Latest Short Film Reviews

The Supply Teacher is the debut by director, co-writer and actor Bryan Lamb – and what a debut it is. The film is also co-written by the cinematographer and editor Jack R H O’Sullivan. This is an incredibly affecting drama concerned with current issues within an educational setting. Our protagonist is Robin (played most empathetically by Nick Field), a supply teacher who returns to his old school to teach some Shakespeare. Robin meets Alfie (played by Lamb himself in a deeply emotional performance), a young, neurodivergent person who’s struggling with the discriminative verbal abuse perpetrated by his school bully.

This is an impressively prescient screenplay, filled with social complexity and upsetting power dynamics. What seems to be a tragically common in-school occurrence quickly reveals itself to be an explicit injustice when we discover that the bully is the son of the school principal who’s continuing to enable and excuse his son’s behaviour. Not only this, for he also attempts to paint Alfie as a compulsive liar, further muddying the water. The Supply Teacher becomes a story of discovery for two neurodivergent people – Robin and Alfie – one of whom must come to realise the realities of some deep-rooted prejudice; the other must find the strength to stand up against his oppressors.

So, whilst it is on one hand quite a disturbing and realistic portrayal of in-school injustice, it is also a narrative which provides answers, as well as a sense of hope. The audience is given a couple of thought-provoking examples of how one can challenge authority when these systems, meant to protect the most vulnerable, completely fail at the first hurdle. The titular supply teacher’s journey is perhaps the most fascinating in this regard, as he turns to his husband who’s writing an article about bullying. It’s a very interesting example of someone taking an issue into their own hands when desperate circumstances call for it – the sharing of information so as to provide consolation to those out there who really need it.

Just to touch on the film’s formal aspects, this is definitely a competently made movie. You can maybe tell in some places that this is a debut project – visually, it sometimes lacks a bit of depth, for instance. But there’s also plenty to be impressed with on a technical and directorial level. One example of this is how and when close-ups are implemented into the visual language and blocking. For moments that perhaps lack any deeper relevance, the shot remains wide and unbroken (such as Robin’s introductory small-talk with another teacher); whereas, when a situation becomes confrontational, the style of shots aptly shifts into a face-on, shot-reverse-shot sensibility. This is simple yet effective, and a clear sign of real directorial ability.

To surmise, there are a great many messages to take from the scenarios depicted in The Supply Teacher. It also feels as if it’s contributing to a long line of confrontational pieces of social realism – you could certainly draw parallels to a dramatist like Ken Loach, for example. All to say that this is a truly engaging debut project and one that shows creative promise for any future works by Lamb.

A short comedy written and directed by Kurstin Moser and Ciara Naughton and starring Jackie Romankow, Lee Keinan and Meredith Brown.

This film is meant to feel like a Y2K romcom and the story takes place in the early 2000s. Jenny (Romankow) is a spoiled, jobless, university dropout who loves shopping (using her parents' card). Her disapproving sister, Lizzie (Brown) informs her that this situation cannot go on any longer and that Jenny needs to find a job. Following Lizzie's advice, Jenny heads to a local country club, where there is need for staff. There, she encounters Darren (Keinan), a former classmate from school who is now the manager, who she also used to dislike. Jenny will work at the club and re-evaluate her feelings regarding Darren.

A light-hearted comedy about a young woman going through significant life changes and learning a thing or two about herself. There is good character development and significant dedication to the rapport that builds between Jenny and Darren, with her initially being reluctant to work and denying that she could ever fancy Darren. The humour exists primarily in Jenny's awkward perception on life and her attempts to adapt to the working world and to come to terms with her emotions.

The film lets it be known that the story is set around the year 2000, with references here and there that include a poster of Clueless and mentioning the PlayStation 2. The selection of songs is quite cool, with tracks such as Girlfriend Song by Juice, One Love by Fox Drop ft. Lars Safsund and Don't Fall Apart by G9 adding a lot of entertainment.

Having the role of the main character, Romankow leads the film well, playing a youngster who changes from a naive and carefree mall rat into a more mature and understanding person. Keinan's character is a hardworking and likeable guy, who serves as the person who changes Jenny's life, beginning from being someone who she detests then becoming her love interest. And finally, Lizzie is the criticizing and sarcastic sibling who pushes Jenny to change her life.

