Latest Short Film Reviews

Peekaboo - scripted, directed and performed by Nadav Elkum - is a new rap music video with a crime-chase narrative weaved throughout. We follow the rapper, and many others portraying fictionalised versions of themselves, as he is chased down by people whom he still owes money. This is a strong piece of work from a visual standpoint, and the content of the story is also not without intrigue.

The appeal of this video is the camerawork, combined with the deliberately fast-paced editing – both elements operating in tandem to form what feels like a musically inspired, modern digital evocation of pure frenzy and aggression. It all works incredibly well; from the varying shot types (whether it’s handheld or a wide-angle physical attachment to the performers), to the decision to capture these images with fast shutter speeds (creating that choppy, visceral jitter effect) -- cinematographer Bruce Melan certainly knows how to build an immersive ‘look’ based around the project’s core, sensory interests. And the editing, then in turn, manages to cut well with the music track we’re hearing.

The point of this review is not necessarily to serve as a critique of the song itself (since this is a film publication), and thus I shall only touch on it very briefly... It's got a strong beat and an expressive energy. The lyrics are pretty thematically rich in parts, but don't entirely flow or come together for this critic (who is not a music critic). Due to the fact that the style of the filmmaking appeals to me a lot more than the song itself, the sequence in which the music drops out, and it becomes pure drama and tension, is the highlight of this five-minute piece.

The section I'm referring to takes place in a car which our lead is using to escape his violent pursuers; a moment of respite he uses to rationalise his dire situation to his love interest, supposedly, and her son – who, by the way, insists on playing peekaboo before our protagonist is dragged from the car and almost killed. It’s a revealing passage of dialogue and operates so nicely as a midpoint moment of clarity and character- grounding.

In terms of the violence, one could argue that it creates an odd sort of impact. Especially following on from this sequence, when a man is smashed over the head with a baseball bat. The effect is simultaneously unpleasant and slightly cartoonish and would maybe benefit from a 'less is more' approach. Whilst this critic enjoys violence in movies, I'm not sure how much blood-squirts and casual, city-based murder adds to this kind of music video. Nevertheless, the filmmakers made a purposeful decision and committed fully to it, so this is more a matter of taste than a creative failing.

Peekaboo is a worthy five-minute viewing, both as a music video and a work of visual storytelling. And particulalrly if any readers are interested in this genre of music, you could easily seek this one out on YouTube. Additionally, the fact that Elkum acts, directs and produces the music – and that it all comes together – is a pretty impeccable achievement in itself.

A young wannabe actor struggles to find that one breakout role and begins to fantasise about how his life would turn out if he could just get the big break that he is looking for.

As with most struggling actors, the lead (Janneh) in writer/director, Lyud Hristov’s debut short film, remains anonymous. When we first meet him, he’s filming himself on his phone in his bedroom, trying to make an audition tape for the next big thing which is finally going to catapult him towards the success that he knows he deserves. First though, he has to deal with interruptions from his long-suffering mother (Smales) and from his flatmate (Lawrence), as he desperately tries to keep things professional in front of the camera.

While his friends are always on hand to offer soothing words of encouragement, his mother tries to give him the best advice she can, which is to give up on such a silly dream, and to put his efforts into finding himself a proper job with real, actual prospects. However, the struggling actor must always stand strong in the face of setbacks, rejections, adversity, and others’ lack of faith, and with this one last chance to prove himself, he’s determined to claim a part in this new production and set himself off on the path that he knows is waiting for him.

Unfortunately for our plucky protagonist, nobody is taking him seriously and he’s not being offered any sort of time or space to really let his range shine through. From his self-important acting coach, to his manager at the bar where he works, he is belittled, and undermined, and stopped from ever getting to give his best. As pressure piles upon pressure, something inevitably breaks, and soon our struggling actor is finding it hard to remain in the real world, retreating into fantasies, daydreams, and false reminiscences, to help himself cope until he finally receives the call he has been wating for all this time.

Even though we never get to learn his name, in the eleven minutes that we get to spend with the struggling actor, we find out a lot about him as a person and are party to a lot of his hopes, fears, dreams, and motivations. Abdul-Malik Janneh does a sterling job of portraying these emotions and themes through the character, and is able to ‘turn it on’ when getting into the roles that are being asked of him, even though he never gets very far into the performance before being stopped.

