Scratched Nail

A man tries to deal with the mess he has created for himself in his life but only ends up making things worse.

In writer/director, James Learoyd’s new short film, Scratched Nail, we follow the goings on of a lonely, paranoid man as he busies himself about the house. Something has happened not so long before we get there, but we are never party to what that is. Instead we watch the aftermath, as the man (Learoyd himself) peeks out from behind the blinds to see if anyone is onto him. As he’s fingering the metal blinds, he catches a nail on the sharp edge of one of the slats and it begins to bleed, offering us our thematic linchpin of the blood that stains, as well as the basis for the title of the movie.

Learoyd’s film is told to us in black-and-white, alongside some prominent and essential sound design, but with no dialogue, which gives the seven-and-a-half minutes of Scratched Nail the definite feel of an arthouse movie. As the man goes about his business, cleaning his hands, cleaning the glass on the windows, and cleaning the floor of a lot more blood than could possibly have come from one finger, we get introduced to some imagery which supports the backstory of what might have happened before we got there. This is interspersed with some outdoor shots of local flora, but even that takes on a slightly sinister nature, especially as the black-and-white camerawork encourages us to look deep into the shadows between the leaves and the stalks of grass.

Everything is up-close and in your face in Scratched Nail, with the sound of everything echoing in the foreground as the narrative takes shape. The washing machine ramps up the tension, the running tap never seems to stop, and the rustling of the paper towels being used to mop up the blood constantly rankles in your ear. All this, along with the sparse but well-placed score, serves to unnerve the viewer and put us on edge as we continue to watch and try to understand just what has happened to this person.

Eventually, we get to a scene down by the beach which seems to solidify what the imagery has been suggesting to us up until now. The paranoia this man feels may well be thoroughly justifiable, but from this point on it looks as if it’s going to be something that he will never escape from. The feelings engendered by Learoyd’s camerawork, imagery, and soundscape, are palpable and the paranoia leaks out from the screen and the speakers in every frame.

For what is a short film with no colour, no dialogue, and no real story, Learoyd has managed to tie everything together through his imagery and sound design. The themes are extremely clear and everything fits into place as it should to create the atmosphere desired by the filmmaker. There are shades of Persona (1966) and Eraserhead (1977) in Scratched Nail and Learoyd has shown that he understands the language of film well enough to tell his story without the need to rely on the spoken word.