Latest Short Film Reviews

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.

Unmarried Couples Not Allowed (written, directed and produced by Samman Roy) follows a young couple full of excitement and apprehension as they meet and plan to share their first night in a hotel together. Amongst travel, lies to family and an overbearing fear of exposure, their unmarried status and differing religious beliefs make their quest for privacy and intimacy a hard task.

When the two arrive at their luxury hotel, organised and booked by Ashish (played by Soumya Majumdar), their ID’s, which state Ashish’s Hindu name and Surekha’s (Keye Chakraborty) Muslim name, are declined. This results in disagreement and disappointment for both parties as they desperately try to find somewhere to stay whilst they come to terms with their highly anticipated, romantic plans falling through.

The tension grows for both the characters and the short film’s audience as the couple, who were previously smiley and eager, now bicker as they wander the streets in hopes of finding a room. When they are met with constant decline and judgement, the film’s message becomes strong and clear. The film comments on the issue of an Indian societal rule affecting the plans of two adults in a consenting and loving partnership seeking privacy.

When the couple realise their lack of luck, they change their approach. They lie to a local brothel landlord about their relationship status by telling her they are indeed married. With some convincing, they are soon put into a dark, empty room with just a mat on the floor to sleep on. Despite their reluctance, the two make do, relieved to at least be together under a roof.

After their arrival, wholesome amendments and apologies follow, but their smiles do not last long. During the joyful connection of the protagonists in a kiss, the couple are met with supernatural disturbances. They shelter during an explosion of loud noises; objects are thrown around the room and red-eyed spirits who are prepared to harm them arrive.

The film’s production is tactical. The use of comedy and horror aspects increases audience engagement and ensures viewers stay immersed in the narrative, which aims to spotlight uncomfortable truths that are apparent in real-life experiences. Instead of overwhelming audiences with a preaching attitude about this resonant issue, the humour and thrill carve an entertaining film with key takeaways present and understandable throughout.

The performance of Soumya Majumdar is loud, chaotic and witty, offering comedy relief to an upsetting reality. His performance also reinforces the dissatisfaction of others facing harsh judgement, forced to love in the dark. The music and sound effects are powerful, adding additional satirical and eerie elements throughout the running time of just under thirty minutes.

Overall, the film has significant production value and a unique narrative that is compelling and impactful, initiating wider thought from viewers about the film’s message through the use of strong characters and an easily comprehensible storyline that viewers can grasp immediately.

Spiders in the Wall is an ambitious psychological drama that is an engaging yet frustrating watch. Directed by Christopher Di Nunzio and written by Kris Salvi, the 11-minute short film follows CIA agent Azeil Baxter (Justin Thibault), who is stuck in a nightmarish scenario where reality becomes blurred, and he must contend with an enemy spy. Kris Salvi produced the idea for the script because of a dream that he had, and the title of the film plays into the fears of the unknown.

One of the biggest strengths the film has is creating a bleak atmosphere. The film has a washed-out colour palette that adds to the darkened mood and the feeling that the character is in an uneasy, lonely dream state. Vivid colours would ground the film and make it seem more realistic. The tight camera angles and close-up shots also add to the claustrophobic feel and the idea that the character is stuck in an endless dream. The balance between the use of music and silence discomforts the audience further. Naturally, the creepy music makes the audience feel uneasy, but the silence of the film does make the supposed dream scenes more impactful and mysterious. Music constantly playing would have been distracting and taking away from the atmosphere. There is some blood and gore with the practical effects coming off well.

The performances in the film are solid, but with the restricted runtime and the way the narrative is structured, the performances were not given the freedom to truly make an impact. Justin Thibault relies on facial expression to convey the inner emotion of his character, as there is not much dialogue. He does a good job anchoring the film, whilst Kayla Caulfield adds to the mystery of the film and is a good emotional weight. Audiences will enjoy the psychological take on the spy genre rather than the usual spy thriller.

Even for an 11-minute film, the pacing of the film is quick as we jump to various locations as Azeil keeps waking up or having flashbacks. This adds to the suspense but could leave the viewers confused with how quickly the film moves. Overall, though, the film has great pacing, and it never drags. The lighting of the film is another positive, with dominating dark shadows on some scenes and illuminating light on others, contrasting the mental state of the main character.

The screenplay is ambitious for a short runtime, and although the tone of the film was consistent and engaging throughout, the script, I think, would have benefitted from a longer runtime. The mysterious atmosphere and ambiguity can be seen as both a strength and weakness. Some of the aspects of the plot are left undeveloped with either not much context or depth for the audience to fully invest in the characters or world. Satisfying answers are swapped for ambiguity, which can be frustrating, and the abrupt ending. Important character interactions are touched upon but never fully explored. The film's ambitions are admirable, but it has several different ideas, but none are fully developed.

