It’s no small feat to make a movie these days. Between the skyrocketing costs of resources like fuel and building materials, studio mergers that put the accountants in charge, endless competition from streaming services, social media, and YouTube, and the infection of AI into what has traditionally been an incredibly hands-on medium dependent on a team of people, sometimes a small army—the idea of making a film of any length feels like a Quixotic mission that no sane person would embark upon. And yet this year’s New Orleans Film Festival boasts over 150 selections that range from meticulously crafted stop-motion animated shorts to documentary features about family farming in a time of climate crisis. Over 250 filmmakers from around the globe (and many from next door) are represented at this year’s fest, as is their blood, sweat, tears, and dreams. We salute their efforts to keep cinema alive in its hour of need and offer this year’s ANTIGRAVITY picks, ranging from the light and sweet to the dark and deadly.
NARRATIVE FEATURES
Beware the Box Folk
In a not-so-distant dystopian future where private equity is king, Beware The Box Folk follows an intrepid reporter trying to crack open a conspiracy involving a corrupt missing politician, a dead source, a garbage strike, and people cartoonishly moving about in cardboard boxes. Made in Baton Rouge by first-time filmmakers Nathan S. Hall and Brendan Pyron for $150,000, their debut feature is beating itself against the walls of the cardboard box it inhabits, trying to break through. It never quite gets there. Using the clever idea of the actors in cardboard boxes is reminiscent of Casey Affleck in A Ghost Story, but it doesn’t carry the same weight. The elaborate yet simple set dressing of garbage bags everywhere works well but doesn’t overcome the convoluted conspiracy and overblown runtime that could have been cut down with another quick editing pass. The concept is good, and I fully support the anti-corporate and corruption sentiment, and I’m glad local filmmakers can keep pulling something off on this scale. But I hope their second film is better. —Carlos A. Molina
Danny is My Boyfriend
This improvised, low-budget (filmed on miniDV) comedy begins with Lucy, a young woman living with her co-dependent mother in Los Angeles, who has been put in charge of caring for her boyfriend’s three-legged pitbull for a weekend. During a spat over a parking spot, a woman named Mechi recognizes the three-legged dog as her boyfriend Danny’s dog. The women are forced to confront the unsavory reality of their relationships with Danny, and they team up to get revenge. Because of the improvised nature of the script, the story is sometimes slow-moving, and details can be hard to follow. Directors and co-stars Lucy Sandler and Mechi Lakatos are both funny in their portrayals of immature, awkward young women who don’t quite know how to navigate the situation they’ve found themselves in. Danny Is My Boyfriend may be worth a watch for fans of mumblecore movies with a homemade vibe. —Paula Ibieta
Heaven Above Rowen
It makes complete sense why John Cameron Mitchell of Hedwig and the Angry Inch fame would lend his name to the debut feature by Alice Voena, not only because she used to be his tour manager. The mixed media movie cleverly uses a variety of digital and animated elements, including lipstick and eyeliner for some of the rotoscoping. The experimental film follows Rowen Amadeus Camor (Alice Voena), a queer person excommunicated from their community who becomes a cult leader. Using Starlight, an experimental, smokeable medication, Rowen and others have psychedelic, mind-expanding visions depicted with some eye-popping animation. Stephen Trask’s score girds some of the weaker visuals with a perfect trippy vibe that slides from background music to a key element with great versatility. Told mostly through voiceover in poetic prose reminiscent of a hopeful gospel intended to serve as the cult’s manifesto, Heaven Above Rowen is a beautiful collage of art, images, costumes, performance, and animation that works best if you conceive of it as an art project about getting comfortable with yourself. —Carlos A. Molina
She Keeps Me Young
Michelle (Blair Beeken) is a rudderless woman who strikes up an inappropriate relationship with high schooler Bridget (Shay Rudolph). Or maybe Bridget strikes one up with her, since she wants to photograph Michelle for an art project. It’s not the kind of inappropriate you’re thinking—nothing illegal happens. But it is the kind of inappropriate where if your friend did the same thing, you’d be like, WTF are you doing, bud? Katy Fullan plays Kelly, Michelle’s jealous best friend, whose actions—under the guise of doing good—reveal she’s a pretty terrible person. The brightest spot is Alanna (Ayden Mayeri), whose small part steals the show whenever she’s onscreen with lines like, “I just wanna get blackout.” The film attempts to explore the similarities between a friend ghosting you and a partner turning into a missing person. This ensemble makes you appreciate great performances on screen. If any of these were slightly better, it would lend gravitas to the relatively low stakes. —Carlos A. Molina
The Peril at Pincer Point