Writer/director, Lyud Hristov keeps his scenes pacy and engaging, especially with the music choices, which set the tone for the film and for the actor’s personal struggles, while also adding in some nice visual touches and continuity gags to reward the more discerning viewer. There is a lot going on in every scene of The Chronicles Of The Struggling Actor and Hristov makes sure that everything comes together seamlessly, from the visuals, to the performances, to the sound, to help pull us into the actor’s story and live it alongside him. Once the more fantastical asides come into play, this then gets amped up by a level or two, and the frantic, desperate nature of the struggling actor is revealed to us piece by piece, as he begins to fall apart.

There is a definite frustrated nature to the entire production of The Chronicles Of The Struggling Actor, mirroring the feelings that most people will have experienced in trying to break out into a creative profession. Hristov understands the nature of the business intimately and successfully transfers this frustration, desperation, and disappointment into every frame of his film. They say to write what you know, and it seems that here, even in his debut short film, Hristov has laid out everything he knows and understands about how it feels to be the struggling artist, maintaining his vision throughout and truly captivating the audience into the process.

For what is a fun and evocative eleven minutes, The Chronicles Of The Struggling Actor will take you out of your comfortable armchair, and will make you squirm, sweat, and laugh as you go on the journey of anonymity with our failed lead, hoping against hope for a positive outcome and the fabled Hollywood happy ending.

The Date is a coming-of-age short piece set in the vibrant streets of Mumbai. The narrative follows Vijay (Adnan Ahmed Mullick), an introverted photographer and traveller, as he meets Devi (Gaurav Choudhary), a sex worker with an uplifting spirit. Intrigued by her resilience, he asks her out on a date, wanting to connect before he leaves the city. The piece is a journey of self-discovery set against the backdrop of the bustling markets within Mumbai.

The Date is an incredibly lived-in and intimate experience thanks to the two central performances and technical elements throughout. Firstly, every aspect of the piece has beautifully developed characterisation. The city of Mumbai feels like its own character, with its vibrant nightlife brought to life through its rich culture and bustling food markets. While the piece has an incredibly minimal runtime, the narrative wastes no time and fleshes out both central characters to a suitable degree without ever overstaying its welcome. Secondly, the themes of self-discovery and identity are highly universal, woven seamlessly into the narrative without ever feeling rushed or underdeveloped. It’s paced exceptionally well, without ever putting a foot wrong, with each sequence flowing seamlessly into the next thanks to apt editing choices from Bhaswan Chatterjee.

The camerawork throughout the piece is tremendous, as cinematographer Hrithik S. Naudiyal frames each sequence with a delicate edge. Most of the narrative consists of close-ups with both characters always at the centre of the frame, never losing sight of the character-driven focus. It’s a commendable choice, as the audience is consistently invested in both character arcs because the experience feels so intimate. The fixed camerawork is also a highlight as it perfectly complements the steady pace of the narrative. Despite how minimal the music is throughout, it's incredibly impactful with majestic motifs that perfectly complement the tonal balance and setting.

The narrative is exceptionally well-structured, and despite its runtime, the film leaves viewers deeply invested in both Vijay and Devi, thanks to their well-developed, compelling character arcs. It's a powerful and emotionally resonant experience because the filmmakers delicately tackle the themes of anxiety and grief. The themes are apt and integral to the character arcs of both Vijay and Devi. Vijay is an introverted character who expresses his feelings through photography, and the relationship he grows with Devi is delightful to experience. Devi is grappling with her identity, and the more she opens up to Vijay, the more vulnerable she becomes.

Both central performances are the heart and soul of the narrative, making their chemistry one of the film’s most heartwarming qualities. Adnan Ahmed Mullick delivers a terrific performance as Vijay, convincingly capturing the character’s anxiety-ridden nature while sharing remarkable on-screen chemistry with Gaurav Choudhary as Devi. Gaurav Choudhary’s portrayal of Devi is the biggest delight of the piece as she has an incredible screen presence that exudes charm and restraint as she opens up to Vijay.

The use of flashbacks is another apt choice that further fleshes out Devi’s character arc and concludes the narrative in an emotionally resonant manner. All the dramatic beats land thanks to how well developed both characters are, and the piece tackles the theme of self-acceptance exceptionally well.

The Date is an astounding piece of indie filmmaking that explores coming to terms with one’s identity while thoroughly examining anxiety and grief. It’s an emotionally powerful coming-of-age story, elevated by two outstanding lead performances and an intimate, uncompromising portrayal of self-discovery. A flawless sensory experience that may stick with viewers for days after the credits roll.

