BFI Flare 2021: Shorts
As well as a great programme of feature films, we also watched plenty of short films at BFI Flare – at this year’s completely virtual festival, there were nearly 40 shorts exploring LGBTQ+ themes, and they were all available to watch for free. Below, our editorial team share their thoughts on some of their favourite shorts from female and non-binary filmmakers.
Girls Shouldn’t Walk Alone at Night (dir. Katerine Martineau)
This Canadian-French short film, written and directed by Katerine Martineau, follows the journey of Chantal (Amaryllis Tremblay) and Delphine (Nahéma Ricci) as they make their way home through the terrain and darkness after an abrupt end to a party out in the forest.
The title and opening scenes of Girls Shouldn’t Walk Alone at Night had me expecting something far more frightening than the actual events that play out following Nathan’s (Guillaume Laurin) predatory advances on one of the women.
As the friends venture through the night in their dresses and glow sticks, the stunning shots and use of light are captivating, as the scream of what they decide must be coyotes rings out, despite the growing feeling of unease they continue.
The tension of worrying for their own safety, however, slowly evolves into a safer and more romantic tone; they play with fireworks and scream out at their harasser into the darkness. Continuing, they help one another navigate the route in the darkness, their strength and independence obvious despite their initial vulnerability at the party and the pretty dresses and shoes they ruin as they clamber up hills and along the route.
As dawn breaks Delphine and Chantal reach a lake where they swim, rest, and share a kiss.
Tremblay and Ricci’s natural and convincing performances alongside the effective and subtle score make for a beautiful and raw short, showcasing the power of bonds between women, whether that be through shared strength and solidarity or romantic love.
Written by Larissa Hird
Bodies of Desire (dir. Saad Nawab & Varsha Panikar)
Nawab and Paniker’s Bodies of Desire is an adaptation of Panikar’s own poetry bearing the same name. The melding of sound, including the spoken word poems, shots, familiar setting and effective performances mean the short explores intimacy, identity, sexuality and love, both for others and the self, in an artistic and soulful way.
As the writing draws the viewer into the narrator’s mind, we see four couples amidst desire as we hear memories, thoughts and feelings relayed to us. An interesting fact about the film is that the lovers are real people, some not trained or working as actors, adding to the personal tone; furthermore, not only the setting, but the film itself, is a safe space for freedom of artistic expression and self discovery.
Two particular phrases stood out to me in the film ‘I love myself’ and the final line: ‘Where does it start?’. Despite the ongoing footage of lovers together, Bodies of Desire is also very much about the acceptance and love of the self, in order to live well and in turn love others. The topic of both love and intimacy is nuanced and conceptual, but in reflection of the final question, I believe it starts with ourselves.
Written by Larissa Hird
Dustin (dir. Naïla Guiguet)
The documentary style of Dustin is instantly immersive – we’re thrown into this chaotic and euphoric world, not quite sure where we are or what is going on, but it’s enjoyable nonetheless. We’re introduced to our main characters, and through their naturalistic conversations it is like watching real life play out; the beginning of this film feels like an ode to the messy nights out many of us now miss. The most wonderful part of this film, its energy, comes from model and DJ Dustin Muchuvitz, who plays Dustin. Their performance is nuanced, charming and filled with heart that pours out from the screen. The film is a look at how trans people can be viewed by the outside world, and its message is told in a subtle, yet powerful, way. The ending, in which Dustin is referred to as “mademoiselle” by a shopkeeper is subtle, yet so powerful. As they walk out of the shop feeling empowered and content, although many of us will never fully understand, we get a glimpse of the yearning that many transgender people feel, to just simply be accepted. Dustin is an authentic and gorgeous film, captured through the eyes of director Naïla Guiguet with vulnerability, rawness, and a lot of heart.
Written by Beth Lindsay
Wings (dir. Jamie Weston; produced & written by Carla Fraser)
As far as love stories go, Wings completely took me by surprise and left me in awe from the first minute in.
Audrey (Carla Fraser) and Dora (Rosie Day) meet during the war, both Land Army girls, and we get to see a relationship spanning over 60 years bloom, grow, get interrupted, and finally grow a bit more towards the end. Let’s not forget the period these two live in: Audrey is a mother and her husband is currently away fighting. You can feel their relationship being on eggshells the whole time, even though the focus is totally on them. The solace in the first act, where we get to know both Audrey and Dora’s life, is emphasised by the lack of dialogue. Every movement and every glance is carefully orchestrated and goes hand in hand with the score of the film. This trick alone is responsible for creating a dreamy and heartwarming feeling that sets the tone of the whole short.
Even towards the end, when you think the worst has happened, the two women seem to pick up exactly where they left off years and years ago and even though their relationship hasn’t changed one bit, we can still see changes in the background, mostly by the people surrounding the two women, who are also celebrating their newfound love.
Virginia McKenna and Miriam Margolyes’ presence in the last act creates a funny yet still delicate atmosphere. We finally see love persevere all of those years together and it couldn’t be more perfect. Even my little stone heart warmed up and got all fuzzy after watching this epic love letter unfold before my eyes.
