SHORT FOCUS
The world’s premier short film journal.
Issue 1
‘Tide’ Jul-Dec 2020
Empyreal [Lucas Coyte, UK, 2018]
www.framelight.org/fltv
FRAME LIGHT is a film organisation dedicated to popularising the medium of short film, with particular focus on supporting independent
filmmakers from around the world. Our aim is to provide these filmmakers with multiple platforms from which they can showcase their talents, share ideas and launch their careers. We provide opportunities for their work to be seen in unique and prestigious locations, be screened on our online short film channel or reviewed in our written and audio publications. It is our mission to discover, introduce and celebrate short films not widely seen publicly and that we believe deserve recognition for the skill, dedication and passion demonstrated in these productions. We hope that by screening and critiquing short films we can help to broaden discussion relating to the form’s governing principles into cultural and casual arenas. Our organisation is special in that we care about the filmmaker and the spectator, and therefore offer our festivals, film channel and reviews to hardened cinephiles and uninitiated audiences alike.
We believe in the power of short film.
Editor: Dean Archibald-Smith Creative Directors: Dean Archibald-Smith, Aya Ishizuka Contributors: Sam Briggs, Thom Carter, Charlie Greep, Sally Roberts, Patricia Watney.
FLTV = Film is available to watch on FLTV. Advertising queries: info@framelight.org The online version of this journal is interactive. To engage with content, click on the title of a film review or the company logo of an advertisement. Where you cannot click on a title, there is no content available. Articles appearing within this publication reflect the opinions and attitudes of their respective authors and not necessarily those of the publishing or editorial team.
Published by FRAME LIGHT GROUP Ltd. 7 Bell Yard, London, WC2A 2JR Made with paper from sustainable resources. SHORT FOCUS is published twice a year.
© 2020
Rath
FLTV
Kevin Hu, USA, 2019
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he Wild West always reminds me of interminable, incomprehensible daytime television on the wet Sunday afternoons of childhood. Rath, however, could not be more different. For one thing, it is a bitesize twenty minutes in duration. But what’s more, it is more gripping, more stylish and more morally intricate than any cowboy flick I’ve ever seen.
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The film opens with outlaw Howard on the run from the authorities. He stashes his sack of loot and makes a run for it through the endless dusty forest. Some time after receiving a bullet to the leg, he wakes up tied to a tree and at the mercy of Jeremiah Rath.
An atmospheric score of threatening strings compliments these eye-catching visuals; the chorus of orchestral villains is well placed, and suits the dark themes and wooded scenes of Hu’s short. This film is masculine to the extreme - you can almost smell the manly musk of bearskins and muddy stubble through the screen. However, it is by no means a gun show of macho feats. One of the most impactful scenes is a lovely and unusual portrayal of male relationships, as Howard must help his friend in the most difficult way imaginable. Haydn Winston and Matthew Blood-Smyth
What is immediately noticeable is that Hu is talented at producing visually satisfying shots. Some examples include the symmetrical view of Howard strung up surrounded by trees, and a midnight campfire in the middle of the forest, where the burst of golden flames balances the silvery orb of moonlight.
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(who play Howard and his companion respectively) make this scene particularly gripping with their spectacular portrayal of anguish and compassion. These glimpses of love and pain add more depth to the brutality of the story and provide a refreshingly, emotionally literate hero of the Wild West.
is a philosophical genius or a ruthless lunatic. Perhaps it is possible to be both. This complexity avoids the problematic (not to mention just plain dull) dichotomy of goodies and baddies that so often dominates films in this genre. Hu’s short manages to pack a whole lot into a very short space, and it works extremely well. The elegance of both the plot and the production of Rath made it well worth the watch at Short Focus Film Festival 2019.