A short comedy drama written and directed by Tahmid Choudhury and starring himself, along with Corey Fraser, Ebony Skerritt and Oliver Keaton.

There isn't really a plot here. Instead, this film explores the life of a British teenager named Michy (Fraser), following him as he engages in a variety of activities including working a dull job at a cinema, skipping school with friends and fellow students Wasim (Choudhury) and Pascal (Keaton), having a word with his mother (Skerritt) and attempting to go on a date.

This short also places the viewer inside Michy's mind and it does so by having him inside a room that appears to be windowless and doorless, with paintbrushes and paint containers scattered around and the walls covered in paint, depicting things that seem to be related to his life, such as music notes and a calendar. Evidently, this is the titular ''paintbox'' and it appears to be where Michy's inner thoughts take place, as the film cuts to this ''place'' and provides a better understanding regarding this character by having him address the audience and describe his opinions about himself and situations he has to deal with.

The events are told through Michy's perspective and revealing how he perceives things not only as a person but via his mind too, thanks to the paintbox. The general impression of Michy is that he is a well-meaning guy, a typical teenager really, trying to pursue romance, hanging around with friends, having trouble dealing with responsibilities and struggling to comprehend himself. Skerritt plays his supportive and loving mother, who also wants him to acknowledge the fact that he needs to learn how to be responsible. As for Wasim and Pascal, Choudhury and Keaton portray them as fun-loving schoolboys.

This short deals with themes many teenages would identify with, such as school, friends, dealing with parents and going on a date. Friendship, parenting and support are vital elements in this film, primarily though, the screenplay explores teenage anxiety and what goes with it, including self-reflection low self-esteem, facing responsibilities and self-discovery.

With emotional and gentle music by Toby Longhurst, this is a comforting viewing that communicates the message that people must believe in themselves, that they must believe they are capable.

The Tamil language drama AVALUDAN builds rapidly in intensity over its 15 minute runtime, delivering a damning statement on patriarchy and the domestic abuse of women. The film’s rising intensity builds to a powerful and surprising crescendo, which combined with the confident filmmaking and excellent performances across the board, make this a tense and satisfying watch.

The film starts with Raman (Sivakumar Palakrishnan) in his home kitchen, preparing an honestly fantastic looking meal. Cinematographer Muhammad Syakir Bin Subana captures Raman’s care and attention through his culinary skills, immediately cluing the audience into what kind of man he is. AVALUDAN is structured nonlinearly, jumping seamlessly between a present day interview with the police and flashbacks that generously feed the viewers with more context. We soon learn in this interview that Raman’s daughter Radhi (Dhurga Lingasparan) has reported that her husband Rajan (Seshan Veerappan) has been missing for two days.

Thanks to a focused screenplay from writers Subash Kumar and Darshan Kunasagran, as well as Lingasparan’s excellent performance as a woman stuck in an abusive and unfulfilling marriage, AVALUDAN the film wastes no time in exploring themes of marital coercion and domestic assault. Veerappan’s performance as Rajan is equally deserving of praise, as he plays the role of a controlling, aspirational patriarch with venom. There’s a measure of complexity within Rajan which gives depth and believability to his character; he’s desperate for a child with Radhi because he feels that people are laughing at him, and he feels as though he has “achieved nothing in [his] life so far”. His insecurity manifests as abuse, and as the narrative bounces back to the police station, there’s an impending sense that something is awaiting Rajan to have caused his disappearance.

While director Darshan Kunasagran does an excellent job of bringing all the elements of the film together into one coherent piece, I cannot help but feel like I would have liked to see more of Palakrashnan’s performance. He is ever present through the film, sitting next to his daughter in the police interrogation room, but considering his role within the film’s larger conversation about the importance of community and the protection of women, he does unfortunately fade into the background a little. Still, it’s laudable that AVALUDAN centres Radhi’s story, never depriving her of agency despite her circumstances. Without spoiling the film’s climax, I feel it mostly nails the landing. While it pushes against the boundary of believability, the performances from the cast sell the drama of the conclusion.

AVALUDAN is a compelling drama with complex characters that feel entirely fleshed out and well realised. The short’s subject matter is heavy, but Kunasagran doesn’t stop this from weighing the narrative down with a sense of self-seriousness. It’s still a thrilling watch, with information and character motivations constantly revealed at a steady pace. Most appropriate is the film’s title, which translates loosely to ‘with her’. Considering the motif of female solidarity, it’s a fitting summation of the ideas that Kunasagran is clearly invested in.