Spiders in the Wall is an interesting and ambitious short film that offers a different take on the espionage genre. The film succeeds in creating an uneasy atmosphere and has strong technical craftsmanship with great cinematography, sound design, lighting, and editing. However, the overstuffed yet underdeveloped script coupled with the short runtime restrict the film from fully reaching the emotional or thematic depths needed to fully engage the audience.

Driftwood is the debut short from Temi Oluokun, who wrote, produced and directed this mystical piece. The story follows a young woman, Ama, on a journey to reconcile her ancestral heritage with her present identity, exploring Yoruba spirituality, self-discovery and cultural identity, as she comes face to face with a deific presence…

The film opens on a sprawling green landscape, featuring gorgeous shots from director of photography Liah Danquah. This opening sequence invites the audience in with images of wind blowing through the tall grass, natural waters flowing, and even capturing the local wildlife, all contributing toward establishing a deep tone of serenity that grounds the viewer in a natural world that pre-dates our own existence. This ambience is then promptly shattered with a sledge hammer, to brilliant dramaturgical effect, when cutting to the stark contrast of colourless and brutal modern architecture during the flashback scene. The tranquil and enchanting atmosphere captured by Oluokun and Danquah, mixed with a beautifully restrained score also by Oluokun, are the tonal backbone of this tale.

Unfortunately audiences may find their suspension of disbelief challenged as the film goes on. As viewers we are led to believe that Ama is travelling over a vast and barren land, an illusion that is broken quite harshly when members of the public can be spotted going about their day, walking through country paths in the background. This problem also extends to the flashback scene, with unmotivated editing that cuts seemingly at random, hindering the actors’ performances where it should be serving them. Matters of costume design such as Ama wearing a pristine white top despite the fact she has supposedly been trekking for miles, also rings untrue.

The absolute saving grace and conceptual hook of this piece however, lies in its fascinating exploration of Yoruba culture. Originating in south western Nigeria, the Yoruba religion features a complex pantheon of hundreds of divine intermediaries known as Orishas – one of which, Odara, being depicted here. Described as ‘the master of the crossroads’, Odara is traditionally referred to as male. Yet in this story the deity is depicted by Laura Lambo, an intriguing choice on behalf of the filmmakers – perhaps using a softer female energy to portray Odara’s more ‘human’ aspects in comparison to their mischievous and bullish prior representations.

Driftwood is a solid debut for filmmaker Temi Oluokun, featuring engrossing cinematography, a small but stand-out performance from Christina Oshunniyi as Mother, and a captivating subject – exploring an ancient and mystical culture. I truly hope Oluokun continues her exploration of this topic. With some real highlights shining through the flaws, audiences would do well to keep a keen eye on what these exciting filmmakers do next!

Usually, the most unsettling thing about espresso is the intrusive thoughts that strike you at 3 in the morning after you drink it and can’t even begin to think about sleep. That or hearing the Sabrina Carpenter song of the same name for the seventieth time of the day. But those are nothing compared to the unsettling experience of One Shot of Espresso – Guy Taylor’s short that must be the only thriller ever to be set in a coffee shop.

Barista Michelle (Lauren Budd) is closing up her café for the day when she realises one patron (Will Stevens) has refused to leave. Her polite hints of the shops closure go ignored, as the conversation instead takes a sinisterly manipulative turn. The Stranger requests a single espresso from Michelle before he will agree to leave, but his quiet forcefulness creates the fear that there is much more from Michelle that this unknown man wants.

One Shot of Espresso is an impressive short thriller that cleverly demonstrates how manipulators operate, particularly when trying to coerce women who have been isolated. Will Stevens’ ‘Stranger’ is a genuinely unpleasant and unnerving presence in the film – and yet he barely ever shows signs of anger or bullying, nor does he make explicit demands. Instead, the circumstances do the heavy lifting for him. Having waited for other customers to leave and with Michelle totally alone, he effortlessly bats away her polite offers for him to leave and reverses the direction of their interaction to put himself in control – making full use of his physical dominance and paying no heed to personal boundaries. It is quickly clear that Michelle has little choice but to acquiesce to his wants, and it is not hard to sense his scarcely hidden enjoyment at toying with the young woman and his ability to get whatever he wants from her.

