Latest Short Film Reviews

A magical and emotional animated short film made by 3D animator and independent filmmaker Luke Angus.

Just explaining that 'solstice' refers to the period that occurs twice each year, when the sun reaches its minimum or maximum declination. And this is relevant to this short's plot which will be described below.

The story takes place in the Arctic Circle, where a male Inuit, who wears glasses, lives in isolation. Inside his igloo, he has a board, where he has inserted a large number of nails in a way that creates horizontal and vertical lines and everyday, he places a fishhook on a nail and the next day, he places it on the one to its right, creating a personal calendar. The reason for this is to count the days until the sun vanishes, leaving only the night sky, which is what the hero looks forward to so that his lost partner 'returns' and they can temporalily be together again.

Angus worked solo on this project over the course of nearly four years and the result is fantastic. The story, the visuals and the music are terrific, all of which will be analysed below.

The narrative is about a heartbroken person whose sole purpose appears to be to remember the wonderful times he had with his departed and beloved partner. The reason he longs for the sun to go away is because when he was with his partner, they used to play a game where they would look at the stars in the sky at night and, using their imagination, would visualize shapes of all sort being formed by the stars. And so, the hurt but strong and determined Inuit waits for the temporary but lengthy period of night-time to arrive, which helps him remember the joys he had with his lost love and vividly imagine that she is alive. It is a poignant but beautiful story.

Angus clearly utilises his animation experience very strongly, as the film looks fabulous. The colours and the lighting powefully create a snow-covered, isolated location, as well as a sky covered with shining stars. Everything just looks perfect in computer animation, including the likeable characters. Special mention goes to the way the flashbacks of the couple's past happiness are presented, that being like coming from a film projector.

The music is another massive plus, absolutely terrific. ANBR, Spearfisher and Turpak use their abilities and develop melodies that perfectly accompany the images. Since there is no speech in this short, as far as the audio goes, it is up to the score to generate emotions and it succeeds spotlessly, creating uplifting and melancholic moments via somber piano pieces, upbeat tones and dynamic orchestral music.

The concepts of isolation and living in the Arctic are taken into account, however, the core of this story is coping with loss and grief. Additionally, it also concerns romance, reminiscing the past and holding onto meaningful moments. Crucially, it acknowledges the idea of a person wanting to remember a loved one who passed away.

Huge commendations go to this heart-warming and moving achievement that offers 11 minutes of pure magic. One would be expected to look forward to Angus's next project

A thirty-something woman feels the pressure from everyone around her at her sister’s baby shower to have children of her own, so much so that her ovaries start talking to her to try and convince her.

Eva (Karlsen) is thirty-four. She’s fast approaching that life destroying cliff-dive of an age where women are told that their bodies suddenly change for the worse, and that fertility becomes a major issue until the long slow feminine death of menopause. All sorts of things are supposed to go wrong with having babies after a woman hits thirty-five, and Eva is fast running out of time, as she is constantly reminded by everyone around her who ‘cares for her’ and ‘has her best interests at heart’.

Granny is the most insistent member of the group to try and push Eva into motherhood, but everybody else is at it, too, with friends and family putting on their rose-tinted spectacles and throwing out platitudes that regale the simple positive pleasures of raising a baby. Eva is having none of it though, and tries to impress upon everyone that she still has time, and that she can make up her own mind about these things whenever she feels like it. This is not entirely true though and Eva’s fuzzy guts start trying to tell her otherwise as she bats away the onslaught of indoctrinated motherhood.

After a swift trip to the toilet (in the mother and baby changing area), Eva unexpectedly looks into the mirror to find herself pregnant with worry. This miraculous conception lasts a matter of moments before Eva is lying on the floor giving birth to her reproductive system. Her ovaries (and technically uterus, too) burst forth and land on the baby change mat, introducing herself as Ovy (Oxenham), the talking, floating version of Eva’s inner voice. Together, Eva and Ovy navigate the choices laid out in front of them as they discuss and argue over the idea of bringing a baby into the world.

Told in a cutesy animation style, with cloth puppets and their animated mouths and eyebrows, Ovary-Acting tackles some big issues with a gentle but firm direction and narrative. The characters are perfectly represented for the tale they are trying to tell, as nothing seems overly serious or terrifying in the fact that part of Eva’s insides have suddenly emerged from her body and started talking to her. The animation also allows for some surreal narrative moments which could not have been achieved through live action, or which could have appeared gross-out or just plain weird in a CGI context.