Questionable is a superhero spoof directed and written by Joseph Jeavons. When two criminals inadvertently schedule a bank heist on the same day, they plot to work together to take out their common enemy, the unorthodox hero known as Questionable Man. There’s no doubt that the film is lacking in substance, and the script is far from being as tight as it could be. However, the likable cast and snappy editing keep the short from dragging, and there’s plenty of charm in here to amuse audiences willing to give these oddballs some attention.

The fantastically named Duke Maplecloth (Jacob Watson) and Danny (Duy Hong Pham) are common thieves aspiring to be supervillains. Questionable Man is the only major road block to their career aspirations, and he ends up the catalyst who brings these two would-be rivals in an unlikely alliance. The performances from Watson and Pham are laid back and easy, and while they don’t necessarily fit the image of being hardened career criminals, it works in the film’s favour, building out a universe of lovable eccentrics who talk of robbing banks as though it’s entirely routine. Questionable Man, played by Morgan Moses, is soon introduced, and he immediately sticks out as the only character in this world who seems to possess any fighting capabilities whatsoever. In an unexpectedly well edited scene, he interrupts a would-be supervillain’s pathetic attempt at mugging a woman’s purse, slamming the assailant’s head into a brick wall. Moses portrays the character with a comedic stoicism, excellently juxtaposing his ridiculous costume; the hero appears to wear a wetsuit, a gold chain, and a label that reads ‘Hello, my name is Questionable Man’. It’s idiosyncratic, uncynical, and very easy to like.

It’s worth acknowledging that Questionable doesn’t aspire to be much more than an absurd romp, and while it succeeds in being a fairly dumb parody of a genre nearly everyone is familiar with, it’s a shame that Jeavons doesn’t use this opportunity to really comment on or say anything. Questionable could have aspired to be a little bit more; locations are limited to two alleyways and one copse, and the whole short has an improvisational energy that gives what little plot there is very little drive. I can easily imagine that audiences who are not charmed by the fairly amateur production will find themselves bored by Jeavons’ film, wishing that the satire was focused in a particular direction. While the action scenes are well edited, and for my money the highlight of Questionable, I would have liked to see more of them, and potentially expanded in scope. The cast have a great energy when they’re grappling with each other and tumbling to the ground. Perhaps next time Jeavons will lean into this, and allow his cast to show off their stunt action chops?

There’s no denying that the cast carry the energy of the film, and while Questionable’s concept as a superhero parody is far from novel, it’s nonetheless enjoyable to see a group of actors sincerely having fun, playing loosely and with room to inject their own personality into the film. Jeavons knows his strengths, and at only 8 minutes in length, he knows how long the comedy in Questionable can be sustained. While Questionable doesn’t aspire to say much of anything, it’s worth acknowledging that this isn’t exactly new for films in the superhero genre.

Directed by Cameron Summers, Bobby is a tender story of loss and family centred on a ghostly protagonist. While the film manages to stir some heartfelt emotion in a minimalist package, there’s a tangible feeling of discomfort in the film’s central thesis that doesn’t appear as intentional, veering dangerously close to justifying suicide.

Bobby is the short’s protagonist, and it’s quickly revealed that his story takes place after his tragic suicide. He speaks to the audience matter of factly, in a soft voice performed adequately by Luke Pierce Powell. Physically, so to speak, Bobby appears as an archetypical ghost: white sheet, black eyes; it’s reminiscent of the costuming in David Lowery’s ‘A Ghost Story’. Bobby expounds on his life story, describing how his parents died when he was young, leaving him with a (g)host of happy memories on holidays, but also regret that he didn’t know them better. His quest in the afterlife is to reconnect with his mum and dad, and he sets off into the world to find them.

The film is shot well, and there are some really great visuals in here. The film leans into cold blues in its colour grade, and the scenes of Bobby roaming the earth look appropriately melancholic. There’s a particularly haunting scene where Bobby looks into a house’s kitchen through a window, and in watching these strangers living their lives happily and ordinarily, there’s a real tangible sense of distance between the subjects in the frame. Besides some audio hiccups and some out of place murky shots later in the film, Bobby appears to be a well constructed short.

