PriyaChauhan, #MeenaRIyer, #PushkarBhaskarPant, #VineeshVenugopal Film review by Alex Matraxia (Warning: spoilers) Highways are notoriously eerie spaces, and done right, a chilling highway scene can be sensational. But Barasaat Ki Raat (dir. Prabhakar ‘Meena Bhaskar’ Pant) feels more like a scene than a self-contained short movie. There’s fun to be had in the concept. Riya (played by Priya Chauhan) is driving along the Delhi-Pauri highway, only to receive a phone call from her mum (who despite only appearing as a voice on the phone, is brought to life by Meena R. Iyers). While driving past a stranger on the highway, Riya jokes with her mum as to whether or not to give him a lift. She soon forgets all about the fleeting stranger, and resumes a casual catch up with her mum. But her mother receives a strange visitor. We overhear the horror as it plays out over the phone, all the while sat in the car with Riya. Her mother screams as a maniacal intruder breaks into her house, ransacking the rooms, and eventually attacking her and Riya’s brother. Riya is helpless, hearing the carnage from the distant safety of her car. Plot twist - when she calls her brother, he and her mother are fine, as if nothing ever happened. But as Riya turns around in her car, she’s in for a surprise. The fun of the film is somewhat undercut by the fact that we have a plot twist rather than an actual film. And tonally, it’s hard to say whether the film wants to be seen as a serious thriller or a campy melodrama. When Riya’s mother is attacked, we hear what sounds like a Halloween sound effect of Frankenstein’s monster growling. Musically, every subtle moment of suspense is accompanied by a misplaced dramatic shudder that makes the overall film seem playful, even silly, despite the intense subject matter. Perhaps it is a case of trying to make tension build quicker than the story itself allows. This could be resolved by having a stronger narrative play through the phone conversation. Instead, we are on line with Riya’s mother, hearing what feels like the same dialogue spoken over and over again. The twist is executed well, though not unforeseen, as the premise of the film is like the ending of almost any Twilight Zone episode. There are moments where the director’s stylistic touches shine through and make the film worth a second viewing. The disparity between the image of Riya’s mum on her phone, happy and smiling, ensuing despite the screams coming from the other end of the line. Technology is communicative and yet it can’t quite convey everything. And there are haunting shots of the surrounding highway, with phantasmic motorcyclists going past (credit to DOP, Arvind Yadav). After the release of a film like Charlie Kauffman’s I’m Thinking of Ending Things (2020), being trapped in a car on a nebulous motorway is full of interesting, absurd, and creativity bleak potential. Though a commendable idea, with fun moments, I’m not entirely sure if Barsaat Ki Raat has tapped into this fully.

★★★ Directed by: James Kermack Written by: James Kermack Starring: Moe Dunford, Kate Dickie, Camille Rowe Film Review by: Patrick Foley You don’t watch movies like Knuckledust so you can stroke your chin and impress your artiste friends. You watch them to get your blood pumping, to switch off from the world and to witness that holy union of fists and faces. This action-thriller certainly brings the punches to the table, but how many of them land? When the police raid a secret underground fight club – Club Knuckledust - they find 7 floors filled with the bodies of dead brawlers – and one man, known only as ‘Hard Eight’ (Moe Dunford) left standing. Bringing him in for interrogation, Chief Inspector Katherine Keaton (Kate Dickie) and her team must race against the clock to get to the bottom of the bloodshed – and find out just who Hard Eight is, where the bodies have come from, and what is his connection to Serena Marcos (Camille Rowe) – the club’s shady owner. Both thematically and plotwise, Knuckledust is a glorious, bipolar B-movie mess. It revels in the over-the-top, gratuitous violence seen in the recent Sky One series Gangs of London (a spiritual predecessor) whilst also aiming for the sharp, edgy humour found in Guy Ritchie classics like Snatch. Yet this extravagance is dropped in the hard-hitting interrogation scenes that make up much of the movie. These dramatic, tension-packed exchanges between Hard Eight and Keaton are much more serious, and feel out of place next to the genre-lampooning, parody scenes. There is nothing wrong with contrasting two tones, but unfortunately the gags are simply not up to scratch. The comedy does not match up to the strength of the drama, and feels like more of an unwelcome distraction. Knuckledust was never going to go down the