This short tells a story about self-discovery, about a person turning their life around and learning more about the world and about themself. And it is also about romance and relationships, reminiscing the past and people changing and becoming better.

A nice, feel-good story about making life-changing decisions and finding romance. The uplifting story, the humour and the soundtrack make this an experience that is amusing and worthy of recognition.

A short drama written and directed by Marellus Cox and starring Stephen Cofield Jr., Duane Ervin and Ruthie Austin.

Inspired by true events, this story centers on Jamarcus (Ervin), a youth with a passion for baseball who also seems to be losing his way in life. His grandmother (Austin) insists that he joins the Big Brothers Big Sisters of America program, the nation's largest youth mentoring network and become acquainted with Jasper (Austin), one of the program's mentors. Jamarcus reluctantly agrees.

This film revolves around the idea of a youngster being encouraged to succeed in life. The screenplay explores the unstable but loving relationship Jamarcus has with his grandmother and the majority of the story is dedicated to the rapport that develops between Jamarcus and Jasper as they spend the day on a baseball field, playing some baseball and being open to each other, sharing experiences, both good and painful. Things indicate that everything is going to turn out OK, then, a sudden tragedy turns it all upside down.

Ervin is quite convincing as an orphaned youth who loves baseball (and proves to be quite good at it) and comes across as a likeable guy who cares about others. However, since he is young, he is unsurprisingly a bit naive and needs people to guide him towards the right direction. These people include his grandmother and Jasper. Austin is quite sympathetic and emotional as a caring grandparent who wants nothing more than to see her grandchild have a happy life. Cofield is equally sympathetic and emotional as a man who has suffered his own misfortunes and has made it his life's mission to help young people stay out of trouble.

Support plays a significant role in this film, acknowledging how much people need others to be there for them so that they do not go down the wrong path. The script also explores self-reflection, reminiscing the past and the pain caused by loss. Furthermore, this short also serves as a commentary about parenting, having a passion (in this case baseball) and gang violence.

A story about hope embracing a youngster and giving him the strength to become a better person and achieve his dreams. A heart-warming and moving viewing with an ending that reveals how mindless violence destroys lives.

A group of women who are pushing on into their Autumn years, don some silver wigs, put on their sparkliest jackets, ruffle up their skirts, and prepare to put on a show to inject some Carnival atmosphere into the lives of the Bradford locals.

The Bradford Belles are fed up of being overlooked in their daily lives as ‘invisible’ women in their sixties, with silver and grey in their hair, joints that don’t work as well as they used to, and their ‘jobs’ as mothers over with. They don’t buy into the hype that they’re ‘past it’ and have nothing much to offer society any more, with people dismissing them as gentle old ladies who just need to sit down with a cuppa and a chocolate biccie. Instead, they’re coming together, getting glammed up in their party gear, putting on their best moves, and getting out and about as the funnest, craziest, most enjoyable dance troupe in the neighbourhood.

Based on the American carnival sensation, The Red Hot Mamas, the party atmosphere was picked up by Judy, also known as ‘Disco Belle’, and transposed to Bradford to see what it could do for the elderly generation of ladies who lived there – and so the Bradford Belles were born. With names such as ‘Jazzer Belle’, ‘Diva Belle’, ‘Boho Belle’, ‘Baroness Belle’, and ‘Boobie Belle’, these Bradford ladies are bucking the trend and defying the naysayers to show just what women of a certain vintage are still capable of.

Rather than just stay at home and read or watch telly in their favourite comfortable armchair, The Belles want to keep themselves, and others, moving, talking, socialising, and having fun for as long as they can manage it. So, each week they come together in a local shared space and put together new performances, with which to wow local audiences when they reveal them to the public. Intent on staving off the cobwebs of old-age, and the stigma that has been attached to them by others, the Bradford Belles are a local community group like no other.

Filmed and presented to us by filmmaker Jon King, he follows The Belles around as they’re getting ready for their newest carnival sensation. From a quick intro of talking heads, we are then thrust front and centre into the preparations for the upcoming performance, and are afforded the opportunity to chat to a few of them in turn. Most of the exposition comes from the ladies themselves in this way, as they chat to one another about what it means to be part of something like The Belles, but every so often we also get to have a more up-close and personal chat with individuals as they explore deeper into what The Belles provides for them.

