Latest Short Film Reviews

Africa is Home is a short film that envisions Africa as a united continent where people of all races can live together in peace and love. The filmmakers wished to convey a compelling narrative that sparks conversation regarding how many people of different races consider Africa their only home, even if their ancestors came from elsewhere in the world. Even with the film's restricted runtime, director Wiclive Mazo warrants enough social commentary to justify deeper discussions after the credits roll.

The musical score and use of needle drops serve as one of the most intriguing aspects of the film, presenting one of its biggest strengths whilst proving detrimental at times. While the score accompanies the opening credits incredibly well with its pulse-pounding and majestic themes, it can be oddly overbearing in dialogue-heavy scenes and feels out of place during discussions of race. It is, however, consistently creative and definitely one of the most memorable aspects formally. The piece almost feels like a music video at times, with the amount of music present and how it jarringly shifts tonally into another piece of licensed music. Wiclive Mazo’s direction is competent enough; however, the use of blocking often feels awkward and unnatural, and camerawork relies heavily on fixed shots, rarely doing anything memorable. That being said, the drone photography and the sprawling shots of Africa outside of the central characters’ dialogue are admittedly impressive to witness.

The opening credits, accompanied by beautiful photography and powerful conversations about generational hatred, are provocative and visually arresting. The tone of the piece feels entirely uplifting, with its heart clearly in the right place about educating others on race and accepting our differences. It brings up intriguing discussions regarding acceptance in your community and acknowledging the pitfalls of the past, and what we can do to make a change to the way others are unable to love one another. Unfortunately, due to the limited runtime and lack of a wide range of perspectives, the piece is sadly restrained in what it actually has to say, and an extended runtime could have fleshed out and deepened discussions to allow more discourse to be had beyond the film. This is mainly due to the piece primarily focusing on only three individuals. While the dialogue is engaging and thought-provoking, the conversations at times feel stilted due to how unnatural their line delivery is, and it takes you out of the raw experience.

The piece employs a powerful social commentary focused on community and the importance of empowerment, envisioning Africa as a place where people's voices are amplified worldwide. It conveys themes of love and peace, with a narrative centred on Africa’s determination to foster these. It may abruptly conclude and offer minor perspectives due to the lack of people present in the discussions; however, the piece still manages to employ enough intriguing points to the audience.

Africa is Home is a thought-provoking piece of filmmaking with an uplifting social commentary that depicts Africa as a loving and hopeful place to unite black communities, and educate others on topics such as race, community and history. It may suffer from being unable to offer a wide variety of perspectives due to its sparse runtime; however, this still manages to connect on a deeper level due to how much material is covered within the minimal duration.

STUDS is a distinctly British comedy short that balances sardonic wit with some genuinely sweet drama. Barney Walsh and Sarah Seggari star as Harry and Mia, a young pair who have been chosen for the government’s breeding program (or ‘state sponsored shagging’ as described by Mia) in the midst of a population crisis. The two must spend a weekend getaway together, or else they face execution. Matters are complicated when it’s revealed that Harry and Mia share a history together, potentially jeopardizing the program and their safety. The short is fun, witty, and creative, with Carys Eleri standing out with effortless comedic instincts. STUDS may fall short for audiences expecting a more substantial exploration on the nature of relationships, but as a pure comedy, it’s a worthwhile and likable film.

In a great British comedic tradition, STUDS never takes itself and its drama too seriously, and in doing so it maintains a breezy and easy-going tone. Walsh and Seggari make for a compelling couple; it’s not hard to believe that their characters have had an awkward past, and they play off each other confidently. Much of the same can be said about Eleri, who perfectly embodies her character with disarming overconfidence. Julie is important in delivering the short’s premise to the characters and the audience, and thankfully her performance is charming enough that it doesn’t feel like dry exposition. The comedy is varied throughout STUDS, ranging from clever wordplay to clever visual gags that rewards the attention of viewers. From a clinical government issue edition of the Kama Sutra that resembles an NHS pamphlet to alcohol being labelled as ‘PRE-COITAL STIMULANT’, there’s plenty of cheeky humour dotted within the film. While tensions do begin to rise when Harry and Mia discuss their break-up and the frustrations with their lack of shared interests, STUDS never tips into melodrama, and the darkly comedic tone remains intact. It’s an impressive tight-rope to walk, and it’s thanks to the performances from all three members of the cast, as well as the deliberate direction from Edward Russell, that the short can deliver good jokes with fairly well rounded characters.