straight drama route, but more time should have been spent refining the comedy for it to sit on the Mt. Ritch-more of British Gangster classics. Director James Kermack unleashes every stereotype under the sun with a flamboyant ensemble cast. There’s the femme-fatale, the hardened ex-soldier, the unpredictable old geezer, and more meat-headed brawlers than you could throw a fist at. Any points lost for originality are made up for in execution, with fine performances from the cast – particularly Kate Dickie as Inspector Keaton. The numbers are very much painted-by, but there is something of a comfort that comes with the derivative. Praise should be reserved for the movie’s biggest selling point – the fight scenes. The choreography and direction are fantastic, with scenes at the club feeling brutal and vicious without ever looking co-ordinated. Kermack’s homework is proudly on display, with homages to the infamous ‘Hallway’ scene of Oldboy and knowing references to a film this will inevitably be compared against – Fight Club. There is an argument that for films like Knuckledust, plot, depth of character, direction and drama can all be considered secondary to the good-old-fashioned brainless fun – and in that area the movie delivers. It is a laser-guided missile of masculine energy focused squarely on the pleasure centre of your brain. Knuckledust is a raucous and ruthless ball of energy that promises brainless thrills and delivers on them. An overblown and unfulfilling plot, and inability to stick with a tone prevent it from being anything more. In a packed gangster genre, Knuckledust does little to stand out or reach beyond viewers already sold on its premise. But for those who are, there is enough here to entertain. Knuckledust is available in the UK on VOD on December 11th

★★★★ Directed by: #JulieBruns #ShawnMajor #StevenKammerer Written by: #JulieBruns #ShawnMajor #StevenKammerer Starring: #JulieBruns #ShawnMajor Film review by: William Hemingway It can be hard to tell where the real horror lies these days. In the old days it was obvious; horror lay in ghosts and vampires, monsters and demonic possessions, killer clowns and men in masks with big, stabby knives. But now, so much of the horror coming into our lives through the screens in our homes is being let in not by the occult and the Devil, but rather through the news that we watch day in, day out. Horror writers and directors have always had one eye on social trends in the real world to find their inspiration, from Frankenstein to Carrie to Videodrome, but more recently we have seen a measured shift towards the use of showing modern culture to explore where the demons of society are rearing their ugly heads. Most notably, Jordan Peele has used the theme of the racial divide to fuel his horror in Get Out and Us, whilst others have used a variety of modern menaces such as sexual promiscuity and rape culture in It Follows and Teeth, to the ubiquitous phenomenon of cameras in every home in Cam and the newly released Host, to the emergence of existential peer pressure to constantly measure our likeability in Spree and Black Mirror. In The Purgamentum, that focus has shifted to highlight the horrors of pollution and how we are treating our seas and inland waterways. Amy (Bruns) is a marine biologist who is having trouble with her underwater microphone. It’s started producing a really eerie sound, almost like whispering voices, and she needs a diver to go in and check it out. Cue Stan (Major), the plucky, personable, man for the job who doesn’t see danger lurking in any corner and who will face any situation, even diving into cold, dark water, with a glib attitude and a cheeky smile. Of course Stan doesn’t know it, but he’s pure horror fodder. The interaction between the two leads in natural and engaging. There’s enough teasing in the script to nod towards ghosts that Amy is carrying around with her, and her defensive, hesitant nature is brilliantly offset by Stan’s calm, seen-it-all-before way of being. The soundscaping of the microphone noise and other background effects manages to create a seriously unsettling atmosphere and along with the lighting and camerawork all serve to put us right on the edge of our seats. And this is all before we even get into the water. Despite its short running time, The Purgamentum manages to pack in tension right the way through. From false alarms to scary noises and pant-filling visuals to the horrifying denouement, the directors have pulled out all the stops to keep you hiding behind the cushions. The unique theme offers an interesting twist on the genre and keeps you guessing as to where the scares are coming from. What’s lurking within the depths of this murky, moody mystery is a solid horror film with a strong social conscience.

