Latest Short Film Reviews

Spiders in the Wall is an ambitious psychological drama that is an engaging yet frustrating watch. Directed by Christopher Di Nunzio and written by Kris Salvi, the 11-minute short film follows CIA agent Azeil Baxter (Justin Thibault), who is stuck in a nightmarish scenario where reality becomes blurred, and he must contend with an enemy spy. Kris Salvi produced the idea for the script because of a dream that he had, and the title of the film plays into the fears of the unknown.

One of the biggest strengths the film has is creating a bleak atmosphere. The film has a washed-out colour palette that adds to the darkened mood and the feeling that the character is in an uneasy, lonely dream state. Vivid colours would ground the film and make it seem more realistic. The tight camera angles and close-up shots also add to the claustrophobic feel and the idea that the character is stuck in an endless dream. The balance between the use of music and silence discomforts the audience further. Naturally, the creepy music makes the audience feel uneasy, but the silence of the film does make the supposed dream scenes more impactful and mysterious. Music constantly playing would have been distracting and taking away from the atmosphere. There is some blood and gore with the practical effects coming off well.

The performances in the film are solid, but with the restricted runtime and the way the narrative is structured, the performances were not given the freedom to truly make an impact. Justin Thibault relies on facial expression to convey the inner emotion of his character, as there is not much dialogue. He does a good job anchoring the film, whilst Kayla Caulfield adds to the mystery of the film and is a good emotional weight. Audiences will enjoy the psychological take on the spy genre rather than the usual spy thriller.

Even for an 11-minute film, the pacing of the film is quick as we jump to various locations as Azeil keeps waking up or having flashbacks. This adds to the suspense but could leave the viewers confused with how quickly the film moves. Overall, though, the film has great pacing, and it never drags. The lighting of the film is another positive, with dominating dark shadows on some scenes and illuminating light on others, contrasting the mental state of the main character.

The screenplay is ambitious for a short runtime, and although the tone of the film was consistent and engaging throughout, the script, I think, would have benefitted from a longer runtime. The mysterious atmosphere and ambiguity can be seen as both a strength and weakness. Some of the aspects of the plot are left undeveloped with either not much context or depth for the audience to fully invest in the characters or world. Satisfying answers are swapped for ambiguity, which can be frustrating, and the abrupt ending. Important character interactions are touched upon but never fully explored. The film's ambitions are admirable, but it has several different ideas, but none are fully developed.

Spiders in the Wall is an interesting and ambitious short film that offers a different take on the espionage genre. The film succeeds in creating an uneasy atmosphere and has strong technical craftsmanship with great cinematography, sound design, lighting, and editing. However, the overstuffed yet underdeveloped script coupled with the short runtime restrict the film from fully reaching the emotional or thematic depths needed to fully engage the audience.

Driftwood is the debut short from Temi Oluokun, who wrote, produced and directed this mystical piece. The story follows a young woman, Ama, on a journey to reconcile her ancestral heritage with her present identity, exploring Yoruba spirituality, self-discovery and cultural identity, as she comes face to face with a deific presence…

The film opens on a sprawling green landscape, featuring gorgeous shots from director of photography Liah Danquah. This opening sequence invites the audience in with images of wind blowing through the tall grass, natural waters flowing, and even capturing the local wildlife, all contributing toward establishing a deep tone of serenity that grounds the viewer in a natural world that pre-dates our own existence. This ambience is then promptly shattered with a sledge hammer, to brilliant dramaturgical effect, when cutting to the stark contrast of colourless and brutal modern architecture during the flashback scene. The tranquil and enchanting atmosphere captured by Oluokun and Danquah, mixed with a beautifully restrained score also by Oluokun, are the tonal backbone of this tale.

Unfortunately audiences may find their suspension of disbelief challenged as the film goes on. As viewers we are led to believe that Ama is travelling over a vast and barren land, an illusion that is broken quite harshly when members of the public can be spotted going about their day, walking through country paths in the background. This problem also extends to the flashback scene, with unmotivated editing that cuts seemingly at random, hindering the actors’ performances where it should be serving them. Matters of costume design such as Ama wearing a pristine white top despite the fact she has supposedly been trekking for miles, also rings untrue.