Feeling a lot more like an extended piece for BBC News 24 rather than a full-on cinematic documentary, King gives us nearly half-an-hour to settle in and find out what we can about the Bradford Belles. There are no frills to the production, save for a few nice pieces of background music, and the footage and audio is left mostly bare as we watch and listen to what’s right in front of us. There are a few fades here and there, but nothing more advanced than that editorially or directorially, and we are left with a few drone shots of Bradford, along with a few establishing shots of buildings and streets, to satisfy us in terms of context.

While The Belles is a fun, personal, snapshot of a group of women who are doing something to fight for their own mental and physical health, there is nothing extra added into the documentary to help engage the viewer further. It’s great to spend half-an-hour in the company of such fun and vibrant women, and to learn about what helps keep them going from day to day, but sadly any star appeal comes from them alone and not from any razzamatazz that the production has added to the proceedings.

The Whisper 2: Natural Connection would appear to the uninitiated as just a run-of-the-mill horror short. It consists of a standard formula – a dark mystery gradually unravels before the protagonist’s eyes as supernatural elements begin to seep into the horror. It has a haunted, wandering vibe; very little dialogue or plot. It then concludes with a ‘shock’ ending of sorts. Pretty normal film, right? – Wrong! This is, in fact, one of apparently three movies made by the same people depicting the same thing. This critic has seen the first short film in this ‘series’ (you’ll notice it’s called The Whisper 2), and according to notes provided by the filmmakers, there is a later feature entitled Whispers. I, for one, find this quite fascinating – particularly when we consider how little story either short contains. We can then surmise that, as opposed to wishing to explore characters or themes deeper, this must be a formal experiment of sorts; a blank genre-based canvas upon which the director can practice camera and editing techniques. And through replication or aesthetic repetition, some form of creative discovery must surely arise – not just for the creatives behind the piece, but potentially for the audience as well...

Before deconstructing this further, let us first analyse the piece in isolation. In cinematic terms, the first thing one maybe notices is that – whilst the camera quality and lens-work leaves something to be desired with its low-budget digital feel – the direction itself, and the visual ideas at play, are incredibly effective. There’s some real suspense being forged through camera movement as well as the crafting of perspective, which go hand-in-hand. Quite intelligently, the director knows that to maintain a subjective sensibility, the camera must remain in motion whenever the protagonist is traversing her environment. In the opening sequence, as she observes with terror every ‘missing’ sign in her vicinity, we get a series of immersive shot-reverse-shots. She wanders and the camera wanders with her; we transition to the signs, and instead of a static closeup, the shot adopts a floaty, glancing characteristic. Through this, we remain in the mind of the subject and visually become the character.

There’s a bunch of fun visual ideas, much like the one described, sprinkled in throughout. But can more be garnered from these formal flourishes when placing the film in contrast with the original version? – are there further nuances to be found? Having just now rewatched the previous version, I have a couple important observations. While what ‘happens’ is virtually the same, the manner in which the story is told is surprisingly distinctive. The main visual difference is how the original uses a lot of static wide shots, locked down on a tripod. You could argue that this makes the first appear more conventionally professional-looking, but I’d also argue that it makes it less immersive compared to this one. However, there’s a slight suggestion in the first film that some shots are from the perspective of the ghosts, which is unnerving. The latest, on the other hand, completely commits to the ultra-subjective single moving perspective. What a fascinating experiment!

During a recent trip to the Highlands, a moment stood out for me during a gondola trip up and down Aonach Mòr.  For late December, the weather was very good, allowing for a spectacular view of the Nevis Range, nearby Fort William and scenic Highland beauty during the descent to basecamp.  As I passed another carriage, I noticed that the individual seated inside was oblivious to the dramatic landscape on display around them.  The reason why is not probably going to be a surprise.  They were too engrossed on their phone.  Later, at a church service, the parish priest lamented about the account of a 12 year-old boy who was denied his phone for three hours during the filming of a TV documentary.  The result?  The boy wrecked his house.  

Such anecdotes may well induce raised eye-brows or groans from sceptical readers, but such warning signs of alienation, disconnection and isolation are at the heart of writer-director Vir Srinivas' Gradient Descent.  However, this descent is not a physical one down from a mountain but a psychological drop from desperation to desensitization and Srinivas' dramatic conflict is not just simply the mobile phone dilemma but a greater danger: AI.

