Tribeca Film Festival – Shorts: Misdirection

By: Kelly Kearney

The Tribeca Film Festival is back with another series of shorts categorized in themes. The group of six film entries consists of the darker side of animation, comedy,and drama, as we explore the concept of “Misdirection” or what happens when life goes a little off course. So, buckle in because these misadventures through the human experience will leave you feeling breathless and contemplating your own path and whether or not it’s time to take that detour you’ve been avoiding.

Regular Rabbit – Written and Directed by Eoin Duffy

Disinformation doesn’t just ruin democracies. It can even disparage the good name of a stand-up guy–err…rabbit. “He is but a rabbit, an innocent rabbit,” the narrator says on repeat to set the mood for this short. This good boy never did anything wrong in his little hoppity life until he met his match– the evil hamster of this story. From RTE and Screen Ireland and landing at the 2023 Tribeca Film Festival comes an on-the-nose look at the spread of lies sold as truth – no matter how ludicrous the topic might be. “Misdirection” is the theme for this category of shorts and each of the films included focused on what happens when life takes a detour and for this regular rabbit life’s detour comes when he is uprooted from his simple life and becomes a target for a “fake news” story about his barbaric past. A regular rabbit like this one cannot fight the narratives being pushed by his vile nemesis; they are absurd and anyone who knows rabbits knows the accusations piled on this innocent guy couldn’t be more ludicrous. Is he a mass-murdering maniac or just a fluffy white bunny stuck in a cycle of lies he can’t escape from? Director of Animation Eoin Duffy offers up a wink and a nod to the absurdity of our current world political climate now that truth has taken a back seat to whatever lie sells the best.

The animation in Regular Rabbit was done by Henrique Barone and what stands out the most is its simplicity. The simple pure white rabbit stays in focus as he moves linearly through the ominous purple and blue-hued landscape. It sets a mood of innocence oblivious to the threats around them. The color scheme gives off the impression that the darkness of the world outside of the rabbit’s bubble hasn’t stained his perfect coat; he is pure and his only expression of wide-eyed wonder makes the stories being told about him seem so unbelievable. The rabbit we see is not the beast we are led to believe, and it drives home the delusional aspect of this allegorical tale.

Nothing about this rabbit’s life seems out of the ordinary, but the narrator (perfectly voiced by Rory McCann) continues to push the public’s opinion away from the visual truth to a more conspiracy-fueled agenda. What’s a regular rabbit to do when they’re trapped in the cycle of public opinion? They snap, of course, and the narrator couldn’t be happier to see their lies come to fruition. Truth cannot stay buried beneath a mountain of lies as it will eventually seep out until it consumes and distorts. And maybe that’s the point of this piece; to create a narrative so beyond comprehension that the only way to break free is to become the very thing you’ve been accused of being all along. Brutality becomes an inevitability and the regular rabbit’s downfall is captured perfectly in McCann’s growling and gravel-like voice, flowing like a raging sea of lava. It represents the masses and their frenzied judgments of the regular turned brutal rabbit’s years of torture under the thumb of disinformation. The lies are so thick that even the rabbit’s unraveling is unclear. Is it fact or is it fiction fed to the hungry masses starving for rabbit horror? The truth doesn’t matter. We know the narrator is a liar, that’s clear, but the pressure the rabbit is under would make the best woodland creature snap.“For now, all shall fall victim to my vengeance until no innocents exist,” says the abused and desperate rabbit who can no longer take the harassment and banishment of his neighbors.

The point the writer and director impressed throughout the seven min short was the loss of innocence when it’s forced out of someone beyond their control. Regular Rabbit is warning about disinformation destroying all that is good in the world until it blurs the lines between what is true and the nightmares lies often create. In the end, whether or not this regular rabbit is a killer or trapped in a series of lies, doesn’t even matter and that’s the most depressing and terrifying moral to this story. This animated short is a must-watch if you enjoy lighthearted looks at serious subjects that spark conversations beyond what’s presented on screen. Rory McCann’s performance alone is worthy of a listen.

