Latest Short Film Reviews

Therapy is a scene written as part of a comedy-drama pilot that writer and director Neil Crittenden worked as a short film. The plot follows the couple Chris and Bex as they see a counsellor and discuss Chris’ drinking problems and suicide attempt. After an emotional account of events, where Chris opens up about his mental health and the lack of attention he has been giving to his son, we realise that Bex was never there. Chris is actually discussing his grief and the impact of his loss, whilst audiences were previously able to visualise the person he misses and yearns for.

The plot of this short film is easy to follow, with lots of strong dialogue throughout. Despite it being somewhat simplistic in its nature, the narrative is hard to engage with as the performances are not always strong or believable. The continuity error of the counsellor suddenly having glasses on when the shot returns to his focus may evict audiences further out of the story if noticed. Another noticeable issue is the allusion to Bex not being at this appointment; this effect seems out of place and lacking power.

The twist of seeing how someone who is no longer alive may respond to what is going on currently in the present is very interesting. The shock of her absence can hook viewers in as the stripped-back short reveals deeper layers through this surprise. Despite character Bex passing, we can resonate with her warmth and affection from seeing her in the film. This allows viewers to sympathise with the protagonist, Chris, as we understand who he is missing.

Despite some technical disadvantages, I applaud the filmmaker for using what was available to them and following their vision through. The scriptwriting, which promotes the emotional vulnerability of the character Chris, is powerful, with the project adding to the very vital media representation of topics like grief, addiction and mental health.

An unsuspecting charity shop customer becomes embroiled in a deadly game of fate and chance, as they find out that the only way to leave, may be with more than they bargained for.

It’s a lazy afternoon in the charity shop. Outside, the sun is shining, but on the inside it’s unseasonably dark and gloomy. Baz (Casar) has only just come in for a shoe-horn. After quickly finding something that’ll sort him out, Baz eventually finds that he’s the only one in the shop – he can’t even find the shopkeeper. There’s something not quite right about this little charity shop. There’s something eerie going on. In fact, the charity it’s funding might as well be called the Mogwai Protection League.

It seems the enigmatic shopkeeper (Ladwa) has been hiding under the desk all along, and after quickly popping up to serve Baz, he becomes very shifty and suspect in his manner. Suddenly, the centrepiece wedding dress in the middle of the store becomes the topic of interest, and the shopkeeper seems very insistent that it’s just the very thing for Baz to take away with him. Subterfuge and intrigue are scattered around to widen the narrative a little, along with the hint of a voyeuristic dementor who’s in charge of the whole affair. Now Baz must think on his feet, fight for his life, and channel his inner bride, if he’s to get out of the charity shop alive.

Told in a short seven-minutes, Easy Sell is a one-shot chamber-piece dramedy that’s a bit of throwaway fun. It runs through its set pieces nice and quick, and even if we’re only moving from the counter to the middle of the shop, we feel each new scene as separate from the last, with each having its own point of view and dialogue setup, as though it were a three-act play. The intrigue gets exposed and expands in a typical way, with no surprises coming from the scenario or the dialogue, all the way up to the glaringly obvious twist at the end. The humour that sits alongside the drama keeps things light and entertaining, with both leads doing a good job of playing things for laughs, even if they are genuinely few and far between.

The music from Sean Fitzgerald also keeps things light and jaunty, with its kitschy muzak tones contrasting with spooky piano and strings during the darker moments. The direction, too, from co-writers and directors, Ken Abalos and Ash Meshkati, is solid but fun, getting the right angles to create an off-kilter feel, while also making sure to capture the comedy moments from the actors. As a quick comedy sketch, Easy Sell is just that. It’s quick and easy and not hard to recommend for a little bit of fun. It’s well made, and well played, and even if you only watch it once before punting it onto someone else, Easy Sell is well worth the price you pay for it on YouTube.

The Thoughts She Left Behind is a low-budget short film that explores a heartfelt journey through imagination, emotions, and unspoken connections between two individuals. Set against the backdrop of a serene park, the piece follows Joseph (Fitim DeStena) and Emily (Weronika Twardowska). Emily is an artist who sketches her thoughts, and Joseph discovers her work through a forgotten sketchbook. The piece explores their journey through the power of creativity and fleeting moments.