The absolute saving grace and conceptual hook of this piece however, lies in its fascinating exploration of Yoruba culture. Originating in south western Nigeria, the Yoruba religion features a complex pantheon of hundreds of divine intermediaries known as Orishas – one of which, Odara, being depicted here. Described as ‘the master of the crossroads’, Odara is traditionally referred to as male. Yet in this story the deity is depicted by Laura Lambo, an intriguing choice on behalf of the filmmakers – perhaps using a softer female energy to portray Odara’s more ‘human’ aspects in comparison to their mischievous and bullish prior representations.

Driftwood is a solid debut for filmmaker Temi Oluokun, featuring engrossing cinematography, a small but stand-out performance from Christina Oshunniya as Mother, and a captivating subject – exploring an ancient and mystical culture. I truly hope Oluokun continues her exploration of this topic. With some real highlights shining through the flaws, audiences would do well to keep a keen eye on what these exciting filmmakers do next!

Usually, the most unsettling thing about espresso is the intrusive thoughts that strike you at 3 in the morning after you drink it and can’t even begin to think about sleep. That or hearing the Sabrina Carpenter song of the same name for the seventieth time of the day. But those are nothing compared to the unsettling experience of One Shot of Espresso – Guy Taylor’s short that must be the only thriller ever to be set in a coffee shop.

Barista Michelle (Lauren Budd) is closing up her café for the day when she realises one patron (Will Stevens) has refused to leave. Her polite hints of the shops closure go ignored, as the conversation instead takes a sinisterly manipulative turn. The Stranger requests a single espresso from Michelle before he will agree to leave, but his quiet forcefulness creates the fear that there is much more from Michelle that this unknown man wants.

One Shot of Espresso is an impressive short thriller that cleverly demonstrates how manipulators operate, particularly when trying to coerce women who have been isolated. Will Stevens’ ‘Stranger’ is a genuinely unpleasant and unnerving presence in the film – and yet he barely ever shows signs of anger or bullying, nor does he make explicit demands. Instead, the circumstances do the heavy lifting for him. Having waited for other customers to leave and with Michelle totally alone, he effortlessly bats away her polite offers for him to leave and reverses the direction of their interaction to put himself in control – making full use of his physical dominance and paying no heed to personal boundaries. It is quickly clear that Michelle has little choice but to acquiesce to his wants, and it is not hard to sense his scarcely hidden enjoyment at toying with the young woman and his ability to get whatever he wants from her.

It is a strength of the film that it forgoes any dramatic plot twists or scale-balancing fantasy conclusion – and instead realises an experience that so many women will be disappointingly familiar with. Interactions like that between Michelle and The Stranger wouldn’t make the nightly news, but they do leave lasting impressions on those on the bullied end. It is not hard to imagine Michelle’s trauma after her run in, or the fear she would feel returning to her place of employment after the day in question. The tonal shift in the film from the opening minutes which feel like an upmarket coffee commercial, to the menacing horror-like vibe in the second half means this sensation is captured perfectly, and acts as a fine contrast to a plot that on paper could be read as uneventful.

Will Stevens is brilliant in the role as the stranger. The initial feeling-out between him and Michelle leave viewers wondering if this could be the beginning of a romcom. Stevens withholds the man’s intentions and adds in flourishes of awkwardness to soften him to both Michelle and the viewer, before unsheathing a far more driven yet still underplayed motivation once he has established the power dynamic he craves. Lauren Budd is equally impressive. Her performance as Michelle identifies the misogyny-imposed behavioural limitations women feel when trying to give orders to men, before switching to be much more vulnerable and submissive when the Stranger imposes himself in her space – a sad but understandable preservation mechanism for the character.

There is much more depth to One Shot of Espresso than initially meets the eye. This illusive short is far from a typical thriller but for those who understand the meaning and message of Guy Taylor’s film, the menace and manipulativeness in this short but significant encounter will leave a much bigger impression than far more eventful films could.

Boss of the Ballet is another resurrected, 80s-produced, New York-based project by writer-director Lindley Farley. The previous film, directed by Farley, reviewed on this website was The Bulls’ Night Out which told a disturbing story of violent cop vigilantism (a film that this critic admired very much). Our film in discussion is, unlike the film just mentioned, a short – and a comedy; it stars Hank Frazier and Pasquale Gaeta as two sanitation workers who, after one of them reveals a love of ballet, set out on preparing a performance for the sanitation talent show. But they’re missing one thing: a musical instrument for accompaniment (Roslyn Ziff portrays the wife who divulges that she gave their oboe away to one of the neighbour's children). As the film progresses ever further into farcical crime-comedy territory, the lengths to which our protagonists will go to retrieve their oboe results in genuine hilarity, and a truly fantastic piece of filmmaking.