It’s impressive that Harry and Mia feel as defined as they do considering the short’s less than 15 minute run time. Walsh and Seggari’s characters feel lived in and grounded, each with their own distinct body language and attitudes. It’s no wonder the two of them say they have nothing in common when they appear so diametrically opposed to each other. Julie additionally comes across as a fully formed character, despite a much more limited screen time. The attention to detail given to each character in the writing makes the drama feel much more tangible - STUDS must have some stakes for the audience to invest in, even if the short is largely comedic. It’s possible that some viewers will want more out of the drama, to see the relationship between Harry and Mia further developed and given some weight, which is entirely reasonable. More time to iterate on the premise would undoubtedly have been interesting, and it’s noticeable that the film rushes through its ending in a less than satisfying conclusion. Still, the comedy almost entirely lands, and every single performance here is purposeful, believable, and charming.

STUDS is a difficult film not to like. While it’s often silly, there’s a certain amount of restraint in the filmmaking - it would have been easy to stretch the premise thin and veer too close to farce. It would be fair to compare STUDS to Lanthimos’ The Lobster, which similarly uses dark comedy in a dating context. In both films, the characters take the situations they’re in seriously, never lampshading or winking to the audience. In doing so, we’re encouraged to take the characters seriously, laugh when we’re clearly invited to, and to possibly think more about the absurd reality of dating and relationships.

Johanna Martinez and Timothy Roarke star in this short, sharp two-hander from Guatemalan director Enrique A. Mendoza.

A young Latina woman called Fernada (Martinez) takes a drive seemingly out into the middle of nowhere.  However, we find out that she has an unexpected passenger (Roarke) to whom she relates a painful story of survival and violence, centred around the lives of two brothers in a remote village.

The opening 38 seconds of Fervor could not be more different from what comes next as we follow Fernada’s journeys out into the wilderness to the tune of upbeat rock.  Suddenly, the journey stops, so does the music and so does Fernada.  She steps out of her vehicle, takes a call that we cannot hear and sits alone, contemplating, or even waiting for something or someone.  

We soon find out what.  Or rather who.  A bruised, battered older man is hurled out from the truck.  Fernada appears to be an unlikely kidnapper.  The man makes a lucky break for it, but it’s no good.  Fernada responds violently and her story immediately turns darker.  “Things can get rough in my neighbourhood, but we endure.  That’s until we have no other option but to leave, to escape”.  The stranger’s role starts to become apparent.  He was an oppressor.  The hunter who has become the hunted.

The roles have reversed and so it is Fernada who is now the hunter.  Unflinching, ruthless and tough.  At least from what we see.  When she drives away at the film's ending, after her bitter, hard-hitting monologue, there’s a striking change and we see the real Fernada.  Sensitive, scared and shaken by what’s just happened, at the brutality she has unleashed and unveiled to herself.  She breaks down.  In waves of relief?  In tears of sweet revenge?  Or in revulsion at becoming the hunter herself?

Fervor is a solid accomplishment for both Martinez and Mendoza.  Martinez keeps the viewer entrenched with the film’s only speaking role and her character’s softening in its closing seconds is an impressive transition to the extent that one comes away with a sense that there is a third performance within the film - that of Fernada herself masquerading her new-found menance and wrath before her powerless captive.  For Mendoza, it’s a fine encapsulation of the director’s own mantra to tell stories that "actually stay with people".  Thanks to its simplicy and sincerity, Fervor does.

In a moment of crisis, a woman loses her faith and writes a letter to Jesus, pleading for a miracle.