Around half-way through the twelve-minute runtime, Eva and Ovy break into a big song and dance number, which is very reminiscent and akin to those cemented in nearly every episode of the Netflix comedy, Big Mouth. This tongue-in-cheek attitude towards female reproduction is a soothing balm for those who may feel the pressure of the ticking biological clock along with Eva, and for everyone else it’s light-hearted and entertaining without seeming too flippant. Writer, Laura Jayne Tunbridge, obviously has to hit some pretty standard markers in the dialogue, of which some phrases and snippets can sound fairly tired and well-worn, with most comediennes, chat show hosts, and members of Loose Women having covered this ground many times before. However, she manages to blend this in with some fairly personal feeling dialogue and a light, modern touch, to keep things fresh, relevant and funny.

Ovary-Acting is a unique take on an age-old dilemma, which really comes into its own in terms of its style and storytelling. There is a lot to admire and enjoy about Eva’s journey into finding herself, and the fuzzy animation, led by Ida Melum’s direction, really adds to the feeling the viewer gets when watching her wrestle with her own emotions and self-justifications. There’s even a nice little fuzzy ballsack hanging about who just wants to say Hello. Ovary-Acting is a beautiful piece of storytelling which achieves the perfect balance in how it gets its message across, finding a way to not take itself too seriously while making points which everybody should consider, especially when they should keep their mouth shut and their noses out of somebody else’s business.

BAFTA® 2026 Longlisted Animated Short.

Without Kelly follows a young mother, Esther (Medea Strid), as she is forced to leave her baby daughter with the child's father. Caught in a wake of longing and desperation, through the night she chases comfort and purpose and seeks ways to hold onto what she cares for the most. The piece is an uncompromising and raw tale of motherhood, told in a rather simplistic narrative approach, entirely from the female perspective.

One of the most impressive feats of the piece is how immediately the viewer is swept into the sheer intimacy of the filmmaking on display. The visually stunning photography from DP Christine Leuhusen is commendable and eases you into Esther's experience as a mother. The camerawork at times is frenetic and urgent as it tracks Esther in a state of distress and discomfort, utilising extreme close-ups. Lisa Rydberg’s musical score is evocative and emotionally resonant, and anchors the lack of context through Esther’s characterisation. The filmmakers also strip away the score from specific scenes and rely entirely on the actors’ performances, which is a risky formal decision that pays off beautifully. Its tight pace at times is a detriment and a positive to the experience, as the lack of context for Esther makes it demanding to resonate with her struggles. An extended runtime could have perhaps fleshed out her characterisation more profoundly and enhanced its staying power after the credits roll. That being said, the “show, don't tell” approach is commendable and a remarkable way to convey her inner turmoil.

The central performance from Medea Strid in her raw portrayal of Esther is phenomenal. Her screen presence is essential as the narrative relies entirely on her character and performance to convey her longing to be with her child. While the supporting players are given less material to chew on, their performances are serviceable to the plot, and their chemistry is magnetic with Strid’s leading screen presence. The unpredictability of the narrative is astounding at times and entirely conveyed profoundly through Esther’s choices as she uses her body and physical need for desire to numb the pain of isolation. Writer/director Lovisa Sirén clearly set out to express the emotional devastation of a young mother grappling with the life-changing decision she has made after being forced to leave her child, and they succeeded with flying colours in that regard.

While the experience is tightly paced and never overstays its welcome, the conclusion to the narrative amounts to fairly minor, with a lack of resolution for Esther’s character growth. On the other hand, the complexity of Esther’s motivations is remarkable and evocative, leaving the viewer with much to ponder on regarding the female perspective when separated from their child.

Without Kelly is a stunning piece of filmmaking that sheds a harsh light on a woman’s longing for connection after being forced away from her child. Resting entirely on a masterful lead performance from Medea Strid and Lovisa Sirén’s formalism, the simplistic narrative approach may detract from the experience at times; however, this is a heart-stirring exploration of motherhood.

WITHOUT KELLY will screen at the 2026 Sundance Film Festival in Short Film Program 3 — premiering on January 24 at 9:15pm MST.

Rooted within Japanese culture, Monkey Drum is a beautifully shot (cinematography by Tian Pei) folk-horror short film about the most horrific kind of tragedy. The young, award-winning director Jeremy Lu, amongst a small team of Asian filmmakers, poured their experiences and identities into this project (Lu's NYU thesis film) to create an authentic masterpiece. Crowdfunded through donations and the filmmakers' own pockets, these artists were inspired by the Japanese way of treating friends, neighbours, and, significantly, strangers, centring the story around the Japanese term “お邪魔します”, literally meaning “I am disturbing”, a phrase used in Japan when entering someone’s home, thus disturbing their peace.