The most impressive aspect of the piece is how unique it feels, thanks to its framing devices that set it apart from a typical three-act structure. While its brisk runtime and budget limitations may hold it back from reaching its full potential, the filmmakers do their best with limited resources to deliver a compelling narrative. The piece presents interesting ideas about imagination and how individuals create worlds as a coping mechanism to explore their pain as artists. It's a profound story of unspoken connections, and its themes and ideas are thought-provoking and may resonate with audiences. Witnessing both characters' points of view offers an interesting sense of perspective, making the narrative more compelling for the viewer.

Many of the film's technical elements soar, including its camerawork. Anurag Joshi, serving as the film's cinematographer, primarily frames each scene with fixed wide shots with both characters always at the centre of the frame. It's a compelling choice because the narrative is presented entirely from both characters’ perspectives throughout, preserving an intimate connection. The musical choices throughout are equally inspired, with whimsical motifs that gently draw the audience into the film’s emotional journey and tender relationships. Each musical choice feels incredibly emotionally resonant with the film's thematic purpose.

The editing throughout is incredibly seamless, blurring the line between reality and imagination; it's an incredibly engaging experience that rarely puts a foot wrong. Unfortunately, some of the dialogue is drowned out at times due to poor sound mixing; whilst this is largely a minor issue, it can be distracting during dialogue-heavy scenes. That said, the production design is commendable, with the filmmakers doing a terrific job of presenting the shift between reality and imagination.

Both central performances from Fitim DeStena and Weronika Twardowska in their portrayals of Joseph and Emily, respectively, are terrific and carry much of the material on their backs. Both performances convey nuance and warmth, and it's one of the most compelling aspects of the piece. Despite their limited characterisation, both characters possess vivid imaginations, which makes their longing for human connection and determination to seize every opportunity deeply relatable and helps these ideas linger in viewers’ minds. The fourth-wall breaking helps bridge the gap between the characters and the viewer. This is a surprising but apt choice, which makes the experience wholly unique for the viewer.

Although the film concludes rather abruptly, it leaves a profound impression with its uplifting, emotionally resonant message about the power of human connection, choosing to embrace the positives rather than its darker aspects.

The Thoughts She Left Behind is a wonderful piece of indie filmmaking, evidently crafted to spread a message of hope. Anchored by two terrific central performances and incredible musical choices, it's a delightful experience that grants the viewer warmth and comfort.

Bafta winning 11 minute short film Quiet life is a comedy directed by Ruth Pickett, Written by Alex Bruce and Luke Rollason who also stars as our protagonist Geoffrey. Who you may recognise from the show Extraordinary. Quiet Life shows the impact of social media and our phones being attached slowly becoming a part of us. But also how helpful our phones are and how we would be quite lost without them in certain situations.

Quiet life opens with our main protagonist proposing, when unfortunately things turn sour leading to him being humiliated in a public space. Hit with devastating rejection he soon finds himself becoming the laughing stock of the Internet. All those surrounding him are videoing and uploading it straight to social media. Retreating back into himself wanting a so called quiet life without the need for his phone or any outside communication. Geoffrey begins to embrace his inner weirdo which leads to chaotic events. When he soon realises the impact of his choices to have a quiet life.

The performances were eye catching, strong and established for just a short span you get to spend with them. You are glued the whole time. With our protagonist who doesn't utter a word along with other characters' dialogue being very minimalistic. You still understand every emotion he feels what his thoughts and reactions are. Which is a total credit to the actor Luke as it's a very difficult job to do. He has such an expressive face adding to the slapstick of it all. I think a lot of viewers can personally sympathise and relate to Geoffrey. I would relate Luke's performance to that of Rowan Atkinson in Mr Bean where he doesn't have to say a word to make the audience laugh.

Quiet life never feels boring, it feels vibrant and entertaining. The sets designs and lighting were filled with colour, the way the world changes around how our protagonist is so striking. At times it feels so whimsical when it almost turns into a fairytale in itself. With the world building around it only enhances the absurdness. Also with an original score by Tom Penn it makes you understand the tones and when they shift. It's so clever how it's all put together hand in hand to guide the audience through Luke's emotions. The editing was smooth with interesting uses of camera angles and different shots. Showing just how established the filmmakers are in their craft.

