The unexpected development of the storyline and its subsequent climax is what stands out the most in writer-director Keith Macri’s 18-minute film. A short centred on a dinner table conversation that turns from bizarre to hysterical, offering its listeners an endless source of enjoyable puns and more, Where’s Kate? is hard to compartmentalise into a genre, and dismissing it off as just another comedy would be unfair. An unexpected drama served with large portions of thrill for an audience that prefers comedy might seem more like an apt description.

A night of tacos and wine with friends to help him cope with his recent breakup is all Edward (Joshua Mormann) is looking forward to. But when his office colleagues, each coming with their own prejudiced understanding and ridiculous sense of humour, turn up with theories and questions of their own, Edward soon finds himself at his wit's end. The humour is mostly deadpan and caustic in tone throughout the film. And each of the friends on the table offers it in their own unique style, not only breaking the possibility of monotony, but also giving each one of them their own space to shine. It would be unfair to not credit the actors Kat Evans, Shayna Duffy, Zac Biesiada, and Erik Freitas, who bring Stacey, Claire, Mike, and Cam respectively to the screen, making an otherwise breakup sob story steer clear of that course. In fact, it is purely due to this ensemble cast that the film manages to keep its audience engaged.

This is not an educational or philosophical film. It does not give answers. Instead, what director-writer Ambrose Smoke’s 19-minute short does is raise pertinent questions. Questions that should be asked more often. Questions that could potentially bring about a conscientious change into fulfilling our destiny as human beings.

What’s the most defining aspect of human life, one might ask? How far is one willing to go to be accepted by their times and contemporaries? The Mole is a corporate drama that centres on Angie (Lauren Engels), an unapologetically ambitious woman whose landmark career moves and gains have only earned her envy, if not outright hostility from her colleagues. As if apologising for one’s ambition (often addressed as greed), especially if that individual is a woman, were not enough, Angie has something, in addition, to apologise for: a face. One with an appalling abnormality. 

This one is for the keeps. A shining example of lighthearted comedy, romance and genuine warmth, due in large part to Amanda Bright’s screenplay, The Lennox Report boasts of a stellar cast, exceptional writing, and tangible facets to its story.

Too many gaffes have gone viral, with Zoom calls recording people without their trousers, cats tails wiggling at the camera, and children cartwheeling in the background. The lockdown has certainly made the universal nightmare of being caught publicly with one’s pants down a legitimate possibility. But if you thought you were done having laughed at those, how about laughing with some of those?

In Steve Bright’s 35-minute short, which he has also shot and edited, the titular Lennox project has brought on board a team comprising of a very sick Toby (David Newman), ill-timed humour dispenser Louise, played by veteran British actor Adjoa Andoh, seen latest as the fierce Lady Danbury, Bridgerton, amiable, yet serious Kayla (Amanda Bright), and an adorably awkward Mark (Amit Shah, of The Witcher and Crashing fame). The ensemble cast goes beyond these four and make for a fitting addition to the story, which focuses primarily on Kayla, and her growing relationship with Mark. 

It is hard not to reminisce about the bygone era. The unbridled, uncomplicated age of everything that is now conveniently considered obsolete, and strangely, a time period often romanticised for the very reasons they are mocked. Nostalgia is what we often resort to when the present seems unpalatable, but in director Nicole Vanden Broeck’s 21-minute film, it seems like the key to sidestepping a world that is enmeshed in a digital maze. 

Elle takes us back to the nineties, where cellphones and social media were non-existent. But then neither were the letters entertained anymore. The nineties represent a strange period, like it stood on the cusp of brilliant technological advancements, and yet too shy to let go of its primitive, almost docile ways of life. And Broeck draws on this beautifully, to chalk out the story of teens Sam and Elle as the latter discovers her feelings and heartburns just as Sam sets to move away for good.

It is hard not to reminisce about the bygone era. The unbridled, uncomplicated age of everything that is now conveniently considered obsolete, and strangely, a time period often romanticised for the very reasons they are mocked. Nostalgia is what we often resort to when the present seems unpalatable, but in director Nicole Vanden Broeck’s 21-minute film, it seems like the key to sidestepping a world that is enmeshed in a digital maze. 

Elle takes us back to the nineties, where cellphones and social media were non-existent. But then neither were the letters entertained anymore. The nineties represent a strange period, like it stood on the cusp of brilliant technological advancements, and yet too shy to let go of its primitive, almost docile ways of life. And Broeck draws on this beautifully, to chalk out the story of teens Sam and Elle as the latter discovers her feelings and heartburns just as Sam sets to move away for good.