Latest Short Film Reviews

In the middle of an intergalactic war, a princess struggles with a dark power that she cannot control which propels her through time, offering her insights into a brutal and terrible future that has yet to come to pass.

In The Heir Of Time, we are dropped slap-bang into the middle of a war between a dynasty of space elves and a human federation of colonisers. The Armelion (space elves) are led by King Thallan (Mark), Queen Fiorella (Cameron-Mowat), and their daughter Sel’van (Eddleston), who are arguing amongst themselves about whether to continue the war or to sue for peace. The humans are represented by a young soldier called Zac (Marciano), from a planet called Xalgoria, where the peace treaties can be ratified, but no other real mention of how or why the humans are spread throughout space is ever offered to us.

Much like a lot of the dreadful Star Wars prequels (1999 – 2005), plenty of this space opera focuses on the politics and bureaucracies that go on behind the scenes to propel the theatre of war. This keeps everything very wordy and grand, as we enter into the chambers and halls of the space elves, but it also keeps things very boring and bland as we’re forced to listen to garbled exposition of arguments and beliefs which underpin the reasoning behind the war, which mostly takes place somewhere else.

In amongst all of this supposed intrigue and machination, along with the stock star-crossed lovers side story between elf and human, is Sel’van and her gift. Every so often she is dragged across time into some pretty hairy situations, and only barely makes it back each time to report on what she has seen, remaining vulnerable and mortal as she drifts from one point to another. All of this rests in the centre of some other over-arching plot which is yet to be expanded upon, as what we have in this pilot episode of The Heir Of Time, is just the first instalment of what is to be a full-blown web-series.

The far-reaching narrative that is attempted here from writers, Trent Meacham and Marco Jonathan, should definitely be afforded the credit that is due, as it sprawls across the galaxy and through time to deliver a sci-fi fantasy epic that could, if done right, rival some of the most ambitious space flops of cinema history, such as John Carter (2012) and Jupiter Ascending (2015). The problem with these vast stories, which is also something that is being seen in the drop off in interest and quality in the Dune sequels (2024-2026), is that past a certain point people begin not to care anymore. Ancient space dynasties that mean nothing to the regular viewer, along with fantasy characters and places that have a litany of silly names, just become too esoteric for most audiences, as they offer no hope of being identified with and feel too disconnected from anything that is real.

Coupling that with the fact that the animation in The Heir Of Time is clunky and stiff, with an ill-advised dance segment and a laughably bad fight sequence where no-one touches each other really showing off the limitations of the Blender generated 3D models, means that what we’re offered at the end of it all is an amateurish cartoon, with Y2K CGI visuals, masquerading as something that is grand and spectacular, when in reality it’s just quite poor.

Thankfully though, The Heir Of Time is a passion project led by a group of over seventy creative volunteers who have surrendered their time and expertise over the space of six years to create this first episode. This means that the quality is not so much of a priority as the actual creation of the vision, and that the real success of the project is the fact that it exists in the first place. For those who are invested in the story of The Heir Of Time there should be a deserved sense of pride in accomplishing this first half-hour of footage, especially considering the workload and timeframe that it has taken to get to this point, but the hard part is then getting anybody else to be interested in that vision, especially when it’s something that is going to take a long time to tell.

What is offered in The Heir of Time is the first part of a lengthy epic, which in all reality may never see its conclusion. The introductions to the characters and scenarios in this first act are fairly impenetrable without further knowledge of what’s going on, or what has already happened to get us to this point, and there’s no guarantee that the threads that are left for us to follow will ever get the opportunity to be tied up. This makes jumping into The Heir Of Time a tricky and perhaps unsatisfying prospect, as at this rate, for a regular eight episode series, any audience member will have to be willing to wait another forty years to see it through.

Saba Ghasemi's superb LEAVING EALING is brimming with both passion and frustration. It follows the journey of Sima, an Iranian film student currently working towards her graduation piece. She wishes to film in Iran, but must navigate the potentially life-threatening nature of her venture, in addition to the creatively oppressive pushback from her tutors, whilst also staying utterly true to her vision.

The screening I attended at BFI Stephen Street was a truly lovely experience; a gathering of people who clearly had invested a lot of love into the project. There was certainly a sense of catharsis that the film was finally getting its moment to shine.