Minato is an elderly, broken man. He is a hermit who has lived alone for many years and is content with a simple life of solitude, one that is fulfilled purely by the fact that he is still breathing. Isseki is a devoted young father of Jun. The two of them have mysteriously found themselves lost and helpless and persuade Minato to take them under his wing, feeding and sheltering them, even gifting Jun with a fun new toy – a hit-hit drum (でんでん太鼓).

Isseki and Jun’s entry is immediately unsettling to Minato’s space. The sound design enhances this powerfully, focusing on their bellowing knocks on the door, the gross sounds of their slurping and chewing, and most notably, Jun’s constant rattling of the monkey drum, which eerily plays through the night, causing Minato significant unease. There is a clear generational detachment between Jun and Minato. This divide is cleverly highlighted through Jun’s inability to understand cues of politeness within traditional Japanese culture, immediately brought to attention in Jun’s refusal to introduce himself and further demonstrated in his reluctance to stop playing the drum despite irritating both his father and Minato.

Similar to Mother!, directed by Darren Aronofsky, Monkey Drum excellently creates a tone of unease from the outset through the scenario of an unwelcome intrusion. As is customary in American culture, Jennifer Lawrence’s character is vocal about her discomfort from the immediate disruption of an unwelcome guest residing in their home. However, whilst Minato’s unease is clear to viewers, it is only following the fallout of a sudden tragedy which has come to haunt Minato’s space that he is ever direct about his desire for Isseki to leave his home.

Monkey Drum masterfully depicts a shocking accidental tragedy. As the film is only 16 minutes long, there is little space for buildup or foreshadowing. Despite this, the film minimally brews tensions, drawing attention to spaces and objects which viewers can sense carry a heavy weight before the incident occurs. The actual tragedy itself is conveyed chillingly. Through bone-cutting sound effects, its use of silence and selective camera choices in what is shown and when, the gradual realisation towards what has happened is experienced in real time through the eyes of Isseki and Minato. Here, viewers are forced to endure the most horrific moments following such a tragic event, engaging in an authentic journey of the most mortifying grief.

As the film comes to its climax, the tragedy becomes a mere background character adding to the brewing tension between Isseki and Minato, his unwelcome presence and the turmoil he has brought into Minato’s home spiralling into a dramatic culmination. The performances here, and indeed throughout, from Tadashi Mitsui (Minato) and Taiju Nakane (Isseki) are harrowingly powerful. Viewers are utterly convinced by their disturbance, particularly Isseki’s grief.

So many aspects of Monkey Drum are notable in their excellence and importance. One final dedication must be made to the love that permeates this film, despite its belonging to the horror genre, and heavy leaning on psychological discomfort, a heartfelt dedication of Isseki to his son Jun resonates throughout. After all, what is grief if not love preserving?

Melissa Skirboll’s short $13 is a bite-sized emotional gut punch – a seemingly innocuous character piece at first that takes a shocking turn, taking viewers on an unexpected journey within its short narrative.

2 women take a stroll alongside the Hudson River in New York City. The older of the pair (Skirboll) reminisces about frustrations with her former boss Bernie. The younger of the pair (Meghan Martin) can relate – having her own frustrations with her lot. But as the story develops, we realise that the location is of utmost relevance – the presence of One World Trade Centre suddenly looming large. The younger woman realises that the story she is being told is not a typical one, and the trauma of 9/11 is felt by both parties.

The twist at the heart of $13 will be most people’s lasting memory. And while the sudden revelation of the story’s true nature will shock, it is impressive that Melissa Skirboll makes it work. Delivered with a less capable hand, it may have come across as trite or inauthentic. However, Skriboll is careful not to over-egg the introduction of a historic tragedy in her short film’s narrative. Landing with an initial, earth-quaking shock, the moment is given chance to breath and dissolve into the film in a manner that feels genuine. This is accomplished through the musical cues, the use of silence and the impressive performances of Skirbol herself and Meghan Martin.

The film is shot beautifully, making full use of the New York skyline at sunset. The setting is obviously plot-relevant, but the ambience created is also critical for the story’s success. Taking place at sunset feels like no coincidence, as Skirboll’s character yearns to come to terms with a pivotal moment in her life even 25 years on. The contrast with the unforgettable images of 9/11, which took place in the daytime, to the film’s evening glow gives a quiet appreciation of time passed.