Proof of Concept: Written and Directed by Ellie Sachs and Max Cohn

Filmmaking isn’t all glitz and Hollywood glamor. Sometimes it requires groveling to your father and uncle for money to finance a project that can quickly snowball into a debate about filmmaking, sex and the award-winning talents of Dianne Weist.

Self-funding is a lie filmmakers like Chloe (Ellie Sachs) tell themselves when their ideas are bigger than their wallets. It typically means credit card debt, loans or, in this short film, borrowing start-up funds from your family. The targets for Chloe’s pitch are the real stars of this short. Her father, played by beloved character actor Richard Kind, can make even a simple conversation about foreplay in a toy store as natural as it is comically cringe. His brother, Chloe’s uncle, played by the equally enigmatic Will Janowitz, only adds to the dynamics of two men trying to make sense of a foreign industry Chloe both hates and is desperately trying to break into. Proof of Concept is an entrance ramp to a full-length feature idea, but Chloe – like most short filmmakers – doesn’t expect to make a return on her profits. Needless to say, her pitch needs work, but these two men believe in her enough to hear her out as they walk through Manhattan and stop off at some of the city’s most iconic spots.

“So, what’s the film about?” the two men ask and therein lies the meta-meat of this short. The three characters are living Chloe’s (as well as directors Ellie Sachs and Max Cohn’s) short film concept in its pre-production stage. The irony of Chloe wanting to cast at least one famous actor, Kind, is a wink and a nod to this short’s inception.

Shot entirely in New York City, the location isn’t only the backdrop of this meandering conversation but a living and breathing supporting character, just like Chloe explains it would be in her piece. As she walks, literally, her father and uncle through the ins and outs of filmmaking the trio wanders in and out of stores and diners she hopes to include in her short. A meal in Barney Greengrass finds Chloe mulling over the price tag for shooting her future film in the same space. This is a short within a short within a concept of a feature that dives headfirst into those layers without it overwhelming the viewer. What it lacks, thankfully, in industry jargon it makes up for in this three-way dialogue driving the film. The story here is the pitch and it leans into the idea that something about nothing – like a conversation between family members over money can be something about something in a way that would make Larry David donate to Chloe’s Kickstarter, which she admits she’s trying to avoid. She describes her film as “light on its feet; conversational and shot in the city” and that’s exactly what is Proof of Concept. It’s an idea turned into a demonstration (in this case a short feature) that could determine whether or not that idea is worth exploring. The pitch is the exploration here and that’s the brilliance of this piece.

In a perfect example of how deeply conceptualized this film is Chloe wonders how her film will separate itself from the pack – from obscurity to celebrated work at festivals like Tribeca. Even her uncle knows the New York festival is the gold standard for directors looking to break into the scene and even mentioning it is a humorous way of getting in the good graces of the judges. Every second of the dialogue manages to say a lot by not saying much. It spends a good bit of time chewing up an industry that uplifts a certain style of film that asks the viewer to do the heavy lifting when it comes to interpretation and those films typically fill festivals’ schedules, but that’s not Chloe’s concept. Directors Sachs and Cohn express this idea when Chloe – slightly ranting about audiences captivated by moody sunsets and expensive camera tricks but not depth or meaning – cuts from lunch at Barney Greengrass to her own moody scene on a desolate beach in front of the sun’s golden hour. It’s her example of what the industry considers quality and it is in stark contrast to the pavement-pounding conversations driving this short. The switch up in scenes does a great job acting as the punchline to the joke she thinks Hollywood is and It’s both comical to see her dip her toes into the very ideas she’s trying to avoid, but also reminds us of why scenes like that dazzle viewers and critics anyway. The camera work in the golden hour scene is ironically stunning and it catapults the viewer’s eye from the city streets to the sandy beaches of her sarcastic imagination. The direction Chloe is heading in won’t guarantee success. Not if her main objective is to insult short-film making so she can move on to full-length meta features about how to turn shorts into features,. But for real-life directors Sachs and Cohn the concept is effective. If film talk and inception babble in the backdrop of New York City is the type of watch that captures your attention, then look no further than Proof of Concept because Ellie Sachs and Max Cohn are the next directors to keep your eyes on.