To touch on the technical briefly, this is a precisely shot and edited work, demonstrating a consistently impressive balance of lighting and a sturdy, confident approach to composition and focus. The sound recording is also as sharp as anything. This is a high-level production.

I already love reflexive filmmaking -- movies that deconstruct the struggles and processes that went into the work of art you're consuming. But for that struggle to be centred around one's culture and family makes this piece feel more substantial than most 'films about filmmaking' student or low-budget works.

It's our protagonist's determination to produce her own art without social or creative compromise that makes this an important and moving story. No matter the dangers posed by the unrest in her home -- and despite her tutors' dispiriting, by-the-books response to filming in the place she is most emotionally connected to -- Sima knows that this journey is not just that of one filmmaker's...

Her narrative has wider-reaching implications outside of personal fulfilment. And the wave of warm support LEAVING EALING received at the screening is illustrative of this. Our character of Sima is compelled to create something honest, and she succeeds.

FarEye follows a young Jamaican boy, Khalil (Djamari Roberts), as he finds refuge in a Rastafarian community guided by music, spirit and faith. This spiritual connection awakens something deep within him that will change the course of his life forever. FarEye is a short film from writer/director Hayden Mclean, known for his work on The Last Dance (2025), which also explored themes of identity and community.

The film was shot entirely on location, giving its production design an incredibly raw, authentic quality in its rural spaces, largely because so much of what the viewer sees is captured in-camera. Writer/director Hayden Mclean is clearly more concerned with the protagonist's present-day growth than his traumatic past, and he conveys this through Khalil exploring the vast environment, captured through his point of view. The film tackles so many different themes of identity, abuse and transformation in such a short span of time, and it's impressive how it never feels rushed despite its brisk runtime. That said, the runtime hurts certain aspects of the narrative, such as leaving much of the Rastafarian community’s involvement in Khalil’s life open to interpretation.

While the film visualises Khalil’s growth through surrealism and hypnotic visuals, the opening overexplains its themes through voiceover. The narrative becomes far more engaging once it lets Khalil take in the world and community through its visuals. These aspects are heightened through its effective coming-of-age elements that never shy away from the central character’s journey of healing and trauma. While a longer runtime would undoubtedly help flesh out these themes, it's incredibly impressive how confident the filmmakers are in their depiction of community.

Joel Honeywell, the film's cinematographer, captures Khalil’s innocence by consistently placing him at the centre of each frame. The camerawork consists of extreme close-ups to convey Khalil’s journey through the music, spirit, and faith of the Rastafarian community. The film also employs hypnotic visuals to convey the spiritual journey Khalil goes on as he realises the impact living in fear had on his upbringing, and how integral a feeling of safety could be in a place of fear. Music is also a potent part of the central characters’ arc and the narrative itself through its conveying of the Rastafarian idea of faith. The filmmakers never hold the viewer's hand, and this is particularly effective during a standout musical sequence, allowing the imagery to remain more provocative and open to interpretation.

Djamari Roberts’ lead performance as Khalil ranks among the best child performances in recent memory. Much of the central performance is built around stillness, and the writer/director clearly has faith in Djamari Roberts to convey both the fear and curiosity the performance requires to be compelling to the viewer. It's an incredible performance that conveys both the childlike innocence of Khalil and his growing maturity as he becomes acquainted with the Rastafarian community. The supporting players are also a memorable addition to the cast, assisting Khalil’s journey of self-discovery.

FarEye is a visually stunning piece of indie filmmaking that reinforces our belief in Hayden Mclean as a raw, compelling talent, whose work offers a bold exploration of identity, community and belonging. Held together by its inspired casting choices and mesmerising camerawork, FarEye is an unforgettable journey of self-discovery.

FarEye will screen at the BFI London Film Festival (October 7-18) in the Altered States programme - premiering on Tuesday 13th October at Vue West End at 17:50.

Lasagna Run is a supremely inventive absurdist comedy, written and directed by James Livitski. Within the space of less than four minutes, it depicts a simple journey with erratic, stylistically punchy visual flair. We follow a woman with anxiety who realises that she needs to retrieve her homemade lasagna from the oven and deliver it to her neighbour’s house as soon as possible. This short but arduous journey of her’s is conveyed in heightened, expressionistic terms as she traverses gruelling natural landscapes and extreme weather conditions.

