Latest Short Film Reviews

The new one-room action thriller Chekhov’s Bun is riveting, shocking and a great deal of fun. Writer-director Beau Fowler’s short film is about a woman, with a husband and daughter, who is struggling with the preparation of some baked goods for her daughter’s birthday party. Part way through the preparation, a man appears; a face from a past long forgotten. He persuades her to return to a life of crime and leave this comfortable family bubble behind, but she’s not having it... and it’ll take a fight to the death to convince her otherwise.

From a practical filmmaking point of view, the setup is ingenious; basing everything that happens in one kitchen means that the geography is clear, and the director is able to turn the limitation of a single-room setting into a weapon – much like our ex-assassin protagonist and the many ways she finds to utilise her domestic surroundings to her tactical advantage. An essential aspect of the setup working well lies in the kinetic, Raimi-meets-John-Woo nature of the cinematography. Seemingly every shot consists of some dynamic movement of the camera – either with the intention of revealing some further information within the shot, or to mimic/complement the intensity of motions from our subjects on screen.

It’s refreshing to see someone understanding why wide-angle lenses exist. Critics frequently point to their overuse in the current landscape of cinematography – the fact that many DPs seem to be building their whole visual style around an 18mm without apparently comprehending what a lens like that can and can’t accomplish on a level of composition and camera blocking. Yet here, the filmmakers know that it’s the perfect way to capture speed and agility; to pull the audience into the action through a dynamic push-in, or how to implement a dolly shot to shrewdly place an item of importance in the foreground. This style works even better in a tight environment because it places something the audience is familiar with (a kitchen) into a fresh cinematic context.

Addressing what might be a common complaint, you could easily argue that the plot is contrived. And whilst certainly many titles match in premise (an early set-piece in the first Kill Bill movie comes to mind), the fact is, a short film is a different beast. Often, a short-form work exists as a space of play, experimentation, and a method in which to showcase talent. The talent on display here is obvious from the outset – the visuals being the thing – and frankly, as soon as we get to the fighting, we level up a notch. The choreography is outstanding – every beat clearly thought-through, every increment of movement and timing rehearsed until it’s perfect. For a short film, the arrangement of this fight scene is an awesome achievement.

If you’re a fan of action movies, I would highly recommend Chekhov’s Bun. The short exists to deliver pure thrills through balletic action, and does so exceptionally well with the help of some sturdy visual work behind the camera. Starring Amelie Leroy and Eric Lim as her kitchen opponent.

According to the UNHRC there are around 550,000 refugees currently having claimed asylum in the UK, with a further 75,000 applications, relating to around 100,000 individuals, looking to get processed in the year up to March 2026. These numbers equate to less than 1% of the population of the UK being made up of refugees, with around half of these being made up of Ukrainians escaping war, as well as Hong Kong and Afghan nationals escaping persecution, who have been welcomed using resettlement schemes.

These numbers are beginning to fall, mainly because most of the Ukrainians and Hong Kongers have already been relocated, but the numbers of small boat crossings in the English Channel is also down. The government would have you believe that this is all down to their hard work and determination to ‘control our borders’, but by March 2026 around 42% of all asylum seekers since 2018 had arrived by small boat. It is easy to see that numbers like these, year on year, are still unsustainable, but it is important to see that the real numbers are a far cry from what certain hard-right nationalists would have you believe.

Angry little ‘nationalists’ like Stephen Yaxley-Lennon, who likes to call himself ‘Tommy Robinson’ as an homage to a prominent, violent football hooligan(!), want to tell you that every problem in society is created by the incoming wave of refugees to the country, jumping on any news story that involves asylum seekers and then painting everything they do in a dark light. The ignorant and supercilious Elon Musk also likes to get in on the act, through his hate-speech machine and personal megaphone platform, X, continually wading in on issues that have got nothing to do with him and which he knows absolutely nothing about, just to stir up hatred and unease, because a confused and angry electorate is easier to control when you’re working for some of the biggest warmongers in the world. It would be better not to even talk about the leader of Reform UK, so let’s not.