Everybody Dies…Sometimes – Director Charlotte Hamblin

We all have acceleration markers on our bodies – a “best-by-this-day.” An invisible sticker like a perishable date permanently attached to our existence on Earth. The average lifespan varies based on factors like health, region, socioeconomic status and, in the case of this short film, if you happen to cross paths with Mara (Tanya Reynolds from Netflix’s “Sex Education”) who has the power to kill but can’t control it. In this dark satire from director Charlotte Hamblin, we meet Mara in her therapist’s (Mathew Horne) office warning him about her powers and being surprised he isn’t afraid of her special talents. It’s not that Mara wants to kill people…It’s just that ever since her mother died giving birth to her she’s cursed to watch everyone in her life leave her. Mara lives in fear of building any sort of relationship, knowing her powers will snuff the life out of them. She is convinced she’s meant to be alone, which was fine until she found out she was pregnant. Through a series of flashbacks we get the full scope of her trauma when we watch her younger self (Sparrow Michell) lose everyone from her father, aunts, cousins and her grandmother who all kicked the proverbial bucket not long after taking the young orphan under their wings. Now she’s unsure if she should risk her baby’s life or end things before it draws its first and possibly last breath. Life and death are out of our control but having a baby is a choice she can make and Mara needs her therapist to help her figure out which path is the right one. She spent her whole life guided by loss and regret and now she needs someone else to guide her towards self-acceptance.

The use of flashbacks to clue the viewer into Mara’s past while setting up her dilemma in the present forces us to focus on the interactions between her and the therapist and the emotions playing out on their faces. The acting is the singular focus here – not special effects, camera tricks or elaborate sets, but framed shots of the character’s faces as Mara tries to work out her fear and guilt while her doctor tries to untangle the mess of her life. The choice of director Hamblin to limit the scope of the present to one room but then explore the past through more vivid flashbacks not only dives deeper into theories of what molds as adults, but also speaks to Mara’s feelings of being trapped in her present curse. She can’t see beyond her younger self and she certainly cannot look at what her future holds until she decides what her present means in the timeline of her life. With some added levity to the scenes from Mara’s past, Hamblin effortlessly turns a depressing introspective piece into a light and funny look at loss and fate and breaking out of both cycles to find a brighter beginning. By the end of this profoundly quirky piece we can’t help but root for Mara even though we are left wondering how long before the inevitable rears its life-ending head. This short film is a must-see for anyone who is into dark comedies and enjoys a light laugh within the dark shroud of death. It’s a film that attracts a certain type of fan, so it’s best to leave your political agendas at the door and just immerse yourself in the world of Mara. If you can do that, I promise you that you will enjoy it.

Bellybutton – Written and Directed by Hilary Eden

This intimate story is about a teenage girl, Lissy (Izabella Johnson), who learns a lesson in body autonomy and the pressures American culture and consumer trends can put on adolescent girls. In this seven minute coming-of-age story, writer/director Hilary Eden takes us on a nostalgic journey through innocence, growth and embracing our female identities as we follow Lissy on her path to self-expression that doesn’t necessarily end in the character feeling empowered. When Lissy witnesses her brother (Jack Reid) and his friend Steph (Izzy Crenshaw) thirsting over the crop top-wearing party girls on TV, she feels inspired to embrace her own burgeoning sexuality by heading to the tattoo shop for a bellybutton piercing. The experience excites her as she takes control of her own body and finds pride in her appearance – two things her father takes from her the second he finds out what she’s done.

