Latest Short Film Reviews

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thoughts & Prayers is a dark comedy short written and directed by Tim Nathan. The film follows protagonist T, played by Jackson Gallagher, as he grapples with the turmoil of adulthood during the cost-of-living crisis.

The film begins with T running on a treadmill in his living room before two license inspectors take his furniture, smack his bum and offer him lottery tickets after stating his file is overdue. Despite the narrative being surreal and out of the ordinary, the struggles of the main character are recognisable to the audience, with the film commenting on an ever-changing and confusing world for adults.

Another notable scene, which further adds to the comedic chaos of the narrative, visualises T in a class of people practising what looks to be social media dance trends, each of them in front of a ring light which holds their phone. Upon reflection, this scene may provoke thoughts about the pressure of portraying ourselves perfectly online in a world that is becoming increasingly more digital. The disarray of this scene, along with catchy, upbeat music, is deeply engaging and offers a look at how these secondary characters move like one and seem to have lost their individualism.

The scene that succeeds follows the same trajectory, making light of the often absurd and hard-to-navigate world of online dating. On the beach, we see T sitting across from his date, who appears to be engaged with the work on her laptop. When he begins making conversation, she pauses his interruption, explaining that she needs to focus on her tasks. When T continues, she fakes a coughing fit to garner his attention, a potential distraction to his plans to move away. When the two lean in to kiss, a nearby policeman who seems to only be present to man the date tells them to move apart.

When he arrives home, he is welcomed by letters stacked on his door notifying him of further item removal. He then begins running on the treadmill in an almost empty room full of more letters, inferring that he is drowning in paperwork. This bookend technique rounds off the story perfectly, allowing audiences to ponder how quickly things can become out of your control in today’s society.

Visually, the lighting in the first scene of T running is brighter and warmer, before shifting to a cold and dark room towards the end. This emphasises T’s despair and worry, something that many audiences can relate to. Another interesting element is the recurring image of a strange, thick black liquid that enters many already disorderly scenes. This visualisation may be used to confuse audiences more, mirroring T’s feelings, whilst highlighting scenes of importance.

Overall, this film is beautiful and created with high production value. The performances are strong, paired with a unique and highly engaging script. The film offers insight into the experience of the director and a difficult world that many adults can connect with. My only criticism would be that, without reading the director’s statement, would its aim to underline nonsensical systems in place for adults be understood?

Throughout the latter stages of the Second World War, when the Allies were making more and more ground on their way to an eventual victory, captured Axis soldiers were often brought back to the United States for internment at several prisoner-of-war camps dotted around the country, with a fair few ending up in Southern States.

One such camp, Camp Hearne, Texas, serves as the inspiration and setting for Friend of the Enemy. Written and directed by filmmaker Sam Balas for the camp’s modern-day museum, this short film offers a poignant lesson about overcoming deep-seated preconceptions as well as exploring the complexities of wartime mindsets.

Based on true events from the camp in December of 1943, the film introduces us to Texan farmer Lamar (Hardee), running his land alongside his wife, Sarah (Lamb). Though doing his best to get by day-to-day, he persistently struggles with an injury he sustained in the Great War prior.

Finally needing an extra pair of hands, the local army division offers the help of one of its POW residents, Jurgen (Monroe). Tensions immediately rise between the pair, yet with time and patience, a mutual sense of understanding starts to form, and perhaps even the beginnings of something akin to friendship. However, Jurgen’s perceived treachery does not sit well with the other inmates of the camp upon his return each evening, and before long, he is caught between a choice of “doing his duty” and trying to live the rest of his life on his own terms.

Filmed over two days on a micro-budget of less than $34,000, Friend of the Enemy speaks loudly, clearly and eloquently to modern audiences despite its eight-decade-old setting. Whilst exploring how stereotypes and preconceptions can create difficult and often unnecessary barriers to communication and understanding, Balas also manages to balance those heavy themes with lighter tones, showcasing how simply sharing our humanity and vulnerabilities can be the very thing that bonds us, paving a much brighter path towards empathy.

While the supporting cast mostly sits on the periphery looking in, the film is buoyed by having three strong leads intent on doing their utmost not just to sell, but to drive the story forward. Hardee and Monroe have a great chemistry that makes watching their initial disdain for one another melt away to clear affection a joy to watch, and Balas does well to ensure that their arc feels complete by the end. But also indelibly leaving their mark on proceedings is Nemo’s despicable but commanding turn as Hans, whose defiant and undying belief in duty is the sinister undercurrent that gives this film that extra layer.

Overall, Friend of the Enemy honours the memory of those who deserve to be remembered. It is a film that Balas should be proud of, the museum will no doubt also be proud of, and those who inspired it would be too.

The Holiday Shuffle is a short film focused on an office gift exchange with drama, humour and miscommunications. Directed by and also starring Franklin Genao as CEO Sergio Marquez, with a screenplay by Zay Rodriguez. The Holiday Shuffle won two awards back in 2024 for best ensemble and best comedy short at the New Jersey Film awards.

