Latest Short Film Reviews

“Deja Reve” is best described as the profound sensation that a current waking experience mirrors a memory that one has already lived. The film ‘Aberration: Deja Reve’ follows a young scientist, Chase, on the verge of a breakthrough in creating a medication that allows you to relive old memories in this bold science-fiction fever dream by Rocko Paolo.

The opening sequence features frantic camera movements, instantly instilling a sense of unease. This feeling is further emphasised by Chase, played by actress Rachel Stone, and her unrestful physicality. Commendations should be given to Stone for carrying the majority of this film’s runtime on her back single handedly, delivering an energetic performance as her character spirals into an addiction instigated madness. However, the acting in this piece is at its peak when she is joined by scene partner Rocko Paulo. The two constantly interrupt and talk over each other, giving their conversation an earnest sense of reality which really adds to the immersion of the performances. It is a great creative decision then, that cinematographer Alexander Joseph allows the camera to linger on the performances for long periods of time rather than cutting to other angles, in a mature and understated choice that elevates the material.

From a writing perspective the story releases its exposition slowly, drip feeding the audience information over its sixteen minute runtime, keeping the audience engaged as we get our head around the fantastical concept.

In the dream sequences of this film, Paulo utilises a very obvious green screen. Where this might be out of place and distracting in any other piece of media – in this case it perfectly adds a sense of uncanny valley to these montages that really lends to the core dreamlike conceit of the film.

Despite its imaginative concept, this piece is not without its flaws. The distracting colour grading and often-times overwhelming sound design certainly causes a disconnect with the narrative, with shots that seem carelessly composed in post-production and sound that is either too quiet or abrasive in any given moment. Due to this, audiences may find it difficult to suspend their disbelief. Thematically the story initially seems to set out to tell a fascinating tale about the dangers of obsessive nostalgia, but is then watered down when Miles implies the existence of parallel universes which further confuses the commentary.

With a fascinating concept at its core, ‘Aberration: Deja Reve’ features hints of genius in its storytelling, performances and cinematography but is bogged down by a lack of narrative focus and need for a sharper edit.

Concerto for Humanity is a maximalist piece of archival documentary filmmaking. Directed with an unwavering social confidence by Stacey Stone (who is also the film’s editor – a logical dual-role since this project is almost purely a work of editorial contexts working in tandem with music and the spoken word). The setup is an immediately transfixing one: what if we placed 16mm footage from the 1930s alongside contemporary digital imagery; or, as the voiceover puts it, what if this individual with the black-and-white camera woke up in today’s world? What kind of world would he see? This movie answers that question through unrelenting means and to an unambiguously grim result. It’s a work of the avant-garde, made by an artist who refuses to let the audience off easy. We’re made to sit through some horrific things during the twelve-minute runtime. Although it leaves one with some questions regarding the project’s overall statement – not in terms of what it’s showing us and the very obvious implications of the editing, but more whether these images will continue to engage the mind of the viewer after the film is over. How open-ended and explorative actually is this piece of video-journalism?

From beginning to end, what the audience is exposed to is deeply powerful. And the entire experiment is, in many ways, a success when you consider the fact that the images gather further meaning – often more upsetting meaning – when positioned in conjunction with this lovely 30s footage – even when the 30s footage is also depicting something negative. In terms of the modern, the AI content is utterly stomach-turning in a manner which is intentional and confrontational, and it doesn’t get more harrowing than captured moments of police brutality and war. What unfortunately lets these visual aspects down, though, is the decision to include expository voiceover in the film. That’s by no means an indictment of the vocal performance by Colin Cassidy (which is strong), but more an observation that the images would hold a great deal more potency if they were left to their own wordless faculties.

Thus, to answer the question I posed earlier in this review: explorative – very. Open-ended – absolutely not. The individuals who produced this movie surely meant for the messaging’s solidity. And the intention to depict our world in all its ugly detail is always an admirable one (and something that the moving image does better than any other form of media). However, the fact remains that these ideas perhaps lack nuance; the implicit and purely visual quality that would elevate Concerto for Humanity to the artistically transcendent heights that the title may lead the viewer to anticipate. But it’s a documentary that evokes such masterworks as Koyaanisqatsi – especially when you realise that the music featured was written specifically for the film (by Larry Tuttle), much like Philip Glass’ instantly iconic compositions for the 1982 experimental classic. To witness something so unashamedly provocative is always an exciting experience for a critic. And despite my misgivings, the editorial and political ambition makes this a positive contribution to both the documentary and art film scene.