Melinona is a survivor of the Easter Sunday Bomb Attacks, which took place in Sri Lanka on 21st April 2019. She carries mental scars of that day, when her Christian centre of worship was targeted by ISIS backed radicals, although she has always kept her belief – until now. In a letter, she explains to Jesus why she is putting him in a box and stuffing him under the sink, and how she has come to the realisation that she may have been wasting her time talking to him in the first place.

Melinona has got herself into a bit of a pickle, you see. She’s been lending out the money her son has been sending her from his faraway job, lifting iron in a cold country, and she’s not been asking for any interest on it. She doesn’t know what she’ll do when her son comes home and finds out that she doesn’t have the money, and so it’s JC’s fault for abandoning her in this time of need. She tells of her woes in this letter, never intending for it to be read by anyone but Jesus, but somehow it becomes a firelighter for the family’s shame, as it falls into the wrong hands and gets distributed far wider than anyone had imagined.

Over the course of twenty-seven minutes, we are treated to Melinona’s troubles and her Cursed Memory. The letter seems cursed, too, as it takes on a life of its own, passing between hands, being read through different mouths and in different voices. Director, Ranga Bandaranayake, appears to have a clear vision of how Melinona’s story should be told, and this comes through in how well thought out every scene is, with the writing from, Chamara Prasanna Kodithuwakku, giving plenty of characterisation and context to work with on screen.

When matched up with some strong production value, the solid writing and impressive direction help Cursed Memory to stand out as a well put together piece of film. From the full-on three-minute credits sequence, to the haunting melodic tones of Lahiru Madiwila’s music, to the casting choices and background detail in the scenes, there’s been a lot of thought and production behind getting Cursed Memory to be just the way it is – and it has paid off.

Melinona’s journey is one of trauma and of recovery, and it weaves its way through the lives of everyone around her, bringing us with along with it too, until we are invested in her story as much as her son, or daughter-in-law, or priest. The filmmakers certainly know how to put a film together, and show a real understanding of how to use visual language to tell a story, making Cursed Memory a little more memorable than the rest.

Behind the Pose follows Masha (Ksena Samborska), a teenage Eastern European model on the brink of losing her contract. She must redeem herself in one last photoshoot while being pushed to the edge by her teacher, Katerina (Natalia Volk), under threat of sexual exploitation and deportation. The piece tackles mature themes of power and exploitation, serving as a scathing indictment of the fashion and modelling industry and its abuse of power with young female talent.

Behind the Pose opens with beautiful, surreal photography that feels heavily influenced by Sofia Coppola’s filmography, as the camerawork is haunting and melancholic. Focusing entirely on the female experience, it is a powerfully nuanced way to shoot the actors with a plethora of extreme close-ups lingering on Masha as she feels her youth being ripped away from her. Daniel Cho’s cinematography is one of the substantial standouts of the piece as it primarily anchors the material and never feels intrusive. The pacing feels urgent, and the propulsive dialogue exchanges feel overwhelming to witness as a viewer, due to the central conflict that consistently leaves you on the edge of your seat, fearing for Masha’s future. While the runtime is extremely sparse, the film's engaging and evocative material never fails to hook you in and get under your skin. It's a daring character study that subtly draws you into Masha’s journey and doesn't let up until the credits roll.

The performances are terrific, particularly Ksena Samborska’s portrayal of Masha, who conveys a profound sense of vulnerability despite the restricted runtime. It's the type of performance that sticks with you, thanks to her expression of the pain and manipulation she endures through her facial expressions alone. The supporting cast, including Natalia Volk and Rick Irwin in his portrayal of Freddy the photographer, is also unforgettable in their limited screentime. One of the most striking aspects of the film is Masha and Freddy’s relationship, which starts as something endearing, thanks to their absorbing chemistry, then slowly descends into something much more sinister. The narrative is profoundly nail-biting and unpredictable, and would not have worked as well without the cast's commitment to their performances. While it is a tough viewing due to the mature themes it depicts, these are essential topics and a glimpse into the world of the fashion and modelling industry.