For me Quiet Life is a unique tale that reads as a piece on how much damage we do to ourselves when being on our phones constantly. But with a comedic twist without taking the tone too seriously whilst also having a powerful message. We need to learn that we need balance, understanding when it is time to put the phones down and come back to reality. But also how beneficial phones have been to us,how we communicate with each other and meet new people. With such a relatable subject to the audience Quite Life is a 11 minute short well worth watching.

A gloriously sensitive and soothing piece, Still Life follows an elderly man living alone as he learns to find love again in a tale that will move all who watch it. Directed and produced by Olia Yenko, this short film is a stripped back masterclass in visual storytelling.

Emotionally, this vignette may remind viewers of sequences in movies such as the beginning of Up but with a much more optimistic twist. The sweet unfolding tale written by Benedict Flynn is the beating heart of this piece, with all other departments of production rising to meet its tone. Quiet, charming, soft. These are all words that could be used to describe this story, evidence of the thoughtful and understated work put in behind the scenes.

The cinematography, realised gently by Lora Arkhypenko, is much like the film’s title – still, never calling attention to itself in service of the narrative, but providing enough artistic flare to keep the audience visually engaged. One such moment is the purposeful split-screen shot of the two elderly lovers playing checkers over a video call, making it seem as if they are in the same room together. This not only functions narratively to show they are growing closer to each other, but it also displays a sharp creativity on behalf of the filmmakers. This maturity in visual storytelling, mixed with a tranquil score by Alonso Del Carpio, results in the gentle tone that is likely to endear even the most stone-faced viewer.

With only one word amounting to the entire film’s dialogue, this project relies entirely on the skill of the actors to convey the emotional beats and plot developments. The two central performances from Ihor Fendrikov and Angelina Fendrikova achieve this to excellence. Although acting is a subjective art form, there are just some performances that one never fails to believe. There is not a moment throughout the story in which these two strangers turned sweethearts ever break the audience’s suspension of disbelief, delivering delicate and empathetic depictions of each character.

And here comes the section of the film’s downsides – there are none. From beautiful writing to subdued cinematography, a tender score and wonderful performances, Still Life achieves its story with perfect precision and sensitivity from all units of the filmmaking team – resulting in a profound short that I defy any viewer not to shed a happy tear while watching.

Olia Yenko and company are absolutely a creative force worth keeping an eye on, and I keenly anticipate their next work.

Written and directed by Anthony Ferraro and independently produced for his YouTube community, ‘Starfisher’ follows exactly what the title proposes: an old man fishing among the stars hoping to catch “the big one”.

This piece opens with the Ernest Hemingway quote “Now is no time to think of what you do not have. Think of what you can do with what there is.” A particularly poignant quote for multiple reasons. The first of which being that the film was made on a rather modest budget of absolutely nothing, a testament to the passion and creativity of the team behind it. The other reason being the inspired similarities between this and The Old Man and the Sea by Hemingway himself, albeit with a fun science fiction twist. The story also draws striking parallels to Moby Dick with the Starfisher searching for his own ‘white whale’.

The most immediate spectacle of the film is the excellent production design by Aidan James Hansen. The surfaces feel grimy, the tech seems functional and the surroundings look lived in, with blinking buttons and lights providing an effective excuse to light the protagonist in interesting ways – something cinematographer Jon Schweigart takes full advantage of, always keeping each frame engaging to look at. Even Matthew Patterson Curry’s subdued but effective score elevates the design and cinematographic work produced by his peers, creating a summative and powerful tone that leaves the audience with a calm and lonely feeling as we drift through outer space.

Regrettably the immersion created by this atmosphere is broken when the film cuts to its VFX shots, which are jarringly low quality in comparison to the impressive practical visuals. Now, keeping in mind that this film was made with no money whatsoever, I’m aware that criticism may seem null and void. However this criticism lies not with the quality of work on display but rather the creative choice behind it. For example if as viewers we only saw glimpses of the alien from out the window, utilising practical and VFX assets in the same shot (much like at the end of the film), we may find the limited peeks at it more effective in creating a more vivid version of it in our imaginations. This would also add a more mythical quality to the creature. In this case, less is more. Another nitpick that may put off audiences is the computer’s voice, which is hard to understand at various moments.