This evasion of two-dimensional characters extends to the moral ambiguity of the storyline. Initially, Rath seems like a roughened angel - big on the tough love - but thanks to Mark Isaiah Phillip’s fantastic acting and the violence of the character, it is hard to know whether he
Sally Roberts
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Kiem Holijanda
FLTV
Sarah Veltmeyer, Netherlands, 2017
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iem Holijanda follows the lives of two brothers living in a desolate town in Kosovo. At the start of the film, over the lingering image of oldest brother Florist, we hear a voice from a mobile phone organising some kind of deal involving a large sum of money. In the next scene, we see younger brother Andi selling milk to the locals. We discover early on that Andi wants to buy his own mobile phone using some of his earnings so that he can have solitary access to a sex hotline advertised on call cards he has presumably collected along his milk rounds. Until he can have his own phone Andi must share his brother’s phone, which recently Florist seems to need urgently, suggesting that he might be involved with the deal taking place at the beginning of the film. Florist and Andi live in a poor and barren village that is significantly conducive to the boredom and frustration that they experience. The brothers live in a tiny house with their mother and grandmother and are the reluctant ‘men’ of the house, but they stick together lovingly. Each brother’s individual response to their impoverished environment is ultimately telling of their maturity and the priorities of their respective ages and one gets the sense that as they are coming of age, the things that have been keeping them together could very soon tear them apart. Brilliant performances are given by the two central protagonists, and skilful cinematography and editing help to emphasise the characters’ resentments towards their home, whilst wonderfully capturing the warmth and delicacy of their brotherly bond. Dean Archibald-Smith
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Tide
FLTV
Berkant Dumlu, Switzerland, 2019
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lthough Tide has many levels of interpretation, as the sun glares down in record temperatures and unprecedented fires rage across the melting arctic, it is difficult to view it outside of the context of the climate emergency. In two minutes, this animation shows a man’s futile attempts to escape a deadly rising tide.
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This film is a good example of how a little goes a long way. The combination of a barren landscape, one faceless character and ominous music is enough to convey a sense of dread and danger. The well-drawn plains are shockingly empty, with no sign of trees, plants or even a far off cityscape in the distance. This startling homogeneity creates a sense of claustrophobia despite the wide horizon, as no matter where the man runs to, he is always confronted by the same inescapable horizons. The man himself, his eyes hidden from us by goggles, cuts an eerie figure. The combination of his flappy outfit and childish rubber ring shows a silly lack of preparedness for an oncoming disaster, which could be amusing were it not so hauntingly reflective of our own shambolic responses (or lack thereof) to environmental disasters. As he fades into nothingness, the depopulated landscape becomes a future ghost of humanity. The final image of the man waist deep in water reveals his failure to escape, and suggests that worse is to come. In this short film, Berkant Dumlu triumphs in quickly cultivating an atmosphere that is as mesmerising as it is disturbing.
Sally Roberts
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Turning Tide [Andrew Muir, UK, 2018]
www.framelight.org/fltv
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There is no document of civilisation that is not at the same time a document of barbarism�, Walter Benjamin famously wrote. Supper for Civilised Girls by Ella Robertson proves that this idea is very much alive and kicking today. Set in the most private of private schools, two girls battle it out in disturbing ways to win a much coveted scholarship. With stylish filming, a killer soundtrack and unexpected twists, this short brings up important and uncomfortable questions about power, ambition and sacrifice.
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Supper for Civilised Girls Ella Robertson, UK, 2019
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The film opens with, Millie (Holland Bailey) and Francesca (Hiral Varsani), two schoolgirls on their way to meet the formidable Miss Kerswell (Anne Hayward) for an anxiety inducing dinner, after which the winner of the scholarship will be announced. As the true nature of the test becomes clear, the girls must make one fatal decision to make or break their chances of success.
institutional tradition. The atmosphere of intimidation and privilege is also successfully achieved thanks to the highly competent acting of all three women. Posed at the head of power like some ungodly collision of Anne Robinson and Alan Sugar, Hayward makes a brilliantly imposing schoolmistress. Although initially the plot may seem a little too exaggerated and slightly too didactic, the subtlety of Millie’s character gives it the necessary edge to remain
Robertson’s choice of setting is suitably old and suitably cold to convey the themes of steely ambition and rigid
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entertaining and surprising. Moreover, the theatrical setting demands to be taken seriously by the frightening gravity of the questions it raises about morality and power. The Etonian eccentricity of it all is reminiscent of some famously bizarre interview techniques apparently used by Oxbridge to catch unsuspecting applicants off guard. Given that these institutions Robertson seems to be referencing are responsible for spawning a disproportionate percentage of Britain’s politicians, we are encouraged to picture current leaders in the
same position. Sadly, their decisions are all too easy to imagine. Supper for Civilised Girls is a poignant, well-executed critique of power and those who wield it. ‘The trouble with being in the rat race is that even if you win, you’re still a rat’, quotes Robertson. This short film shows the dangers of racing ahead without stopping to think what you’re doing. Rats of the world: beware. Sally Roberts
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Entrance No Exit Jo Southwell, UK, 2018
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One of the best things about this short is that it maximises the potential of every aspect of the film. Not only is the acting superb, but the use of setting, sound and the simple story line are integral to the film’s success.
