Drama
Retribution
Directed by Brock Eastwood
Warning – This review contains spoilers
My popcorn was all buttered up and I was set to check out Brock Eastwood’s Retribution when I found myself drawn into its intriguing dystopian premise. Set in a future world where therapeutic treatments are disguised as punishments for society’s criminals, the film tackles some big questions about morality, memory, and the consequences of an authoritarian system. The story centers around Nicholas (played by Dane Keckley), a young man seeking redemption or perhaps simply closure after a traumatic experience. He undergoes a novel “treatment” at a futuristic clinic, hoping to address the guilt and pain from losing someone he loved, only to discover that the process has darker implications.
One of the strengths of Retribution lies in the way it gradually reveals its world. At first, I wasn’t quite sure where the story was headed, but small details hinted at the dystopian nature of the society. The AI-enforced curfews, the rigid controls, and the dehumanizing clinical treatment all come together to paint a picture of a future that feels both frighteningly real and disorienting. The concept reminded me of films like Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and 1984, especially in how it explores memory manipulation as a form of control. The comparison to Logan’s Run is also apt, given the film’s themes of life, death, and rebellion against a system that punishes those who step out of line.
Technically, the film had a few highs and lows. The cinematography, particularly in the outdoor scenes, was beautifully shot. There’s a sunset transition that felt genuinely poetic, adding a layer of emotional depth to the moment between Nicholas and Merin (Avery Pizzuto). However, the lighting in some interior scenes felt overexposed, making certain moments feel too harsh for the emotional weight they were trying to carry. Sound design was mostly solid, though I did notice some unclear dialogue in the opening scene, which could have benefited from a cleaner mix. Despite these minor issues, I thought the editing in key moments, especially the reveal of Nicholas’ memories, worked really well. The timing of these cuts built tension effectively, particularly as the film reached its emotional climax.
What fascinated me most about Retribution was its exploration of grief and memory. Nicholas is clearly haunted by the death of Merin, and the clinic offers him a chance to relive, if not alter, those painful memories. There’s something inherently tragic about a world where even our most intimate memories can be subject to manipulation. The twist near the end caught me off guard, although in hindsight, it felt inevitable. That unanswered mystery left me unsettled in a good way. It’s the kind of ambiguity that prompts further reflection.
I did feel the film could have been clearer in its world-building. Some of the dystopian elements, like why Merin died while Nicholas survived or the exact nature of the clinic’s purpose, weren’t fully fleshed out. These gaps in the narrative left me feeling slightly adrift, especially toward the end when the lines between reality and memory blur completely. The ending, while effective in its jarring nature, raised more questions than it answered. Why did Merin ultimately turn on Nicholas? Was it part of the “treatment” or something deeper within their relationship that we missed? These ambiguities could be intentional, but I found myself wishing for just a bit more clarity.
That said, I think audiences will appreciate Retribution for its ambitious storytelling and the questions it raises about memory, justice, and personal responsibility. The performances, particularly from Keckley and Pizzuto, were strong, with both actors delivering emotional depth in scenes that required subtlety. I also found the production design impressive, especially the use of minimalist, sterile environments in the clinic scenes, which heightened the cold, clinical feel of the dystopian world.
Retribution is a thought-provoking short film that, despite some narrative hiccups, offers a compelling look at how we process grief and guilt in a society that seeks to control even our memories. Fans of dystopian sci-fi and psychological thrillers will likely find much to enjoy here, especially in its exploration of love, loss, and the dangers of a system that prioritizes punishment over healing. It left me with a lot to think about—and in my book, that’s always a sign of a film that succeeds in leaving a lasting impact.
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.