Beginning with the piece’s formal attributes, the most obvious drawing point (especially for today’s viewers, perhaps discovering Boss of the Ballet on the internet) is the analogue videotape, 16mm, 4:3 format. This, of course, was by necessity. No movies would be produced using any digital cameras for another decade. And yet, despite it being the default mode of presentation, the gritty texture and feel of these sounds and images completely lend themselves (much like Scorsese’s work for instance) to the New York, on-location film scene. Not only this, but the approach to the direction and cinematography is also of an incredibly high quality – especially on a level of blocking. ‘Less is more’ is not always the case; but here it certainly is. Farley knew that the best way to experience the comedic behaviours of these talented performers was to do so in expertly composed wide 2-shots and medium shots. With both on screen at once – without the camera drawing attention to its own, unbroken existence through movement or obtrusive angles – the screenplay can truly flourish. And yet it’s not in any way stagey! This is a cinematic, artistically detailed piece.

In thematic terms, what this movie shares with The Bulls’ Night Out is an uncompromising depiction of social situations and working life in the big city. All the political tensions which are so explicitly defined in the cop-drama are also very present in this – but used, rather intelligently, more as background set-decoration so as to enrich the lives of these characters and give the humorous narrative some grounding. This actually makes the comedy far funnier, because it almost feels as if you’re laughing at/with a friend, as opposed to some simulated, theatrical display of perfect comic timing.

It was already exciting to discover the other piece, but to have been sent another outstanding, forgotten work of art by the same director is quite riveting. It makes you wonder just how much quality we’ve missed or neglected over the years; and the fact that it’s arguably just as important to be searching for and reevaluating older unseen shorts as it is the contemporary.

A young guy pines for a girl but is unable to tell her how he feels before tragedy strikes.

Andrew (Hakim) is in love with Mia (Ooi). They’ve been best friends for a while now and they seem to hang out with each other exclusively on their down-time. Of course, Mia is blind to how Andrew really feels and just takes the relationship for granted, instinctively and permanently placing him in the friendship category of her life without ever questioning why they spend so much time together. Theirs is a story that spans time immemorial and is one which is unlikely to change anytime soon.

So, in their young, foolish, and juvenile way, the two of them hang out, have fun, take up hobbies, and spend time shooting the breeze together, all while Andrew keeps his heartfelt secret locked up inside himself and Mia waxes lyrical about the latest in a long line of boys that she’s been seeing, now finally thinking she’s caught ‘the one’. Andrew’s sister, Aeryn (Wong), can’t keep her nose out of his business and tries hard to force him into revealing his true feelings to Mia, very nearly succeeding as he gets himself ready and bigs himself up to actually do it. However, on the day that he decides to come out and tell the truth, Mia never shows, and the opportunity is missed, never to be repeated, as tragedy breaks the two apart forever.

In Almost Always, we’re invited to look upon this age-old story as it’s regurgitated for the bazillionth time, but this time transposed to Kuala Lumpur and played by an amalgam of East Asian students. Writer/director, Sanjeev Nair takes the helm for this telling of the story, using his own experiences and real-world conversations he’s had with friends to inform his own personal take on the scenario, while his fellow students play the roles and do the behind the scenes work to make his vision a reality.

Unfortunately, because everyone involved in the project is so young, and the scenario being retreaded is so deeply ingrained in YA culture, the whole thing comes across as achingly juvenile and naïve in its aspect. The dialogue is fearfully childish at most points and the painful ways the youngsters interact and flirt with each other is almost too difficult to watch at times. There is never a naturalism to the way the performances are given and most scenes are stilted by one thing or another in the way they are presented. While Nair does manage to show some narrative chops in the way he builds his story and subsequently films it, the vast majority of scenes involve two people in a room saying things to each other that don’t really have a lot of meaning behind them.

Throw into the mix the fact that these student filmmakers have not yet honed their craft, and what we get is bare, tinny audio, bad acting, basic cinematography, and an overuse of standard cinematic devices to tell the story. At twenty-two minutes long, Almost Always has enough time to build its narrative and round out its characters a little, with Nair spending enough on each part of the story to keep us looking for what’s coming next, but by the end we can only be disappointed by how little the details diverge from the main retelling of a tale that has been told several hundred times several hundred ways. There is sadly not enough to distinguish Almost Always from other unrequited young love stories that end in tragedy, but in the same breath there’s definitely enough for the filmmakers to take away with them that they can use and build on in future projects.