As alluded to earlier, the film unfortunately treads a rather awkward line around the subject of suicide, and possibly makes a case for it as a way to reconnect with lost loved ones. An early shot in the film shows Bobby’s method, a hanging noose, which comes across as insensitive and morbid. Suicide is already a difficult topic for many people, and showing on screen the image of a noose, as well as Bobby’s suicide note, is jarring. The audience can intuit the details without being shown the artifacts, and it ends up almost trivialising Bobby’s pain and hurt; in this moment, his life is distilled into its bleak end for maybe a little shock value or grim intrigue at best. The same can be said for the film’s denouement, where Bobby finds peace and all that he was looking for with his parents in the afterlife. I’m not arguing that the film needed to veer into a didactic ‘life is worth living’ narrative, but I do wonder what Summers is expressing in Bobby’s suicide effectively being the solution to his problems in life.

Bobby’s resolution left me cold. It’s difficult to look past the themes that the film explores, which is a shame because the short is a well made and largely sensitive portrayal of grief. Unfortunately, I found Bobby to be too heavy handed and awkward with regards to its protagonist; there’s little sense of an internal world in him, and his entire character is reduced to the last heartbreaking decision in his tragically short life.

Dead Air follows Julie (MarLee Candell), who has recently received a vintage radio as a birthday gift from her husband, Roger (Douglas Leal). She begins to hear mysterious coded messages on the radio and struggles to decipher their meaning, while her dismissive husband refuses to heed the ominous warnings. The short piece is an atmospheric experience as Julie attempts to reckon with the implications of the mysterious messages.

Perhaps the most impressive aspect of the piece is how the director, Brad Etter, clearly has a unique talent for building tension throughout the remainder of the runtime. Despite evident budget constraints, the one-location setting complements the experience with the narrative resting on the two central performances and technical aspects. While the brisk runtime unfortunately doesn't allow the script to flesh out Julie and Roger’s relationship, the filmmakers make the most of the limited material by delivering on the atmospheric experience. The screenplay balances the tonal shifts incredibly well and instantly thrusts the viewer into the lives of Julie and Roger. It consistently prompts the audience to question the purpose of the mysterious messages, while Roger’s dismissive attitude towards Julie heightens the growing tension between them.

One of the piece’s greatest strengths is its unique camerawork and editing choices. Brad Etter, serving as both the cinematographer and editor, seamlessly blends each sequence, creating a smooth and engaging flow throughout the film. Each editing choice feels precise, and the pacing flows wonderfully despite its brisk runtime. The piece opens with a jarring extreme close-up of the central character, Julie, and it instantly makes the experience incredibly unsettling throughout. The cinematography primarily relies on close-up shots of each character, occasionally shifting to wider framing to preserve the scene’s intimacy while gradually building tension. While the use of music is incredibly understated throughout, the eerie motifs complement the tone exceptionally well.

Although the suspense becomes somewhat repetitive during the first half of the narrative, the final third ultimately rewards the slow build-up despite its flaws. The mix of dramatic and brief joyful moments between Julie and Roger is memorable, keeping the narrative gripping throughout. Despite its lack of thematic depth, the film offers a unique experience, driven by the filmmakers’ inventive use of a confined setting and their skilful build-up of tension.

The performances collectively are compelling throughout, particularly MarLee Candell’s portrayal of Julie. She conveys the sheer isolation and struggle to decipher the coded messages while dealing with Roger’s dismissive attitude towards her. Douglas Leal delivers a memorable performance as Roger, convincingly portraying the character’s smugness while effectively conveying the escalating tension. Both performances are the driving force of the narrative, holding the experience together.

Despite the piece wrapping up somewhat abruptly, the ambiguity is welcome, making the experience rewarding to endure. While its lack of emotional resonance and heavy reliance on suspense may prevent it from leaving a lasting impression, the film concludes on a satisfying note.

Dead Air is a solid piece of indie filmmaking that excels at preserving its unsettling tone throughout. Assisted by two memorable central performances and an enticing narrative that keeps the audience guessing, Dead Air is a worthwhile ride despite its issues.

The Quiet Ocean follows Kansas (Juliette Crosbie), a receptionist at an Irish motel, in a future where individuals go to end their lives. One night, she meets a guest, Maria (Jennifer Zamparelli), and finds herself falling in love with her. The short piece is a dystopian tale of melancholy and regret, focusing on themes of queer love and gender roles.

One of the most astounding aspects of The Quiet Ocean is its visually striking production design. Despite evident budget constraints that ran counter to the filmmaker's vision, the piece is a staggering achievement in production values, with all the technical aspects firing on all cylinders. The titular motel is visually stunning, with neon lighting set against a gloomy fog. While the filmmakers intentionally don't expand the worldbuilding beyond the expository voice-over explaining how the motel operates, the ambiguity is welcome, allowing the audience to piece it together themselves. The low-key lighting in the exterior of the hotel is another commendable choice, giving the motel an eerie feel.