★★★★ Directed by: King Louie Palomo Written by: King Louie Palomo Starring: Flora Gasser, Mercedes Cabral, Azmyth Jake Tanabe Hernandez Film Review by: Jason Knight A mother and her child are visiting grandma. Nene (Gasser) is an elderly woman who lives by herself and enjoys painting. Her daughter (Cabral) and her grandson (Hernandez) travel a long distance by bus, in order to see her. This short, moving story explores themes of family values, loneliness, growing old, religion and death. Gasser is very touching as a kindhearted, widowed grandmother, who has a passion for painting. Her compassion is highlighted in a scene where she finds a little girl in a busy market, who has lost her mum and attempts to comfort her. Cabral and Hernandez are truly convincing as mother and son, both good individuals who care deeply for Nene. The film's script follows two stories: Nene going about her business and her daughter and grandson's journey. The two storylines come together in the end. There is a great deal of focus on Gasser's character, the kind of person that she is. She is polite and willing to help other people. She has a painting studio in her home, where she is shown using the equipment with great care, indicating that she used to do that for a living. She is also seen praying in front of religious paintings and lit candles, suggesting that she is a rather religious person. Generally Nene is the character the audience gets to know the most about. Even while her relatives are riding the bus, they talk about her. The music adds great value, being both beautiful and sad, signifying tragedy. Director Palomo creates outstanding establishing shots and utilizes long takes to great effect. Nene is an emotional journey. Very well acted and written, it will most likely remain in the viewer's heart for a long time. #JasonKnight Trailer:

★★★★ Directed by: Richard Corso Written by: Richard Corso, Kareem Kamahl Taylor Starring: Gabe Combs, Asha Bee, Mandy Groves Film Review by: Jason Knight This short film noir was inspired by the sixties French New Wave Cinema and the American cop movies of the seventies. Two young women named Lulu (Bee) and Jules (Groves) are armed robbers and are planning to leave town shortly. They have just robbed a movie theater and it is up to detective Brooks (Combs) to find them. Watching this film is like using a time machine and going back to the sixties and seventies. This is mostly due to the cinematography and music. It was filmed in black-and-white and appears old, giving the impression that it was made decades ago. The image appears with pillarboxing, which is an effect that occurs when black bars are placed on the sides of the image. By utilizing these elements, the filmmakers seem to be paying homage to the sixties and seventies. Another interesting aspect is the score, which consists of the sound of drums, saxophone and keys, like jazz or blues. This music is heard throughout the film, sounding and gives a 'film-noir' feeling. The filmmakers do a great job with the editing, making use of superimposition, jump cutting and fast cutting techniques. A sequence that deserves considerable praise occurs when one of the robbers is shown in an alley, dancing by herself. It is a brief montage sequence that utilizes jump cuts and in every shot of that sequence, the color of the screen changes between blue, green and pink. The result is rather creative and beautiful. The acting is quite realistic. Bee and Groves are cool and calculative as two women who are living a life of crime and do not seem to regret their actions. Combs delivers a convincing performance as the clever detective who is determined to track them down. The directing is good and the dialogue is well written, with interesting characters. Generally this is a crime film, a cops-and-robbers movie. It has detectives investigating, criminals, guns, a bit of action and plenty of smoking. However, thanks to the cinematography and score, it is much more than just a little film noir. #JasonKnight Trailer:

★★★★★ Directed by: #JamilMcGinnis, #PatHeywood Written by: #JamilMcGinnis, #PatHeywood Starring: #ShaqBynes, #KaronTracey, #JihadWaveMarshall Film Review by Anna Martin Gramercy, the new short film from Seneca Village Pictures, opens with a shot of three young men on a bench at dusk. It’s summer, things look good, they are comfortable in each other’s silent company. The central man, our protagonist Shaq, gets up to admire the view, and when he turns around again his friends have gone: time has passed. What unspools from here is a keenly felt tale of one man’s mental health crisis and what that means for the people and the place he had to leave, to which he now returns. Gramercy is the name of this place, “I’m finally back in Gramercy,” Shaq says to a friend, full of tentative excitement, although his return will not be uncomplicated for anyone. And Gramercy is front and centre in this film, but even though it’s a real place, the film does not present a simple picture of place – if such a thing could be realised. Instead, the Gramercy of the film is a patchwork of memory, nostalgia, hope, trauma and friendship, told through a poetic interplay of scenes from Shaq’s inner life and ‘real’ life. Wisely, the inner life of our protagonist Shaq is presented in a dreamscape of glorious colour – the gold, green and sky-blue of open countryside – whilst his reality is in black and white. This choice swerves any unnecessary confusion but it’s also visually compelling. And it’s not all bad in reality: there is dancing, friendship and reconciliation in this two-tone world, alongside the loneliness and the loss. It’s a striking piece on so many fronts and the performances are exquisite all round, particularly from Shaq Bynes as Shaq. The relationships between the characters are acutely brought to life through ingenious camera work: on the dancefloor, the camera is low and amongst the action; the audience invited into the intimacy of friendship, whilst a tense conversation between Shaq and his old friend is filmed like a series of portraits, portraying these men as vulnerable and profoundly detached from one another. Gramercy is a film that trusts its audience, it will not give us all the answers but leaves us with some thinking to do: to decode the narrative and to consider the relationship between place and identity. And most importantly it is a wise piece, doing the hard work of bringing issues around mental health – specifically amongst young black men – to the fore with nuance and tenderness.