Being in corporate meetings that feel like they will never end is something a lot of people can relate to. The Holiday Shuffle manages to ground itself in total realism with its environments to the characters themselves being authentic whilst also feeding into the holiday tropes. With the Christmas period being the most stressful time of year for many. The Holiday Shuffle manages to take that stress and turn it into a fun yet disastrous turn of events. With the rising concerns of a colleague messing with the secret santa seemingly being validated it all descends into chaos. A mischievous colleague decides to switch the secret Santa names, landing everyone with the wrong gift.

It throws you right into the deep end without any characters fully established or without much context. Making the viewer go on a journey to piece the clues together . Which normally would harm the film but with a small cast it doesn't take long to fill in the gaps. Audiences will find that it isn't difficult to get a read on these characters, their personalities and roles. Which is a credit to the actors and their ability to sell you this story. With humor sprinkled throughout it does feel like a holiday workplace comedy. There definitely is a warming aspect to this film: the sets are well decorated and feel like a genuine office space.

Unfortunately there are some flaws within this film that become very obvious to the audience. The viewer might notice the editing having some technical flow issues. Towards the end there started to be scenes where items vanished and then reappeared again. Which makes it disjointed for the story and jarring for the viewer. With a small budget you can only do so much but it was so noticeable it takes you right out of the scene and the film as your eyes seem to focus in on these items. Also for when characters were not the focal point of scenes they tended to over act with expressions. Which again is distracting to what the director is wanting us to concentrate on within the story.

There is a classic holiday comedy in there but unfortunately it doesn't quite hit the mark. With some highlights within the cast are Cristal Pulgini as Ines Gomes and Valentin Moya Jr as Gabriel Alvarado. Who both deliver quip remarks and help establish themselves as frontrunners within the cast. An indie film that is definitely worth expanding on and fleshing out. With an upcoming short film titled 'The Locked Room’ which will be written, directed and edited by Franklin which is due for release this year. Maybe with a bigger budget we could see great things from Franklin Genao.

You can watch The Holiday Shuffle in full on Youtube through Junito's Studios Channel.

Secret follows two brothers, Samuel (Dylan Tyler) and Alex (Maro DeLo), as they both confront buried emotions and a revelation while preparing for their parents’ anniversary, seeking forgiveness and reconciliation. Shot on BMCC6K, the short piece portrays the bond between two brothers as they peel back the layers of a buried secret.

The most surprising aspect of the short piece is its non-linear narrative structure that focuses entirely on a buried secret between the two central characters, Samuel and Alex. On the surface, audiences expect the narrative to focus on the characters’ relationship with their parents; however, the piece rarely explores this and focuses primarily on their past. This is both a detriment and a positive of the experience, as one of the film’s biggest issues is its lack of characterisation. Firstly, the interactions between the two brothers feel unnatural due to stilted line delivery and lack of chemistry, and both central performers struggle to convey the intricacies of Samuel and Alex’s relationship. Secondly, the dialogue is incredibly unengaging due to cringe-worthy writing and a lack of character development that would flesh out the bond and the dispute between Samuel and Alex.

The more intimate moments, in which the characters reflect on their past, are effective. However, their impact is immediately diminished by the film’s unusually jarring musical choices, which may pull viewers out of the experience. As a result, this is easily the weakest aspect of the piece, as each musical choice is out of place and even overbearing to dialogue in certain sequences. While the music is somewhat serviceable, it fails to complement the narrative and ultimately hinders the experience, making many of the dramatic beats fail to resonate.

Franklin Genao, serving as the director and cinematographer, primarily utilises fixed wide shots of the exterior environments, while switching to medium close-ups within the more intimate scenes. The approach is effective, lending a sense of intimacy to the characters and allowing each performance to stand out despite its shortcomings. Perhaps the greatest aspect of the piece is the editing, which feels incredibly fluid throughout. The dissolves feel organic, and each sequence is given exactly the right amount of time to unfold. Despite how well constructed the edit is, the narrative and other technical aspects of the piece unfortunately fail to land.

The performances across the board are unfortunately serviceable at best due to a lack of chemistry and grating dialogue. Dylan Tyler and Maro DeLo’s portrayals of Samuel and Alex, respectively, are incredibly underwhelming as they both fail to convey their broken relationship. The film rarely explores Samuel and Alex’s relationship in any meaningful depth, instead centring on a baffling and underdeveloped love triangle that detracts from the experience. Weighed down by awkward dialogue, it reduces its themes of forgiveness and reconciliation to a largely forgettable treatment.

While the themes of brotherhood are emotionally resonant on paper, it ultimately isn’t given enough breathing room to explore the characters’ relationship and dispute in depth. The more dramatic moments of conflict fail to resonate because of these shortcomings, which is particularly disappointing given the nuance of the ideas at their core.

Secret is undoubtedly a mixed bag, thanks to its collection of engaging ideas that, sadly, fail to be executed on screen. While the direction and editing by Franklin Genao are commendable, the experience is undermined by stilted performances and baffling musical choices that become incredibly jarring and frustrating by the conclusion.