The director/writer Sally Lomidze clearly has a keen eye for the suitable way to depict the topics of body image, as the film feels understated in its direction and never exploitative of Masha’s characterisation. The conclusion doesn't convey much closure to Masha’s further journey beyond the credits; however, perhaps that is the point, as the narrative is infused with ambiguity and the filmmakers evidently wanted to leave the viewer with something to chew on instead of a melodramatic conclusion.

Behind the Pose is a terrific film that exposes how disgusting the fashion and modelling industry can be, and how people in power can push younger female talent to the limit in order for them to achieve stardom. Elevated by an unforgettable performance from Ksena Samborska and Sally Lomidze’s formalism, the film is an insightful piece of filmmaking that evokes discussion regarding body standards and how unfairly women are picked apart in the industry.

If one singular hot button issue has dominated 2025, it’s AI. What once was a trope limited to science fiction is now seemingly reality, and that reality is closer to dystopian than we may like it to be. Raindog taps into the dizzy excitement of the AI boom, while gesturing at something more sinister and uncomfortable beneath the surface. In doing so, writer and director Euan Munro successfully navigates a minefield of clichés to deliver something that feels entirely original: a short and punchy science-fiction film that will have audiences desperate for a rewatch and hopefully questioning the world around them.

The premise of Raindog is elegant in its simplicity: roommates Eli (Munro) and Stuart (James Crutcher) have developed a weather forecasting Large Language Model (LLM, more commonly known in reality as AI) that may be able to predict more than just the weather. The two are giddy in their excitement, keen to test the limits of their new creation, until they begin to question the fabric of their reality. The film is shot entirely from the perspective of their computer screen, putting the audience in the proverbial shoes of the LLM named Raindog. The camera never shifts from this position, and it's through this lens that the entirety of the film is viewed. It’s interesting as a literal framing device, but what elevates Munro’s short is how this perspective begins to take on narrative and thematic purposes in a delightfully clever twist. Few stones feel unturned in Raindog’s intriguing premise that evolves in a truly unpredictable direction, and there’s no doubt that audiences will be kept on their toes watching Eli and Stuart wrangle with their creation.

The filmmaking on display may appear on the surface as quite minimalistic, but the creative choices all coalesce to give the short a great sense of energy. Munro and Crutcher give naturalistic and compelling performances, with a lot of the film’s success riding on them. Raindog feels play-like in its presentation, with most of the runtime taken up by the two lead actors sharing a fairly compact stage. It’s fortunate then that the two leads are able to handle the drama, and it’s a credit to them that the stakes feel personal and infinite at the same time. Combined with stellar editing, sound, and music, Raindog feels very competently put together, moving confidently through its scenes to deliver a well earned and satisfying climax.

Raindog may take place in a world somewhat unlike our own, but like a bite-size Twilight Zone, it reveals something about our reality. AI is a technological marvel and has the capacity to change the world in so many positive ways, but it must be used responsibly, and the cost of this technology could be earth-shattering. There are personal costs too, of course, and many would do well to remember that life exists way beyond the boundaries of screens.

A short drama written and directed by A.R. Ugas and starring Malcolm Kamulete, Mina Andala, and Akai Coleman.

Marcus (Kamulete) is an up-and-coming rapper in London, and it is probably only a matter of time before his career launches. One day, he is convinced by his manager (Michael Salami) to attend and perform at a birthday party for a young fan, Joshua (Coleman). Marcus arrives at the location, an apartment filled with attendees, including Joshua's mother, Samantha (Andala), however, Joshua is nowhere to be seen. Then Samantha produces a tablet via which Joshua appears and interacts with the party guests. This unconventional method is used because Joshua is currently in prison, serving a lengthy sentence, and a shocked Marcus struggles immensely to deal with this situation.

This short film could be categorised as a mix involving family drama, music, and crime drama. The narrative begins more or less lightheartedly, with Marcus reluctantly going to the party, and things take a sharp left turn when Joshua's incarceration is disclosed. From that moment on, the screenplay turns into a whirlwind of emotions, as Marcus experiences massive self-reflection and bitterly argues with Samantha regarding why she requested his presence and whether Marcus is to blame for her son's imprisonment due to the lyrics in his songs.