There are some moments where the dialogue becomes a little clunky. It feels a little forced at first for the character of Bernie to be introduced, and there are a few other instances of exposition that grate. But once the film finds its momentum, the writing is impeccable. Once Skirboll’s character recounts the people she knew who worked in the towers, audiences will be silently gripped and moved. The women’s bond also convinces, and the chemistry between Skirboll and Martin flourishes with defined dialogue that successfully creates the idea of an age-gap friendship.

$13 accomplishes so much with just a conversation. It is destined to move audiences, not just thanks to its shocking twist, but because of fantastic dialogue and performances that make for an engrossing rollercoaster of a film.

A man undertakes a debilitating experiment which causes him to scratch at his body while it oozes, bleeds, and decomposes over the days he spends in the facility.

Will (Nagvajara) has awoken in a basement room where he knows little about what’s going on around him. He is under surveillance in every room of the bare apartment he’s using as a makeshift laboratory, with CCTV cameras in the bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen watching his every move. There is an enigmatic note left in the bathroom cabinet by a guy named ‘Rog’ (Potvin), encouraging Will in whatever course he has embarked upon, while several small vials of an unknown serum are lined up in a sequentially numbered row beside it.

Will is taking notes in a journal as he progresses through this seeming medical trial, apparently aware that he has some mission to accomplish, and that he is doing it for the love of a long-lost partner who died prematurely. He keeps waking up at later points each day, knocked out from the previous day’s injection, and always with something new happening to his body, nothing that is ever any good. His body starts to itch and ache; he’s getting scratches and lesions on his skin; parts of him are starting to flake and peel away; and his insides are just screaming to get out. It sounds like the medicine is working.

Over the course of a week, we follow Will as he falls apart due to the experiment he is participating in. The story pieces together each day as we check back in to see how he is doing. Spoiler alert: He’s not doing very well. In a very Cronenberg fashion, Will slowly descends deeper and deeper into body horror territory, as The Itch he feels inside him begins to overtake his multiple senses. There’s plenty of bodily fluids being expelled, and dirty liquids flowing into filthy drains, as Will’s condition progresses towards its conclusion, with nothing much being given away until the end about what kind of motivation could exist in order for someone to do this to themselves willingly.

In this way, The Itch, owes a lot to recent body horror sensation, The Substance (2024), as Will’s psyche is fractured in two, and the memory blackouts become more frequent and intense. Still, he pushes forward on his trajectory, somehow feeling that the outcome will be beneficial, if not for him then for someone else, or society as a whole. This also causes echoes of The Fly (1986), as Will’s addiction can’t be sated and each step forward brings about another severe debilitation in his condition. In the end, what Will becomes is nothing of his former self, with only this new ideal filling his every impulse.

Told in short, sharp bursts, The Itch tells its tale in under fifteen minutes, with an extra expository sequence hemmed in during the credits to help us get a better understanding of what has transpired. There’s plenty of jump cuts and clashing imagery, along with the requisite gory outpourings, from writer, director, editor, and producer, Gordon Phillips, with a soundtrack of scratchy strings played alongside to keep everything off-kilter. The cinematography from Marcelo Quinones saturates the screen with white light, while also pulling us into the deep, dark places that Will needs to go to as he fights for his survival. These technical aspects are all very well accomplished, and they meld together in a sub-dungeon, holy trauma kind of way to really boost the effectiveness of the feeling that the audience is exposed to.

If there’s something to gripe about, it’s that we’re not party to Will’s backstory until very near the end, or even beyond that. This keeps us from connecting truly with his character, not knowing him to be sympathetic or otherwise, as we watch him endure his suffering. This categorises the body horror as slightly voyeuristic and fetishized, as we don’t feel any need for what he’s going through. This can make The Itch seem like an homage to the previously mentioned films, without really allowing it to strike out on its own. While The Itch takes succour from those that have gone before, it is hard to see the true originality needed for it to stand out from a fairly oversized pack, despite the fact that it is extremely well made.

The Last Act is a psychological thriller that follows Jacqueline (Lauren Karaman), a struggling musical theatre actress living in New York City. After enduring countless rejections from auditions and navigating a side job as a barista, her frustrations reach a breaking point as her casting director mocks her appearance and performance at an audition. In a desperate attempt for a chance in the spotlight, she does what it takes to ensure her casting director, Andrew (Al Pagano), pays for his cruel behaviour.