The Thread (2026) is a short family drama that conveys the dichotomy between privilege and oppression, centred on a mixed-race household raising their teenage children. The family is made up of a Black father, played by David Gyasi, a white mother played by Lucy Phelps, and two mixed-race children. The older of the two is a teenage boy played by Tyrelle Boyce, alongside his younger sister, who is portrayed by Anaya Thorley. 

The film follows their everyday activities, such as school runs and trips to the shop, highlighting the differences between the family members' experiences of their races through several clever nods, overall drawing attention to the beautiful way that unity can be achieved through difference.

The film subtly nods towards Thorley’s character’s paler complexion. Whilst she is born of the same parents as her brothers, her lighter skin tone requires more sun protection than his. Despite this, their sibling bond is clearly a very strong one, displayed through their proximity and affection. Their relationship is very well directed and acted, portraying a genuine closeness which is wholesome to see.

There is a poignant moment where the mother takes her two children into a shop after school, and receives a microaggression from the shopkeeper. Here, there is an interesting interplay in which white privilege and racism are both conflicting forces, as the mother can be protective but is also a victim of the comment as it involves her family. Through this, viewers’ minds are opened to the nuances involved in the daily lives of victims of racism, as well as the different ways that people comment and judge people's lives, sometimes not even realising that they are being racist.

The film’s strong dedication to realism is captivating. A teenage boy’s bedroom is portrayed entirely convincingly, the inside of a family car is wholly familiar, and the environment of 2010s Britain is accurately captured, down to the greyish colour grading capturing the windy dreariness of English fields. Through such a commitment to recreating the familiar environment that many British viewers will remember growing up with, or are in fact experiencing as teens or parents, the ideas and experiences of racial identity are starkly visceral, feeling as though they are derived from the filmmakers’ own lives.

By including nods towards cultural phenomena such as rap music and poetry, The Thread importantly incites thought on the way that identity and culture go hand in hand, both often influencing one another. The significance of diversity in art forms, particularly intersectionality, is rarely tackled in the medium of film, particularly in the short form. It is refreshing and inspiring to see The Thread carry this through, appearing effortless as a simple story involving a careful message is conveyed in such a provoking way.

With cleverly crafted symbolism and attention to detail, this narrative piece effectively brings to light a reality of racial injustice. Through subtle moments, and the use of handheld cameras and close ups which gives viewers a sense of inclusion within the character’s, the film’s ideas surrounding embracing racial identity are smoothly brought to attention.

The Thread will be showing at the 2026 Raindance Film Festival.

A teenage girl tries to navigate her way through college life, whilst also trying to deal with the responsibilities that come from being a young carer.

Ruby (Higbee) is one of 800,000 young carers under the age of eighteen in the UK right now. This is not something she shares lightly, and her college friends are unaware of the pressures that sit on Ruby’s mind on a daily basis. As Ruby tries to focus on her exams and her relationships with the girls and boys around her, she also has to deal with jibes about the noise coming from her house in the middle of the night, and emergency phone calls that pull her away from important situations to run home.

Ruby’s life is almost completely tied to her mother (Bowden), who she cares for, and who has depressive and manic episodes which need to be managed. Her brother, Jay (McAlinden), is of no use and has his own problems to deal with, as he’s getting himself wrapped up in the local gang culture, and the NHS care sector isn’t much use either, so Ruby is left to look after her mum on her own. Life still goes on outside of the house though, and Ruby is determined to push herself through college to find a future that is hers alone, that is if her mother will let her.

Played with a lot of heart and integrity by writer, producer, and star, Holly Higbee, Ruby’s story is one which resonates around the country in a million different homes, in a million different ways. The dialogue is natural and authentic and down to its roots, while the lines are delivered by a diverse young cast who understand their roles completely. Director, Islah Abdur-Rahman brings together the audio and visual aspects of his film seamlessly, drawing us into the story as he shows us in raw detail just how the weight on Ruby’s shoulders is pulling her down. The ensemble scenes are pacy and real, while the close-ups of Ruby, either at home, or alone in a crowd, really bring home how she is feeling.

Both Higbee and Abdur-Rahman are aiming for as realistic a view as they can get in telling Ruby’s tale, commissioning the film to raise awareness of the challenges facing young carers every day in the UK. Partnering up with Newham Sixth Form College, offering mentoring and on-the-job training to a cohort of creative media students, while allowing them to become cast and crew for the film, also lends Ruby a measure of authenticity that would be hard to replicate in other circumstances. A definite feeling of docudrama or kitchen sink comes out from the watching of Ruby, and while the heady heights of Ken Loach or Mike Leigh are out of the reaches of most directors, they are at least aimed for here with Abdur-Rahman showing glimpses of a true filmmaker at work.

With an important message to tell and a powerful central performance, Ruby captures the spirit of its characters and pulls no punches in delivering a lasting impression on its audience, as the raw truth of one story in amongst hundreds of thousands of others, is shared with us.