Latest Short Film Reviews

Filmed over the course of a single day and with minimal budget, short thriller Extricate is a flawed but impressively-realised vision of a post-apocalyptic London that has fallen foul of lawlessness, militarism and plague.

Survivors Hazel (Bennette Ngoma) and Joshua (Tafara Nbangani) face a desperate struggle in a world that has fallen apart, when they come across a mysterious mute child, Cairo (Jayden Ndombasi). Cairo possesses mysterious power that may hold a key to rebuilding society, but the threat of scavengers, fascist militias and a fatal disease that has crippled the world mean they have to use all of their meagre resource and strength to bring the child to a sanctuary where such an outcome may be possible. The sacrifices make their pair wonder if their choices are worth the risk.

Extricate’s budget and smaller-scale production mean that the lofty ambition of director Sterling Nlongo at creating a fully-formed sci-fi thriller aren’t fully met – but this entertaining short is one hell of a go at it. Some of the more complex and action-packed developments of Hazel and Joshua’s quest are relegated to voiceover – a presumed necessity due to the scale such scenes would demand. What is left are the quieter character moments between the pair, Jayden Ndombasi’s Cairo and later Alisha Henry’s malicious dictator Mabel – and these deep moments of introspective exchanges stand up as emotional and thought-provoking examples of why post-apocalyptic movies have great potential to speak to the human experience. The themes of sacrifice, loyalty and commitment to a greater purpose are all explored through considered moments that develop the story more than any large-scale gun battle ever could.

Bennette Ngoma’s Hazel and Tafara Nbangani’s Joshua share the majority of the screen time, and their chemistry echoes the likes of Joel and Tess in The Last of Us as an imperfect and desperate couple who are faced with a difficult choice that places their existence in great danger, but requires selflessness for the benefit of all. Their differing perspectives on what to do with Cairo are the film’s most intriguing aspect, as is the choices both face when danger inevitably tracks them down. Ngoma and Nbangani convince as hardened, embittered and embattled survivors, whose humanity is frayed but not fractured.

There are times where the film creaks under the pressures of its small-scale production. Much of the film is limited to the interiors of warehouses – the sparse outdoor sequences convince but there is a lack of scale that mean the scale of societal downfall or the reach of the militarised organisation hunting Hazel and Joshua down is hard to envision. There are occasional hiccups with the dialogue where vocal matching feels off, and clunky dialogue is another symptom of too much story, too little time. An unsatisfactory and open-ended conclusion also falls flat – one that aims for a complex deliberation on sacrifice but leaves audiences feeling short-changed.

Despite some clear shortcomings, Extricate is an impressive success for director Sterling Nlongo. It outperforms a small budget to imagine a devastated world and explores it with strong characters who act convincingly for the world they live in.

Ali Moazen’s short film The Whispers is an intimate and quiet affair. The cast is made up of just Ehsan Gharedaghi and Nava Nemati, playing a couple with an ambiguous relationship as they converse in bed. More context surrounding their relationship is revealed as the short unfolds, and the couple begin to reveal certain vulnerabilities and fears with each other.

It’s the morning after the night before, and for the duration of the short, the two leads share a conversation in bed that skates around relationships, pain, and philosophy. Immediately, the audience are invited into a very personal space, as the camera lingers above and between the two actors underneath their bedsheets. A thin sunbeam gives the impression that The Whispers takes place after a night of passion, and in the afterglow of the night before, the two can be open with each other for perhaps the first time. The conversation sways idly between various topics; they talk about school, past loves, and scars – both emotional and physical. There’s a sense that they can be honest with each other in this space, sharing anxieties that they’re burdened by in everyday life and confessing to darker thoughts that have troubled them. A cloud of unease underpins the conversation as they meander around past traumas, and when the film ends, it feels as though something unspoken is left hanging in the air. The Whispers treads into heavy territory, and while it's interesting to see how these characters confront what could have been an awkward morning, audiences may find it difficult to navigate through the dialogue to find exactly what Moazen’s point is.

Unfortunately, the English language subtitles were unclear in parts, which made the conversation difficult to follow. A key reveal towards the end of the film was vague in the English subtitles, and audiences may miss the meaning of the film’s climax. Fortunately, the subtitles can easily be improved, and I would like to see the film again with a more accurate translation into English.