Kamulete vividly portrays a young musical artist who goes through significant character development, beginning in ambition and carefreeness, then suddenly entering a world of sorrow where he finds himself forced to face the fact that his music might have played a part in a person going down the wrong path. Initially, he refuses to acknowledge that that might be the case; however, he gradually seems to think otherwise. With her dramatic performance, Andala plays a mother who is evidently doing her best to try to cope with the tragedy that occurred involving Joshua, attempting to bring some joy to him, even while he is in prison. She clearly wishes for honesty and dignity. Coleman's character is an individual who may or may not be a victim of music influence.

This film follows the aftermath of a terrible event, exploring its consequences, including the suffering it caused and the lives that have been affected. Additionally, influence is another major theme, particularly musical influence and the extent to which it could impact people, particularly youngsters. From a different perspective, this short also serves as a commentary about fame and being a rapper.

Can music about violence affect people in negative ways? Can it affect them enough to commit crimes? Two dramatic questions that this story ostensibly asks. An emotional and thoughtful viewing.

A Week follows Rebecca (Neva Leoncini), a waitress working at a diner, as she finds herself grappling with maintaining a peaceful job while also dealing with the consistent interference from her husband (Amir Yassami). Divided into days of a singular week, as the title suggests, Rebecca must confront her inner turmoil and do what it takes to ensure her husband pays for his sins.

One of the most impressive aspects of A Week is how much it accomplishes within its limited runtime, boasting a narrative structure that is rather unique and keeps the pace engaging. While the narrative is intentionally repetitive as the husband repeats absurd acts to interfere with Rebecca's workflow, it never overstays its welcome. The piece doesn't lose sight of how simple the story is at heart, accompanied by frenetic pacing that rarely lets up until the credits roll. The film deals with mature themes such as domestic abuse and emotionally abusive relationships, and provides a helping hand of empathy towards Rebecca and women like her who have been in the same situation. Juan Catalano’s musical score effectively builds nail-biting tension to pervade the atmosphere throughout the bleaker aspects of the narrative.

Unfortunately, the tone feels uneven at times, from a light-hearted tone within the diner to a much sinister vibe whenever the husband is on screen. While jarring tonal shifts are effective, this sadly feels awkwardly executed as it's clearly a serious subject matter with darkly absurd elements. The writer/director Tony Rakshith also makes some bizarre choices within the direction, as many of the formal decisions feel out of place, and the performances rarely elevate how stilted the material feels. There's also incomprehensible ADR that feels awkward, and pieces of audio are completely cut out between pauses of dialogue, which may take the viewer out of the experience. These moments are detrimental to the narrative and the conflict brewing between the three central characters. Thankfully, the narrative is wildly unpredictable as the husband commits different acts whenever he enters the diner, and it keeps the audience on edge throughout the entirety of the runtime. However, certain events that unfold appear confused, as bizarre time jumps occur, which make no sense in the context of what is being depicted on screen.

The DP Albert Baker utilises a plethora of unique choices within the camerawork with close-ups of the actors and low-angle shots of the characters in discomfort, making the experience visceral throughout. Sadly, the performances across the board are robotic and stilted in their delivery. Neva Leoncini, who portrays Rebecca, is clearly trying her hardest to anchor the material with a profound level of nuance; however, Tony Rakshith’s inadequate direction doesn't do her any favours. While the conclusion amounts to just minor, it's ultimately satisfying for Rebecca’s character arc and feels earned in its execution.

A Week is a fascinating attempt at an idiosyncratic narrative structure that rarely overstays its welcome and makes suitable use of its budget restraints and limited runtime. It may suffer from a wide variety of issues within the technical department and artificial performances throughout; however, the piece is consistently engaging and never loses sight of its one-location setting and the mature themes it tackles.

A short documentary about people disappearing in Sri Lanka, directed by Ranga Bandaranayake and written by Chamara Prasanna Kodithuwakku.

For decades, countless of citizens of Sri Lanka have vanished without a trace. This twenty-minute-long film aims to acknowledge this. Via a large selection of dramatic photographs and several interviews, viewers will become aware of the tremendous suffering that has been caused due to people losing their loved ones and that this situation is continuing today. They will also be informed of the Monument of the Disappeared, a structure built in order to serve as a place of mourning and to honor those who vanished and of the Dabindu Collective, an organisation that protects the rights of women labourers in the free trade zone.