The writer of this review recently had the privilege of reviewing a music video by British band Blooming Cellar, which was titled Tuesday and was a pleasant viewing. This one is even better.

Like the Tuesday video, Lennington Evening consists of black-and-white animation accompanied by a song.

Let's begin with the visuals. Viewing this music video feels almost like experiencing a slide show or reading a comic book. From start to finish a series of cartoon-style drawings are shown one after the other and they more or less tell a story about being a writer. What is seen in the drawings then? Well, first, there is a main character, a young writer and he is shown working hard on his typewriter, papers everywhere and he seems to be struggling with alcohol. Evidently, he meets a nice, young woman. The setting? Judging from the buildings, this seems to be New York City. Maybe the nineteen-fifties. Tall buildings. Airplanes. Civilisation. Reality appears to blend with imagination as flowers (gigantic flowers) emerge from the roads and take over buildings and countless of typewriter papers turn into paper planes, flying over nature and through space. There is brief animation that includes colours, which consists of images that resemble nineteen-fifties postcards.

And now the audio, or should we say ''the song'', which was written in 1996, in London. Superb vocals, dynamic guitars and tense drums create a sort of rock song that is a joy to listen to. The melodies and words generate emotions concerning nostalgia, hardship and romance.

So what is this about then? What messages are communicated here? As mentioned above (and as the drawings demonstrate) this is a project about being a writer, the struggles of being a writer, dealing with alcohol addiction and finding a partner. Moreover, the enormous flowers breaking through the ground and covering buildings might represent nature taking over civilisation, nature reclaiming its territory.

Viewers can appreciate this four-minute-long music video via a number of ways, be it the impressive animation, the enjoyable song or the themes. Or, maybe all these together, why not? Overall, this short takes people on a dramatic, romantic and fantastical journey.

Thomas Sargeant’s personal and true-life inspired short Between Breath & Silence explores grief and loss in relationships that have strained. It is a touching, at times difficult watch that holds a mirror to the audience’s own relations with family, and matches the emotional weight with complexity to result in a worthy and considered reflection on anguish.

Tom (Thomas Sargeant) returns home after receiving news that his dad Paul (Graeme Hawley) has been hospitalised with a serious illness. Tom’s hesitancy about returning originates from years of tension with both his dad and brother Ryan (Sam Retford), whose issues go unstated. However, Tom’s hesitancy at including his boyfriend Matt (Kris Mochrie) in proceedings suggest sexuality has something to do with it. As his prognosis becomes terminal, Tom knows this moment may be the last chance he has to repair bridges.

Between Breath & Silence is a small-scale yet intense short film that seeks to challenge its viewers with imperfect families and circumstances that demand grace and forgiveness to navigate. Presented with devastating news, Tom is forced to re-submerge in a difficult family dynamic that he had distanced himself from. Tom Sargeant’s understated scripting of his characters ensures the audience unravel these dynamics slowly, and is trusted to read between the lines to identify the sources of strife between the cast. This accomplishment is even more impressive considering the true-life inspiration of the story, and his ability to make each character believable and empathetic even when they carry deep flaws. Director Nicole Pott also captures the quiet, mournful atmosphere with a patient style that lets awkwardness, emotion and unspoken words linger.

Viewers are forced to think more deeply about the characters due to the depth that each main cast member imbues. We meet Tom in a difficult moment – one where he is confronted with a stark choice between repairing family relationships and endangering his romantic one by showing more grace than might be deserved to those who disapprove of him. Graeme Hawley’s Paul is a similarly humble father in the face of his own mortality – yet viewers are also asked to see the pain that both he and Kris Mochrie’s Matt have caused due to suggested prejudice. Where such dynamics could easily lead to melodrama or overperformance, the cast understands that the quiet and unsaid works much more effectively at getting across the problems the family has in the context of the moment, and means the ultimate outpouring of emotion when it arrives is all the more effective.

Add to this that the film looks great in its smaller scale framing, and the result is a really well-rounded personal short. The discomforting ambiance of Paul’s hospital room almost demands that characters restrain their true feelings, causing a notable tension to build in the viewer as slight but unconventional camera framing draws us in close to a family’s inner turmoil. The contrast between the softness of lighting when Tom is outside of his family and the darker tones that emerge when he is surrounded is also a noticeable move that shifts as bonds are altered.