The Whispers should be commended for its filmmaking and the performances of the cast. The minimalism of shooting two actors in bed and putting the camera between them creates a strong sense of intimacy, and Moazen clearly trusts the audience to learn the nature of the main characters’ relationship to each other without spoonfeeding all the juicy details immediately. It feels rewarding to learn how casual or serious the nature of their relationship is, which gives the first half of the short a palpable sense of intrigue. However, while the verisimilitude of the dialogue creates a great sense of realism, the film may lose audiences with an apparent lack of focus in the script and a fairly lethargic pace. Once the details of the night before are revealed, the engine begins to run on empty, and there’s not much in the way of conflict to keep the audience invested. The brilliance of the film’s script may shine through with a better English translation, but until that is available, the narrative and dramatic potential of The Whispers unfortunately falls a little short.

The Young Mozart can best be summed up as a duel, fought not with pistols but with words soaked in venom. Directed by Ali Moazen, this short is a confident and tense experience, and rich in thematic depth. The film stars Nazanin Yousefi and Pardis Shiravani as the mother and piano teacher of Jorge, a 13 year old boy who has suddenly been pulled from his lessons and will return to his home in Spain. The resulting drama that unfolds from this final confrontation between two women reveals that there is much more at stake for Jorge beyond missing a piano lesson.

Mozen’s film is theatrical in its construction, thanks to the dialogue-heavy script and simple set design. The focus of The Young Mozart is undoubtedly on the words that the women are speaking, and their battle of wills over the fate of a 13 year old boy. They both hold opposite viewpoints on how they exert their power over Jorge; while his mother has carefully planned out his career and generally holds a tight leash, the piano teacher indulges him, concealing information from his mother and reveling in the secrets that she holds. The costume design reinforces the strict dichotomy between the women – Jorge’s mother dresses in a traditional, black outfit, while his piano teacher is dressed entirely in white, in more modern clothing. Despite their opposition to each other, they both wear similar looking headscarves, hinting that while they appear to be mirror opposites of each other, they may share some similarities in their goals with Jorge. Power seems to be at the center of The Young Mozart, and the film navigates themes of choice and control with precision.

Undoubtedly, the most important part of The Young Mozart is the language, which is why it’s a shame that the English language subtitles could have been improved. It doesn’t necessarily detract from the film, but it’s worth mentioning that some English speaking audiences may have a more difficult time with understanding the dialogue.

The Young Mozart mostly delivers in the drama it promises, but audiences may feel that there could have been a more exciting climax. The ending may feel sudden to some, and possibly even tonally jarring. One additional complicating factor could have elevated the film further, and given the end more of the punch that Moazen was aiming for.

Mozen’s short delivers some excellent drama and the cast should be commended for their performances. Despite the short run time, there’s a depth and complexity in the film that will keep audiences engaged in the story even beyond the credits.

A mother who has suddenly lost her husband to a tragic accident goes to crazed lengths just to see her daughter smile again.

Francis (Wilcox) loves her family. In pride of place on the living room wall is her favourite picture of them all together, mother, father, and daughter, smiling for the camera. It comes as a great shock to her, then, when there’s a knock on the door and she is presented with her husband’s head, putting beyond all doubt the fact that he is dead. This information sends Francis into a dangerous tailspin and she begins to obsess about having a new picture taken, of her and her daughter, Alice (Thomas), hopeful that by the time it rolls around she’ll be able to get her to smile again.

The thing is, that Francis is a crazed nutbar, and everything she does or says is caught up in a frenzy of hysteria. She’s deliberately overbearing to Alice, and pushes her daughter in emotional and physical ways to get some sort of reaction out of her, all the time reminding her of the impending photoshoot for the new picture to go on the wall. In amongst all of this, the neighbour (O’Brien) is on the prowl outside the door in the hallway, intermittently sticking his head into Francis and Alice’s affairs in the most bizarre ways imaginable whilst offering nothing salient to the plot of the film.

Then there’s Francis herself, played by Toyhota Wilcox, in one of the more interesting casting choices that’s ever been made for screen, and by interesting I mean strange and awful. Without knowing Toyhota’s background and self-identification, it’s difficult to pinpoint just why this casting and characterisation was made, as the film doesn’t present or imply any trans rights issues or gender neutral messaging, but what we get instead is a guy in a wig and a dress, putting on a high-pitched crazy voice, and acting hysterically for the whole ten minutes. It could be that this was all done as a tongue-in-cheek joke, to help flesh out the ‘comedy’ in this self-professed comedy horror, but really it just comes off as terribly badly judged.