The central performance from Lauren Karaman in her portrayal of Jacqueline is profoundly engaging as she conveys nuance, while balancing her personal struggles with her body image and her dream of becoming a successful theatre actress. On the other side of the coin, you have Al Pagano, who successfully embodies the despicable nature of Andrew and rips apart Jacqueline’s appearance in an attempt to turn her dreams into a mere humiliation. As a viewer, it is genuinely tough to witness Jacqueline receive the amount of verbal abuse she endures, with individuals commenting on her body and disregarding her hopes for the future. The filmmakers do their best to employ a social commentary regarding the current state of expected body standards from women in theatre, which is a commendable choice.

Despite the film's tight pace and brisk runtime, the writer/director Zilong Zee does an incredible job establishing Jacqueline’s characterisation and the world around her. Cinematographer Adam Weinberg shoots New York City as if it were almost its own character, utilising stunning wide shots to give the audience a brief glimpse into the chaos of the city’s central area. Another significant positive in the technical department is the make-up, which feels intentional and well-placed in the narrative, complementing the story despite its budget constraints. The piece is also accompanied by a sombre musical score that profoundly matches the tonal shifts and changing mental state of Jacqueline. It's an anxiety-inducing experience throughout, which never lets up until its climax, anchored by some frenetic editing and a psychological narrative.

Unfortunately, the conclusion to the narrative suffers from being just minor due to the film wrapping up abruptly and the script trying to juggle a convoluted amount of twists. The lack of closure is also unsatisfying for the conclusion of Jacqueline’s character arc, and the central reveal is too safe, given how darkly absurd the narrative can feel at times. Perhaps the film's tight runtime is a detriment to the experience at times, as a prolonged runtime could have potentially fleshed out the script's ideas on a deeper level to ensure the conclusion is less anticlimactic. While the themes of female body standards are an exceptional aspect of the film, the filmmakers could have utilised these themes more eloquently and made more ballsy choices within its climax. Pushing these issues aside, the experience is still mostly engaging and never loses sight of its character-focused exploration.

The Last Act is a thoroughly engaging psychological thriller with a bite of social commentary on body standards and the expectations placed on women’s appearances in the theatre. Despite the flaws in its anticlimactic finale, the experience is enhanced by a phenomenal lead performance from Lauren Karaman and is directed eloquently by Zilong Zee, delivering a nail-biting thrill ride.

A tense and emotional sci-fi short film from Ireland, written and directed by Sean Treacy and starring Abby Fitz, Diarmuid Noyes, Aida O'Malley and Muireann Ryan.

The story is set in a future where humanity has found a way for the deceased to enter a digital version of heaven and spend eternity there. That is through a program called 'Horizons'. One stormy night, Karl (Noyes) a software engineer who works for Horizons discovers is in his workplace and, via his computer, he discovers that a young woman named Rachel (Fitz) has just passed away from a car accident and she has now reached the virtual paradise. However, since she has lost her memory, she will soon vanish forever, unless Karl finds a way to make her remember her life.

A race-against-the-clock science fiction thriller with plenty of drama and tension. Through his interface, Karl desperately tries to help Rachel regain her memories and he attempts to do so by programming digital version of her loved ones (her mother (Ryan), father (Shane Lynch), daughter (O'Malley) and partner (Cal O'Driscoll)) to appear in the computerised setting that Rachel is currently in (which is a forest) and communicate with her. They interact with her via sentences that are inputted by Karl in order to answer Rachel's questions, therefore enabling conversations and he carries on with this procedure, trying to beat the dealine. Meanwhile, Rachel appears lost and confused and frightened.

The music by Alberto Hernandez and Guilherme Simoes deserves special mention as they create a tense and dramatic score that is a highlight in this film as it creates a vivid atmosphere throughout. Commendations also go to the filmmaking techniques that convincingly indicate that a storm is taking place.

The core of the story is about saving Rachel and Fitz delivers an emotional performance, portraying a person (or maybe their spirit) who has found themself in an unknown place without memories. However, she shows that she is capable of remembering. Noyes is sympathetic as a guy who is determined to make the impossible possible in order to save someone. O'Malley deserves recognition for being able to be believable as a loving daughter and as an emotionless part of the computer program.

The screenplay explores how much technology can affect humans, going as far as to suggest that technological advancements could interact with people even after they have passed away and in doing so, this short also looks into the afterlife. Family, loss and discovering oneself (or rediscovering) also play significant roles and a main message seems to be that memories are vital for people in order to know who they are.