The success of Between Breath & Silence comes from the slight touch of its writer/star and director who understand that the power of such short films come from characters who are relatable, empathetic and well developed. It is a great testament to Tom Sargeant’s ability as a writer to bear such a personal story as well as he does here, and his story will move people regardless of whether they can fully relate to it or not.

In an alternate timeline where the Nazis won the Second World War (yawn) two adversaries sit down opposite each other at a table to talk about who the biggest ‘Billy Big Bollocks’ is, as they desperately try to play their one-upmanship on just who is getting out of that room alive.

Based on the long running video game series, Wolfenstein, this first episode in what is to be a web-series, Legacy Of Defiance, throws us into a world where something unknown (to us) happened which allowed the Nazis to win WWII. William ‘B.J.’ Blazkowicz (Liebowitz) has been captured and has been brought before Ken Von Hermann (Smith) to suffer his fate, but of course, not before the nasty Nazi gets to play the Bond villain in teasing and torturing his prey before the final twist of the knife. At least one of these characters has been brought directly from the games and therefore cannot be attributed to the writer/director, while the other appears to be an amalgam of stock Nazi enemies. Both of these characters, however, are the most basic, bland, stereotypical, and useless caricatures of video game heroes/villains, with no depth or saving grace to their background or development.

As the two sit in the deeply darkened room opposite each other, we see that B.J. is wounded and bleeding, while Von Hermann is dolled up in his starched uniform and sitting himself down to tea. This is apparently London in 1964, but actually it’s just a table in the dark, and there is no sense of anything beyond the blackness of the room, not even the two guards who are apparently there but we don’t see until they come forward at Hermann’s command. The Nazi goes about his usual soliloquising business while B.J., and us, are forced to listen to his inane ramblings. Without any inkling of the games or the backstory that surrounds them, we too are in the dark as to what’s going on, as the horribly bad dialogue offers us only snippets of history that reveal nothing about how the situation came to be or any detail as to how the war was won.

We are then introduced to the fact that in 1964 there’s somehow mobile communications technology, and not just that, but mobile holographic communications technology, that never gets explained away either, we just have to have played the games and know it, or take it as it is without questioning it. This is an indication of how poor the writing is and how as viewers we are just left to flounder in the dark while some fan gets to indulge his pubescent fantasies and offer lip-service to the games that shaped his formative years. This fan-made film is an entire homage to those games, stealing their ideas and characters, but offering nothing cinematically or narratively to push the franchise forward, or to bring new fans into the fold by expanding the universe into new media. The fact that Blazkowicz can somehow survive five shivs to the sides and what sounds like the ripping out of a kidney, is probably all testament to the character in the game, too, but when put into the first episode of a filmed series with no explanation it just comes across as grossly stupid.

To say that the conclusion of this episode is then beyond belief, would be an horrendous understatement. The switching around of the situation and the level of control makes absolutely no sense at all, and the final stand-off is unshakably poor in how it plays out. If the head Nazi who was going to take over the world and ‘rebuild the Empire’ can’t even shoot one guy, then what even were we doing here in the first place trying to understand this turgid monstrosity. There is absolutely no saving grace in the writing or playing out of Wolfenstein: Legacy Of Defiance and it should be avoided by everyone at all costs, apart from those who childishly believe that Nazi killing is the be-all and end-all of good, honest fun. If you really want to see Nazis getting killed then go and play the games instead. They were really bad, too, but you might actually get some feeling from that which isn’t utter betrayal and disappointment.

This Conversation Has Been Removed is a contemporary silent comedy centring on themes of a lack of communication in modern society. The short piece follows Jill (Stevie Martin) and Peter (Simon Ashe Browne) in a heated dispute online as they learn just how wrong “making it personal” can go. The experience entirely depends on the online conversation between the two central characters and utilises unique framing devices such as visual storytelling to convey its themes and message.

One of the most impressive aspects of the short piece is its wholly unique concept, which explores the ways we communicate daily and the ways we don't. In particular, the use of visual storytelling works well with the lack of dialogue and the need for technology that individuals frequently crave. It's an incredibly bold and riveting creative decision to have the piece entirely rest on a lack of dialogue and a singular online dispute between two individuals to anchor the narrative’s driving force. The pacing is electrifying thanks to the incredibly brisk runtime that gets straight to the central idea of the narrative, and doesn’t let up until the credits roll. While the pacing and tight runtime are commendable, they also serve as a detriment to the piece, as the themes and ideas are only explored at a surface level.