The feel of the film at least has some artistic merit to it, as right from the start we are led into a series of old-timey cinema cards and adverts, complete with dust on the film and crackles on the audio. This leaning towards a 70’s B-movie standard, or video nasty, allows for some leeway in the narrative structure of Baby Teeth, and director Alex David goes all out in exploiting this stylised notion for all its worth. The placing of the shots is also very in-keeping with the style and theme of the film, with things often feeling off-kilter, or at a jaunty angle, to keep the audience off balance. This also leads in to the cinematography and lighting choices which offer a soft-focus, pink-hued, filter to a lot of the scenes, lending a dream-like quality to a lot of what’s going on.

All in all, Baby Teeth gets a lot of things wrong and doesn’t present enough of a coherent narrative to entice viewers to want to come and watch it. The characterisation and performance of Francis is just too far out there to be useful in any meaningful way, and there’s not a lot of sense to the plot either. The filmmakers do, at least, have a commitment to their vision that stops Baby Teeth from languishing in the depths of the real video nasties, but only barely.

The Last Dance is set around 90s East London, when Fox’s (Karl Collins) “LA Bar” is hit with a compulsory purchase order, a monumental cornerstone of Caribbean Life around this time period. As the city begins to forget, the loving community band together for a last dance to look back on the longing and defiance of the area. The film is a profound love letter to the Caribbean community in the 1990s and a heartwarming true story.

The rich attention to detail within the entire production value is astounding, as the piece feels timeless in its presentation, with a distinct love for the material. The writer-director Hayden Mclean directly pays tribute to his father, and his well-rounded knowledge of Caribbean life is evident in the film. Joel Honeywell’s cinematography is beautiful and intimate, serving as a device to enhance scenes of reflection. He consistently captures a sense of awe towards the community and the chemistry-laden cast of characters. It can, at times, tug on the heartstrings with a helping hand of empathy extended to the community and their experiences in East London. Ben Stanbridge’s musical score is achingly haunting and beautiful, with its low-key and hypnotic themes that anchor sequences of partying and the characters embracing each other one last time. On the other hand, the use of needle drops is equally impressive as they are suitably placed throughout with the use of reggae music that fits the setting and time period. The piece is truly visually stunning and firing on all cylinders in the technical department.

Unfortunately, specific segments of the narrative meander as the characters attempt to find solutions to keeping the bar open, and the lack of runtime is a detriment to the experience, with minimal characterisation for many of the cast. Perhaps reworking the narrative into a feature film could enhance the richness of the characters and flesh out specific ideas that the filmmakers wanted to convey more deeply. However, even with its minimal runtime and budget restraints, it's still incredibly emotionally resonant as it is devastating to witness a loving group of people lose their safe space due to awful circumstances. The performances across the board are phenomenal, in particular Karl Collins in his portrayal of Fox. He exhibits a profound level of leadership and restraint in his love for his family and community that looks up to him, and it's particularly tough to witness his world crumble around him. The supporting cast’s chemistry is really what holds the piece together as they genuinely feel like family with their naturalistic presence, and this keeps the narrative compelling as it draws to a close.

Sadly, the conclusion to the piece leaves a lot to be desired, with perhaps an intentional lack of payoff; however, since there is only minor time spent with the characters, the ending feels anticlimactic and not as fulfilling as one may hope. Still, it's impressive how much was accomplished within the brief runtime. It is just a shame it doesn't aptly stick the landing, as this clearly has the building blocks to be a complete home run with the talent involved.

The Last Dance is an emotionally overwhelming love letter to Caribbean life in the 90s, accompanied by a plethora of outstanding technical aspects and incredible performances. A touching narrative about community, loss and family that boasts visually stunning camerawork and shines a profoundly empathetic light on an underrepresented group of people.

The Death of the Centurion is an astoundingly unusual historical drama meets docu-form testimony. Based around figures and events in Roman history, this 26-minute movie – told entirely through voiceover, with visuals simply accompanying – tells the tale of a centurion, Cassius Liberius (played by Cristian Ciomaga), who falls victim to his own sense of will, ego and superstition. The film also stars Tudor Urea and Florin Nicula. This is in no way your conventional docudrama; from its idiosyncratic mix of media in terms of cinematic craft, to the jarring atmosphere formed from the narration, audiences are sure to be left fascinated, certainly, but also slightly confused as a result of this unique tone.