★★★★ Directed by: #RolfinNyhus Written by: #RolfinNyhus Starring: #RichardStephensonWinter, #ChrisAnderson, #RyanLaccohee Film Review by Lucy Clarke Greasy spoons are embedded in British culture. Although they’re just a cheap and cheerful café to get a plate of chips or a full English from, you can’t think of a greasy spoon café without thinking of the spam sketch from Monty Python. Writer and director Rolfin Nyhus continues the greasy spoon’s legacy in comedy with his short, Two Down. The café in question is quiet and tinted in a faint beige colour. Posters dot the walls showcasing the café’s menu for budget prices. Yet, apart from one regular customer and the chef, there’s no one in. Derek (Richard Stephenson Winter) and Diggsy (Chris Anderson) muse over their identical crosswords with Diggsy querying over the clue “five across, four – two: eastern martial art”, and while they collectively decide that it has to be kung-fu, a builder, wryly named Tae Kwon Joe (Ryan Laccohee), wanders in, and comic banter ensues. Nyhus fundamentally understands our expectations. Crosswords tend to be associated with the educated and the middle-classes, so it’s refreshing and humous to see Diggsy and Derek filling in the crossword, banter at the ready as they go. It’s this inversion of expectations that is Two Down’s bread and butter. Tae Kwon Joe doesn’t look like the sort of guy to have an intimate knowledge of martial arts. Still, he reels off several different forms of martial arts showing off his vast amount of trivia, prompting giggles from the viewer. The only character where Nyhus fails to really get to grips with is Ms Mangetout (Melanie Jane Spence) whose order – a Mediterranean platter - and her classical literature reading habits aren’t even remarked on, even though they are visually funny within the setting of the greasy spoon café. Unfortunately, she’s wasted in her role as Diggsy’s attractive distraction and doesn’t even offer an answer to a clue. From the Hawaiian opening title music and the stark imagery, Two Down cleverly clashes the style of the British classical realist drama – think of any Ken Loach - with the wit and the weirdness of a Python sketch. Those beige walls shouldn’t be as comforting as they are. Rather than a fatal disconnect, this combination works as well as fish and chips. Nyhus creates warm characters and witty situations which persuade you to settle in, order a mug of tea and try and guess a crossword clue. Two Down is filled with sparkling wit and light-hearted scenarios centring on kung fu and salt beef. Akin to Black Books, with far less crotchety characters, Two Down is a treat. I’ll have a full English, please.

★★ Stars Directed by: #CarlosSorin Written by: #CarlosSorin Starring: #ValeriaBertuccelli, #EstebanLamothe, #JuliánSorin, #MauricioDayub, #MalenaPichot Film Review by: Alicia Moore “A woman with terminal cancer decides to keep a notebook full of musings on life and love for her 4-year-old son to read after she dies.” Notes for my Son is an Argentinian film on Netflix that is loosely based a true story. The real life event involves Heather McManamy, who died of breast cancer in 2015, leaving behind letters for her family, friends and more specifically her 4-year-old daughter Brianna. McManamy wrote many greeting cards to her daughter as well, labelled for different occasions and milestones that she will reach throughout her life. These were combined and published in a book by McManamy’s husband, titled ‘Cards for Brianna: A Mom’s Messages of Living, Laughing, and Loving as Time Is Running Out.’ If you feel tears hanging heavily at the edge of your eyes just by reading about the inspiration for Notes for my Son, then you’ll most likely find yourself almost drowning in a puddle of tears after watching. I state that this film can easily trigger a flood of emotions, and it definitely can due to the subject of which the story follows, but unfortunately I was not that far connected with the story to individually feel that impact. A film’s structure primarily relies on the screenplay, however the writing here (by Carlos Sorin) doesn’t give the production the strong backbone that it requires. The timeline of events presented to viewers becomes disarranged rather quickly and this does no favours for holding one’s attention as understanding and fluidity is seemingly lost. All events soon become entangled — more accurately, estranged in the sight of the audience. Any source of characterisation is adrift too, which once again doesn’t add much value to the hold on attention and interest. I think the most prominent reason as to why I didn’t have a powerful emotional response to the film is due to the lack of a bond with the characters as a viewer. There is no space within the ambience surrounding the characters to place my empathy and friendship because there simply isn’t a solid ambience established to emotionally access. Although the writing does not build characters with dialogue and stable backstory, the chemistry between cast members thankfully provides the audience with some connection to grasp onto. Most of the performances seen within the film are actually quite bland and somewhat stiff but when in close proximity and interacting with each other freely, a clear bubble of warmth envelopes the characters. These moments partially make up for the loss of characterisation in other scenes because of their natural intensity and