The ideas of how we communicate are incredibly apt in this modern era of technology; however, the piece isn't given enough time to explore in depth how they've impacted many individuals. This is potentially due to the filmmakers wanting to focus entirely on the heated online discussion between Jill and Peter; however, a more in-depth approach to these topics could’ve been far more memorable. That being said, the social satire aspect of the piece is incredibly well executed, and viewers may instantly connect with these elements. The comedic and dramatic elements are balanced aptly without the tonal shifts ever feeling jarring. Another apt formal decision is the complete lack of exposition, with the audience instantly thrust into the dispute between Jill and Peter with no context.

Patrick Jordan, serving as the film's cinematographer, primarily frames both central characters with close-ups of their facial expressions or phones to give the viewer a sense of the characters' dispute and online political discourse emerging around them. The plethora of composers, including David Anthony Curley, Dylan Lynch and James Tebbitt, deliver an anxiety-inducing musical score with engaging motifs that effectively build tension during moments of conflict. Each technical element soars, and it's a testament to the talent in front of and behind the camera.

Both central performances from Stevie Martin and Simon Ashe Browne, in their portrayals of Jill and Peter, respectively, are incredibly nuanced and impressive. They convey so much with their facial expressions alone, and it's undoubtedly riveting due to the lack of dialogue, as their performances entirely rest on their reactions to the text.

While the conclusion to the narrative wraps up abruptly, the execution of the ending is profoundly clever and ties in with the central themes of the piece. Despite only exploring the concept at a surface level, the piece is almost always engaging thanks to its terrific technical elements.

This Conversation Has Been Removed is an engaging attempt at a modern silent comedy that explores topical ideas in this current era of technology and online discourse. While it may suffer from not exploring its ideas in-depth, the two central performances and formal elements work profoundly in its favour.

Set in Edinburgh 1926, Daisy’s Amygdala explores the dark secrets lurking beneath our feet. Features grizzly elements such as torture, forced medical procedures, and classism, director Zakaria Elbahi delivers a horror focused short that unfortunately misses the mark in a few key ways. While the costuming, editing, and photography are standout elements, poor audio quality and a messy narrative make the film challenging to follow, and may result in a disorienting experience for viewers.

Daisy’s Amygdala opens with a man in his basement, toying with a man named Thomas who is strapped to a table. Thomas screams out in horror for Daisy, who stands outside the door with a fearful expression on her face. The man in the room below is her father, a man who exists in the space between being a torturer and a surgeon. He’s shot half in shadow, half under nauseating yellow light, laughing and taunting Thomas as he picks up various medical instruments. It’s an effective introduction to his character, a disturbing patriarch who revels in the fear he inflicts. The film flashes back to Thomas on a battlefield, unable to save one of his company, and then the film flashes back 8 years ago again to Daisy and her father. She is learning how to drain brain fluid and extract the amygdala from an unwilling patient, before the film jumps back to the present. The doctor spurns his daughter, refusing to show her his new ideas since it’s “a man’s job”. Daisy looks into Thomas’ eyes, and the film cuts to black.

Scenes in Daisy’s Amygdala don’t last long, and time loses meaning. It’s hard to get a sense of the timeline, how each character is related to each other, and who everyone really is. The tone of the short is consistently dark, and audiences may enjoy the darkness that Elbahi explores, but it’s difficult to understand what the larger point of the film is. Classism, racism, and sexism are all gestured towards, but not really developed beyond the idea of powerful white patriarchs and the ways in which they exploit those that society deems beneath them. There’s certainly an element of fear in the film, which audiences may expect more of considering the name of the film; the amygdala is the part of the brain that processes fear after all, but Daisy’s fear is not exactly explored. Additionally, the film is marred by poor audio quality in two major sections, which render the dialogue difficult to understand. Compounding this is a sound mix where the dialogue is generally too low, so audiences may feel the need to use captions. It’s a shame that the film isn’t as thrilling or scary as it could be, considering how upsetting torture and medical malpractice can be (see Pan’s Labyrinth for an effective use of this idea). The performers are certainly doing their best, but without a clear idea of who anyone is, or why they’re in the situations they are in, it’s hard to understand why the scenes should be frightening.

Daisy’s Amygdala unfortunately fails to deliver what its first minute delivers, which is a shame considering how good the filmmaking and set design is throughout. The film fails most in the post production, where the editing is incoherent, and the sound mixing is messy. Particular credit should be given to the cast, but unfortunately the credits do not make it clear who plays who, so I am unable to specify which were my favourite performances. Still, the film is short enough to be a smooth watch, and audiences may find the unique setting worth the price of admission.

