Category Archives: Short

Irreversible (2012, David Levinson)

Irreversible is blissfully unaware of itself. It’s the story of dude-bro Timothy Paul Driscoll breaking up with girlfriend Alice Hunter, then the story of their relationship in reverse. Get it, irreversible? Reversible? Get it?

How writer and director Levinson lifts the title and narrative device from another movie and not give it a nod is beyond me. Again, blissfully unaware of itself.

The short skips through various important events in the relationship, like the time after they had a pregnancy scare so Driscoll yells at Hunter to bring him more beer. Driscoll’s bro, Ryan Lagod, goes to help her, which eventually turns into them texting each other because they’re, you know, friends, which leads to Driscoll apparently having a call girl over right before Hunter gets there. The narrative gimmick isn’t particularly clear right off so it probably makes more sense on a second viewing.

Though a second viewing, even of the eight minute short, sounds like an irreversibly bad decision. Driscoll’s performance is real bad. It’s unclear if it’s Driscoll, Levinson’s direction, or Levinson’s script. Hunter’s fine, though she stumbles through some of the pat dialogue, and Lagod’s likable. Driscoll’s affectless and apathetic to everyone around him. There’s a particularly rough scene where he tries to charm Hunter with his game and he comes off like a bad guy in an early 1990s sexual harassment video. Again, the short’s blissfully unaware of itself.

There’s also this confusing scene where Driscoll’s snooping Hunter’s smartphone and she doesn’t have a passcode? I mean, it’s from 2012, sure, but it’s not from 1996 or something.

So with Driscoll it’s hard to say if it’s his fault or Levinson’s. Because Levinson’s got no idea how to execute his ideas, good or bad. Based on all available information, Driscoll’s obviously a shit stain of a human being yet the short demonizes Hunter?

Decent photography from David J. Markus. Collin Pittier’s editing can’t make the narrative structure make sense but who cares. It’s eight minutes you’re not getting back, not Time’s Arrow.

1/3Not Recommended

CREDITS

Written and directed by David Levinson; director of photography, David J. Markus; edited by Collin Pittier; production designer, Jonathan David; produced by Levinson and Jon Rosen.

Starring Timothy Paul Driscoll (Ray), Alice Hunter (Cassie), and Ryan Lagod (Sam).


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Lights Out (2016, Savannah Bloch)

Lights Out gets obvious way too fast given it’s a five minute short. The film opens with Alixzandra Dove in a mostly dark house, folding clothes while she talks to a friend on the phone. There’s a little exposition from the phone call—Dove’s kid has outgrown some clothes, Dove’s partner has been away two weeks but is coming home that night—while Dove tries to find something to do. She turns out the kid’s light, heads into the bedroom to read a book (while still on the phone call), only for the kid to turn the light back on. He’s goofing off instead of going to bed, which frustrates Dove.

The short’s a morose affair, with Dove alternating between yelling at the kid and being exasperated with the phone call. Writer Kelly Peters carefully puts some clues throughout the short as to the eventual twist, but they’re all painfully obvious because they’re the only time there’s anything interesting in the conversation. Peters is way too obvious when she’s trying to misdirect. Or maybe Dove’s performance is too flat. Or not flat enough.

Because Dove’s not bad. There’s only so far to take Lights Out and Dove gets about as much mileage out of the five minutes as she can, especially since the phone call conversation isn’t anything special. Bloch’s direction is okay. Technically, with some great photography by Cooper Ulrich, Bloch does an excellent job. Her composition, how she directs Dove, how she and Bret Allen cut the thing together… eh.

That technical excellence, particularly how well Ulrich can light the mostly dark house, it sets a high bar for Lights Out. And the short doesn’t even begin to reach it.

It all starts to fall apart at the end—which is concerning as they only had to keep the momentum going for five minutes—but it does end before it gets too bad.

Out is kind of a disappointment, kind of a shrug.

1/3Not Recommended

CREDITS

Directed by Savannah Bloch; written by Kelly Peters; director of photography, Cooper Ulrich; edited by Bret Allen; music by Lars Hempel; production designer, Daniel S. James Jr.; produced by Alixzandra Dove and Linda Rothschild.

Starring Alixzandra Dove (Joanne).


