Drama
L’Hypermnésique
Directed by Julien Mouquet
Warning, this review may have spoilers
“L’Hypermnésique” is a delicate and emotionally charged short film that explores the power of memories and the lengths people will go to in order to rewrite the past. Julien Mouquet, in his debut independent fiction project, has crafted a story that resonates deeply with audiences by blending tragedy, love, and regret. Gaby (Agathe Natanson Marielle) and Jo (Bernard Farcy) are an elderly couple facing the harsh reality of Jo’s deteriorating memory. With Jo’s mind slowly fading, Gaby, weighed down by the unfulfilled dreams of their youth and a lifetime of childlessness, takes it upon herself to create the life they never had. Each night, she painstakingly sets up their home to reflect an alternate reality—one where they had grandchildren and a full, vibrant family life. What could have been becomes her last gift to Jo, a man now caught between the vanishing fragments of his real memories and the manufactured history that Gaby presents.
Mouquet’s direction focuses on the quiet moments of tenderness and desperation between the couple, effectively highlighting how memories define us. Gaby’s heart-wrenching decision to alter Jo’s memories speaks to the universal human desire to escape regret. As viewers, we’re left questioning the morality of her actions. Is it better to allow someone to live their final days believing in a comforting lie, or should they face the truth, no matter how painful?
This film excels in creating an intimate atmosphere. The lighting, particularly in the evening scenes, evokes the sense of a fading world—a perfect parallel to Jo’s diminishing grasp on reality. There were minor technical issues, such as glitches in sound and editing that briefly disrupted the immersion, especially during the scenes involving the projector. These moments detract slightly from the overall experience but are not enough to diminish the emotional weight of the film. The cinematography beautifully captures the couple’s apartment, filled with fabricated memories, as if these objects themselves carry the heavy burden of Gaby’s guilt and Jo’s longing for a life he never lived. The use of close-ups effectively conveys the subtle emotions that the characters feel but often don’t verbalize.
The emotional depth of the story is where “L’Hypermnésique” really had me hooked. Watching Gaby as she attempts to rewrite their history is profoundly moving. Her guilt over their childlessness and the dreams they never achieved is palpable, and yet, the film never feels overly sentimental. There is a balanced blend of hope and despair as Gaby’s actions, though well-intentioned, seem futile. Jo’s realization that these memories aren’t real becomes a powerful turning point. Rather than clinging to the falsehoods, he chooses to hold on to the memories he still has, however imperfect they may be. The film’s final moments, as Jo passes and Gaby reflects on their shared life, serve as a poignant reminder that the most meaningful memories are not the grand ones, but the simple moments shared between loved ones.
Mouquet’s story is both a meditation on memory and a love letter to those who carry the weight of regret. It asks important questions: How far would we go to protect the ones we love from pain? And, at the end of our lives, what truly matters—the life we wished we had lived or the one we actually lived? The film doesn’t provide easy answers, but it does leave the audience with a deep sense of reflection.
Despite its short runtime, “L’Hypermnésique” manages to address complex themes of love, loss, and the human need for closure. The acting is superb, with Agathe Natanson delivering a particularly nuanced performance as Gaby, a woman who simultaneously embodies strength and vulnerability. Bernard Farcy’s portrayal of Jo is equally compelling, especially as he navigates the disorienting world of fading memories. Their chemistry is palpable, drawing the audience into their shared world of quiet heartbreak and unspoken love.
I connected with the emotional core of this film. Whether it’s the nostalgia for past dreams or the fear of losing someone we love, the themes Mouquet explores are universally relatable. “L’Hypermnésique” is a film that lingers with you long after the credits roll, urging us all to reflect on our own memories—both the ones we cherish and the ones we wish we could change.
Drama
A Call That Changes Everything in Don’t Hang Up
WARNING! This review contains SPOILERS!
Don’t Hang Up tells a powerful story through one unexpected phone call. Elizabeth Holiday, played by Paula Jai Parker, starts her morning in rural Hayti, Missouri, when Jeremy, a former student portrayed by LT Hines II, reaches out after years of silence. The call disrupts her routine and pulls both of them into a conversation they’ve been avoiding for a long time.
The film moves with intention. Diamond Batiste focuses on honesty and emotional clarity, allowing the story to unfold through the rawness of their dialogue. The pacing feels natural, giving each shift in tone space to land without distraction.
The cinematography keeps the attention on Elizabeth’s experience through warm tones and close framing. The sound design supports the tension between both characters, letting the quiet moments deepen the impact of each line. Every element works together to keep the focus on the connection forming between Elizabeth and Jeremy.
Parker brings a grounded presence to Elizabeth, and Hines brings weight to Jeremy’s emotional state. Their performances carry the story, giving the conversation a sense of history without relying on exposition. The writing allows them to speak with honesty, and the emotions surface naturally.
Batiste brings a strong point of view to the film. His commitment to stories about connection and resilience is shaped by a career that is dedicated to elevating underrepresented voices. His background adds depth to the themes he explores, especially when addressing the pressures that shape communities like the one portrayed in the film.