Funeral Car follows a working-class family as they journey together to a crematorium. The piece is set in real time and entirely shot within the confines of a car as the family grapples with grief and reflection. Shot entirely on an iPhone using equipment donated by Danny Boyle directly from the production of 28 Years Later (2025), the short is formally ambitious, employing guerrilla filmmaking techniques to evoke empathy and grief.

One of the most memorable aspects of the short piece is its emphasis on reflection and how each character embodies empathy. While the image of a family sitting alone in a silent car may initially seem isolating to the viewer, it is nevertheless compelling to observe how they navigate and cope with grief. The stripped-back approach is commendable, making each performance feel incredibly authentic. While this approach is apt for the themes and ideas the piece presents, the experience can feel like a chore to sit through at times, due to its lack of engagement and repetition. Despite this issue, it's clearly intended to make the audience uncomfortable, which is what ultimately makes the experience wholly unique.

The camerawork throughout remains entirely confined to the interior of a car, opening with a wide shot from the rear. However, the switch to close-ups from the front of the car is commendable, making the experience intimate and emotionally engaging with each performer. The choice to shoot the piece entirely on an iPhone is a welcome one and makes the experience formally ambitious, especially within an independent short film. Another apt formal choice is the absence of music for much of the runtime, with the resulting silence becoming almost deafening, mirroring the characters’ own sense of isolation within the situation. While it may be jarring for viewers to witness, it is clearly designed with a naturalistic, restrained approach.

The pacing throughout is intentionally slow to allow each character to process their grief and the memories of their loved ones. Sam Gannie, serving as the film's director, allows each performance an opportunity to stand out by ensuring the characters are centred in the frame. His direction is nuanced and deeply engaging throughout. While the opening offers little context for the family’s loss, the performances and direction ultimately communicate the depth of their grief. It's emotionally overwhelming at times, even with the lack of context for the family's loss. The brief inclusion of a musical score is also apt, with its emotionally stirring motifs that fit the piece tonally.

While it's hard to pinpoint a standout performance in the piece, each performance is incredibly nuanced and ultimately anchors the experience through its blend of grief and reflection. The stripped-back approach makes each performance incredibly believable and an intimate portrait of a family processing the loss of a family member.

The piece concludes in a somewhat haunting manner, allowing the viewer to sit with its themes and grasp the depths of the characters’ emotions. The piece resonates deeply despite its singular set piece and limited dialogue, showcasing the profound effect a naturalistic approach can have on a viewer.

Funeral Car is an emotionally stirring portrayal of grief in the wake of loss, with incredible performances to boast. While the musical score and performances do much of the heavy lifting, the unique iPhone camerawork is memorable and makes the experience worthwhile despite its flaws.

Life Goes On is a charming yet poignant short film that makes effective use of its 19-minute runtime. The film directed by Daniel Audritt and Kat Butterfield follows Bill (David Bradley) as he is confined to a hospice bed ready to die. However, every time Bill dies, the day resets, and he is trapped in an endless loop much to his exasperation.

One of the biggest strengths of the film is the ability of both the direction and David Bradley’s performance to find the balance between humour and tenderness. Despite the dour subject matter, there are quite a good few laughs in the film that do not feel forced but feel like interactions that most people would see in a hospital. The tone is balanced out with a simple yet effective narrative that does not rely on melodrama to convey sadness but rather authenticity. For me this is where the film works best and why I liked it so much. Every interaction Bill has feels lived-in and real, no matter if it is with a nurse, his daughter or some of the other patients. Most of the interactions Bill has are brief apart from his relationship with fellow patient Lizzie (Maggie Steed), which develops throughout the film. David Bradley’s and Maggie Steed’s chemistry adds another element of warmth to the film.

The story unfolds with patience, never feeling rushed or that too many ideas were crammed into the short runtime. Every range of emotion from human warmth to hope to grief is delicately told. I found the editing to also be one of the biggest strengths, as scenes are carefully allowed to breathe, whilst the infinite time loop never gets confusing or leaves the audience lost on how many days Bill has been in the time loop. The cinematography by design is nothing over the top, with soft natural light again playing into how authentic this film feels.

The use of close-up shots on Bill and some of the other characters to portray their inner emotions was clever and not overdone. I also enjoyed the sequence where time stops still and thought that added a nice visual flair and change of pace.