Instead, let’s look at writer/director, Lorenzo Harani’s new short film, Home, which actually lets us look at the people who are being talked about as mere statistics. In four short minutes we are invited to speak with just some of the people who have sought asylum in the UK and who are being helped by the London charity, Compass Collective. Through their words, and the voice of one of their members (Shah), we can directly hear their pleas to just wake up in a place where they don’t fear for their lives. The loss and pain are etched deeply onto each of their faces as we are introduced to them in turn, and they tell us what they hope for in a new place, in a new world, in a place they one day would like to call home.

Much like what Ken Loach and his screenwriter Paul Laverty knew when they made The Old Oak (2023), Harani knows that you can’t talk about these people until you start to talk about them as people. Having spent time at the Compass Collective, talking to and getting to know the refugees that are shown in his film, Harani understands that things are not as black-and-white as they are made out to be in short news bulletins, or on dubious, unsubstantiated, unregulated websites. He has taken the time to hear their stories and really see the people underneath, and so has turned to us, to highlight their stories and show us the faces of those we would condemn, to see if we can see the humanity in ourselves as we look at them.

Sadly, there’s not an awful lot of time to spend with each of the refugees in the film, and we only get one voice speaking for all the others, in a short four-minutes that only scratches the surface of what the lives of these asylum seekers is like. There are a few artistic shots interspersed amongst the talking heads, of crashing waves and flocks of birds in flight and such, but not much more that would help constitute Home as a film rather than an infomercial. While Harani’s heart is in the right place and his intentions are pure, with Home we are left at a bit of a loss as to the nuances of becoming a refugee, of choosing the UK as the country of destination, and of what these people would like to do as a working, tax-paying citizen.

With all of the civil unrest that has exploded in the last few days and weeks in the UK, with alleged rapes of many young girls by asylum seekers, and the turning of whole communities in Glasgow against individuals who they ‘think’ might be involved, as well as marches and protests and the ever-present hotel room housing debate, it is important that people are faced with the facts before being asked to make up their minds about how we help those who have come to us in their time of need. While Home tries to at least put a face to the people at the sharp end of the statistics, it is very limited in the facts it portrays, and instead, in giving its subjects a voice and a platform for their hopes and their opinions, may end up having the opposite effect than the one hoped for by the filmmakers, as certain hardliners will only hear more people saying that they want to come to the UK to live a good life, to take the jobs that are here, and to be a part of the state system.

However, maybe that is the point. Perhaps we should all take four-minutes out of our day to watch Home, to gauge our reactions to what we see and hear, and find out just what kind of a person we are by how we respond to desperate people asking for human dignity and a safe place to live their lives.

Glinting follows a grieving husband, Jack (Eoin O’Sullivan), as he begins to sense his wife’s presence in the dust particles that catch a light around him. These dust particles draw him into moments that blur the line between memory and reality. The short piece is a harrowing depiction of grief, memory and loss, and how the central character copes with the glinting dust in his home.

The piece immediately draws the viewer into the experience by providing no context for the central character's empty home, as he is drawn to the glinting dust. While the lack of characterisation and context is daunting at first, the filmmakers ensure each scene is crafted with a clear intent to showcase the damage grief can cause to an individual. The absence of dialogue creates an isolating, thought-provoking atmosphere as the central character struggles to make sense of his late wife’s sudden appearance in their home. It's a difficult watch, but its unique formalism and harrowing presentation make it essential viewing. The surreal, dreamlike presentation of the central character’s memories during moments of stillness is highly effective, powerfully reinforcing the film’s themes and ideas.

Serving as the film's cinematographer, Jamie Doyle primarily employs fixed wide shots of the house to emphasise its emptiness, punctuated by close-ups of objects scattered throughout. This approach effectively frames the central character’s home as a space where memories of his late wife are evoked through everyday objects and drifting dust particles, blurring the line between memory and reality. At times, the camera also shifts to extreme close-ups of the central character in anguish, and this is incredibly devastating to witness as a viewer. Another incredible technical aspect is Karima Dillon El Toukhy’s musical score. The score is evocative with its hypnotic motifs that ultimately anchor the tension and severity of the central character's grief. Each musical cue feels perfectly suited to its scene, resulting in an unforgettable viewing experience.