It is a strength of the film that it forgoes any dramatic plot twists or scale-balancing fantasy conclusion – and instead realises an experience that so many women will be disappointingly familiar with. Interactions like that between Michelle and The Stranger wouldn’t make the nightly news, but they do leave lasting impressions on those on the bullied end. It is not hard to imagine Michelle’s trauma after her run in, or the fear she would feel returning to her place of employment after the day in question. The tonal shift in the film from the opening minutes which feel like an upmarket coffee commercial, to the menacing horror-like vibe in the second half means this sensation is captured perfectly, and acts as a fine contrast to a plot that on paper could be read as uneventful.

Will Stevens is brilliant in the role as the stranger. The initial feeling-out between him and Michelle leave viewers wondering if this could be the beginning of a romcom. Stevens withholds the man’s intentions and adds in flourishes of awkwardness to soften him to both Michelle and the viewer, before unsheathing a far more driven yet still underplayed motivation once he has established the power dynamic he craves. Lauren Budd is equally impressive. Her performance as Michelle identifies the misogyny-imposed behavioural limitations women feel when trying to give orders to men, before switching to be much more vulnerable and submissive when the Stranger imposes himself in her space – a sad but understandable preservation mechanism for the character.

There is much more depth to One Shot of Espresso than initially meets the eye. This illusive short is far from a typical thriller but for those who understand the meaning and message of Guy Taylor’s film, the menace and manipulativeness in this short but significant encounter will leave a much bigger impression than far more eventful films could.

Boss of the Ballet is another resurrected, 80s-produced, New York-based project by writer-director Lindley Farley. The previous film, directed by Farley, reviewed on this website was The Bulls’ Night Out which told a disturbing story of violent cop vigilantism (a film that this critic admired very much). Our film in discussion is, unlike the film just mentioned, a short – and a comedy; it stars Hank Frazier and Pasquale Gaeta as two sanitation workers who, after one of them reveals a love of ballet, set out on preparing a performance for the sanitation talent show. But they’re missing one thing: a musical instrument for accompaniment (Roslyn Ziff portrays the wife who divulges that she gave their oboe away to one of the neighbour's children). As the film progresses ever further into farcical crime-comedy territory, the lengths to which our protagonists will go to retrieve their oboe results in genuine hilarity, and a truly fantastic piece of filmmaking.

Beginning with the piece’s formal attributes, the most obvious drawing point (especially for today’s viewers, perhaps discovering Boss of the Ballet on the internet) is the analogue videotape, 16mm, 4:3 format. This, of course, was by necessity. No movies would be produced using any digital cameras for another decade. And yet, despite it being the default mode of presentation, the gritty texture and feel of these sounds and images completely lend themselves (much like Scorsese’s work for instance) to the New York, on-location film scene. Not only this, but the approach to the direction and cinematography is also of an incredibly high quality – especially on a level of blocking. ‘Less is more’ is not always the case; but here it certainly is. Farley knew that the best way to experience the comedic behaviours of these talented performers was to do so in expertly composed wide 2-shots and medium shots. With both on screen at once – without the camera drawing attention to its own, unbroken existence through movement or obtrusive angles – the screenplay can truly flourish. And yet it’s not in any way stagey! This is a cinematic, artistically detailed piece.

In thematic terms, what this movie shares with The Bulls’ Night Out is an uncompromising depiction of social situations and working life in the big city. All the political tensions which are so explicitly defined in the cop-drama are also very present in this – but used, rather intelligently, more as background set-decoration so as to enrich the lives of these characters and give the humorous narrative some grounding. This actually makes the comedy far funnier, because it almost feels as if you’re laughing at/with a friend, as opposed to some simulated, theatrical display of perfect comic timing.

It was already exciting to discover the other piece, but to have been sent another outstanding, forgotten work of art by the same director is quite riveting. It makes you wonder just how much quality we’ve missed or neglected over the years; and the fact that it’s arguably just as important to be searching for and reevaluating older unseen shorts as it is the contemporary.

A young guy pines for a girl but is unable to tell her how he feels before tragedy strikes.

Andrew (Hakim) is in love with Mia (Ooi). They’ve been best friends for a while now and they seem to hang out with each other exclusively on their down-time. Of course, Mia is blind to how Andrew really feels and just takes the relationship for granted, instinctively and permanently placing him in the friendship category of her life without ever questioning why they spend so much time together. Theirs is a story that spans time immemorial and is one which is unlikely to change anytime soon.

So, in their young, foolish, and juvenile way, the two of them hang out, have fun, take up hobbies, and spend time shooting the breeze together, all while Andrew keeps his heartfelt secret locked up inside himself and Mia waxes lyrical about the latest in a long line of boys that she’s been seeing, now finally thinking she’s caught ‘the one’. Andrew’s sister, Aeryn (Wong), can’t keep her nose out of his business and tries hard to force him into revealing his true feelings to Mia, very nearly succeeding as he gets himself ready and bigs himself up to actually do it. However, on the day that he decides to come out and tell the truth, Mia never shows, and the opportunity is missed, never to be repeated, as tragedy breaks the two apart forever.