With mentions of the Starfisher’s family throughout the course of the film, we are led to believe that he has abandoned them in search for this creature. However we are never told why. This seems to be done with the intention of focussing the narrative, but in this case leaves the viewers with the possibility of disliking the protagonist – especially with no frame of reference on how or why we should empathise with his perplexing choice.

Ultimately ‘Starfisher’ is a charming tale putting an enjoyable spin on iconic literary classics. Despite no budget, this fable is able to offer spectacular production design, stellar cinematography, and is a magnificent feat of resourcefulness and creativity.

Different Shores (2026), directed by Gabriel Brown, is a beautifully shot short film about the complex relationships we experience as we grow older, highlighting the roles of grief and abandonment in life. 

Set in the gorgeous Northumberland on the North East coastline, Madeleine is hired as a carer for Abigail. At first, their relationship is estranged due to a generational divide. Madeleine perceives judgment from the older generation all around her, who seem to communicate through passive-aggressive comments and a general distaste towards younger people. This is seen from both Abigail and her employer at the bookshop, who express that they see younger people as lazy and incompetent. 

Quickly, this generational divide is disputed, as Madeleine and Abigail begin to connect over shared experiences of grief and, importantly, their womanhood. Viewers are taken through their beautiful journey, as the two women learn from each other, Abigail eventually becoming the mother figure that Madeleine so deeply longed for.

The casting of relatively lesser-known actresses: Jennifer Black as Abigail, and Charlotte McBurney as Madeleine, brings forth a strong sense of authenticity. Viewers feel a personal connection to the strangers’ lives they are seeing, as their gentle performances uplift the film’s touching narrative.

The authenticity at play here is subtly enhanced by the film’s editing choices. The use of montage and unorthodox camera angles, such as the camera becoming the sieve as the two women make together, gives the viewer a tactile presence in the story. Choices like this highlight the facial expressions of the main characters, so that their joy is at the forefront, setting the tone of the scenes. As well as this, the colour grading of the more wholesome moments gives the look of a home video, adding to the familial feel of Madeleine and Abigail’s relationship.

Though the settings are relatively simplistic, switching between Abigail's home, the outdoor coastal environment, and the bookshop that Madeleine works in, the set design gives each setting a unique look. Viewers are easily convinced that they are present in each location, viewing a segment of both women’s lives. This is also partly a result of careful lighting choices, which effectively give each setting a unique look.

Handling themes such as grief and abandonment is always a delicate path for filmmakers. Different Shores is careful to bring these themes in as a form of character shaping and development, which impressively ties into the story of Abigail and Madeleine’s connection without straying away from the main plot. 

Viewers are not distracted by references from the past, as they are briefly indicated in earlier moments of the film before they are explicitly revealed, through symbolism in panoramic shots. For instance, Abigail’s late husband’s existence is subtly implied through shots of an elderly couple on the beach, as well as Abigail’s mysterious situation of living alone in a large home. 

Her grief, however, does not define her; she has found ways to cope with accepting that she must move on, whilst still appreciating the memories she had with him. This valuable perspective is one which Madeleine is in need of due to her feelings of resentment towards her mother. 

Abigail and Madeleine navigate their feelings together and are both able to find peace and joy in their unique situations. As they grow fond of one another, they discover a new kind of love which beautifully defines their lives, in turn making them better, happier people.

A young girl growing up in apartheid riven Namibia in the 1980’s befriends a local boy while visiting her mother’s grave; a relationship which will highlight the deep divisions in the society around them and which will shape their lives forever.

Lisa (Meinecke-Mareka) lives alone with her father on their farm in Namibia. They are German and have settled there to ‘turn the desert into a paradise’, something which Lisa’s father Adolf (Schneider) believes that the native people have failed to do. Much like the Boer and other white colonialists, Adolf believes himself to be better than the locals and understands apartheid to be the best way to represent that view and keep the peace – his peace.

With a hateful, racist view of the native people of the land, Adolf forbids Lisa from leaving the relative safety of the confines of the farmhouse, which includes going down to her mother’s grave. She goes there anyway, and while playing her recorder over the grave, a young native boy joins in and whistles along with her soft, lamentful tune. When her father eventually finds her there, and in turn the young boy with her, he turns aggressive and violent towards them both, beating and abusing the boy as Lisa runs home as fast as she can. That night Lisa is told to pack her things as she will be sent to a hostel to live in the morning.