Written and directed by Lewis William Robinson, Big Stack is a short film that explores our relationships between food, consumption, and obsession. Thanks to some confident editing and sound design, Big Stack effectively explores its main themes, maintaining a high level of energy across its 15 minute runtime. While there’s definitely room left to explore the film’s most interesting ideas further and to push the concept to its bursting point, Big Stack makes for an exciting watch that will surprise and possibly shock viewers.

Courtney Gabbidon stars as Andre, a young man desperate to defeat his local American themed restaurant’s eating challenge, and to earn a coveted place on the wall of fame. He is waited on by Maeve, played with warmth by Becky Kershaw. Having failed his first attempt to beat the Big Stack challenge, Andre’s resolve leads him to Sid (Velton Lishke), who has previously won the challenge. With new resolve, Andre returns to tackle the burger, and to earn his reward: his face on the wall of Uncle Sams’.

Tonally, Big Stack plays it very light, using quick edits and a breezy soundtrack to maintain a fun and low stakes tone. However, once the food comes out and Andre is face to face with his eponymous burger, the mood shifts. Audiences with sensory sensitivities may find these sections of the film more challenging than most the moment that Gabbidon begins to literally chew the scenery. The camera is unsteadily pushed up right against the tower of food, making the plate look enormous and unending. The sound design is similarly used to create a grotesque sensation, playing up the noises of chewing and breathing. Beads of sweat cling to Andre’s face, and the scene begins to resemble something quite violent. It calls to mind the repulsive scene in The Substance where Dennis Quaid’s character chows down on prawn in an absolutely vile display. Andre’s obsession is played well, especially considering how meaningless the reward really is. Robinson inserts a few quick cuts to black and white footage of cows in an abattoir and hooked slabs of meat a couple of times in the film, which is one of the more stylistically interesting choices. These images contrast jarringly with the rest of the film’s bright high contrast photography, possibly questioning what Andre’s quest for local fame is really worth. The film’s ending further reinforces this idea of cost, and how warped our relationship with the overconsumption of food for the sake of overconsumption is, and it delivers the most surprising moment of the short’s runtime.

Big Stack delivers mostly everything it promises, but it could have pushed its ideas further. While the scenes of Andre eating are effectively uncomfortable for me, it would have been interesting to double down on the gross out images. More shots of Andre’s mouth, louder sounds of chewing, quicker cuts, and even a more sinister soundtrack could have made the experience of watching the eating challenge more visceral and upsetting if that is what the filmmaker was intending. It would have been interesting to hear Andre’s heartbeat in the background, or to show Maeve reacting to his efforts with either delight or disgust. The performances are all serviceable, but again they could have been really pushed into camp and melodrama if Robinson wanted. The premise is so bizarre and uncomfortable that Big Stack could have gotten away with playing it much bigger, capitalizing on the themes of excess through over the top performances.

Big Stack is a worthwhile watch which could easily be expanded into a longer story. Obsession is a compelling idea, and there’s no doubt that most viewers have their own personal complicated relationships with food. Robinson’s ideas are intriguing, and while there may have been space to explore them in a more compelling or memorable way, he succeeds in delivering a short, punchy statement on our relationship with food.

La Verbena (2024), Written and Directed by Rubén Sánches, is a 17-minute short Spanish drama that offers a glimpse into the lives of a friendship group. Set during a warm Barcelona summer, the group are preparing for a big night out when Marc, Alex’s long-lost friend from London, arrives unexpectedly. As the night goes on, revelations put strain on the friendship group, and Alex is left with a dilemma that puts him and his girlfriend’s family and future at stake. 

The story is told through the perspective of Mark, who is the emotional pull of the film- the heart. His distance from the rest of the group is quickly established with his late arrival, not anticipated by the others. Viewers can sense the increasing visceral discomfort of Mark, already estranged before other characters make judgmental comments about his sexuality. As well as this, he seems to be hiding a secret, as stories that have been relayed from Alex to Alex’s girlfriend regarding their close friendship in London seem not to align. 

There are strong signifying similarities to era-defining queer coming-of-age films, such as Luca Guadagnino’s Call Me by Your Name. This is seen particularly in Mark’s characterisation, his yearning eyes and soft, gentle way of carrying himself reminiscent of Timothée Chalamet’s careful portrayal of Elio as a young queer man, lost in his desire. There are also echoes of Emma Seligman’s Shiva Baby through the film’s structure, narrative, and style. This is seen through the story, gradually revealing pieces of information about the characters which add to the rising tension, the theme of a concealed relationship, the viewer picks up on immediately whilst the remaining characters are oblivious, and the use of a single location to contain the narrative. 