I’d briefly like to get the film’s main issue out the way: the narration – whilst flowery in its description and entertaining enough for its vocal performance – hinders the film’s ability to properly tell the story it wishes to tell. To demonstrate this, I’ll provide an example. During perhaps the dramatic turning point of the script, a deeply significant conversation takes place between a few Romans at a tavern of some kind. However, instead of allowing this conversation to take place as you would see in any other media, we’re relayed the conversation in the third person by the narration. We can still see the characters’ lips moving, and the camera draws our attention to the faces of these actors. This creates a slightly unwatchable characteristic of cognitive dissonance and leaves one wondering what the testimony is meant to be adding besides the aesthetic quality of ‘someone writing a letter, recounting a story’. This unfortunate decision is hardly worth dwelling upon, however, as there’s so much else to enjoy about the machinery and intentionality of the craft...

The shooting on location, in forests and the general wilderness, provides the mise-en-scene a scintillating sense of authenticity. For instance, if the viewer was not interested in the story or its manner of telling, they would still have these gorgeous yet ruthless landscapes – shot very strikingly – to gaze upon. In terms of the cinematography specifically, this critic was a massive fan of how long focal-lengths and fast shutter-speeds were implemented to emphasise motion and drama – much like in the legendary works of Akira Kurosawa. This picture also provides us a wide range of enjoyable locations and scenarios, with era-appropriate costumes and set-dressing to hammer it home. These filmmakers are clearly talented historians, and you can clearly feel that passion through their artistry as well.

Epic in scope and ambitious, yet polarising in its bizarre technical execution, there becomes much to both celebrate and lament regarding The Death of the Centurion. Its form only goes so far as to inform and intellectually stimulate; but not necessarily so far as to immerse or emotionally activate. Nevertheless, this is a piece which admirably attempts to juggle a multitude of ideas and aesthetics – much of which, one must admit, is accomplished with grace and cinematic aptitude. So, even though it might not quite reach the level of execution which writer-director Octavian Repede undoubtedly embarked upon, it remains a thoughtful and epic work of short form filmmaking.

The Pause explores what happens to an individual when life suddenly stops, and how to navigate your career path during a midlife crisis. The narrative follows Charlie (Suzy Bloom) after she loses her job and the onset of menopause turns her life and body upside down, as she is forced to confront her deeper self and unravel a supernatural disturbance that looms over her. Tackling a darkly comedic undertone and satirical edge, the piece effectively boasts a meta commentary as it breaks the fourth wall, poking fun at horror tropes as Charlie tries to figure out her life amidst all the chaos.

The piece immediately hooks you in, thanks to a pulse-pounding musical score from composer Katherine Evans that feels incredibly immersive, accompanied by creative opening credits that fit the tone of the film stylistically and thematically. While tonally it can feel uneven and misguided at times, the meta commentary on womanhood and being trapped inside a horror film gives the genre a fresh new take thematically. Even with how incredibly absurd it feels at times, it still manages to evoke discomfort and tension within brief displays of disturbing and gnarly imagery. The use of voiceover at times can feel eerie, as well as effectively balancing the comedic elements suitably well in its goofy nature. One of the most astounding feats of the entire runtime is how consistently engaging it feels with a brisk pace, never losing sight of its tightly managed character-focused idea narratively.

Gary Rogers’ camerawork is constantly moving at a vigorous pace, tracking and utilising fixed and close-up shots of Charlie and the consistent terror that looms over her. The use of low-key lighting within the tight alleyways in the exterior sequences genuinely unsettles and sustains the tension and engagement in its atmospheric nature. Gillian Abraham’s edit is frenetic as it consistently cuts from sequences of dread to calmer and more collected discussions of the topics prevalent throughout the narrative. The supporting cast, including Sammi (Louise Osbourne), offer a plethora of comedic and dramatic flair to the more dialogue-heavy scenes of reflection, as debates are brought up regarding the comparisons to being trapped in a genre film while on the verge of a mental breakdown, and trying to figure out a midlife crisis.

Unfortunately, after the tightly paced first half of the runtime, the piece loses some momentum towards the back half. It increasingly loses tension and falls into a stagnant territory as the characters reflect on their career choices and the ever-increasing impact of AI in the process of job applications. While the discussions are topical and universal themes that tie well into the thematic ideas, it slowly loses its edge with the repetitive nature of what is actually being said, which begins to feel shallow and shoehorned into the concluding chapter of the film. Sadly, the conclusion to the narrative wraps up in an underwhelming manner due to failing to fulfil Charlie’s character arc successfully, and the film ends abruptly with an unsettling nature that may leave a sour taste in your mouth.