The film is a technical triumph and creatively ambitious; yet it’s also definitively a work of entertainment, accessible to the casual viewer (a useful asset for a film wishing to bring attention to the subjective experience of anxiety, as this one does so successfully).

Director Livitski and director of photography / editor Matt Popowich clearly have an instinctive visual attitude and a sturdy knowledge of cinema. Within just the opening shot – a virtuosic zoom through reflection – they demonstrate stunning visual confidence. Then, when our protagonist runs to the kitchen, there are obvious yet well-implemented notes of Scorsese (specifically the rush in the second half of Goodfellas, the use of handheld through a domestic setting). But it’s the piece’s middle portion – its montage of landscapes, composed in a wide, flat, Wes Andersonian style – that is nothing less than masterful. Our filmmakers make it look easy, but the degree of preparation and visual specificity that must go into a sequence such as this cannot be overstated.

For this to work well, they needed to select the right medium focal length so as to compress the image enough to bring a painterly arrangement, but not so long a lens that would obscure any subjects or create a disconnect of depth between foreground and background. They then expertly utilise deep focus to create that Wed Andersonian flatness and compositional intricacy. And from an editorial standpoint, these are also effectively ‘match cuts’, wherein each shot should consistently mimic the position of the camera in relation to the subject. This is all incredibly high-level stuff cinematically speaking, and a genuine testament to the skill of the filmmakers.

There’s also an expert use of sound design and music to both heighten the suspense (through the use of rapid drumbeats) and immerse us in the quickly changing environments. It should be noted that the sound was designed and the music composed by one individual, Ethan Myers – an impressive accomplishment. Additionally, praise should go to the colour grading which is some of the best I’ve seen in a short film recently; the palette consists of gentle tones, yet somehow still vibrant and pleasing to the eye, with a subtle touch of film grain to form an organic look.

It’s a pretty unique thing to see a short film, concerned primarily with anxiety, that adopts a comedic tone to explore its issue. Not only that, but to maintain the feelings of panic and disorientation – whilst also building a cinematic world which is so aesthetically pleasing and gleeful – is not something easily achieved.

Short, Australian movie Mothmama, from filmmaker Jessica DiCosta, feels as invasive as it is poignant, showcasing the dramatic impact of social media on childhood.

Riley (Gabriella Hirschson) and her mother Sarah (Audley Anderson) appear to have a loving and tender relationship. We see their intimate bond through hairbrushing, playing hangman in the bathroom mirror, and doing dance routines together to post on social media. Riley, however, experiences numerous panic attacks where she feels like she’s being watched from outside her home, and Sarah’s motherly attention is exposed as a clout tactic.

At times, reminding me of a film like It Follows or The Strangers, Mothmama is certainly leaning more towards the thriller side of dark drama. Presenting social media like a home invader (which it totally is!), DiCosta smartly taps into the creepier side of being a younger Creator. The fluid camerawork and slow zooms on Riley feel voyeuristic, and the depressing climate of the school playground is tantamount to dystopia.

Whilst the strangers observing Riley from outside her home feel threatening, it is the tragic reality of the parenting she receives that is most significant. No father figure in sight, and the mother’s seemingly dutiful routines feel warped by the necessity to “show her best life”. Yes, she brushes Riley’s hair, but is that so her videos look good? Yes, she comforts Riley during a panic attack but then posts a video about how to deal with kids and anxiety. It feels traitorous and insipid. The neglectful behaviour is revealed further when Riley asks for some cheese and is directed by Sarah to a mouldy bag at the bottom of the fridge.

Like moths to a flame, our attention towards our devices has never been so intense. The frankly shameful reality of this for children is powerfully rendered onscreen with Mothmama. A shocking and unnerving glimpse at the slippery slope for parents who fail to take their eyes off their screens for long enough to see the harm being done to their offspring.

Mothmama was an official selection at the 2026 Venice Film Festival and is currently available to stream via Festival Scope.

Underpass follows a couple, Leo (Simeon Weedall) and Julianne (Alice Sykes), who meet at underpasses to dance as part of an affair and realise it has to stop. Underpass is a short, dialogue-free film that relies entirely on visual storytelling through physicality and body language within the two central performances.