Eoin O’Sullivan delivers a compelling central performance as Jack, anchoring the film from beginning to end. He conveys so much with his facial expressions alone, making the experience all the more visceral through the raw honesty of his performance. Much of the narrative is focused on his performance, and the film wouldn't work without his commanding screen presence. The supporting players also leave a memorable impression despite their lack of screen time.

While the piece doesn't offer much beyond its portrayal of a character processing his grief, its condensed runtime is well utilised, and it rarely puts a foot wrong. Each editing choice is profound, and it never overstays its welcome despite how harrowing its themes and ideas are. It's a deeply emotionally resonant experience, particularly in its exploration of the lasting damage grief can cause. The focus on themes of regret is also apt; the piece alludes to the importance of cherishing every moment while you still can and opening up to another individual before it's too late. The piece leaves the viewer soaring with hope, as the title suggests, the glinting dust shining with flashes of profound memory.

Glinting is a harrowing experience with a dreamlike presentation to convey its emotionally resonant themes of grief, memory and loss. Aided by a terrific central performance and a hypnotic musical score, the film is an effective piece of filmmaking that doesn't shy away from the sheer isolation of grief.

Directed by Iona Judge and written by/ starring Holly Higbee, Limits follows the story of Becca – a young woman figuring out how to traverse her own life while simultaneously managing her brother Rhys’ reemerging addiction, considering if she is able to manage it at all…

A profound and visceral story on paper, one of the major constraining elements of this concept that is otherwise grounded in realism is the inclusion of unnatural dialogue. Throughout the piece characters say exactly how they feel at all times with little room for subtext which, in contrast to people’s behaviour in real life, comes off as artificial. Lines such as “you’re my baby sister” from Rhys to Becca, read more like exposition to the audience rather than something that two close siblings would genuinely say to one another. In this particular case the information being conveyed is something viewers would be able to pick up on through the context already presented, resulting in a screenplay that doesn’t seem to trust its own audience.

While the aforementioned simplistic dialogue leaves the performances with little room for nuance, Holly Higbee’s portrayal of Becca elevates the text significantly. With superb acting choices and a sensitivity that hides behind the character’s facade of having everything together, Higbee grounds the narrative by providing us a character to truly connect and sympathise with.

For such a meditative subject matter, the editing can feel rather jarring at points, cutting between shots too quickly where the scene would benefit from focussing on a particular subject. This leaves the story seeming unsure of what to concentrate on. However the editing does have its moments, such as in Rhys’ freakout scene, cutting between his and Becca’s separate reactions in a really unique and fascinating creative choice. Speaking of which, the cinematography by Sivan Gharib stands out as one of the main strengths of the piece with striking frames, created in moments such as Rhys and Becca’s hallway row and the later bedroom scene, using high contrast and limited lighting to heighten the emotional impact in these instances. There is also a profoundly delicate employment of symbolism throughout the piece in which Rhys gifts Becca sunflowers that slowly wilt as their relationship deteriorates, only to be eventually replaced with flowers of her own choosing.

While it is hard to pinpoint the exact artistic intention of Limits, and the themes/ characters seem distracted, there are real saving graces within the strong central performance, powerful symbolism and brilliant uses of visual storytelling – the latter of which this short would have benefited from a stronger focus on. Ultimately this story carries heavy themes with sincerity and will provide a thought-provoking viewing experience to anyone watching.

Therapy is a scene written as part of a comedy-drama pilot that writer and director Neil Crittenden worked as a short film. The plot follows the couple Chris and Bex as they see a counsellor and discuss Chris’ drinking problems and suicide attempt. After an emotional account of events, where Chris opens up about his mental health and the lack of attention he has been giving to his son, we realise that Bex was never there. Chris is actually discussing his grief and the impact of his loss, whilst audiences were previously able to visualise the person he misses and yearns for.

The plot of this short film is easy to follow, with lots of strong dialogue throughout. Despite it being somewhat simplistic in its nature, the narrative is hard to engage with as the performances are not always strong or believable. The continuity error of the counsellor suddenly having glasses on when the shot returns to his focus may evict audiences further out of the story if noticed. Another noticeable issue is the allusion to Bex not being at this appointment; this effect seems out of place and lacking power.

