Drama
Lobo
Directed by Sean Connolly
This review contains SPOILERS
Lobo is an exploration of brotherhood, sacrifice, and the complexities of familial loyalty. The film follows two brothers, one fearless and the other timid, who flee into the wilderness after a violent confrontation that results in the death of their abusive father. As they escape deeper into the wild, their bond is tested, and the film unravels layers of trauma, guilt, and the lengths to which one will go to protect their family. What makes Lobo stand out is not just its narrative, but the emotional depth it manages to convey through minimal dialogue, evocative landscapes, and moments of introspective silence.
The cinematography in Lobo utilizes the rugged natural environment to mirror the psychological terrain the characters traverse. The vastness of the wilderness contrasts sharply with the brothers’ intense, confined emotional states. The lighting is consistent, often casting a moody, almost ethereal glow that feels both isolating and intimate, fitting for a story about two brothers forced to confront their inner demons while trying to evade external danger. Each shot is carefully composed to emphasize the emotional distance between the brothers, especially in the early parts of the film when their connection feels strained.
Sound design plays a pivotal role in creating the atmosphere of tension and dread that pervades the film. The near silence of certain moments, like when the brothers sit by the campfire, draws the viewer in, making every subtle sound—from the crackle of the flames to the rustling leaves—carry weight. This quietude contrasts well with the chaos of their initial flight, where the sound of police sirens and heavy breathing creates a palpable sense of panic. There’s a moment early on where the diegetic sound fades as the mother speaks, a deliberate choice that underscores the disconnect between the characters and their tragic reality.
The performances of João Nunes Monteiro and Diogo Martins as the two brothers are both nuanced and raw. Monteiro, as the older brother, exudes a quiet stoicism, burdened by the responsibility he feels for his younger sibling. His protective instincts are immediately apparent, even as his inner turmoil simmers just beneath the surface. Martins, playing the younger brother, gives a more layered performance, balancing vulnerability with moments of intense anger, particularly as the truth of what happened to their father comes to light. The chemistry between the two actors sells the emotional core of the film—while they are brothers, they are also strangers in many ways, trying to reconnect after years of separation.
Lobo is about survival—not just in the physical sense, but emotionally. The brothers’ journey into the wilderness forces them to face the turbulent events of their past, and the deeper they venture into the wild, the more reality begins to blur. The twist that reveals the younger brother as the one who actually killed their father adds a layer of complexity to the narrative. It reframes the entire story, turning it from a simple tale of evasion into a meditation on guilt and sacrifice. The fact that the older brother attempts to take the blame only heightens the emotional stakes, making his eventual decision to turn himself in all the more devastating when the truth is revealed.
Though the plot may not be groundbreaking—some viewers may anticipate the twist—the film’s emotional depth and the way it handles the theme of brotherhood are its true strengths. The dynamic between the brothers is the beating heart of the film, and Connolly’s direction ensures that their relationship feels authentic and deeply affecting. Even as the narrative heads toward its inevitable conclusion, the emotional resonance remains strong, leaving the audience to reflect on the weight of familial bonds and the sacrifices we make for those we love.
The film does occasionally lean into familiar tropes, particularly in its depiction of the older brother as the stoic protector and the younger as the more impulsive, guilt-ridden character. While these archetypes are effective, they could have been fleshed out further to add more depth to their individual personalities. Additionally, I find the pacing of the film slow at times, particularly during the quieter, more reflective moments. However, this deliberate pacing allows the tension to build gradually, leading to an emotionally charged climax that feels earned.
Lobo is an emotionally gripping film that blends the tension of a thriller with the intimacy of a family drama. Its cinematography, strong performances, and deeply felt themes make it a compelling watch. Audiences who appreciate films that delve into the psychological and emotional complexities of familial relationships, set against a backdrop of tension and uncertainty, will find much to admire in Lobo. It is a film that lingers long after the credits roll, reminding us that sometimes the greatest battles we face are not against the world, but within our own family.
Drama
The Witch of Endor
Directed by Derek Hutchins
Warning – This review may contain spoilers.
The Witch of Endor, directed by Derek Hutchins, adapts the biblical story of King Saul (Dave Martinez) as he seeks out the Witch of Endor (Ehlana Bo) in a desperate attempt to summon the spirit of the Prophet Samuel (Devin Tanner). Saul is shunned by God and in his final act of desperation he turns to the supernatural for guidance on how to save his kingdom. This short film does a great job of capturing the dark, mystical atmosphere surrounding the story as it navigates themes of power, fear, and spiritual conflict.
Martinez’s portrayal of King Saul is solid capturing a man who is on the verge of losing everything and frantically grasping at anything that might save him. Ehlana Bo brings a haunting presence to the film although her introduction from a distance takes away some of the immediate tension. While the story is grounded in biblical context the performances particularly during the scenes of Saul’s desperation and his violent confrontation with the Witch, convey the emotional weight of the story even for those unfamiliar with the original biblical narrative.
That said the film does feel like a piece of a larger story. The characters have potential for deeper exploration but their development feels somewhat limited by the runtime. There are missed opportunities to delve into Saul’s deteriorating mental state or to build more tension in the scenes between the Witch and Saul. For example, close-ups during their confrontation would have added intensity and given more depth to their interactions. Additionally, the story relies heavily on exposition delivered through opening text, which lessens the impact of the characters’ dialogue and the weight of their choices.