The Pause is an unconventional attempt at a character study, exploring topics such as menopause, self-discovery and the impact of losing a job in the current landscape of the job market. However, beyond the myriad of themes it attempts to employ, there's sadly not much else to offer outside of some terrific formal decisions and solid performances from Suzy Bloom and Louise Osbourne. The conclusion is abrupt, leaving it grasping for longevity after the credits roll.

This short film, directed and written by Charlotte Serena Cooper, is not only an enjoyable story but also an encapsulation of an important queer struggle conveyed masterfully. 

Following queer actress Grace, Bury Your Gays is a terrific satire narrating her inability to survive in her queer roles. Time after time, characters she plays are killed off. In a constant battle against her directors and producers, she has become increasingly frustrated. Why do her queer roles never get happy endings? In fact, why don’t any queer stories seem to end with a fulfilling romantic outcome? Grace questions the harshness of the Bury Your Gays trope, just as many viewers, authors and critics of film and TV have, as it has been increasingly investigated in recent years.

The film grounds itself within queer culture, depicting a clear awareness of the evolution of queer cinema, from the New Queer Cinema wave of the 1990s to the later queer classics. The film presents its cultural awareness through humorous, ironic references, such as a direct callback to Brokeback Mountain, to intensify the film’s point that queer characters are doomed to have tragic endings (we all know how that one ends). 

The opening to Bury Your Gays is skilfully gripping. After suffering one of her on-screen deaths, which is convincing as a story within a story, Grace enters a peculiar void inhabited by a captivating agent played by T’Nia Miller. Miller’s character is a personification of the way viewers perceive the Bury Your Gays trope. The Agent offers hope to queer actors, just as audiences have hope in the queer characters they see on screen, only to hit them with an ‘Oh well, try again next time!’ when the characters reach their eventual demise. This brings to life the constant struggle of queer viewership, as audiences fall in love with characters and ships, only to have their happy ending taken away from them, yet they continuously view queer stories in the hope that this will change.

Grace is given nine lives and is told by the agent she must find a role in which she does not die. She travels to each role through a fantastical portal within the void. Each storyline is brief and vague; however, they are full of contextual cues that viewers can easily immerse themselves in each world that is created, and the punchline at the end of them never loses its impact.

As Bury Your Gays highlights, the film industry for years has excluded queer stories due to the Hayes Code, and as representation has increased, queer characters continuously end up dying off. This short film, by enacting this trope, actually manages to subvert it by taking the tragedy out of the deaths. By using comedy, Bury Your Gays invents a new mechanism of killing queer characters, highlighting the injustice this poses. Whilst being very on the nose, Bury Your Gays still works due to its reliance on satire and breaking of the fourth wall. It is a film about infuriating queer tropes in films, with these exact tropes involved in the story, whilst also offering its own story of progression and abandonment of stereotypes.

Bury Your Gays marks the start of a new era. Recently, queer films such as Bottoms and Red, White and Royal Blue have struck the film industry with a new kind of queer storytelling, depicting queer joy rather than, as has been continuously done so beforehand, queer suffering. Although these happier, optimistic films are unfathomably outnumbered by their tragic predecessors, Bury Your Gays presents an outlook which provides queer characters the option of being happy, whilst acknowledging and honouring the past. All the while, the film never misses a beat. Bury Your Gays is full of comedic twists, well-rounded characters and an engaging script. As well as this, the film’s use of several different settings and costumes brings an exciting, satisfying look to the film, one which encapsulates viewers as they follow along a touching, uplifting, and critical story. 

Sahurda follows Adeesha (Sasindu Randi), a postman, who dedicates his life to his work. Due to being incredibly busy with his job, he barely has time to spend with his loving wife. One day, while delivering letters to a house, he discovers a letter without an address and notices many other letters that are similar. Adeesha then goes on a journey of discovery, attempting to decipher the meaning behind the letters. The narrative was inspired by Nobel Laureate Richard Feynman, whose letters to his wife influenced the creation of the piece.