Jackson (James Allen Barnes) is down-and-out; unemployed, homeless and left to beg on the city streets.  Yet, salvation arrives in the form of a well-dressed stranger (Peter Mendes) who offers Jackson an easy-fix job.  Before long, Jackson is suited and booted, attending first-rate AI training, moving back in with partner Maya (Anjie Parker) and working away in a world of waiting and watching as he and his colleagues silently categorise on-going surveillance footage.  However, what begins as a dream soon descends into nightmarish territory as Jackson helplessly becomes the onlooker to increasing acts of dehumanizing brutality and, in the process, finds his own compassionate awareness disturbingly slipping away...

Srinivas opens Gradient Descent with Jackson barely noticeable, dwindled by the sheer size of the buildings and noise of the city around him.  He is truly down and out and even the viewer only notices him once the camera moves closer.  Expectedly, he is ignored by passers-by despite pleas for help.  Unexpectedly, he is approached by a slick-looking businessman who Jackson locks onto from a distance.  It's a decidedly Hitchcockian sequence from Srinivas cutting between Jackson and his subjective view of the stranger approaching and we're left nervingly unsure of what's unfolding.  Will Jackson attack the man, in a final act of desperation for survival?  Does he already know him?  Instead, a Squid Game-esque scenario plays out, with the stranger charming our vagrant protagonist into a shadowy enterprise that feels too good to be true.

Unfortunately, it is.  There's a trade off for the fixer's golden ticket.  In scenes which echo the likes of A Clockwork Orange and The Parallax View, Jackson is soon exposed to escalating unsettling content, the worst of which is actually kept from the viewer.  Soon enough, Jackson begins to disconnect, spurning intimacy from his love and ignoring the cries of his baby as we see him consumed by his new-found obsession; the mechanics of artificial intelligence.  "I won't let them get away with it", he says.  

But it's too late.  The seeds of disassociation have been planted and by the film's shocking end Jackson has become another lost soul in a sea of silent surveillance.  It's an arresting final sequence from Srinvas' which makes up for the film's clunkier elements (the villains are unconvincing and their central scene together plays on for too long) and which ends the piece on a powerfully conflicting note of both horror and hope.

The Group is a short piece that follows a young woman, Jackie Gibson-Berg (Elle E), as she drives her father, Terrence (Magnus Einarsson), to his regular Parkinson’s support group meeting, where she is faced with a harsh reality. Written and directed by Neil Crittenden and shot on location at the Cloisters in Letchworth, Hertfordshire, the piece explores the inner turmoil the daughter faces as she musters the courage not to bottle up her emotions and reach out to her father.

One of the most impressive feats of the film is how compelling and emotionally resonant the experience is despite its tight runtime. It's evident from the opening frame that the daughter is hiding something and is unable to express her feelings to her father due to the actress's use of an understated posture. The use of visual storytelling and the “show, don't tell” approach is a compelling tool that works profoundly here, anchoring the performances to impressive heights. Implementing striking stock footage is another astounding formal decision that conveys the daughter's childlike innocence before cutting to the present day. The piece is accompanied by a haunting and melancholic musical score that complements the meditative tone throughout its entirety. However, the most unique narrative device is the use of quotes presented on the screen between scene changes to convey the character’s inner torment.

Both central performances from Elle E, in her portrayal of the daughter and Magnus Einarsson, in her portrayal of her father, are incredibly compelling and understated in their delivery. While the performers are not given much material to work with, they elevate the script by conveying profound nuance and restraint in their performances that deeply resonates. Their chemistry is raw and haunting as their love for one another is profoundly evident in their dialogue exchanges, showcasing a lovely father-daughter dynamic. Despite its limited runtime, the film manages to convey its themes and message eloquently by displaying a helping hand of empathy towards families or individuals dealing with Parkinson’s. It's a deeply haunting piece of filmmaking that may connect profoundly with many viewers.