Dead River picks up Lisa’s story more than twenty years later, from her life as a professional and a mother in Germany, when she receives a letter from a solicitor telling her the news she needs to hear in order to be able to go back and visit her old home. As Lisa tracks back on her old life and opens old wounds, we get to witness events in-between then and now which fill in the parts of the story we are missing, allowing Lisa’s story to develop and the friendship with the young boy, David (Ndjavera), who is now a man, to take centre stage.

Writer and director, Tim Huebschle has said that Dead River was a film he’d wanted to make for ‘the longest time’, as someone who grew up in the apartheid system in Namibia in the 1980’s and who was exposed to the politicism and the fractures in society that it created, even for those who were very young at the time. Dead River then becomes a very personal film for him and emerges as a dedication to the generation of children who grew up learning how to live within the apartheid system, before watching it crumble in front of them as the 1990’s dawned.

Focusing on just one family, and one friendship of a young girl, allows Huebschle to build a microcosm of the society he is trying to portray, without the need to bring in a whole nation, or nations, worth of history and trauma which might dilute the message. The personal story keeps things tight and focused, giving the uninitiated audience a way into the big themes that surround the film, while still allowing the difficult and problematic events and beliefs to be showcased.

Cinematographer, Frederik Füssel, captures the magnificent beauty of the Namibian countryside perfectly, allowing enough space and time for the landscape to tell its own story as the lives of those who live upon it play out before us. Composer, Alessandro Alessandroni, delicately matches the soft, mournfulness of Lisa’s situation with the hope and vitality of the surrounding land and its people, as the story becomes ever more fraught and the scenario more dire. While writer/director, Huebschle brings all of the elements of his story together into an intricate pattern of risk and redemption, as we witness the changes to the land and the characters over a space of decades. The playing of the scenario, too, is very well handled by Christin Meinecke-Mareka and David Ndjavera, even if they are not so well supported by the amateur actors around them, or who play their characters in different timeframes.

Despite the wide background to the story, and the decades spanning timeframe, Dead River does show its limitations at points, even in the intimate and personal moments. Some scenes just don’t fly very well, with poor delivery or not enough context, and the chopping up of the timeframes within the film doesn’t do it any favours, bringing up questions of continuity of character, or confusing the viewer without offering enough detail as to what’s being witnessed. Still, with enough heart and integrity behind the making of the film, and the personal, lived experience of its writer and director, Dead River emerges as a beautiful tale of a tragically difficult time, while treading respectfully over the past in order to present the future that a whole nation would like to see.

Directed by Peter Renzullo, Return to Elenore is a short film inspired by and featuring the original song ‘The King of Always Wanting More’ by Ammify. The film is a gothic tale of ghosts and vengeance, interspersed with the group’s track. While the film is ambitious, particularly in its use of visual effects, costuming, and make up, it fails to capture the emotion that the song promises.

Return to Elenore opens with two men in cloaks, known as the Leader (Jay Jay Jegathesan) and the Pastor (Steve Kio), approaching an abandoned home in the middle of the woods. The audience come to learn that the spirit of a woman named Elenore (Justine Renzullo) still resides there, and these men are here to exorcise her. They speak enigmatically, and after entering the home, the Leader comes face to face with the spirit. As the music swells, the full fury of the apparition is revealed. The narrative of Return to Elenore is somewhat difficult to follow as much of the exposition and setup is delivered through vague dialogue. The film relies much more on its atmosphere to tell its gothic story.

Combining simple digital vfx and an alternative metal soundtrack, reminiscent of Evanescence, Return to Elenore looks and sounds like a rediscovered artifact from 2000. Unfortunately, the dialogue therefore feels disposable and largely meaningless. The language is poetic and flowery, and worst of all, delivered unconvincingly. The stretches of the film that are more dialogue focused are the weakest, especially when compounded by the flat cinematography. Since the film is mostly shot against digital backgrounds, the camera doesn’t exist in a physical space, which is noticeable. Actors are either shot in a close up face on or in profile throughout the short which doesn’t make for interesting or varied shots. As a consequence of shooting everything in one of two directions, the environment feels flat. Additionally, the compositing of the performers isn’t seamless, which further adds to the sense of artifice and disconnect. To mask the fact that the film wasn’t actually shot in a dark environment, the saturation has been turned way down on the footage of each of the actors, which makes them look like all the colour and life has been sucked out of them; of course this may be appropriate for a gothic story of ghosts and haunted houses, but it only makes them look murky. There’s not much in the way of colour contrast, so Return to Elenore ends up looking various shades of grey.