The film opens with a washed-out and indistinct look, as it tracks the protagonist wandering the neighbourhood delivering letters to houses. Formally, the piece is mostly impressive with its evasive and moody atmospheric score, which pervades sequences of exploration throughout Adeesha’s routine. At the same time, the narrative feels rather aimless; however, a plethora of technical elements soar, in particular Eshan Manusanka’s camerawork, which utilises a mix of close-ups and fixed shots following Adeesha and the environments around him. On the other hand, some of the editing is jarring as it rapidly cuts from one sequence to another while bizarrely shifting aspect ratios. Audio can also be cut out at times, almost taking you out of the experience entirely, which could have potentially been thanks to its budget restraints.

The central performance from Sasindu Randi is genuinely compelling as he radiates a profound level of nuance and restraint, hiding his deep melancholy behind his work. One of the most compelling aspects of the film is the relationship that is briefly depicted through scenes of flashbacks, giving the viewer a minor glimpse of the warmth that blossomed between Professor Philips Fernando (Pasan Ranaweera) and his wife and the sheer regret that looms over him by the time lost. Even with its shortcomings along the way and the minor runtime, the piece still manages to emotionally resonate as a viewer, especially given that it's based on a real letter. A deeper characterisation and exploration into their relationship with a prolonged runtime, however, could’ve potentially fleshed out the ideas the filmmakers wanted to delve into and made the finished cut more impactful. The climax is also abrupt, and tonally it feels confused and misguided at times, particularly in how sentimental it presents itself, as well as in the devastating nature of the central revelation. A bizarre use of visuals is apparent throughout the credits, which bears no resemblance to the narrative, accompanied by an oddly inserted post-credit scene, which adds nothing to the conclusion.

Miyuranga Wickramasinghe’s musical score is profound and understated, effectively anchoring moments of stillness while Professor Philips reflects on the past and present. Thematically, the screenplay draws comparisons to quantum computing when discussing the unpredictability of uncontrollable impulses within complex problems, particularly in younger individuals. The supporting cast is terrific, especially Pasan Ranaweera, who, in his portrayal of Professor Philips, displays an incredible degree of confidence and nuance, balancing the more dialogue-heavy sequences when discussing the intricacies of quantum computing and the more intimate moments of reflection.

Sahurda is a profoundly moving depiction of regret and grief over the time lost between two individuals, with its heart in the right place. It may suffer from minor technical issues and baffling tonal redirects visually, and it does not have much to chew on thematically either. However, the two lead performances from Pasan Ranaweera and Sasindu Randi are astounding in their dual characterisation, both in search of closure in their respective arcs.

Inspired by David Wojnarowicz's ''Untitled (One Day This Kid...)'', this short drama won the 2025 Iris Prize and the Jury Prize at SXSW and is currently being considered for the For Your Consideration campaign for Best Live Action Short Film at the Academy Awards. The screenwriter and director is Alexander Farah and the main cast includes Massey Ahmar, Roohafza Hazrat and Aydin Malekooti.

This film centers on the life of Hamed, an Afghan Canadian living in Canada and it follows him as he develops from early childhood to an adult. The main subject is his homosexualtiy, how he begins to perceive himself as a homosexual and proceeds to live his life. However, as time has gone by, he seems to have been estranged from his disapproving father.

This short is not narrative-focused. The screenplay consists of many brief scenes, all of which are presented in chronological order, beginning with Hamed as a little boy, before moving to his teen years and eventually his adult years. There is hardly a narrative, instead the film observes him as he gradually comes to terms with his homosexuality and as he deals with his father's disapproval. There is no non-diegetic music and to a significant degree, the film does not rely much on spoken words in order to explore Hamed's emotions. The fact that it ends on a sort of cliffhanger might be disappointing to some as a proper conclusion would had probably added more depth, making the film more meaningful.

On the surface, Hamed is a simple person, having a happy childhood, playing with friends,socialising and attending religious ceremonies. However, deep down he is a troubled character, an individual who discovers that he is gay and conceals it in order to avoid the consequences. Quiely discovering his homosexuality through the years, he becomes an adult who finds happiness with accepting who he is. His father is the character who represents the condemnation that he fears if his homosexuality was to be brought to light.

This film concerns self-discovery, family, religion, parenting, romance and coming-of-age. Primarily, it addresses homosexuality and more specifically, the forbiddenness of this characteristic in countries such as Afghanistan.

This is a moving and thought-provoking story with great performances. It should probably not be acknowledged mostly as a story but rather as an exploration of the themes mentioned above.