Visually the film is striking, making great use of lighting especially considering the nighttime setting and reliance on torch and firelight. The compositions are well thought out and the choice to have much of the action play out in low light contributes to the eerie mood. However there are some shots that feel slightly out of focus which can be a bit distracting in moments of high tension. Despite this the sound design and editing do a good job of immersing the audience in this mystical world. The melancholic score and the crackling sounds of the fire help to create a sense of foreboding as Saul’s fate becomes increasingly grim.
Overall, The Witch of Endor is a visually strong adaptation of a biblical tale though its short runtime limits the depth and emotional connection the story could achieve. The performances, especially by Martinez as Saul, are engaging and the film’s style is effective in setting the stage for a mystical and ominous narrative.
The Witch of Endor is a solid short film that showcases an intriguing moment from the Bible but it misses some opportunities to fully flesh out its characters and build a more intense emotional connection. The cinematography, sound design, and performances do much to bring the story to life. Fans of biblical adaptations or mystical narratives will likely appreciate the atmosphere and tension of the film.
Drama
Wildcat
Directed by Laurie Powers Going
Warning – This review may contain spoilers.
Wildcat tells the story of Clara (Brenda Hattingh Peatross) a determined mother searching for answers after her husband, Sam (Johnny Chops), and daughter, Dottie (Elle Graper), mysteriously disappear. Set in early 1900s Texas during the oil boom, the film weaves themes of desperation, isolation, and the supernatural as Clara stalks the crew Sam worked with, believing them responsible for her family’s disappearance. The narrative takes a darker turn when Dottie suddenly reappears, but with something unsettling about her. Throughout a long, tension-filled night, Clara and Otis, the oil well owner (Adam Kitchen) come face to face, while a malevolent force toys with them.
The film effectively builds suspense and I found Clara’s desperation to be compelling as Peatross delivers a strong performance that carries the weight of her character’s emotional turmoil. Her portrayal of a mother driven by grief and anger anchors the film’s tension. However, the story leaves some critical gaps. There’s no clear explanation about how long Sam and Dottie have been missing or what circumstances led to their disappearance, which makes it harder to connect deeply with Clara’s quest. Dottie’s ghostly return, while eerie, lacks the necessary backstory to make her presence feel fully justified within the narrative, which diminishes the emotional impact of the film’s conclusion.
The sound design creates a tense atmosphere especially with the ominous noises that heighten the sense of dread. However, the song choice at the very end doesn’t fit with the rest of the film’s tone. The cinematography misses the opportunity to fully showcase the vast, desolate plains of Texas, which could have deepened the themes of isolation and loneliness. While the editing was uneven in sustaining the horror aspects, there are standout moments, particularly the scene where Otis throws a knife at Dottie’s ghost, a sequence that is both chilling and well-executed.
The performances were solid with Brenda Hattingh Peatross bringing a strong sense of intensity to Clara, and Adam Kitchen’s portrayal of Otis offering a grounded counterbalance to her increasingly frantic behavior. Johnny Chops brings a subtle but important layer to Sam’s backstory through flashbacks, while Elle Graper as Dottie brings an eerie, unsettling presence to her ghostly role.
Wildcat struggles to fully connect due to its lack of clear backstory and character development. The plot feels disjointed at times, and the motivations behind certain supernatural elements remain unclear. The final scene, while visually striking, doesn’t carry the emotional weight it could have if the film had done more to build the relationship between Clara, Sam, and Dottie.
Wildcat explores themes of desperation, grief, and isolation within the framework of a thriller set in the Texas oil boom. While Laurie Powers Going delivers a suspenseful short, and the cast, particularly Brenda Hattingh Peatross and Adam Kitchen, bring strong performances, the film leaves too many questions unanswered. I feel audiences seeking a slow-burn thriller may appreciate the tension. I just wanted more backstory and deeper character connections. Still, its worth a watch!
Drama
Measure of Creation
Directed by Ashton Sterling Bingham
Warning – This review may contain spoilers.
Measure of Creation is a heartfelt short film that allows us to see the world through Lydia’s innocent eyes, where life’s simple moments—like spending time with family or riding her bike—become extraordinary. I couldn’t help but feel the warmth and joy that Lydia experiences as she shares the things that make her happy. It’s an easy film to follow and I found it to be a comforting and heartwarming reminding me of the beauty in everyday life.
The cinematography really stood out to me. The close-ups and the different angles, like the shot from under Lydia’s bike handle, made me feel like I was right there with her, experiencing her excitement firsthand. The lighting was bright and uplifting, adding to the warmth of the film. The editing flowed smoothly, capturing the fun moments Lydia shared with her family, and the sound was clear, making sure Lydia’s voice and emotions were always at the forefront. The score was subtle yet powerful, especially during the moments when Lydia reflects on her late grandfather.
I connected with this film on a personal level, particularly as someone who once experienced childhood in much the same way—finding joy in the routine of everyday life. The way the film captures the love between Lydia and her family was deeply relatable, especially during the tender moments that reflect on the importance of family connections.
This film shines with its strong cinematography and editing. The lighting complements the uplifting and joyous tone, while the sound design ensures Lydia’s story is clearly told. The score adds an extra emotional layer without overwhelming the scenes, keeping the focus on the heartfelt moments.
Measure of Creation is a beautiful reflection on the simple joys of life seen through the eyes of a child. With its stunning visuals, heartwarming narrative, and emotional depth, the film left me feeling both nostalgic and uplifted. I think audiences will easily connect with its charm and authenticity, making it a film that resonates long after the credits roll.