A sci-fi story about saving someone. It would be fair to say that this film is primarily about regaining one's identity than a science fiction thriller and it works quite effectively either way.

The Freedom of Uselessness (25-minute cut) is an experimental piece of filmmaking that follows two mothballs, Bubba and Spoiled, as they drift in still water, experiencing time, change and their own existence. Alongside a collection of inanimate objects, the piece follows an untraditional narrative structure with a complete lack of audio and spectacle. Co-directed by Samuel Felinton and Declan Mungovan, this is a condensed 25-minute version of the piece, adapted from the original 100-day version.

The film was entirely influenced by the Taoist principle of Wu Wei, meaning non-doing or effortless action, which is predominantly showcased within its concept and the entirety of the runtime. The idea is also reflective of the virtues of simplicity that Taoism emphasises. It feels entirely sincere in its efforts, with genuine passion from the filmmakers and their execution of this idea in such an ambitious fashion. The complete lack of exposition is an admirable decision, which leaves the audience to perhaps go and research deeper into the Taoist theory and appreciate what the filmmakers were trying to convey more profoundly on repeat viewings. The filmmaker's idea may be seen as a gimmick; however, it's not entirely fair to disregard a piece of art due to its absurd concept. However, the experience falls short due to the lack of a narrative, offering only a minor impact. While the lack of audio is a commendable formal decision, the entire film feels isolating and unengaging as a result. Perhaps a more in-depth look into the Taoist philosophy could have given the viewer more to consider beyond a limited glimpse of experimentation around the Taoist principle of Wu Wei. Despite these issues, the two mothballs are admittedly admirable to look at and endearing additions to the piece.

While the filmmakers have condensed the runtime significantly in this version of the film, the experience still unfortunately feels grating and a chore to sit through intentionally. The central issue with the film is that the viewer is forced to watch two mothballs exist, and there's no meaningful aspect to the narrative apart from the time changing on the clock. Its thin material is the detriment to its selling point and remembrance after the film fades to black. Thankfully, it's a conceptually ambitious piece of filmmaking that requires patience and a willingness to look beyond the conventional narrative structure. If the viewer is willing to commit to this experience, then they may find themselves transfixed by its challenging concept. Samuel Felinton and Declan Mungovan profoundly showcase their talent by tackling complex themes and experimenting with philosophical ideas. The Freedom of Uselessness also goes to show that cinema doesn't always require dialogue or audio to be digestible for an audience and could entirely rest on a single frame.

The Freedom of Uselessness is an ambitious experience with a lack of spectacle or productivity, and experimentation with a conceptually daring idea. While it may suffer from a litany of issues, such as prolonged pacing and offering minor staying power after its conclusion, it's a profoundly sincere piece of filmmaking.

A short psychological horror film, written by Matthew David Roe and Kimberly Britt, directed by Roe and starring Chelsea Roe and William Shelton. It is based on a short screenplay titled Undertakings by Britt.

Joan (Roe) works as a cemetery caretaker. Unfortunately, she is also an immoral person and tends to steal items left at graves by mourners, such as flowered garlands or objects of sentimental value. As she continues to do so, strange occurrences take place in her apartment and the appearance of a mysterious man (Shelton) suggests that her vile actions have consequences.

Shot in black-and-white, this film works well as a horror film, particularly a haunted house horror film. When Joan is at home, strange things happen that include unexplained noises, evident blood falling on flowers and a lightbulb going out. Concerned and frightened, she repeatedly looks through the door viewer, with the apparent intention of identifying the source. These events, along with the darkness and the ominous music create a sinister and dreadful atmosphere.

On the minus side, the script does not have a thorough conclusion, leaving understanding what is going on open to interpretation.

Roe plays a loner, a woman who lives by herself and who does not seem to care that her actions are wrong. That makes her an unlikeable character, an anti-heroine, a selfish and narcissistic person. Shelton steals the show with his character who is a suited man with pointed fingernails who appears out of nowhere and whose purpose seems to be to judge Joan or make her re-evaluate herself.

'Garden of an Angry God' can mean a variety of things, one of which could be derived from Jonathan Edwards's sermon and is related to God's wrath against sinners. This definition is probably the one that matches this story, as it deals significantly with immorality and punishment. From another perspective, the plot also involves isolation and self-reflection.

A dark short horror film with strong performances that effectively develops a frightening environment. A decent viewing, but one that might have benefited from a more clear ending.