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Thistles and Thorns (2018, Kalie Acheson)

Thistles and Thorns opens with a girl (Madison Vance) going into a forest preserve after school. Vance is practically beaming as she does, which doesn’t initially make sense—when she’s walking on the street—but does once she’s in the forest, looking around at all the nature. She goes to a rock formation and gets a storybook out of a hiding place. She starts reading the book (Thistles and Thorns) and the action moves into the book.

The lead of the fairy tale is Yazmin Monet Watkins, who’s on a hero’s quest. Watkins also narrates the short from this point, reading the fairy tale. Watkins’s reading style is storytelling, excited by the text, so even though Vance has disappeared from the screen, Thorns feels like someone is reading it to her, being told to her; the story has a life of its own. It takes a minute or two for Watkins’s narration to really sell that tone. The transition between Vance and the fairy tale she’s reading is pretty sudden, even with the visual cues.

And Watkins’s narration is somewhat detached from the onscreen action. There’s no dialogue from the characters on screen, just Watkins reading the dialogue from the fairy tale. It also takes the narration a moment to catch on because the direction of the fairy tale itself is so fantastic, there’s not room to think about anything else, especially after director Acheson starts moving the camera. When the fairy tale starts, it seems like Watkins is moving through a realistic forest. As real as the one Vance entered at the beginning, albeit a fairy tale one. But Thorns’s set design is expressionist and entirely shot in profile. Acheson will move the camera behind Watkins but it’s always temporary, it’s always going to move back to that profile shot, showing this imagined landscape. The way the camera is always in a tracking shot makes Thorns feel like a story book being read, the action always being revealed from the right side of the screen, which works really well juxtaposed with the narration.

Watkins’s quest has a nice moral and a suitably positive, expansive finish for the tale. The direction, Watkins’s two performances, and the production design make Thistles and Thorns something special.

3/3Highly Recommended

CREDITS

Directed by Kalie Acheson; written by Yazmin Monet Wakins and David Vieux; director of photography, Kyle Stryker; edited by Ethan Coco and Charles Latham; music by Dre Babinski, Selina Carrera, and William Collela; production designers, Acheson and Latham; produced by Acheson and Latham for Animi.

Starring Yazmin Monet Watkins (Assata), Kelli Wheeler (Hummingbird), Himerria Wortham (Fox), and Madison Vance (school girl); narrated by Watkins.


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Miss Grant Goes to the Door (1940, Brian Desmond Hurst)

Miss Grant Goes to the Door is a rather well-executed propaganda short. There’s an air raid and two British sisters prepare to go to the shelter. Mary Clare is the noncommittal one, who wants to go back to bed, who needs to get her sewing before she can go to the basement. She even turns on the light to find it. Meanwhile, Martita Hunt is the serious, level-headed one. Can’t have the lights on, can’t ignore the sirens, must do our part because we’re relying on others to do their parts, after all, and so we must do ours.

Door wouldn’t work if it weren’t British. Anyone not British coming across like Hunt does would be obnoxious. Instead, she comes off as utterly badass.

The very quick action has the sisters realize German paratroopers are coming down and it certainly seems like they’re about to be invaded. Hunt has to keep her cool while trying to get Clare to get her upper lip stiff enough to be useful. After the quick setup, the rest of the short is full of explosions, spies, paratroopers, bicycles, cigarettes, and hunky home guard officer Ivan Brandt. And it all moves beautifully, thanks to director Hurst.

Good photography from Bernard Browne (especially the night exteriors) and capable editing from Ralph Kemplen—right up until the last shot, everything in Door operates at peak efficiency.

Hunt is awesome. Clare’s… not but more than passable thanks to Hunt overachieving on her end the scene. Clare’s nowhere near as committed to her role as Hunt seems to hers.

Hurst’s excellent direction, even more than Hunt’s performance, gets Door across the finish line. It’s a strong seven minutes of filmmaking, propaganda or not.

2/3Recommended

CREDITS

Produced and directed by Brian Desmond Hurst; screenplay by Rodney Ackland, based on a story by Donald Bull and Thorold Dickinson; director of photography, Bernard Browne; edited by Ralph Kemplen; released by the Ministry of Information..

Starring Martita Hunt (Edith Grant), Mary Clare (Caroline Grant), Ivan Brandt (The Local Defence Volunteer), and Manning Whiley (The Officer).


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