The film was shot entirely in London in underpasses and cuts between a neon-drenched environment and a bare-bones setting to convey the characters' realities converging. While some viewers may find the complete lack of dialogue discouraging, the film's unique visual style and performances drive the narrative’s themes and tone forward. Although the film sometimes feels overly reliant on style over substance, its striking visuals do much of the heavy lifting, providing enough thematic depth to keep the experience from feeling excessively stylised.

While the film adopts an incredibly brisk runtime, it's suitably paced without feeling rushed or overstaying its welcome. That said, the lack of characterisation and context surrounding the two central characters, Leo and Julianne, detracts from the experience, making it difficult to connect with the narrative on an emotionally resonant level. The filmmakers clearly intended the experience to be singular in both style and aesthetic; however, its reliance on elaborate dance choreography and neon-drenched lighting can ultimately make the narrative structure feel disjointed. Despite these issues, Ella Rose Howlett’s editing is remarkably effective, with rhythmic transitions between scenes that make the experience flow seamlessly.

One of the film's greatest aspects is its camerawork. Jem Karto serves as the film's cinematographer and does a mesmerising job of framing each dance sequence and intimate scene between Leo and Julianne. It's a wonderfully blocked and staged film that relies heavily on wide framing and close-ups to emphasise the intimacy that grows between the two central characters in the underpasses. The film also possesses some incredible dance choreography that keeps the narrative engaging. These sequences are assisted by Harry Brokensha’s musical score. The score is incredibly understated during the more intimate moments, with profoundly moving motifs that complement the tone and chemistry between the two leads. Harry Brokensha's score becomes more operatic during the dance sequences and as the characters move around the environments in a surreal fashion.

Perhaps most impressive in Underpass are the two central performances by Simeon Weedall and Alice Sykes, who portray Leo and Julianne, respectively. Their performances are incredibly magnetic, driven by their impressive chemistry and physicality in their dance choreography and body language. Despite the dialogue-free nature, they both convey a profound sense of empathy and kinetic energy through dance and love for one another.

While the film takes a drastic tonal shift in its final moments and concludes on a somewhat sombre note, the technical elements are profoundly uplifting and may leave viewers wanting more after the credits roll.

Underpass is a kinetic and moving portrayal of two individuals coming together through dance and desire. While it may suffer from a disjointed narrative structure and lack of characterisation, it's a worthwhile sensory experience that boasts two wonderful central performances and excellent dance choreography.

Within the empty rooms of his mind, a man wrestles with memories of happier times, as his wife and younger self push through from the past to light up the dark spaces of the present.

Jonah (Dexter) is having trouble remembering. He’s old and lives alone, and hasn’t very much around him in terms of personal effects to keep him familiar with and full of the past. His walls are mostly bare, there’s no family photographs anywhere, and Jonah lives a typical male life of simplicity and economy, without clutter or memorabilia. What Jonah does have though, is music, and the remembrance of his wife through the tune that they would dance to when they were young and in love.

Putting the record on switches some kind of light on in Jonah, too, and memories keep coming back to him about the time he spent with his wife, Alma (Sargent), in the house that seems so dark and grey to him now. As he moves through the rooms he keeps finding different snippets of their past together, remembering how she was, the conversations they had, and the loving times they had spent. He’s there, too, younger (Athinou) and so sure of himself, not realising what he had when it was all right in front of him. And then it is all gone again.

These memories seem to be a blessing and a curse for Jonah, as they call back to something that he couldn’t hold onto. His life now is so empty, drab, and dreary, compared to what he had then, and it is a real wrench for Jonah to keep going through reminiscences that he’s not sure are always going to be there, with his memory failing and his age catching up to him. Much like Anthony Hopkins in The Father (2020) he’s not always so sure now what is real, what is remembered, and what is a false memory.

Told with real care and attention by director and co-writer, George Carter, Golden Years invites us into Jonah’s ever decreasing world to witness the end of a story. Even in the quick ten minutes we have with him, we know Jonah, and feel with him, and understand him, as he wrestles with the images that hold so much for him. The small, single location of the house never feels restrictive, and in the hands of Carter, each new room holds a different surprise and another piece of the jigsaw, as Jonah desperately tries to fit the pieces of his life back together.