Don’t Hang Up is a story about reaching out when it matters and finding the courage to confront the past. The film handles mental health with care and delivers an experience that stays with you. I enjoyed it very much.
Drama
The Quiet Rebellion of Sister Wives
WARNING! This review contains SPOILERS!
Louisa Connolly-Burnham’s Sister Wives is a haunting & heartfelt exploration of love, repression, and quiet rebellion in unexpected places. Set in a strict, polygamous community in 2003 Utah, the film follows Kaidence and Galilee—two young women as they discover something forbidden but deeply human: love for one another. Beneath its rural stillness, this film hums with tension and tenderness.
Sister Wives feels deliberate and immersive right from the start. The muted color palette mirrors the rigid life of the community—dull, restrained, and heavy with strict rules—while the women’s prairie dresses introduce just enough color to suggest individuality trying to break through. The cinematography captures both the beauty and isolation doing an outstanding job at enhancing the emotional connection. When the camera holds on moments between Kaidence and Galilee, these moments are where you can feel the emotion connection the strongest.
Connolly-Burnham, who also stars in the film alongside BAFTA-winner Mia McKenna-Bruce, directs with remarkable empathy. Her approach is not exploitative or sensational. She creates a world that feels lived-in, fragile, and real. The editing and sound design work in harmony, never too much to draw attention to it unless you are looking for it. Even the lighting feels symbolic—soft in moments of connection, harsh and cold whenever the outside world closes in.
Sister Wives is about two women reclaiming the right to have feelings. The performances are powerful while still being subtle as they are charged with emotion.
Connolly-Burnham’s direction shows a deep understanding of contrast—between faith, freedom, duty, desire, silence and voice. Her use of music, inspired by films like Drive and Lost in Translation, adds a pulse that modernizes the story. This kind of repression still exists, and her storytelling makes sure we feel that.
The production design captures the rustic isolation of its world and is spot on to transport audiences into this world. It’s easy to see why Sister Wives has been gaining recognition at Oscar, BAFTA, and BIFA qualifying festivals. Every aspect of its production, costuming, lighting, (well the whole thing just works) in service of the story’s truth.
What stays with me isn’t the setting or even the tragedy of the women—it’s the courage. The courage to question, to feel, and to dream of freedom in a world designed to suppress it. Sister Wives is quiet, brave, and unforgettable.
Drama
Can You Trust What You See Anymore?
WARNING! This review contains SPOILERS!
Iñaki Velásquez’s Danka Priscilla Danka is a sleek and unsettling political drama that digs into the growing unease surrounding artificial intelligence and power. Set against the high-stakes backdrop of a Chilean presidential race, the film centers on Priscilla, a campaign manager whose loyalty is tested when she discovers that the very technology fueling her candidate’s success may be built on deception. What begins as a story about deepfakes and politics slowly turns into something more intimate—a study of control, manipulation, and trust between two women whose relationship blurs the line between personal and professional loyalty.
From the opening frame, Velásquez makes his control of tone clear. The lighting is sharp and purposeful—each scene feels designed for the emotional temperature of the moment. Hotel rooms glow with uneasy warmth, police offices buzz under cold fluorescent light, and Danka’s balcony conversations carry the quiet weight of a woman performing both for the public and for herself. The cinematography captures Chile’s landscape in striking contrasts: the natural mountains towering over the geometric sprawl of the city. It’s an image that mirrors the story’s central question—what happens when something human becomes overshadowed by something manufactured?
The performances are gripping. Tamara Acosta brings depth and precision to Priscilla, grounding the film’s moral tension in every look and pause. Katty Kowaleczko, as Danka, balances charisma and menace with a politician’s grace—her smile hiding a thousand motives. Their chemistry makes each exchange electric, turning even the smallest gesture into a battle for power.
Technically, the film is top-tier. The camera work is confident, the framing consistently intentional, and the editing tight enough to maintain suspense without ever feeling rushed. The sound design amplifies every shift in mood—especially the use of ambient noise during confrontations, which keeps the audience alert to what might happen next. While the background score occasionally enters a moment too early, it hardly detracts from the film’s overall polish.
Velásquez, already an Academy-qualified filmmaker for his short Victoria Rosana Maite, proves again that he knows how to build worlds that feel both cinematic and urgent. His direction balances spectacle with substance, never letting the technological themes overpower the human story at its core. In his director’s statement, he calls the film “about the nature of power and abuse in a relationship between two women,” and that focus is exactly what gives Danka Priscilla Danka its bite. It’s not just about AI—it’s about how control manifests, both digitally and emotionally.
By the end, I found myself thinking less about algorithms and more about people—the ones who hide behind them, and the ones who suffer because of them. Velásquez’s film feels timely yet timeless, a warning and a mirror all at once. Danka Priscilla Danka doesn’t just explore deception in politics—it exposes how easy it is to believe the lies we want to be true.