ong haul flights are rarely oases of unencumbered comfort. Zero leg room, crying babies and that dreaded centre seat seem like nothing, however, in comparison with what main character Helen (Michelle Fahrenheim) goes through in Entrance No Exit. As a world famous tennis star with OCD, a simple trip to the bathroom becomes the trickiest of tasks. A stellar example of physical comedy, this short film is a simultaneously amusing and tragic portrayal of the daily trials of living with Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder.
For example, the combination of celebrity and aeroplane makes the cringe-worthy situation just that bit more unbearable. Scatological issues are embarrassing enough even in front of your nearest and dearest, but being trapped thirty thousand feet in the air with hundreds of strangers who all know exactly who you are is downright unbearable. The angry passengers queuing outside the bathroom are great comedic
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catalysts, although facing this in reality would be far from amusing.
charming with its slick soundtrack that continues throughout, as is the fantastically snooty flight attendant played by William Lester.
Fahrenheim is wonderful as Helen, whose incrementally increasing panic throbs through the screen, as the situation becomes ever more dire. There is almost a clownish quality to her physical humour, and this is by no means an insult. Knife wielding, child luring villains aside, clowns can be very funny and Entrance No Exit wields this physical humour to its full advantage.
In less than ten minutes, this short piece accomplishes what many longer films merely aspire to; it is engaging, entertaining and yet also makes a serious point. Helen’s face at the end of the film shows the anguish and the frustration of what we have enjoyed watching her go through. Comedy with depth is extremely hard to achieve, but Jo Southwell’s film certainly passes the test.
The brilliance of the story’s set-up is complimented by its smooth production. The introduction is particularly
Sally Roberts
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Crossroads
Marco Berton Scapinello, Denmark, 2019
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An absence of the warmth of human connection is palpable throughout the film. The dialogue between the two protagonists is minimal, and even the audience is fed very little about their lives. What is most notable is the coldness of their sexual encounter. Very much a commoditised transaction, the brief act is about as erotic as buying a meal deal and equally as depressing. This display of mutual vulnerability rather than sexuality provides a valuable balance against the many wannabe pornographic cinematic scenes involving sex workers.
hen you can’t sleep in the middle of the night, it’s easy to imagine that you are the last living person on earth. This particular kind of insomniac isolation is captured brilliantly in Marco Berton Scapinello’s short, Crossroads. The film sees one man’s divorce and one woman’s addiction overlap within the confines of a car ride. Marc unsuccessfully tries to phone his ex-wife before picking up a sex worker (whose name we do not know) and driving to a quiet location. While there is the potential for a connection between two people in pain, both characters remain locked in their own alienation and eventually go their separate ways.
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Moreover, although the lack of electricity doesn’t necessarily make for engaging viewing, it conveys the central theme of loneliness and is extremely effective in doing so. Scapinello also makes an excellent use of space throughout the short. It is perhaps no coincidence that everything takes place within a car. As Marc drives through the chilly, metallic cityscape, he seals himself off from the world within a cold metal box. Likewise, the glimpse we get of the sex worker’s life is a picture of her son on her phone’s wallpaper. Nothing is said, and the complications of her personal life are confined within the inhuman borders of the screen.