open atmosphere. As for the acting, talking separately from how it supports the writing, Valeria Bertuccelli’s great abilities shine through and enhance the viewing experience entirely. Playing a character that is constantly in pain, watching as her life shortens but is still enthusiastic about the time she has left must be incredibly draining — especially for Bertuccelli who obviously places her heart into the character. Despite her appearance as the character being pale and lying in discomfort, her upbeat approach to the situation is what casts light on the story; Bertuccelli herself casts light on the production in more or less the same context. The cinematography, by Julián Apezteguia, of Notes for my Son is an element that I can praise highly. There is nothing extravagant about the techniques and visuals used, yet the beautiful simplicity is what brings the film together. Some aspects of the film do have a disorderly arrangement but the focused shots, and undeviating centre point of each, help to sow those astray pieces of the production closer together to create a heartwarming frame around them as a whole. The cinematography matches perfectly with the topic of the film; its concentrated detail runs wonderfully alongside the journey — the journey of a heartbreaking story with a comfortable frame of solace to soften the crash. Notes for my Son can be generally a good watch for those who enjoy dramas with an uplifting undertone. The story may sound dark and gloomy but those descriptions are seated underneath a bundle of lessons to be learnt in regards to how you should approach life, even when faced with the worst of it, as well as scenes of love and affection which ultimately lead this film experience.

★★★★ Directed by: #SeayoonJeong Written by: Seayoon Jeong & #SandraPhilip Starring: #GraceShen, #RumiOyama, #GraceChim Short Film Review by: Corey Bulloch I wasn’t familiar with the term ‘comfort woman’ before this film and after twenty minutes Seayoon Jeong made sure I will never forget it. Enlightening, harrowing and leaving audiences eager for more, Breaking the Silence is a powerful drama which gives a much-needed voice to a horrifying period in human history. Over 70 million people were killed during World War Two; soldiers, civilians, prisoners through war, disease and genocide. Those who survived told their stories ensuring future generations knew the brutality and the sacrifices made to end it. Countless filmmakers and artists have used this period to create great cinema though few have tackled the nightmarish reality of comfort women. From 1932-1945 The Imperial Japanese Army routinely kidnapped women from across the Pacific and forced them into sexual slavery for their soldiers, exact numbers of victims are still debated by historians but it ranges from the ten to hundred thousand. Jeong’s creates a fictional account through the character of Francesca, a nurse in the American Red Cross who is abducted in the wake of the St. Stephen's College massacre in Hong Kong 1941. Fact informs the fiction and it makes Jeong’s film all the more heart-rending in how Francesca played by Grace Shen and in flashbacks by Grace Chin serves as the ‘everywoman’, her story is the same as thousands. One of violence, contempt, and trauma, Jeong’s and Sandra Philip’s script follows clear conventions but the intensity of this subject matter isn’t diminished. Initially, I was underwhelmed by Breaking the Silence due to its familiar narrative structure; flashbacks framed through Francesca being interviewed by Rumi Oyama’s Betty. Unaware of historical contexts I felt Jeong was going through the motions of a typical drama, finding these flashbacks to the 40s lacking immersion. Then Jeong literally kicks the doors off the hinges, the tragic history takes hold and nothing about Breaking the Silence feels artificial again; the violence is excruciating, Grace Chin’s performance bleeds tragedy and empathy, you’re in this nightmare now. Nothing feels exploitative, the distressing imagery used serves character and context, we see Francesca subjected to cruel inhuman acts but never for the sake of shock value. From the production design to cinematography, all departments step up in making the ‘Comfort Station’ a chilling location. Makeshift buildings juxtaposed against the dense forest, as if the Imperial Army is trying to camouflage their barbarity through municipal organisation. Sean J. Daly’s use of black and white for these flashbacks really emphasises the contrasts in the imagery such as thick dark blood against white hospital floors or dim rays of light shining across Francesca’s stricken expression. The strength in the film’s drama and performances earns its empathetic ending but it feels as though Breaking the Silence just scratches the surface of its potential. Whether Jeong and her team intend for this to be a stepping stone for a feature-length project, there are clear opportunities to delve deeper into this material. For its 27 minutes Breaking the Silence showcases captivating filmmaking in exploring the reality of ‘comfort stations’ and its victims but also briefly the fight to have these atrocities recognised and condemned as war crimes. Even with my own brief research after viewing the film I can tell there is a much larger story to be told here and I can only hope that Seayoon Jeong will continue the work started with this film. Trailer: #CoreyBulloch #shortfilm