In their ode to cult classic B-movies of yesteryear, British directors Jake Kuhn and Noah Stratton-Twine combine astounding sound design with nostalgic, sepia-toned visuals in an absurdly satirical celebration of filmmaking. As washed-up sound engineer Jim Baitte (Jack Redmayne) embarks on a quest to prove himself worthy of his craft, he becomes entangled in surreal circumstances on the mysterious island of Pincer Point (complete with colorful characters, mystical prophecies, and disturbingly large arthropods). Lured by the siren song of industry success, Jim submits to his ambition and abandons all reason in an effort to capture “the ultimate sound”—an ethereal recording like none other throughout the history of cinema. If he can do it, he might just achieve silver screen immortality. But at what cost? Dreamlike, cinematic, and refreshingly original, this movie combines intentional artistry with silly dialogue and a healthy respect for the filmmaking tradition that inspired it. —Terra Durio
DOCUMENTARY FEATURES
Daughters of the Forest
This vivid, richly textured documentary directed by Otilia Portillo Padua unfolds a layered conversation between humanity and nature, culture and science, the past and the future, life and death. Stunning cinematography and visual effects entwine the forest ecosystem with the lives of two budding mycologists—Indigenous women whose cultural heritage is deeply connected to the land and the many mushroom varieties it hosts. Using traditional knowledge passed on to them by elder matriarchs, they forage, study, and prepare a variety of fungi alongside their community and scientific mentors. This entrancing film explores the complex, interwoven systems that shape the world: the science behind forest mycelium networks, the endangered history, languages, and practices of Tlahuican peoples, and the ongoing environmental consequences of decades of illegal logging in the national forests of Mexico. Directed, produced by, and centering women, Daughters of the Forest asks us to consider what we hold sacred, what connects ecosystems and human communities, and what kind of future we want to build together. Highly recommended for mycophiles, naturalists, and fans of Robin Wall Kimmerer’s work. —Terra Durio
Dew Drop Inn: Resistance and Resilience
This documentary brings viewers into local nightclub and hotel the Dew Drop Inn to consider subjects like early rock’n’roll, the Civil Rights Movement, and Hurricane Katrina. Director Michael Murphy, the leader behind multiple New Orleans music documentaries, draws upon his large archive of past interviews to incorporate insights from legends like rock’n’roll pioneer Earl Palmer, studio mastermind Cosimo Matassa, and iconic songsmith Allen Toussaint. The presence of such brilliant local figures makes it all the more disappointing when AI visuals for “Dew Brop Hotel” make an unnecessary appearance on-screen. The film provides a good overview for those unfamiliar with the space’s legendary heyday when the likes of Little Richard cut it up on stage and integrated audiences challenged the segregative norms of the South. The film overlooks several decades of lesser explored history in favor of a heavy focus on the inn’s recent revival, which has given the space a new meaning to a new generation. Tarriona “Tank” Ball of Tank and the Bangas reflects that it meant a great deal for her to perform in the same space where her father performed decades prior, illustrating that the Dew Drop Inn connects people to both New Orleans’ past and present. —William Archambeault
Harvest
The Nelson brothers face another disappointing harvest season after struggling through seven years of farming together in North Louisiana. From the first shot, it’s clear that the four brothers are under water. Nevertheless, you feel instinctually that they are sufficiently equipped with the grit and swagger to take on the world—and you learn quickly that this is exactly what they’re doing. If Steinbeck were writing a contemporary novel about the systemic cruelties inflicted on 21st century farmers, he could do no better than the Nelson brothers hurling every ounce of life force at farming, saddled with chronically malfunctioning equipment on 2,800 acres of land spread out all over North Louisiana. Their bond may be unbreakable, but nerves are fraying (understandably) under the pressure. When they announce midway through the film that they’ve leased the other 1,000 acres that they need to finally come out ahead, you’re left incredulous at what they’re taking on. As the filmmakers reveal the layers of their motivations, you understand why. Their father always aspired to become a large-scale farmer, but was thwarted by white Louisianan scheming. It’s obvious that they’re living out his dreams, but they have plenty of their own, and no matter the challenge it’s hard to believe there’s anything their combined work ethic and charisma can’t accomplish. A vivid portrait of these indomitable brothers, this top-tier documentary, directed by Natalie Baszile and Hyacinth Parker, cannily reveals the tangle of systemic injustice at the heart of the American dream. —Holly Devon
King of the Chitlin Circuit