It’s a shame, since the effects and make up on Elenore work well to make her ghostly visage come to life, so to speak. Justine Renzullo’s performance as the titular spirit is convincingly creepy, and she channels the energy of a heavy metal monster very appropriately. She could have been more frightening were she filmed in shadow more, but for the tone that the short exists within, her performance is measured, and she doesn’t overstay her welcome.

Return to Elenore is an enigmatic curio that doesn’t reach the lofty ambitions that it aspires to. The filmmakers clearly had a goal in mind, but the short’s murky dialogue and cinematography make this artifact difficult to follow, with many of the larger themes and ideas too indistinct to pick up on. It’s a respectable effort, but perhaps too unwieldy for this team at the present moment.

Akhil Kumar’s Goldfish may only be a single shot that lasts 2 minutes, but it’s got an awful lot to say. The short explores themes relating to our modern technology-entangled lives, and the disparity between social isolation and endless connectivity. Kumar’s decision to shoot Goldfish from one perspective is not an entirely novel concept, but it’s used thoughtfully enough to move beyond a gimmick, becoming an essential component of the short.

As mentioned previously, Goldfish is shot in one single take above a living room table. Sat on the sofa is the film’s largely unseen protagonist, portrayed by Theresa Lee. The audience is immediately left to determine who they think the protagonist is based on her belongings on the table; we see her phone, a vape, tarot cards, a video game controller, a cup of tea, and a remote control (which we see her using to rapidly flick between tv channels). While Lee’s face is never seen on screen, her physical performance using just her hands is the closest the audience gets to connecting with a human character, and she should be praised for how much personality she manages to convey. Tapping of her fingers on her swaying knees, Lee’s fidgeting conveys a relatable sense of restlessness. There’s barely a moment for her to sit back and enjoy her tea when her phone buzzes with a text from work, or she gets distracted by an endless stream of TikTok videos.

Kumar puts the audience in the protagonist’s headspace by keeping utilising a constant chaotic rhythm. Like Lee’s character, the audience hardly gets a second without some disturbance from the phone while the diegetic sounds of the television constantly drone in the background. Goldfish excellently mimics the pace and sound of short form media the way one might hear someone else watching videos on their phone on the bus. It makes for a visceral and sometimes comedic experience, where what appears on the phone screen feels random and unexpected. In a sudden and shocking moment which feels most like what Kumar wants to grapple with in this short, the protagonist sees a glimpse of a Palestinian child crying on her feed, and she instantly looks away and puts the phone down. It’s not long before she’s picked the phone up again to browse handbags on sale. The film doesn’t linger on this, and it’s upsetting to see how quickly the protagonist moved on. In this moment, Goldfish holds up a phone shaped mirror to the audience where we can see ourselves and our own reactions most clearly, contending with the burden of knowledge but our own powerlessness to stop it. It’s far easier to put the phone down or to simply scroll to the next video.

The name of the film brings to mind our short term memory in the age of infinitely accessible information - we only have to think about tragedies elsewhere for as long as we can see them on a screen. Perhaps we are goldfish in our tanks, contained in our homes with our easily accessible amenities and luxuries. It feels significant that in the film’s final moment, the protagonist gets up to answer her doorbell, and the ambiguity in who rang leaves the audience to make up their mind. Is the protagonist ready to escape the bowl and connect with someone, or has she ordered food in? Kumar is clearly interested in asking questions about how we navigate a modern world that devalues real connection, and ultimately it’s these questions that audiences will come away from the film asking.

Goldfish is a curious and powerful short that succeeds in raising challenging questions without pointing an obscene or hypocritical finger at the audience. There’s no sense of moral grandstanding here, more so an observation at the absurdities and horrors of living alongside so much technology in the 2020s. Goldfish ultimately goes to show that less absolutely can be more, whether that’s less dialogue, or less doomscrolling.