In what feels like an homage to famed directors like Richard Linklater (Slackers, Dazed and Confused) and Larry Clark (Kids), director Hilary Eden takes her life story and turns it into a snapshot of a time when the change was happening faster than most could keep track. It was the drawing of the internet, the height of MTV’s popularity and a time when latchkey kids were raised by television while their parents worked forty-plus hours a week. Kids in Lissy’s era made decisions for themselves, so something as reversible as a piercing wasn’t all that unusual.

The costumes, the set design, and even the grainy pre-HD look of the film sets the mood for this early Aughts drama. Nods to trends of the time like “Girls Gone Wild,” “The Jerry Springer Show” and Howard Stern’s sidekick Bababooey defined a blip in time when sex sold and teens were the preferred demographic. The pre-Me Too era now feels ancient and no other scene highlights that better than when Lissy’s brother uses a gay slur to mock his friend’s flippant attitude toward the drunk college girls on TV. Those images and that language molded the minds of teens looking for guides to adulthood, but they also warped the idea of what it means to be a woman and put unrealistic expectations on girls like Lissy who just wanted to be noticed by guys like Steph. Along with Eden’s direction, cinematographer Adam Leene manages to encapsulate the grit of the late grunge era while keeping Lissy and the front and center of her silent thoughts through Johnson’s acting. She is the main focus of each shot because Lissy is the female experience. She represents the feeling of pride in one’s self followed by the shame of a patriarchal society that can stick on you that can last a lifetime. Bellybutton won’t make you laugh or leave you in tears, but it will force you to think about your own experiences when it comes to owning your femininity and how quickly power structures beyond your control can take that power from you. Now, more than ever, that lesson feels important enough to give this short a watch.

Let Liv – Directed by Erica Rose

Some relationships are worth fixing but it’s the personal cost of trying that’s so often left out of the discussion. Let Liv explores the pain of those fixes when a queer alcoholic wrestling with addiction demons and family trauma takes the first step of twelve only to come face to face with the person they blame for their situation. After Liv (Olivia Levine) agrees to help their relationship with Marty (Rosaline Elbay) by going to AA to try and tackle their dependency on alcohol, the first meeting doesn’t go as planned. We quickly realize Liv has been to that meeting before – with their mother Judy (Christine Taylor) who also struggled with addiction until she abandoned her child to work on saving herself. When Liv’s mother shows up at the same meeting the two go head to head blaming each other for their past mistakes while trying to concentrate on keeping those same mistakes out of their present. Themes of pain, loss and inherited generational trauma is what drive this indie drama, but what captivates the viewer is the chemistry between Liv and Judy. Looking past the fact Christine Taylor seems far too young to be a mother to Olivia Levine, the age issue doesn’t seem to distract from the painful arguments they have throughout the short. The mother/daughter dynamic is there, front and center, in every screaming accusation as Judy takes that blame and wears it like a badge of dishonor, owning her part in her daughter’s pain but never wavering on the good that came from it. Taylor masterfully crafts a woman filled with regrets while still remaining hopeful she can fix what she broke with Liv.  While Taylor remains the calmer and more focused of the two, Olivia Levine takes off her writing hat to deliver an emotionally volatile performance that plays well with the calmer and more focused Judy. Liv is just starting out on her sober journey and all the angry pitfalls of blame and fear are hitting her like a raw nerve. On the flip side, Judy is sober and working the steps with a perspective that is calmly measured, wiser and more open to admitting her weaknesses and how those affected her child. The performance from both actors is formidable; the quiet and introspective regrets wrestling with a heartbroken vulnerability that lashes out more than it listens is expertly crafted in scenes that are meant to feel uncomfortable.

Director Erica Rose uses flashbacks to tell Liv’s past and cuts down on the visual traumas while handing a blank canvas to the actors to paint their own interpretations of how bad things truly were between them. We catch glimpses of that pain, but the focus on Judy and Liv in the present is what brings this story to life. While the film’s theme is addiction Rose manages to craft an LGBTQ-inclusive story without it ever being the focus of Liv’s pain. They just happen to be Queer and that never buries the intent of this piece. In a landscape full of films that use sexuality like a curse, it is nice to see this film escape those negative tropes.