Serving as the film's cinematographer, Carol Tormey does a tremendous job of framing the titular motel and both central characters. The piece primarily consists of close-ups between Kansas and Maria to create a sense of intimacy and yearning, essentially assisting their already compelling chemistry. The shift to establishing shots of the motel is also a commendable choice, as it gives the audience a sense of the scale within the exterior sequences. These specific framing choices are complemented by the boxed-in 4:3 aspect ratio that gives the piece a sense of claustrophobia and intimacy. Seeing the grainy photography set against the gloomy fog makes the experience visually appealing throughout.

Katie McNeice, serving as the film's director, executes the themes of queer love and gender roles sincerely. It takes a steady pace to establish the relationship between the two central characters without ever putting a foot wrong. Despite the film's brisk runtime and lack of worldbuilding, every dramatic beat is executed profoundly thanks to the writing and direction from Katie McNeice. The way the filmmakers tackle the themes of regret and the inevitability of death in a bleak, dystopian future is an apt topic for this narrative, and it feels wholly singular and original. While the piece could have delved more into the relationship of Kansas and Maria, the short runtime feels welcoming.

Each interaction between Juliette Crosbie and Jennifer Zamparelli in their portrayals of Kansas and Maria, respectively, feels natural and nuanced. This is thanks to two committed central performances that bounce off one another to create a magnetic sense of chemistry. While the audience doesn't spend a substantial time with Kansas and Maria, both performances shine and convey the themes of longing convincingly.

The conclusion to the piece lands on a quiet and meditative note that may linger on viewers’ minds. Despite how abrupt it may be to certain viewers, the execution is undoubtedly moving and may leave audiences wanting more.

The Quiet Ocean is a deeply moving portrayal of queer love in a dystopian world. It's a beautiful and unique tale drenched in melancholy and longing. Despite its lack of characterisation, the piece is held together by two terrific performances, a subtle yet effective musical score and admirable editing choices.

The new short film by Daniel Florio, Swiped is very much a comedy told in two distinctive parts – each with its own style of heightened comedic tone. In the first, we witness a girls’ night transpiring with all its amusing social politics, one-upmanship and general awkwardness of a gathering of old friends. It’s an increasingly hilarious game of Whose life is better and Who has the biggest news to share, with the escalation of “new job” to “I’m pregnant” serving as some of the short’s funniest moments. The second half takes a turn into the crime genre with a development so unexpected, ridiculous yet spectatorially stimulating that you can’t help but admire the audacity of Florio’s screenplay. This latter section is more focussed on our protagonist’s boyfriend whom she’s been showing off during her girls’ night via social media pics, with the suggestion being that her Italian tinder-match is seemingly the only thing she has to brag about (I should note that characters’ superficial tendencies all play into the purposefully heightened tone of the piece).

Despite the general sense of absurdism present throughout the film, perhaps its most admirable characteristic is that it is utterly relatable. Maybe not the mafia stuff; but the simple idea of exaggerating one’s life so as to impress a group of snobby old acquaintances is such a clear yet potent dramatic weapon that can so easily lead to interesting places. You may argue that it’s a concept that’s been done before, and for the film’s first half, that would be true. However, my retort is twofold: firstly, the execution of this gathering is so snappy and well-performed that there’s nothing to complain about in the watching of it; and secondly, by the time you reach the halfway mark (at around six minutes), you understand that this is someone who wants to experiment with structure – and to effectively do that in an entertaining manner, and without alienating the audience, the filmmaker needs to deliver some conventional laughs and dramatic beats in this opening section.

To touch on the formal for a moment, the cinematography and sound are effective for their simplicity. Our two primary sequences are made up of very direct, central, tripod compositions which tend to place actors within an amusingly detached context – much like a Wes Anderson shot or even a shot from a Coen Brothers movie. The impact of this is subtle, especially since these are never the kinds of shots that deliver the wow-factor. But what’s intelligent about the direction and photography here is the awareness of that kind of stripped-down clarity suiting the form of an absurdist comedy perfectly. Arguably easier to praise is the practical use of lighting as well as the pointedly jazzy, sporadic nature of the music-track – implemented with great intentionality at points to match the playfulness of the filmmaking.

Swiped is a hilarious, inventively structured piece by Daniel Florio. Arguably indulgent, yet makes for a short film with a fresh tone and outrageous conceit. This is punchy work, and certainly entertaining to the casual viewer.