“We’ve come a long way, but I’ve got a long way to go,” remarks veteran bluesman Bobby Rush, who is still touring hard at 92 years old. The Houma native has spent his life making audiences blush with lewd lyrics and equally brow-raising motions that have not softened in his old age. “You could say you don’t like Bobby Rush but ‘damn, he good,’” confidently states the singer, guitarist, harmonicist, and, most importantly for him, entertainer. King of the Chitlin Circuit doesn’t just celebrate high moments, like his first Grammy win at 83 years old. Rush opens up about the difficult parts, including navigating public life with interracial parents in the South, a cheating partner, and playing through the pain of losing his mother. Rush’s silver tongue, a font of endless stories, serves as a testament to a lifetime spent captivating audiences across the globe. Director Al Warren brilliantly augments these tales with a mix of archival footage and Rush’s contemporary trips across the United States and Europe. Rush has been hard at work his whole life and doesn’t show any signs of slowing down any time soon. —William Archambeault
Last Night at the Palm Court
A love letter to the traditional jazz club that was a fixture of lower Decatur for three and a half decades until shutting its doors in 2024, directors Jarret Lofstead and Sergio Andrés Lobo-Navia offer a treasure chest of archival footage and new interviews with proprietor Nina Buck, veteran performers, and passionate longtime staff. This documentary celebrates the local club down to its intentional interior design choices, but also offers insights that go far beyond the narrow confines of the small room. Last Night at the Palm Court documents changing tides in traditional jazz and also looks at decades of European interest in one of New Orleans’ signature sounds. As Buck remarks, “You want to keep this music alive and you want to see this music evolve.” As such, this documentary is not simply about the preservation of a so-called dying art. It is about how communities come together and engage with an art form passed down across generations and now across continents. Although Palm Court Jazz Cafe hosted its final night in 2024, it is immortalized in Danny Barker’s composition “Palm Court Strut,” which continues to be performed locally and internationally. —William Archambeault
The Haunting of Pennhurst
You would think a film helmed by a trio of directors would be pulled in too many directions, but The Haunting of Pennhurst comes together pretty seamlessly. Mike Attie, Katarina Poljak, and Nathan R. Stenberg interweave the parallel stories of Pennhurst State School and Hospital, an abandoned institution with a history of abuses and atrocities, and its modern incarnation as one of the premier haunted attractions on the East Coast. Blending archival images of the patients’ oppressive conditions with a behind-the-scenes look into how to put on a modern day haunted house is informative. The juxtaposition makes you wonder how anyone could have ever treated humans in such a way, and stands as a testament to Sarah Garrahan’s editing ability. The emotional turn hinges on the fact that many of the haunters who apply for seasonal positions have disabilities, and therefore may have been institutionalized there in another time (the place was originally known as the Eastern Pennsylvania Institution for the Feeble Minded and Epileptic). This documentary takes great pains to show how the current haunters feel empowered by taking back a space once used to imprison them. While interesting philosophical questions remain about who profits—figuratively and literally—and what is a disability, the film simultaneously provides a hopeful message of progress with a dire warning against the potential erosion of rights. —Carlos A. Molina
Victory
Victory follows beloved New Orleans singer Irma Thomas as she records her first gospel album in three decades. This visually stunning black and white footage brings viewers into the studio to be among the first to hear part of the upcoming project, which includes a collaboration with Brazilian music legend Jorge Ben and a version of Mac DeMarco’s “Chamber of Reflection.” Director Ben Chace gives Thomas, 83 at the time of filming, a platform to reflect on her life and faith. She talks about the Civil Rights Movement, recalling when a white boss fired her for singing Black music during a late-night dishwasher job. Thomas is now arguably one of the city’s most visible gospel singers, but she describes her former church kicking her out at a young age for singing R&B to support her family. The great-great-grandmother dispenses tidbits of timeless wisdom, such as advising young artists that, “You’re not in a competition. Be who you are and do what you know how to do best.” Thomas may be known first and foremost for her angelic vocals, but her warmth and kindness have further endeared her to many New Orleanians. She frequently checks in on musicians during the recording sessions and even navigates a language barrier to console Ben, who became visibly emotional over Thomas’ rendition of his song “Brother.” Victory is a powerful celebration of the music, soul, and faith of one of New Orleans’ all-time greats. —William Archambeault
NARRATIVE SHORTS
Angels Pull Your Hair
Gabby Beans stars in her own directorial debut short about a young Black woman named Danielle suffering from sleep paralysis after years of being warped by her mother, Marilyn (April Matthis), whose mental illness takes shape in schizophrenic episodes and religious psychosis. Marilyn believes that through white supremacy and faith, her daughter would have a better life, hence her prayer, “You may feel a slight tugging as the angels pull your hair.” Even when she’s awake, Danielle can’t escape the wicked voice of the hunchback creature taking form as The Faceless Hag (Jasai Chase-Owens), but because of the support of her friend Nolwenn (Mirirai Sithole) and her partner Coco (Ismenia Mendes) she finds the courage to face her hell. —Nijah Narcisse