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Both these images of self-inflicted incarceration help portray the helpless isolation of the characters. One could say that the story feels a little empty, but this is the point. By allowing spaces for silence, Crossroads makes a much more poignant statement than many films that are overpopulated with dialogue. The combination of the almost robotic protagonists, the lifeless city and the clean, cold car perfectly capture the sense of eternal loneliness known to anyone who has ever lain awake for hours on end. Sally Roberts
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Pa’lante
FLTV
Kristian Mercado, Puerto Rico, 2018
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urricane Maria hit Dominica, the U. S. Virgin Islands and Puerto Rico in 2017, devastating the landscape and causing over three thousand deaths. In light of this terrible tragedy, Hurray for the Riff Raff’s song ‘Pa’lante’, meaning ‘onward’ or ‘forward’, is a cry for hope amongst despair. Kristan Mercado’s awardwinning video accompanies this song and successfully unites personal and national crises with an emotional gut punch that is almost impossible to attain with headlines and statistics.
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As lead singer Alynda Segarra’s heartbreaking vocals ring out, we see the everyday tragedies and triumphs of separated parents Milagros (played by Mela Murder) and Manuel (Kareem Savinon) as they try to get by in post-hurricane Puerto Rico. As well as contending with domestic issues and environmental disasters, this song also broaches issues of immigration and assimilation, and the sense of loss and dehumanisation that comes with living as a marginalised group. Although this may all sound too overwhelming for an eight-minute music video, the simplicity of the main storyline makes it work. The mind-numbing monotony that Milagros goes through to take care of her children and the frustrations Manuel endures to make ends meet show a family struggling just to survive. Combined with an excerpt from ‘Puerto Rican Obituary’ by Pedro Pietri and scenes of the devastation caused by the hurricane, these simple scenes illuminate a much wider, much more complicated network of issues. To achieve such emotional heft in a music video is truly admirable and, while most of this is down to the raw vocals and ingenious lyrics of the song, the superb acting of Mela Murder and Kareem Savinon certainly helps. The song and the video end with defiant hope in the face of hardship. In spite of the film’s focus on Puerto Rico, the determination to keep going is something that anybody can relate to, and it is almost impossible not to be moved and inspired by this story that is well deserving of its awards. Sally Roberts
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Rituals
FLTV
Josh Aarons, UK/Sweden, 2019
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short film from British director Josh Aarons, Rituals is a melancholic and contemplative piece about mental illness and friendship through adversity and hard times. It tells the story of Sofia, who flees to an isolated cabin in the woods to escape her daily struggles and ends up confronting her demons. Filmed on location in Sweden, the country’s natural beauty compliments the film’s cinematography and makes for many visually gorgeous shots, from the establishing shots of a snowy forest to Sofia standing before a frozen lake as she contemplates suicide. The camerawork also frequently lets us into our protagonist’s head, with the camera shaking and struggling to focus as she loses her grip and begins to drink. All of this makes for an immersive experience; the cabin feels both cosy and isolating and certain shots of the wilderness manage to feel cold, even through the screen. As Sofia’s mental health deteriorates, it is ultimately her budding friendship with a teenage girl and her preexisting friendship with Viktor (the owner of the cabin) that allow her to come back from the brink and find herself again. Friendship being one of life’s great joys is a well-worn message in storytelling, but that is for a good reason, and Rituals goes a long way to sell its message. Charlie Greep
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The Landing [Josh Tanner, USA, 2013]
www.framelight.org/fltv
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Real Shame
-Level results day: a testing time in the life of any young academic, even more so for Real Shame’s Benjy who will, on this day, admit to his more traditional father, that he will not in fact be choosing to study medicine at UCL but, instead, go to drama school. The film’s thematic domain lies in the complexity of our reactions in times of stress, and our inability to process and communicate our insecurities and embarrassments clearly, even with the ones we cherish and trust.