As much as I loved this film, my main criticism was that I wanted slightly more from the side characters. Whilst the pacing of the film is spot on and the 19-minute runtime is made full use of, I thought that the side characters could have had more layers and depth with an extended runtime.

Overall Life Goes On is a life-affirming and reflective short film that uses the classic time loop concept in a fresh way that focuses on acceptance rather than trying to break the loop. Powered by a nuanced performance by David Bradley, the film will engage the audiences with a sharp script that blends humour and sadness to create an emotionally satisfying film.

Russell Tovey stars as British influencer Anthony Selvon in Sai Karan Talwar’s short film I AM THE PRIZE. Selvon is a polarising public figure, famous for his work on helping young men become more confident in difficult areas of their lives, such as relationships. His ideas, however, stem from a hate towards women, and encourage male-centrism and sexual violence. Selvon’s corruption is gradually revealed through insights into his life, through the use of several intense, long, uninterrupted takes making up this powerful short.

In an era where the manosphere is having an increasingly dangerous impact on young men, taking over areas of the internet, and influencing hateful crimes, short films like this are critical in bringing to light just how many holes are in harmful ‘red pill’ ideologies.

The film excellently replicates the methods used by manosphere creators to lure in young, desperate men. Its opening shot perfectly encapsulates how men end up in these harmful spaces, often without even realising how they got there. Viewers are held in a nondescript room, behind several rows of anonymous heads who have also found themselves there. 

There is then a slow zoom into Anthony, and so deeper into the room, mirroring the way men are gradually groomed into listening to misogynistic ideas. On the surface, Anthony’s ideas might not seem harmful at all. He brings up topics of building men’s confidence and acknowledges the male loneliness epidemic. He even encourages a man to face his emotions, though his own demeanour is cold throughout. 

This gradual luring is often how men are drawn into the manosphere, viewing influencers’ advice as a form of self-help to reshape their perspective and improve on aspects of themselves they are unhappy with. But as the camera moves closer to Anthony, viewers see him more clearly, becoming aware of the aggressiveness towards women that comes through in his language. He refers to women as things rather than people, categorises women’s thoughts using simplified, male-centric ideas, and uses misogynistic language, indicating his view that women only exist within the context of male ownership.

After a painstaking opening scene that quickly establishes Selvon’s character as a hateful public figure, starkly comparable to the real-life manosphere influencers interviewed in Louis Theroux’s documentary Inside the Manosphere, viewers are confronted with an ironic revelation. Selvon is a closeted homosexual; his views towards women are likely a result of internalised homophobia, and his expert advice to men's romantic pursuits of women is therefore utterly fraudulent.

Whilst there is no real-life specific evidence that the spread of red-pill content is a result of closeted sexuality, Theroux's documentary provides a useful perspective that buried traumas and emotions contributed to men choosing the path of harmful content creation. The ideas at play here, therefore, fulfil the ironic truth of the manosphere, as they only make men lonelier as they become radicalised away from who they truly are, blaming external factors such as women for their problems, rather than ever taking the time to reflect and work on themselves.

The use of long takes gruellingly captivates viewers into every scene. Viewers are forced to be close to Anthony throughout his journey, as he suffers on his journey like a true tragic figure; his downfall a result of his own actions and rejection of his true self. There are times that he is almost pitiful, as Russell Tovey excellently conveys a deep sadness in Anthony which is driving his mental and physical state into oblivion.

Faith Alibi’s performance as a journalist and interviewer of Anthony is brilliantly satisfying. After viewers were agonisingly trapped in Anthony’s world, the interviewer’s intellect and well-spokenness provided a moment of relief. The ingenious casting choice of a strong, influential black, disabled woman playing a self-assured character who stands up to Anthony works excellently as a direct contrast to everything that he is. 

Alibi’s presence here is also an important contradiction, to show how opinionated women, particularly black women, are never welcome in the manosphere due to the sexist and racist beliefs that they hold. Having Alibi here as the only other major character creates an imaginary world where a discussion can take place; however, as the film demonstrates, a productive conversation is impossible. 

The echo-chamber of the manosphere will always aggressively object to any discussion of the flaws in its logic or the violence that it so blatantly encourages.

I Am The Prize is screening at the 2026 Raindance Film Festival.

Set to start its festival run in July, this powerful short drama was written and directed by Zak Jarvis and it stars acclaimed actors Jack Rowan and Chrsitopher Eccleston.