The twist of seeing how someone who is no longer alive may respond to what is going on currently in the present is very interesting. The shock of her absence can hook viewers in as the stripped-back short reveals deeper layers through this surprise. Despite character Bex passing, we can resonate with her warmth and affection from seeing her in the film. This allows viewers to sympathise with the protagonist, Chris, as we understand who he is missing.

Despite some technical disadvantages, I applaud the filmmaker for using what was available to them and following their vision through. The scriptwriting, which promotes the emotional vulnerability of the character Chris, is powerful, with the project adding to the very vital media representation of topics like grief, addiction and mental health.

An unsuspecting charity shop customer becomes embroiled in a deadly game of fate and chance, as they find out that the only way to leave, may be with more than they bargained for.

It’s a lazy afternoon in the charity shop. Outside, the sun is shining, but on the inside it’s unseasonably dark and gloomy. Baz (Casar) has only just come in for a shoe-horn. After quickly finding something that’ll sort him out, Baz eventually finds that he’s the only one in the shop – he can’t even find the shopkeeper. There’s something not quite right about this little charity shop. There’s something eerie going on. In fact, the charity it’s funding might as well be called the Mogwai Protection League.

It seems the enigmatic shopkeeper (Ladwa) has been hiding under the desk all along, and after quickly popping up to serve Baz, he becomes very shifty and suspect in his manner. Suddenly, the centrepiece wedding dress in the middle of the store becomes the topic of interest, and the shopkeeper seems very insistent that it’s just the very thing for Baz to take away with him. Subterfuge and intrigue are scattered around to widen the narrative a little, along with the hint of a voyeuristic dementor who’s in charge of the whole affair. Now Baz must think on his feet, fight for his life, and channel his inner bride, if he’s to get out of the charity shop alive.

Told in a short seven-minutes, Easy Sell is a one-shot chamber-piece dramedy that’s a bit of throwaway fun. It runs through its set pieces nice and quick, and even if we’re only moving from the counter to the middle of the shop, we feel each new scene as separate from the last, with each having its own point of view and dialogue setup, as though it were a three-act play. The intrigue gets exposed and expands in a typical way, with no surprises coming from the scenario or the dialogue, all the way up to the glaringly obvious twist at the end. The humour that sits alongside the drama keeps things light and entertaining, with both leads doing a good job of playing things for laughs, even if they are genuinely few and far between.

The music from Sean Fitzgerald also keeps things light and jaunty, with its kitschy muzak tones contrasting with spooky piano and strings during the darker moments. The direction, too, from co-writers and directors, Ken Abalos and Ash Meshkati, is solid but fun, getting the right angles to create an off-kilter feel, while also making sure to capture the comedy moments from the actors. As a quick comedy sketch, Easy Sell is just that. It’s quick and easy and not hard to recommend for a little bit of fun. It’s well made, and well played, and even if you only watch it once before punting it onto someone else, Easy Sell is well worth the price you pay for it on YouTube.

The Thoughts She Left Behind is a low-budget short film, written and directed by Ameya Bhagwat, that explores a heartfelt journey through imagination, emotions, and unspoken connections between two individuals. Set against the backdrop of a serene park, the piece follows Joseph (Fitim DeStena) and Emily (Weronika Twardowska). Emily is an artist who sketches her thoughts, and Joseph discovers her work through a forgotten sketchbook. The piece explores their journey through the power of creativity and fleeting moments.

The most impressive aspect of the piece is how unique it feels, thanks to its framing devices that set it apart from a typical three-act structure. While its brisk runtime and budget limitations may hold it back from reaching its full potential, the filmmakers do their best with limited resources to deliver a compelling narrative. The piece presents interesting ideas about imagination and how individuals create worlds as a coping mechanism to explore their pain as artists. It's a profound story of unspoken connections, and its themes and ideas are thought-provoking and may resonate with audiences. Witnessing both characters' points of view offers an interesting sense of perspective, making the narrative more compelling for the viewer.