Gwen O’Toole, UK, 2019
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One drawback of Real Shame is that, all too frequently, its message is too ‘on the nose’. Benjy’s father has the strongest of reservations about his son’s chosen career path and, doubtless, the timing with which he has chosen to deliver the news to his father. However, lines such as, “a man must provide”, don’t leave much room for complexity in the father’s inner psyche or outward reaction. The forced nature of the dialogue is reinforced by the use of The Platters’ ‘The Great Pretender’ twice during the film. The father’s true reaction to his son’s decision is not as one-dimensional as it first seems. However, any shock that the film’s concluding revelation brings is considerably dampened by this all too obvious choice of song. Whilst the nature of this reveal should deservedly be kept hidden for those hoping to watch the film for the first time, any viewer familiar with American Beauty [Sam Mendes, USA, 1999] or Stardust [Matthew Vaughn, USA, 2007], may realise that they have seen something similar to these rather clichéd events a few times before… An additional sticking point can be found in the father’s characterization. As a proud surgeon, he pointedly tells Benjy, that if he followed in his father’s
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footsteps, “you could have people’s respect and admiration. Don’t you want that?” This, despite the fact that the father has theatre tickets for that night, suggesting that he does indeed see value in the art form. In truth, this is a strange touch in the storyline, that doesn’t have much in the way of a credible explanation, instead highlighting flaws in the character profile. Furthermore, these opinions are coming from a character who pronounces theatre ‘the-etre’, a man who notes the value of being seen to pronounce this most elitist of terms properly. Yet despite this, apparently, he is desperately seeking to hide a deeprooted shame, provoked by the thought of his son “prancing about on stage”. Hmmm… Whilst the storyline, dialogue, and characterization may ultimately leave something to be desired, it cannot be argued that the direction and production value on display are impressive. In terms of camera-work and visuals, Real Shame is as impressive as any short you are likely to see, with a smartly used budget of €1700 coming to good effect. Unfortunately, these aspects do little to gloss over a clichéd story. Sam Briggs
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Tangles and Knots
FLTV
Renée Marie Petropoulos, Australia, 2017
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ustralian short Tangles and Knots, written and directed by Renée Marie Petropoulos and produced by Janet Brown and Yingna Lu, is a story inspired by the filmmaker’s own adolescent relationship with her mother, a bond apparently less maternal and more sisterly. In an early scene, the camera closely frames the mother ritually grooming her teenage daughter – painting her nails, waxing her underarms and brushing her hair, as she girlishly advises her daughter on how to deal with the inevitable advance of pubescent boys with only one thing on their minds. Their large house, complete with a pool, is the setting for the daughter’s birthday party, during which most of the drama takes place. It’s the classic teenage pool party – Jello shots, scantily clad bodies and a pulsating electronic soundtrack to perfectly underscore the frivolous hedonism prioritised highly in the lives of these over-privileged teenagers. But beneath the sheen of their wealthy materialism, lie the deeper and darker drives of their egos - love, jealousy, shame and even violence. It is easy to infer here that the lessons imparted from mother to daughter are predicated on the realities of her own unfulfilled life, something she is trying to reconcile with in the present, as she competitively flirts with her daughter’s male suitors. She does more than live vicariously through her daughter, taking the extra step to actually share her daughter’s life and social circle. At times, the girl seems perfectly comfortable with her mother’s capriciousness, but then in the blink of an eye she displays embarrassment when confiding in her friends about her mother’s behaviour. Tangles and Knots is an honest reflection on womanhood, familial responsibility and class. As the title suggests, the boundaries in this relationship are complicated and blurred, and there is a key moment that occurs in the film that disturbingly highlights this confusion. But the hairbrush running through tangled hair for the second time in the film, might just tell us all that we need to know… Dean Archibald-Smith
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ar Stealers is an amusing comedy short film from director Christopher Guerrero. It primarily parodies (affectionately) heist movies such as Ocean’s Eleven [Steven Soderberg, USA, 2001] by grossly exaggerating the genre’s conventions. The comedic short pokes a lot of fun at the expense of one of the foundational tropes of the heist genre, that of a crew of criminals who each have a special and unique skill.