If you were hoping for a feel-good reunion piece, Let Liv isn’t it, but that doesnt mean hope is totally lost by the end credits. If you’re looking for a journey through addiction, family strife and a candid look at how alcoholism can destroy relationship then this is a drama for you.

Fish Out of Water – Directed by Francesca Scorsese

No stranger to film festivals, the Scoreses name lands at Tribeca but this time it’s in a short film category with the celebrated filmmaker Martin Scorsese’s daughter. A formidable director in her own right, Francesca Scorsese takes an intense look at a struggling young mother who reconnects with her estranged father (Steve Witting) after learning her mother’s (Welker White) health is failing. It is a dark look at generational trauma besieged by addiction and the choices made in moments of self-preservation. Lexi (Jade Pettyjohn) is a sex worker and a young mother living in a motel with a son, Tyler (Legend Lolli). She hides in the shower during her work dates. Her now-sober dad shows up knocking at her door to update her on her mother who, from the sounds of things, has been sick for a long time and might not have much time left. Lexi was her mother’s caregiver before life with her father became too chaotic and that blame she has for the way things turned out runs hot between the two when he makes his unexpected pop-in. In a nice change of pace, her recovering father doesn’t lean into shaming his daughter for her career choices or her questionable parenting skills, but the regret he feels for being the driving factor in both is evident whenever he takes the brunt of her anger. Her words pound him like fists and he takes each swing like his penance for their past, which we learn was both physically abusive as well as neglectful. Still there is love (while hidden and frayed) that ties these two together and it extends to Lexi’s son who is an innocent caught in this inherited crossfire. Tensions between the daughter and father are layered and they go deeper than the short has time to delve into, but that vagueness is intriguing and draws the viewer in by way of their morbid curiosity. This family is a bit of a car crash that you can’t help but want to study every gory inch of, which only increases when Alexis goes home for a family dinner and we get the true scope of her mother’s illness and the family dynamics that kept her away. It’s bleak and upsetting at times and you might find yourself in a panic – breathless like a pet fish flopping around on the kitchen floor. But it is also a story of redemption, of reconciliation and a love that can overcome the past for a better tomorrow. As dark as this film is, and it is most definitely going to anger and at times upset you, this is a story of hope and one of human perseverance and our ability to forgive that is inspiring.

Scorsese, along with her all-female team of creatives, manages to deliver an effective look at the complexities of loss and illness – physical, mental and moral –  while never losing sight of the forgiveness narrative that is the driving force of the piece. Fish Out of Water leans away from the more judgmental tropes films like this can easily fall into and instead delivers layered characters who are not pigeonholed in their choices. Growth happens, change happens and enlightenment happens. And Lexi, as well as her mother and father, are flawed examples of this. It’s a nice change of pace for a drama that could easily feel mired in the negative. An example of this shows the relationship between Scorsese, Director of Photography Idol Eryurekli and the actors during one particular breakdown scene that plays as the emotional climax of the film. The camera doesn’t shy away from the ugly and deeply distraught, but instead it acts as a spectator to it and at times can feel intrusive and make the viewer feel uncomfortable as if we shouldn’t be witnessing such a private moment. The director’s eye for imagery is captured in a gasping fish,and in a confused little boy silently hiding from his mother’s painful realities. It sets a mood that ties story and performance together in one cohesive piece of art that is a must-see from this year’s entries into the short program.

“Misdirection” sent Alexis to that motel, Mara to her therapist, Lissy to that piercing, Liv to A.A., Chloe to her pitch, and regular Rabbit to his ultimate undoing, but it’s the paths they took towards self-acceptance that truly set them and this category at Tribeca on the right course. These shorts will open your hearts and minds to the possibility of change and lead you to the concept of personal growth which is a road just waiting for us all to walk down.