Quite a dramatic plot: A young man (Rowan) is not doing well. He is at a train station and his intention it to lie down on the tracks and wait for the train to arrive and put him out of his misery. After phoning support services and failing to pick up the courage to talk to them about his issues, he proceeds to carry on with his plan to end it all. Ray (Eccleston) a railway signalman spots the youngster via the CCTV monitors and rushes to save him, thankfully succeeding at the very last second. Ray then brings the unfortunate man inside the office and does not contact the police but tries instead to comfort him.

The main concept is a meaningful and life-changing encounter under drastic circumstances and the screenplay focuces significantly on the rapport that develops between these two strangers. Although initially the distressed man is unresponsive, says nothing, Ray constantly attempts to get through to him, to comprehend the situation that led him to believe that his life has no meaning. Eventually, the

poor young man breaks down and lets it all out. Twelve minutes filled with very heavy drama.

This short would not have this level of impact without the work of composer Michael Llewelyn Barker, who proves his creative skills with dramatic music that creates strong emotions.

Two stangers end up in each other's life. One is broken and the other believes in hope and overcoming bad times. Rowan portrays a person who has reached the conclusion that his life has led to a dead end and there is nothing he can do about it. Eccleston plays his savior, a middle-aged supportive and understanding man who is determined that suicide is never the answer.

In this story, the suicidal man represents desperation and Ray respresents support. Crucially, the reasons why the youth has resorted to ending his life are not revealed and that is probably because the factors are not the focus here. What this short concentrates on is to communicate the message that people must find the courage to seek help when they are going through tough times.

Heavy drama, strong performances and very serious themes. A short film that has quite an impact.

Four Days Left is a microbudget short from director and writer Hariprasath Ventakesan that looks to act as a reminder that there each immigration story is a human one. Following a student facing a visa expiration, it demonstrates the reverberating impact of losing a community member as well as the labyrinthine and perilous web that immigrants face when navigating the UK’s visa system.

Illa (Ahamed Abdulkhader) is a resident in the UK on a student visa that has only 4 days until it expires. Faced with deportation to his native India, he seeks out official routes to remain in his newly adopted home, but exorbitant fees or complex legal pathways mean the chance of extending his stay is borderline impossible. Less reputable routes open up to him, such as through the ‘services’ of smooth-talking Maran (Surj Kumar) – and Illa is faced with a life-changing decision.

It's harder to think of an issue more sensitive than immigration – with virtually every major political party in the UK swept up in a firestorm of zealotry on the subject that usually forgets the human cost of its reduction. Four Days Left is a reminder that whatever your stance, there is a human at the end of every statistic. The ending of Illa’s stay in the UK is not just heartbreaking for himself, but also to his friend Ravi (Shamas Khan) and landlady Karen (Karen Bucknall), who are desperate for their friend to find a way to stay. It is these pressures that threaten to push Illa into unwise choices – ones which blur the lines of legality and create more problems for both the individual and authorities down the line. It is hard not to watch the short and come to a conclusion that an overhaul of the system is needed – given the brick walls Illa runs into when trying to do the right thing. Although it should be said that despite the sadness of his departure, the film doesn’t necessarily convince that student visas in particular are a problem, given that Illa’s pre-agreed timing in the country is concluding and that he has a loving homelife to return to in India. The attached messaging at the end of the film doesn’t really work given this.

The film was made on a small budget, and some of the imaginative framing is impressive given these limitations. The opening Zoom call between Illa and an immigration lawyer is a great way to frame Illa’s dilemma – demonstrating how disparate assistance is for him. The film elsewhere is cleanly shot and the director includes some interesting use of light – in which some of the more vibrant settings are where some of the shadier offers are made to Illa, whereas darkly lit scenes offer comfort. It is an interesting way to show the hostility of the official system, and why so many people in desperate situations turn to the shadows.

The smaller scale of the film means some imperfections are inevitable. The main cast don’t really enliven their characters and the performances of Ahamed Abdulkhader and Karen Bucknall in particular are quite stiff. Viewers will have empathy with Illa because of his situation, but not particularly through the performance. The film’s ending also feels underwhelming and lessens the objective of the filmmakers in shining a light on the flaws in the system – as it feels there is more of a desire to give Illa a happy ending than to commit to the film’s purpose.

Four Days Left is an admirable short made on a shoestring that uses some interesting story framing to examine an immigrant’s dilemma when dealing with the UK system. It is imperfect, but given the political climate, welcome – as it shows an important aspect of a national debate that is too often ignored: that being the people involved in it.