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Car Stealers
Christopher Guerrero, USA, 2018
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The protagonist is so good at picking locks she can do so just by looking at them, the crew’s hacker seems to only be there because he can read a map, and one of these criminal masterminds is an adorable dog with no one ever commenting on how odd this is. Parody by exaggeration is pretty conventional as far as spoofs go, but Car Stealers is consistently funny due to a clear knowledge of the type of films being lovingly lampooned, as well as a game cast. As for the filmmaking itself, there is some interesting use of lighting in urban environments (which does help to make Car Stealers feel like one of the crime films its referencing) as well as solid camerawork. Regrettably, the film is marred by poor sound mixing. Especially early on in the film, the dialogue is drowned out by the music. Some scenes are better than others in this regard, which suggests a learning process, but it is still an unfortunate flaw that drags the film down in spots. Car Stealers does have its imperfections but the core of the film does suggest the people behind it have the right comedic sensibilities to make this kind of parody. It’s a funny and, at times, quite charming film with a few technical faults. Charlie Greep
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An Actual Account of Things My Mother Told Me Bianca Panos, USA, 2017
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n Actual Account of Things My Mother Told Me is a talking-heads style comedy documentary directed by and starring Bianca Panos. It starts with an answerphone message of Panos’s mother Doris, played over a shot of Bianca flicking through photographs of her mother (in various guises) labelled with descriptive intertitles – “a jewelry designer, a fashionista, a world traveler, a badass and my mother”. This sets up a series of her mother’s clearly indelible one-liners and witticisms, performed and parodied by Bianca herself.
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Each short quip is summarized with chapter headings as such – On Family: “Be nice to your brother even if he’s a dick”. On Men: “Guys have two heads; one that thinks and one that doesn’t”. On Her Kids Leaving Food Out: “That box of bran, it upsets me.” On Cooking: I made it, it’s gourmet!” – and so on. The short film is a warm and reverential reflection on memory and childhood that looks back with fondness upon the universally understood parent-child relationship, set up on (oft-broken) rules, structured domestic rituals, quirky mannerisms and nonsensical axioms. Continuing in the fashion of the guises seen in the photographic prologue, Panos takes advantage of different costumes and props to assist the viewer in fully realising each episodic sketch. In a thick Greek-American drawl – sometimes in hair curlers and at others, dolled up and nursing a glass of wine –
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Panos conjures up a convincing portrait of the sassy, modern and instinctively overbearing matriarch, whom one can imagine is passing down a legacy of teachings and behaviours instilled by older familial generations. The short film is an amusing autobiographical account of a young woman making sense of the world, filtered through a mixture of personal experience and maternal wisdom. The short also serves as a performance showreel for Panos, adopting almost as many different expressions as costumes. Produced, edited and shot by Panos too, this is most certainly a one-woman show, offered up in a quick slice of personal parody. An Actual Account of Things My Mother Told Me is a fun sketch that offers a teasing insight into a modern mother-daughter relationship. Although, as much as the telephone voiceovers, photographs and impersonations afforded some context, I couldn’t help wanting to actually see the real Doris. Patricia Watney
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hilean filmmaker Alejandro Jodorowsky parameterizes the search for ideas thus: “the hunt is forbidden, fishing is permitted.” Kindred surrealist David Lynch simply calls it “catching the big fish.” Accessing inspiration requires a little bit of bait and lure – like trying to remember a dream, it escapes when sought directly.
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ZenĂş
Claudio Marcotulli, USA, 2018
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In Claudio Marcotulli’s kaleidoscopic Zenú, Ignacio (Marcotulli) is a musician creatively blocked by the incessant whistling of the trains that pass his canalside house. A local fisherman (Jose Payes) is a sage if elliptical voice: “this net is not mine,” he explains when Ignacio, in questioning his claim of a productive morning’s fishing, remarks on its emptiness.
Zenú abounds with clipped, dislocating phrases such as these, the language of dreams. By contrast the patterned precision of a 9-1-1 call – compelled as Ignacio observes two men dumping an old cathode ray television into the canal – feels more like a somnambulist odyssey as it transpires over visual fades, subframes, slow-motion and quick-zooms: impressionist shifts in time and memory.
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The canal is a placid, apparently unused urban channel upon which Ignacio, in his canoe, takes frequent refuge as inspiration inevitably evades him. Ignacio is a little bit old world: drawn to nature, an unhurried and receptive soul. When he follows a muse-like apparition (Roxana Barba) to a small community somewhere off the canal, he seems comfortable among their indigenous rituals, even if he remains (in a flâneuresque sense) removed.