With Jono Tarrant’s cinematography capturing the essence of light and dark in Jonah’s life, keeping the memories warm and cosy, and the present cold and grey, along with Elliot Iddon’s accompanying music, which fits neatly and seamlessly into the narrative, Golden Years builds a feeling and an atmosphere around Jonah that fully encapsulates his life on screen. The way the characters interact, sharing the same space but perhaps not the same time, is elegantly handled as Carter shows us the story from all angles, deciding who to put in the frame, whose emotion to capture, and showing us who is looking at who, as they all move around each other in a dance.

For what is a student film on a small budget, Carter manages to build his vision through the team around him, who all pull together to bring their expertise to bear. Each element works well on screen and fits together to build the narrative that Carter is looking for, allowing us into Jonah’s story in an effective and familiar way. While the themes and scenario are fairly universal, it is how the story is told that really beings the viewer into the experience of what Jonah is going through, and with that Carter has led with his vision to create something that speaks to the audience clearly and emotionally, even if you think you can half remember seeing something similar somewhere before.

Loving Silence follows Jerome (J.J. Bozeman), a young man who runs into his ex-partner, Luke (Addy Marsh), at a silent retreat. As they begin to reconnect through silence, their past threatens to unravel their present. Loving Silence is a self-funded short film made by a five-person production team with minimal production costs.

Perhaps one of the most impressive aspects of Loving Silence is its incredibly unique and heartfelt narrative. While the film may have worked better as a feature-length narrative, the filmmakers waste no time pulling the audience into the silent retreat and introducing the two central characters. The use of voiceover works well, with brief exposition explaining how the retreat works to the central character, Jerome. Sadly, one of the biggest issues is the lack of characterisation. Despite the powerful use of silence throughout, it is hard to feel emotionally invested in Jerome’s reconnection with Luke, as the runtime and lack of context don’t give the audience enough time with either character to understand their relationship. What's not said is incredibly moving, and thankfully both J.J. Bozeman and Addy Marsh’s chemistry is magnetic.

The production value is another memorable technical standout, as the retreat feels incredibly lived-in with a plethora of impressively designed cabins around the area. It's a fly-on-the-wall experience: the camera lingers on each character and captures so much emotion through each performance. Jett Cain, the film's cinematographer, does an astounding job capturing each character's emotion and the silence they have to overcome to heal their wounds. The piece primarily consists of fixed camera movement with unique framing choices such as extreme close-ups during moments of intimacy and characters in recollection. The camera also shifts to tracking the central character as he moves around the retreat, an apt choice as it places the audience firmly within his point of view.

It's a beautifully edited and well-paced film; despite its brisk runtime, the narrative never feels rushed, and its themes of love and desire continue to resonate. That being said, there are some bizarre editing choices, with inserts of flashbacks integrated into pivotal scenes that feel jarring and out of place. While these flashbacks are integral to both characters' arcs, they sadly fail to resonate due to their bizarre placement in the narrative. Despite these issues, the musical score elevates the more pivotal narrative beats with some whimsical motifs that match the characters’ need for connection and comfort.

Both central performances, by J.J. Bozeman and Addy Marsh as Jerome and Luke, respectively, are incredibly moving. Their performances are all the more impressive given the dialogue-free nature of the piece, with their body language conveying so much of what they feel for each other. Despite the lack of characterisation, their chemistry shines through the film's flaws, and the use of silence makes it even more compelling. While both actors are giving it their all, there ultimately isn’t enough buildup for the romance to connect emotionally.

Loving Silence is a heartfelt piece of filmmaking about letting go and finding closure in oneself through silence. Despite the film’s many flaws, it tells a beautiful story, clearly crafted with its heart in the right place when it comes to its exploration of queer love and desire.

The Long Spring (2025) is a critical short film portraying the tragic realities of many young lives who are victims of human trafficking as a result of unsafe migration routes. Olly Ginelli’s directorial proof of concept won the Best Film award at the Soho Independent Film Festival and received several other awards and nominations at various festivals. With a minute-long runtime, The Long Spring is crisply shot, features impeccable sound design, and has well-written, fully rounded characters despite audiences' brief time with them on screen. 