Written by Desiree Balma
Pure (dir. Natalie Jasmine)
I’ve always been a fan of a good old-fashioned cotillion ball trope, and Pure delivers such a fresh point of view on the matter that it is really easy to root for Celeste (Mikayla LaShae Bartholomew) once we get to know her ball-related troubles.
Like every 17-year-old that ever walked on this Earth, Celeste is questioning everything, including herself, and what’s making things even more stressful is the impending cotillion ball that she’s been preparing for is happening tomorrow. She’ll be introduced to the society as a pure and young debutante, who learned dining etiquette, how to dance, and basically everything related to being the perfect woman in order to hopefully find a husband; everything in perfect debutante style.
But what’s actually causing Celeste the most trouble is the fact that she’s totally not that girl. The situation is actually weighing on her, pushing her even to argue with her best friend, who has all the good intentions in this world – but you know how volatile your emotions are at 17, so we can’t really blame her at all.
It is Joy (Josca Moore), a girl from the same cotillion class, who’s really going to help her out. She sees through her and the internal struggle between social status and true self, and eventually helps Celeste get out of her cocoon (and yes, go to the cotillion ball), but on her own terms.
Pure is a love letter to every Black girl that graced the Earth before Celeste and had to face her true identity in a strict society that doesn’t tolerate change and is steeped in institutionalism. We see her overcome her deepest fears and obstacles, only to come out the other side even stronger and more rooted than before.
Written by Desiree Balma
Hello, Goodbye (dir. Sarah Rotella)
A poetic snapshot that perfectly encapsulates the imperfections of an entire relationship, from its first and last moments. From first dates to first kisses, fall outs and fights, and the anger and uncertainty of letting something go, Hello, Goodbye races through each and every emotion, with the audience truly feeling each experience for themselves as it crashes past on screen. Despite its short length, the film's relatability and power to evoke emotion is unmatched. Directed and produced by Sarah Rotella, and co-written with Adrianna DiLonardo, the Canadian drama features both Nadia Mohebban and Ali Goebel as lovers that are destined for a fate all of us at some point will recognise.
Written by Am Jones
From A to Q (dir. Emmalie El Fadli)
A sweet and subtle ode to the traditional coming out story, From A to Q opts for a more modern take on this often-told tale whilst exploring themes of identity, friendship and coming to terms with the realities of wanting something more. Combining elements of humour and surrealism, this heart-warming short cleverly asks the questions many of us face when exploring sexuality or gender and includes the age-old cliche of trying to Google our way out of any scenario. Directed, written and produced by Emmalie El Fadli, the film features both Sophie Rivers and Holly Ashman in lead roles, with both perfecting the general anxieties and misplaced emotions of teenage-hood. A fun festival addition, the film answers the question of what to do if you reckon you're crushing on your best mate.
Written by Am Jones
The Cost of Living (dir. Alice Trueman)
The Cost of Living is full of metaphors, but it still manages to get straight to the point. The film opens with the protagonist masturbating – Lily (Lily Lovesless) lies in her pristine, white sheets in her pristine, pastel-coloured home, getting impatient at her inability to get herself off. Her fridge is full of neatly labelled Tupperware; she is obsessed with her step count and how many hours of sleep she gets. She is listless and lonely in her immaculate apartment. At work, stationed behind a reception desk, a man has a fall. As Lily tries to call for help, she is visited by Death (Genesis Lynea), a beautiful, statuesque, flirtatious woman. Suddenly, hallucinations take over, and Lily is in a world of neon lights and darkness, bodies packed close together – the complete opposite of her colourless life. “You can’t control everything,” Death tells her, illuminated by a neon glow. Their interaction is sensual and intense, and they kiss again, which leads to things going further. It’s a film about letting go and embracing death (and Death) – life is too short, and death is always too close, to waste time obsessing over step counts and meal prep in neatly labelled Tupperware.
Written by Emily Garbutt
Love is a Hand Grenade (dir. Jessica Benhamou)
Love is a Hand Grenade is a comforting, then heart-wrenching, vignette of friendship. As the film begins, Gabby (Genesis Lynea) and Alexis (Saffron Hocking) have just got in from a night out; they’re drunk and high, Alexis giggling and clumsy, Gabby shushing and concerned. During this period of lockdown and social distancing, it makes you long for those tender, drunk moments with friends as night turns to morning – chatting shit in the afterglow of the club, when heartfelt topics and nonsensical babbling go hand in hand. Things are safer to say when you’re drunk in the dark. The two women share a bed, and things get quieter and more subdued. One thing leads to another, and they kiss and have sex. It soon becomes clear that they both have male partners – Gabby is even engaged – and the next morning, in the harsh light of day, they fight. Gabby, who seemed so sensible, so careful, the night before is now fearful and panicky. It’s everyone’s worst fear – you risk a friendship, and it backfires on you. Love is a Hand Grenade leaves you frustrated and unsatisfied, wanting more, and by doing so it puts you right in Alexis’ shoes.
Written by Emily Garbutt
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Article edited by Emily Garbutt