The photographs are quite vivid. They consist of people protesting, individuals holding pictures of lost loved ones and devastating results of brutal conflict. All this is superbly edited by Vishwa Ranga Surendra and the visuals are accompanied by dramatic music thanks to the contribution of Nadika Weligodapola and voice-over by Dhammika Bandara and Nishadi Bandaranayake.

The interviewees are Basil Fernando, a Human Rights activist, Samanmali Hettiarachchi, the Director of Dabindu Collective, Brito Fernando, a Human Rights activist and Professor Chandraguptha Thenuwara. Listening to them paints a picture of the dark side of Sri Lanka.

The filmmakers utilise an intertesting technique with the obvious intention of creating drama. This involves numerous sequences that begin with the photo of two to five people. Then the film cuts to a lit candle that goes out and when it does, the image turns black-and-white and there is a loud noise that resembles a gunshot. It then cuts back to the photo, where one person is suddenly replaced by a photo frame and inside it is a dark silhouette of a person, apparently of the one who is not present in the picture with the others. This method is a way of visualising a disappearance and acknowledging the emptiness that it causes to their loved ones.

This film emphasises a very serious issue that has affected many people in Sri Lanka, points out corruption and supports fight for justice.

This documentary is an informative, shocking and poignant viewing. It raises awareness of the disappearances that are taking place in Sri Lanka and pays tribute to the ones who vanished and this makes it a viewing worthy of attention.

Eleanor Shannon’s debut feature An Ríomh is an inventive and atmospheric reimagining of Irish folklore and its treatment of women, set in the modern age and framed around contemporary dilemmas and dangers.

The film follows Aine (Shannon), a young woman excited by her upcoming meeting with Ciaron (Jack Watson). Matched up by a dating app, Aine quickly relaxes in Ciaron’s presence and nerves are overtaken by excitement. When Ciaron reveals that he is not all he seems, a hidden supernatural presence reveals itself as well. And in a flash, the hunter becomes the hunted…

An Ríomh brilliantly uses the misrepresentation of women in historic Celtic mythology to engage with modern blights of violence towards women, abuse and sexual slavery. Women in many of these tales have been distorted, originating as righteous justice-seekers before being morphed over time into cackling, vengeful and malevolent spirits. Shannon seeks to reclaim elements of these stories from sexist reimagining, showing clearly in this short that Ciaron’s horrifying intentions are what brings about the wrath of the spirit that comes to inhabit Aine.

The non-linear structure helps hammer home this point further. Ciaron’s predicament is a mystery to the audience at first, and his panic alone is enough to have some sympathy for him. But as Aine’s story is told, it becomes clear the truth we are initially presented with is not what it seems. It is a clever way to demonstrate how stories become distorted and muddied – one of the film’s key themes – in a way that can be as true in 2025 as at any point in history. Those who get their story out first are usually the ones who are believed, and in cases of violence or hierarchical gender-based abuse, it is often men who benefit from this.

As the star as well as writer and director, Eleanor Shannon demonstrates a whole range of talents – easily immersing into the role of Aine. Her initial romantic swooning over Ciaron’s flirtatious texts is sickly-sweet and charming, but she just as easily convinces as the embodied vessel of vengeance that becomes of Aine – carrying a powerful degree of menace. Jack Watson similarly excels as Ciaron, an affable charmer with a dark side. His personality switch is jarring in just the right way, and when he becomes prey for the darker side of Aine and the film accelerates into full-blown folk horror mode, he makes for a brilliant target.

An Ríomh’s originality and boldness are its biggest strengths. It is not afraid to ask questions of its audience or flip their expectations, and uses historical precedents that surround the myths that inspire it to great effect. It is remarkable that this is a debut feature, and Eleanor Shannon is certainly someone to watch – not only as a performer but even more so as a writer and director with great depth of understanding around layering her stories with true substance.