The film begins as viewers meet siblings, a brother and a sister, both seeking refuge and eager to start their new lives. On the one hand, the sister is exhausted and apprehensive about their journey. She is visibly panicky and uncertain about how safe they are, rightfully so, given the treacherous journey they are bravely taking on. On the other hand, her brother appears bold in the face of danger. Whilst his fear is still perceivable to viewers, he acts as a comforting leader for his sister, using light humour to brighten her mood and reassure her that they will be okay. Meanwhile, also inside the container are several other afraid and conflicted men and women, unsure of whether they have made the right decision in seeking refuge.

Heavily highlighted are the brutal conditions that the migrants undergo to seek safety. Attention is drawn to the way that passengers’ basic needs are not met, such as being able to use a toilet. This is indicated through performances from the smaller cast members whose disgust and discomfort at the odours within the container are emulated strongly. Having this added detail is extremely powerful given the film’s message, as it brings to the forefront that it is more beneficial for these asylum seekers to risk their lives and put themselves in horrible situations than to stay in a country where they are not safe.

The cast of The Long Spring is small, largely using unprofessional actors; however, it is incredibly strong in portraying the story and feelings involved. The chemistry between the main sibling dynamic is beautiful to watch, as viewers sense the impact of the brother’s reassurance for the sister, and how having each other by their sides makes all the difference. Their loving relationship is heartwarming to see, and importantly highlights the innocence and normality of the individuals who are seeking refuge, a fact that is often ignored by the radical right who are hateful towards those who leave their country in search of a safe home. 

Many aspects of the sound design are excellently done, accompanied by crisp location shooting, with effective use of wide and tight spaces, characterised by the sinister darkness of the night. The music in the film adds brilliantly to certain scenes, artfully incorporating the language and cultures of nations. The final 30 seconds of the film involve an ingenious contrast to the first and main segment, as the filmmakers literally bring to light the realities of modern slavery, placing the viewers within a reality they recognise, following on from the story of the film. 

As The Long Spring gains increasing traction, viewers may await the upcoming Television Screenplay which the short is being developed into, an exciting, refreshing project hopefully to be available on Netflix or Insight MP in the future. It is impossible to overstate the cruciality of this story, as more and more people become victims of human trafficking every day, and governments continue to fail to provide safe routes for migrants, leading them to have to make the very difficult decision of risking their lives for a chance of safety.

Dogbone (2025) is a short graduation film, written and directed by Austen Taylor Pease. It follows Mark (played by Jude Pollitt), a teenager who plays football as a homage to his late father, who was a massive football fan. The abuse by his football coach and the suicide of his teammate Simon cause Mark to spiral, as he is engulfed in grief and the dark reality of his sport.

This film was exceptionally crafted to be deeply emotional and gripping. What seems to be a very uncomplicated script hides many layers and complexities through the multifaceted characters and amazing performances from the cast. I was surprised by the quality of Jude’s performance and his ability to portray such saddening trauma so beautifully.

The story was very powerful and eye-opening, with the film making comment on the terrible side of grassroots football culture in such a cinematic way. The visuals, sound and even the casting were all very professional and to an impeccable standard. Despite the strategically used original music and crisp shots, the performances were not lost at all. The strength of this film comes from its ability to engage audiences in its compelling and sensitive topic.

There are a few moments that stand out in particular. The performance of Mark’s mother (played by Lucy Dixon) as she breaks down and apologises for not being able to protect her son was very touching. The reveal of Mark’s injuries and his anger was a very moving scene also. The end moments where Mark moves through the camcorder-captured memory offer audiences a glimpse at what he and his mother have lost, emphasising their grief and the hard-hitting plot. This was such a heartwarming, yet heartbreaking way to end such a reflective and sombre film.

My only criticism is that I would have liked some more insight into Mark’s relationship with his teammate Simon, who committed suicide. Without taking away from the protagonist’s focus, some flashbacks of them together and to actually see Simon in the film may increase the emotional depth even further.

The aesthetics of the scribbly film title was a nice personal touch; I would have liked to understand the meaning behind the title ‘Dogbone’, however.

Overall, this was a captivating and passionate film, produced to be polished and to look almost high-budget. The performances stood out the most throughout, with the cast’s ability to open themselves up like that to the camera being highly admirable.