Sam Beckley’s cinematography primarily consists of fixed camerawork and tracking the actors slowly in moments of discomfort. It's an incredibly visceral way to shoot the performers and creates a sense of anxiety as the daughter wrestles with her inner harsh reality. The use of surrealism is another potent choice that depicts the daughter's anxiety taking hold of her and essentially forcing her to speak out. While the film is relentlessly paced, the editing at times can become jarring as it awkwardly cuts to black during pivotal moments, and this may take viewers out of the experience. That being said, the powerful and emotionally gut-wrenching performances from Elle E and Magnus Einarsson vastly outweigh those flaws.

The Group is a striking piece of filmmaking that uniquely depicts a father-daughter relationship and the fear of coming to terms of how having Parkinson’s can affect you and the people around you. While the material is restricted due to budget constraints, it still manages to convey a raw depiction of having the courage to speak out to another before it's too late. Led by two phenomenal performances from Elle E and Magnus Einarsson, this is an emotionally resonant body of work that is bound to stick with you.

A mother is forced to stay inside with her son, who is under house arrest, while she interminably turns things over in her mind and tries to get to the truth of who he is.

Rina (Hasfari) is having a hard time of things. She just wants to get out of the house for a little while and maybe run to the shops for a few messages and such, but she can’t. Somebody’s slashed her tyres, meaning that the car isn’t going anywhere, and her next door neighbour is being really difficult towards her, forgetting his commandments and turning his back on her in her time of need. So, Rina turns right back around and goes back inside, faced with the oppressive, stifling air of the house which hasn’t seen an open window or fully drawn-back curtains for quite some time.

At home with her, is Dean (Yarom), Rina’s son who is under house arrest and awaiting trial the next day. It has been a long, hard slog being at home with Dean all this time, trying to keep him hidden from view and away from prying eyes, as well as the odd flying projectile, and also having to feed him, clean up after him, and deal with his overt noises and ablutions. Rina is really at the end of her rope, and everything is truly getting her down, so when she decides she wants to hear the story from Dean about his activities and his arrest, she isn’t in the mood for anything but the truth.

You see, Dean was arrested on the charge of soliciting and sodomy, for relations he had as a teacher with a pupil. Everybody in the community has heard the news and already found him guilty, and so have been making their feelings felt vocally and violently any chance they get. After a clash with a home-invader, Rina finally faces up to how she feels about the shame her son has brought her.

Set up as a pressure-cooker chamber piece, Love Has Nothing To Do With It spends the fifteen minutes it has trying to make the audience as uncomfortable as possible in the home of Rina and Dean. The dark, oppressive interior of the house, which is also mirrored in the mind and face of Rina, is captured clearly by cinematographer, Zohar Mutayn, while the sound design bundles sound upon sound from ticking clocks to crashing crockery, to help keep an unnerved feeling front and centre of the film. Hanna Azoulay Hasfari does a solid job of portraying Rina’s unease, and genuinely looks tired at everything she is having to deal with as the story progresses, while Yossi Yarom is surprisingly indignant as Dean, forced to account for what he has done to people who will never understand.

There is a strong sense of direction and scope from writer/director, Yotam Knispel, who brings everything together to fulfil his vision for what Love Has Nothing to Do With It should be. He creates the tension in the house really well, and sets up a scenario that engulfs the viewer entirely when telling his story, using sound and lighting to their fullest to help. Underneath though, there’s a lot missing from the film that is never aired properly, leaving us guessing at most of what is happening behind the scenes. The way that Dean defends himself, and the words that he uses, sow doubt as to his innocence against the charges, while we are left guessing who is at fault, as everybody seems to be to blame in some way. If there is an analogy or a metaphor at work for bigger, more political themes, it is never expressed outright, and if one isn’t there, then everything seems muddled and complicated for no reason, and that in itself would be an opportunity lost.

While Knispel’s motivations and themes are right there on the surface, there is no accounting for what is actually trying to be said underneath it all. Naturally, the complicated nature of human relationships precludes the idea that things could be wrapped up neatly in a nice little package, but in the end we’re no wiser or further forward than we were at the start. The idea of a ‘mother’s love’ winning out over all is truly tested throughout the film, but we are never party to any realisations that are made over that time, only that it is difficult for everyone involved. But then again, maybe that is the whole point after all.

A short dance film directed by Daniel Gurton and starring Kwame Asafo-Adjei and Catrina Nisbett.