Elsewhere he is hounded by the accelerations and imperatives of the contemporary world, usually via the imposed deadlines of his manager, Eva (Ika Santamaria), who unlike Ignacio seems symbiotically attuned to a hermetically modern life – at one point shown in a backyard pool (still, as ever, conducting business), the water around her pellucid and empty, opposing the canal’s forbidding, reflective shimmer. Thom Carter
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The Curious Child Howard Vause, UK, 2019
hy am I alive? It’s a huge question for any art form to confront, let alone a short animation for children. Howard Vause’s The Curious Child is a whimsical and thought-provoking attempt, which follows one girl’s journey through knowledge. Aided by her helpful woodland friends and hindered by some not so helpful fellow humans, both the child and the audience learn a little about life and death.
FLTV
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This is a brave subject to tackle, and children’s films often shy away from such heavy subject matter. However, Vause approaches it with a lightness of touch that sweetens the issues at hand without dampening their philosophical clout. Couched in comforting music and the somnolent tones of Bethan Dixon Bate’s narration, pondering the nature of life itself does not seem depressing but enlightening. Similarly, the enchanting imagery of the magical wooded landscape emphasises the wonder and bizarre beauty of the earth, rather than ruminating on the potential meaninglessness of existence. More work could perhaps have gone into smoother animations of the characters’ speech, but some may argue that their puppet-esque movements are part of the film’s rag-doll charm. In comparison to the woodland wonder, the human carnival seems even bleaker with its ghastly appearance and clever critiques aimed at the adult world. Instead of a normal ticket, a credit card grants you entry to the carnival that offers nothing more than greed and deception. In such a short film, this incisive imagery works wonderfully to efficiently convey its scathing message. Casting a snowy white caterpillar as death is another innovative feature, as it does away with the grim dread of a dark hooded figure and instead presents death as something that can be beneficially transformative and beautiful. The Curious Child is an unusual film both in its aesthetics and in its content. It manages to be suitable for younger viewers without being sickly sweet and, moreover, achieves the essential yet difficult feat of conveying a huge amount in a small space. For these reasons, it is worth watching for curious children and adults alike. Sally Roberts
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The Turner Exhibit
Mathew Gregory Bainbridge, USA, 2019
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reinforce our sense that the reality can’t possibly be as flawless as the façade, as indeed the film’s final twist confirms.
iny family can seem perfect from the outside, though, despite the illusion, this is very rarely the case. The Turner Exhibit explores interfamily politics and, in writer/director Matthew Gregory Bainbridge’s own words, the interplay of their “anger, fear and contempt” and their ability to rot away at even the firmest of foundations.
Likewise, our introduction to this half of the Turner family seems similarly false. Opening with a recorded video message, the film’s opening sequence is assured and refined. This miniature film within a film gives us our first glances of the complex politics and familial dynamics already at play and, as the camera slowly zooms out, we get the sense that what we see in this frame, will inevitably start seeping out into the Turner’s everyday existence.
Anthony and Jeanette Turner appear to have it all: the family holidays, the high achieving son, even a middle-aged sex appeal. For brother Alex and wife Lisa, however, the rigours of life combined with the full-time care of their disabled daughter Alice seem to have taken a far greater toll. As familial motivations become clear, this thriller shudders towards its terrifying precipice, leaving an end to shake long held trust and turn stomachs.
The Turner Exhibit for many will prove to be a polarizing watch. Its horror elements have a touch of both Scream [Wes Craven, USA, 1996] and Peeping Tom [Michael Powell, UK, 1960], whilst its in-depth character analysis, albeit fascinating and well acted, might feel more at home in either television or feature film format.
The music we hear during the opening credits is atmospheric and chilling, cementing our expectations of the genre piece. The gallery of fleeting photographs from family events, gives a really nice variation to the visual aesthetic and filming techniques, and carries with them some really dense symbolism. Right from the off we are given a sense of Anthony and Jeanette’s ‘pictureperfect’ existence. The unnatural script and voiceover performances that underpin this collage of images
Whilst we are invited warmly in to spy on one half of the Turner family, the other half remain behind closed doors, with a twist that pulls the numerous rolls of camera footage into stark and chilling relief. Sam Briggs
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Bless You! [Paulina Ziółkowska, Poland, 2017]
www.framelight.org/fltv
www.framelight.org