Many of the film's technical elements soar, including its camerawork. Anurag Joshi, serving as the film's cinematographer, primarily frames each scene with fixed wide shots with both characters always at the centre of the frame. It's a compelling choice because the narrative is presented entirely from both characters’ perspectives throughout, preserving an intimate connection. The musical choices throughout are equally inspired, with whimsical motifs that gently draw the audience into the film’s emotional journey and tender relationships. Each musical choice feels incredibly emotionally resonant with the film's thematic purpose.

The editing throughout is incredibly seamless, blurring the line between reality and imagination; it's an incredibly engaging experience that rarely puts a foot wrong. Unfortunately, some of the dialogue is drowned out at times due to poor sound mixing; whilst this is largely a minor issue, it can be distracting during dialogue-heavy scenes. That said, the production design is commendable, with the filmmakers doing a terrific job of presenting the shift between reality and imagination.

Both central performances from Fitim DeStena and Weronika Twardowska in their portrayals of Joseph and Emily, respectively, are terrific and carry much of the material on their backs. Both performances convey nuance and warmth, and it's one of the most compelling aspects of the piece. Despite their limited characterisation, both characters possess vivid imaginations, which makes their longing for human connection and determination to seize every opportunity deeply relatable and helps these ideas linger in viewers’ minds. The fourth-wall breaking helps bridge the gap between the characters and the viewer. This is a surprising but apt choice, which makes the experience wholly unique for the viewer.

Although the film concludes rather abruptly, it leaves a profound impression with its uplifting, emotionally resonant message about the power of human connection, choosing to embrace the positives rather than its darker aspects.

The Thoughts She Left Behind is a wonderful piece of indie filmmaking, evidently crafted to spread a message of hope. Anchored by two terrific central performances and incredible musical choices, it's a delightful experience that grants the viewer warmth and comfort.

Bafta winning 11 minute short film Quiet life is a comedy directed by Ruth Pickett, Written by Alex Bruce and Luke Rollason who also stars as our protagonist Geoffrey. Who you may recognise from the show Extraordinary. Quiet Life shows the impact of social media and our phones being attached slowly becoming a part of us. But also how helpful our phones are and how we would be quite lost without them in certain situations.

Quiet life opens with our main protagonist proposing, when unfortunately things turn sour leading to him being humiliated in a public space. Hit with devastating rejection he soon finds himself becoming the laughing stock of the Internet. All those surrounding him are videoing and uploading it straight to social media. Retreating back into himself wanting a so called quiet life without the need for his phone or any outside communication. Geoffrey begins to embrace his inner weirdo which leads to chaotic events. When he soon realises the impact of his choices to have a quiet life.

The performances were eye catching, strong and established for just a short span you get to spend with them. You are glued the whole time. With our protagonist who doesn't utter a word along with other characters' dialogue being very minimalistic. You still understand every emotion he feels what his thoughts and reactions are. Which is a total credit to the actor Luke as it's a very difficult job to do. He has such an expressive face adding to the slapstick of it all. I think a lot of viewers can personally sympathise and relate to Geoffrey. I would relate Luke's performance to that of Rowan Atkinson in Mr Bean where he doesn't have to say a word to make the audience laugh.

Quiet life never feels boring, it feels vibrant and entertaining. The sets designs and lighting were filled with colour, the way the world changes around how our protagonist is so striking. At times it feels so whimsical when it almost turns into a fairytale in itself. With the world building around it only enhances the absurdness. Also with an original score by Tom Penn it makes you understand the tones and when they shift. It's so clever how it's all put together hand in hand to guide the audience through Luke's emotions. The editing was smooth with interesting uses of camera angles and different shots. Showing just how established the filmmakers are in their craft.

For me Quiet Life is a unique tale that reads as a piece on how much damage we do to ourselves when being on our phones constantly. But with a comedic twist without taking the tone too seriously whilst also having a powerful message. We need to learn that we need balance, understanding when it is time to put the phones down and come back to reality. But also how beneficial phones have been to us,how we communicate with each other and meet new people. With such a relatable subject to the audience Quite Life is a 11 minute short well worth watching.

A gloriously sensitive and soothing piece, Still Life follows an elderly man living alone as he learns to find love again in a tale that will move all who watch it. Directed and produced by Olia Yenko, this short film is a stripped back masterclass in visual storytelling.