Two people. A lot of dancing. A lot of drama. This 9-minute-long film takes place in a large room and it begins with two individuals sitting on a chair at opposite sides of the table, facing each other. They are British Ghanaians, a man (Asafo-Adjei) and his daughter (Nisbett). Both are unnamed. There is silence and stillness and then, suddenly, the two of them proceed to perform swift hand movements that appear to be directed towards each other. From there, these movements and a variety of others continue both on and of the table, creating tension and telling a story.

What stands out the most is the dancing, which consists of the rapid and violent movements that seem to serve as a form of communication in this short. Asafo-Adjei is also the choreogapher and his work is rather interesting as it results in a show made out of well-executed and precise movements that himself and Nisbett perform impressively. The dancing involves the two performers executing the movements simultaneously, giving the impression that they are having an argument.

Dancing does dominate the vast majority of this film, however, there are various sections where it abrutly ends and the two characters either remain still, or they speak few words. The speech parts could more accurately be described as short monologues and they seem to be about parental disapproval, reminiscing the past and religion. Speech ia actually present throughout, with the protagonists uttering sharp sounds (almost shouting) as they dance, adding significance to their actions.

Gurton's methodical directing is another plus, with the camera moving with the characters, capturing their movements and creating quite a spectacle. And Henry Gill's moody cinematography further enhances the viewing experience, developing an atmosphere that feels downbeat.

Asafo-Adjei and Nisbett are superb. Their performances are a show with impressively choreographed movements and dramatic face expressions.

The story that is told is a father-and-daughter story and it is evidently not a happy one. It seems to be about an abusive father and the suffering he has caused to his child. As the story progresses, it also acknowledges self-reflection, self-esteem, self-expression and religion.

Viewers will most likely be impressed by the well-executed choreography and be moved by the themes. A surreal, energetic and dramatic experience.

Jon Cvack’s With Arms Raised is a thrilling short film set around a fateful car ride. A taxi driver navigates a man in the midst of a breakdown, in a gripping tale powered by the twin crises of mental health and gun violence in America.

Jonathan Wallace’s driver picks up his passenger (Andrew Garrett) for a journey that quickly becomes uncomfortable. Spotting that the passenger’s demeanour is off, the driver tries to keep things casual. They find some common ground over their shared Chicago heritage, but as the passenger begins to focus on his disdain for the homeless, the driver senses his motivations may be sinister.

A viewer’s first watch of With Arms Raised is one that will mesmerise, as the unpredictable and erratic musings of the passenger weave both the driver and the audience on a string. Director and writer Cvack manages to brilliantly recreate dialogue of a disturbed person. Garrett’s passenger is a man whose intentions are unclear until the very final moments, and through his interactions with the driver audiences will be left with conflicting feelings around the character. His demeanour is one that presents as threatening and vengeful, yet Garrett allows just enough sensitivity through to suggest that he yearns for some sort of connection to grasp to. Mental health rarely presents in simple ways, and both the character’s construction and Garrett’s performance are an excellent representation of this.

Praise is also deserved of Jonathan Wallace, a cab driver just trying to get through his shift who suddenly finds himself in an uncomfortable situation. His instincts immediately tell him that something is wrong in his backseat, but efforts to maintain cordiality leads to him agreeing with some of the passenger’s simmering attacks. As these grow more vicious, he is torn between resistance and tolerance, unsure as to whether it is worth pushing back against someone who is clearly not all there. Similar to Garrett, he captures the essence and purpose of the character, who represents societal uncertainty of how to deal with mentally ill people.

Cvack’s direction also shines – confining the viewer in the cab close to the characters to create a claustrophobic effect. Much of the film is spent in unbalanced close ups of the passenger, as he rants and seethes over his perceived injustices. This becomes contrasted by calmer portrayals of the driver, who stays level despite the growing threat behind him. The contrasts here are obvious, but an interesting directorial choice is that the passenger is visible (if restricted) in many of the shots with the driver. It seems to say that those who are unafflicted can still see those struggling, even if we try to look away. Treating these people like they don’t exist will only lead to tragedy, especially ones who cannot see outside their own fractured minds.

With Arms Raised is a fantastic and memorable short, and whilst its ending may seem a little predictable, its snapshot of the mental health crisis in the US is one that is authentic and considered.