In Almost Always, we’re invited to look upon this age-old story as it’s regurgitated for the bazillionth time, but this time transposed to Kuala Lumpur and played by an amalgam of East Asian students. Writer/director, Sanjeev Nair takes the helm for this telling of the story, using his own experiences and real-world conversations he’s had with friends to inform his own personal take on the scenario, while his fellow students play the roles and do the behind the scenes work to make his vision a reality.

Unfortunately, because everyone involved in the project is so young, and the scenario being retreaded is so deeply ingrained in YA culture, the whole thing comes across as achingly juvenile and naïve in its aspect. The dialogue is fearfully childish at most points and the painful ways the youngsters interact and flirt with each other is almost too difficult to watch at times. There is never a naturalism to the way the performances are given and most scenes are stilted by one thing or another in the way they are presented. While Nair does manage to show some narrative chops in the way he builds his story and subsequently films it, the vast majority of scenes involve two people in a room saying things to each other that don’t really have a lot of meaning behind them.

Throw into the mix the fact that these student filmmakers have not yet honed their craft, and what we get is bare, tinny audio, bad acting, basic cinematography, and an overuse of standard cinematic devices to tell the story. At twenty-two minutes long, Almost Always has enough time to build its narrative and round out its characters a little, with Nair spending enough on each part of the story to keep us looking for what’s coming next, but by the end we can only be disappointed by how little the details diverge from the main retelling of a tale that has been told several hundred times several hundred ways. There is sadly not enough to distinguish Almost Always from other unrequited young love stories that end in tragedy, but in the same breath there’s definitely enough for the filmmakers to take away with them that they can use and build on in future projects.

Funeral Car follows a working-class family as they journey together to a crematorium. The piece is set in real time and entirely shot within the confines of a car as the family grapples with grief and reflection. Shot entirely on an iPhone using equipment donated by Danny Boyle directly from the production of 28 Years Later (2025), the short is formally ambitious, employing guerrilla filmmaking techniques to evoke empathy and grief.

One of the most memorable aspects of the short piece is its emphasis on reflection and how each character embodies empathy. While the image of a family sitting alone in a silent car may initially seem isolating to the viewer, it is nevertheless compelling to observe how they navigate and cope with grief. The stripped-back approach is commendable, making each performance feel incredibly authentic. While this approach is apt for the themes and ideas the piece presents, the experience can feel like a chore to sit through at times, due to its lack of engagement and repetition. Despite this issue, it's clearly intended to make the audience uncomfortable, which is what ultimately makes the experience wholly unique.

The camerawork throughout remains entirely confined to the interior of a car, opening with a wide shot from the rear. However, the switch to close-ups from the front of the car is commendable, making the experience intimate and emotionally engaging with each performer. The choice to shoot the piece entirely on an iPhone is a welcome one and makes the experience formally ambitious, especially within an independent short film. Another apt formal choice is the absence of music for much of the runtime, with the resulting silence becoming almost deafening, mirroring the characters’ own sense of isolation within the situation. While it may be jarring for viewers to witness, it is clearly designed with a naturalistic, restrained approach.

The pacing throughout is intentionally slow to allow each character to process their grief and the memories of their loved ones. Sam Gannie, serving as the film's director, allows each performance an opportunity to stand out by ensuring the characters are centred in the frame. His direction is nuanced and deeply engaging throughout. While the opening offers little context for the family’s loss, the performances and direction ultimately communicate the depth of their grief. It's emotionally overwhelming at times, even with the lack of context for the family's loss. The brief inclusion of a musical score is also apt, with its emotionally stirring motifs that fit the piece tonally.

While it's hard to pinpoint a standout performance in the piece, each performance is incredibly nuanced and ultimately anchors the experience through its blend of grief and reflection. The stripped-back approach makes each performance incredibly believable and an intimate portrait of a family processing the loss of a family member.

The piece concludes in a somewhat haunting manner, allowing the viewer to sit with its themes and grasp the depths of the characters’ emotions. The piece resonates deeply despite its singular set piece and limited dialogue, showcasing the profound effect a naturalistic approach can have on a viewer.

Funeral Car is an emotionally stirring portrayal of grief in the wake of loss, with incredible performances to boast. While the musical score and performances do much of the heavy lifting, the unique iPhone camerawork is memorable and makes the experience worthwhile despite its flaws.