Emotionally, this vignette may remind viewers of sequences in movies such as the beginning of Up but with a much more optimistic twist. The sweet unfolding tale written by Benedict Flynn is the beating heart of this piece, with all other departments of production rising to meet its tone. Quiet, charming, soft. These are all words that could be used to describe this story, evidence of the thoughtful and understated work put in behind the scenes.

The cinematography, realised gently by Lora Arkhypenko, is much like the film’s title – still, never calling attention to itself in service of the narrative, but providing enough artistic flare to keep the audience visually engaged. One such moment is the purposeful split-screen shot of the two elderly lovers playing checkers over a video call, making it seem as if they are in the same room together. This not only functions narratively to show they are growing closer to each other, but it also displays a sharp creativity on behalf of the filmmakers. This maturity in visual storytelling, mixed with a tranquil score by Alonso Del Carpio, results in the gentle tone that is likely to endear even the most stone-faced viewer.

With only one word amounting to the entire film’s dialogue, this project relies entirely on the skill of the actors to convey the emotional beats and plot developments. The two central performances from Ihor Fendrikov and Angelina Fendrikova achieve this to excellence. Although acting is a subjective art form, there are just some performances that one never fails to believe. There is not a moment throughout the story in which these two strangers turned sweethearts ever break the audience’s suspension of disbelief, delivering delicate and empathetic depictions of each character.

And here comes the section of the film’s downsides – there are none. From beautiful writing to subdued cinematography, a tender score and wonderful performances, Still Life achieves its story with perfect precision and sensitivity from all units of the filmmaking team – resulting in a profound short that I defy any viewer not to shed a happy tear while watching.

Olia Yenko and company are absolutely a creative force worth keeping an eye on, and I keenly anticipate their next work.

Written and directed by Anthony Ferraro and independently produced for his YouTube community, ‘Starfisher’ follows exactly what the title proposes: an old man fishing among the stars hoping to catch “the big one”.

This piece opens with the Ernest Hemingway quote “Now is no time to think of what you do not have. Think of what you can do with what there is.” A particularly poignant quote for multiple reasons. The first of which being that the film was made on a rather modest budget of absolutely nothing, a testament to the passion and creativity of the team behind it. The other reason being the inspired similarities between this and The Old Man and the Sea by Hemingway himself, albeit with a fun science fiction twist. The story also draws striking parallels to Moby Dick with the Starfisher searching for his own ‘white whale’.

The most immediate spectacle of the film is the excellent production design by Aidan James Hansen. The surfaces feel grimy, the tech seems functional and the surroundings look lived in, with blinking buttons and lights providing an effective excuse to light the protagonist in interesting ways – something cinematographer Jon Schweigart takes full advantage of, always keeping each frame engaging to look at. Even Matthew Patterson Curry’s subdued but effective score elevates the design and cinematographic work produced by his peers, creating a summative and powerful tone that leaves the audience with a calm and lonely feeling as we drift through outer space.

Regrettably the immersion created by this atmosphere is broken when the film cuts to its VFX shots, which are jarringly low quality in comparison to the impressive practical visuals. Now, keeping in mind that this film was made with no money whatsoever, I’m aware that criticism may seem null and void. However this criticism lies not with the quality of work on display but rather the creative choice behind it. For example if as viewers we only saw glimpses of the alien from out the window, utilising practical and VFX assets in the same shot (much like at the end of the film), we may find the limited peeks at it more effective in creating a more vivid version of it in our imaginations. This would also add a more mythical quality to the creature. In this case, less is more. Another nitpick that may put off audiences is the computer’s voice, which is hard to understand at various moments.

With mentions of the Starfisher’s family throughout the course of the film, we are led to believe that he has abandoned them in search for this creature. However we are never told why. This seems to be done with the intention of focussing the narrative, but in this case leaves the viewers with the possibility of disliking the protagonist – especially with no frame of reference on how or why we should empathise with his perplexing choice.

Ultimately ‘Starfisher’ is a charming tale putting an enjoyable spin on iconic literary classics. Despite no budget, this fable is able to offer spectacular production design, stellar cinematography, and is a magnificent feat of resourcefulness and creativity.