Opening with a stylish long shot as the viewer is guided around the apartment, and further including long takes, the film has a lingering claustrophobic feel. Viewers experience the events of the evening in real time, and must relish in the awkwardness and emotional turmoils the evening entails. Beautifully ironically, the few moments where characters are able to speak freely and honestly take place in the more confined spaces of the apartment, cleverly adding to the sense that the characters are trapped within their situations and must face the inevitable consequences of honesty. 

Robin Reese’s performance of Mark is remarkably subtle; viewers feel immediately aligned with him and stay close to him throughout. The other cast members brilliantly commit to creating the setting’s irritating and stressful atmosphere that Mark must endure in order to speak to Alex and reveal what he needs to. The simplistic, enclosed setting is well stylised to enhance the realism of the story, the use of long takes grounding the viewer within the space. 

Overall, La Verbena is a well-acted and touching film. It deals with dark topics and includes important commentary on the way that social situations impact the way that people behave. The film ends quite harrowingly, leaving viewers wondering what Alex will do after being faced with a clear decision that could have a huge impact on his life. 

Charlotte Ainsworth's and Lorna Lennon-Dalziel's Maybrick is a dramatisation of a controversial but forgotten Victorian-era murder case that would have made a killer documentary on the 19th-century version of Netflix. Combining elements of sexism, classism and racism with a shocking link to one of history’s most notorious figures, this short tells a gripping story of its own whilst making its subject both relevant to modern audiences and of its time.

American socialite Florence Maybrick (Nanci Bennett), is on trial in Victorian Liverpool for the murder of her husband James. With her arrest doggedly pursued by James’ brother Michael (Adan Osborne), scandalous details of liaisons emerge that destroy Florence’s reputation – despite her husband’s guilt of the same sins. With the prospect of an execution hanging over her, Florence searches for another method of salvation in a world stacked against her – and her intuition of the Maybrick family’s connection to a greater scandal may provide it…

Created by Liverpool-based filmmakers, Maybrick is an intriguing examination of a forgotten episode in the city’s history – one that collides brilliantly with the rebellious and non-conformist spirit that has emerged since the 80s. Sexual liberalism and feminism were as strange to Liverpool as anywhere else in the 1890s, and Florence Maybrick’s story is one that intriguingly stands out for the blights against her name that Charlotte Ainsworth and Lorna Lennon-Dalziel brilliantly skewer in this drama.

The film has a dark tone that suitably matches the overwhelming force its subject is set against as she tries to clear her name against flimsy charges of poisoning. It is evident from the start that the wealthy, trusted Maybrick family name turns on her, as her deceased husband’s brother – brilliantly played by the acid-spitting Adan Osborne – wields the full force of societal expectation as a weapon. It is clear that existing outside of the norm is what has condemned Florence – with even housemaid Alice (Maisie Blake) standing against her despite knowledge of the family. Courtroom scenes are particularly intense and foreboding, with an intimidating pomp of the Victorian justice system brilliantly recognised by the set designers.

Nanci Bennett’s Florence is suitably stubborn and cunning. A heroine in the same mould as many upstart protagonists standing against the empirical conservatism of Victorian Britain, she is strong in the face of authority and unapologetic for the crimes she has not committed. There are some moments in her cell with Lisa Howard’s Baroness Von Roques or with Maisie Blake’s Alice where we see a more vulnerable side and the complexity of her circumstance comes to bare – the choice between a false confession and life, or a stand against the system that means death. A few more of these moments would have served the film better – and better placed it in the confines of the time period in which the attitudes of society seemed intractable and a stand against them a futile effort, making the character’s bravery all the more powerful. However given the shorter runtime, it is understandable that not every avenue can be pursued. Similarly, whilst there are some production hiccups such as the cleanliness of the film for the time period, it’s a forgivable indiscretion given the film’s budget, which is easily ignored due to the quality of the storytelling.

Maybrick is a great telling of a fascinating story that will be fresh to many a viewer. It captures the injustice of its case and draws an important line between the events it portrays and the modern day, and has enough intrigue to leave audiences desperate to know more about the case and its participants. And it doesn’t need 4 parts filled with filler to do it - Streamers take note.