Aya
Written, directed, and produced by Maxine Sylvina Ayala, Aya follows a woman of the same name who is boxed inside a sterile white room underneath the excruciating combination of recording cameras, blinding overhead lights, and the dominating pitch of disembodied voices. Aya (Katherine Keating) appears unsettled; she’s barefoot and wearing a white dress and long, platinum hair. Her body looks dehydrated as shiny blue veins peak through her pale and sullen skin. The startling voice of the ORO (Tab Benoit) echoes through the speaker, commanding her to complete many trials, each one more menacing than the last. —Nijah Narcisse
Haint
Haint is a Gullah-Geechee folk horror short from director Jahmil Eady, proudly presented in Geechee Creole. Eady drew upon stories of gentrification occurring along the South Carolina Geechee island coast. As Annabelle (Melanie-Nicholls-King) says in the film, “They come in and paint the place white, not knowing the culture.” According to the lore, a haint is an evil spirit that cannot cross water or the sky. The Gullah-Geechee people recognized this and started to use “haint” blue on their homes as a protective ward against evil spirits. As the gentrifiers redevelop the area, they also erase these protections by painting everything white because, to the outsiders, “the blue is a bit too gauche.” This erasure of the Geechee culture invites the haints in. Though it seems that the vengeful spirits would provide the horror, Eady suggests that the true horror is the loss of the Geechee people, their homes, and finally, their culture. —Mike 5ive
Into The Sun
Over the radio a voice reports: “It’s been two weeks since the Category 5 storm hit South Louisiana and recovery efforts are still underway.” Charlie (Dora Madison Burge) makes pancakes, visibly exhausted, while her son Eli (Boaz Taylor) uses an upside-down laundry basket as a table for drawing sketches of a flooded city and Charlie’s partner Dani (Solaris Nico Corzine) attends to logistics and Charlie’s emotional fallout. While the trio drives to different motels in San Antonio looking for Charlie’s father, Muddy, the relationships between them effortlessly reveal themselves without relying on expository dialogue that announces its intention. Instead, all three actors offer grounded and subtle portrayals of a family in the turmoil of hurricane aftermath while the script and set design let the small, in-between moments speak for the larger narrative. As Charlie digs through the belongings of a character we never get to meet, we piece together the relationship despite everything unsaid. This approach makes sense coming from writer-director Monique Champagne, a set decoration veteran on films like Sinners, Nickel Boys, and The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. It’s clear Champagne knows the importance of details and trusting the audience. —Marisa Clogher
(Om)en
Written and directed by Mary McDade, this short delivers a Lynchian film on presence and attention, in just under seven minutes. Soft light, dreamy sequences, and a woman in red (played by Anne Brown Peterson) carry coded meaning on what seems to be a simple meditation in the park. Fallon Goodsun, as the meditator, delivers the lead from the first breath til the last, tracing arcs of intention, distraction, and the dark ways life can unfurl. Like the rise and fall of the breath, the present moment reaches up to meet us—or conversely slips from our fingers—and this short invites us to sit and see: Who is the dreamer and who is dreaming the dream? —Megan Burns
Pullover
The latest film from mother/daughter duo Nicole Collins and Aadyn Encalarde explores the innocence, danger, and trauma of girlhood. Pullover puts us in the driver’s seat where we follow Lyndria (Aadyn Encalarde) and her little sister as they begin to explore the world and the space around them. As the young girls encounter new threats, they learn to lean on each other and their mother to survive the fallout. The film is a conversation piece meant to show how innocence can be lost but then found. —Mike 5ive
The Messiah’s Daughter
Written and directed by Roxy Moskowitz, this short stars Cali Kira as Tehila, the daughter in a film juxtaposing the harsh reality of family against the scintillating beauty of the unknown. The father (Tomer David) welcomes his daughter to their isolated home, where it’s hinted he must remain removed from society. He believes he is the messiah, and Tehila must balance illusion with reality—represented by her retreat into the world of snakes when she flees from her father’s god complex. Snakes counterbalance her father’s belief, representing a tangible entity she can hold on to—or are they really the root of all evil, as her father’s rabbi counsels? This film subtly hands off belief to the believer, asking: What should we do with beauty and disappointment? —Megan Burns
We Were Girls Together
This short film by Loyola University New Orleans graduate Cameron Adams explores the complexities, strains, and joys of a longtime friendship between two young women. Jodi (Milo Howell) and Noah (Carsyn Breaux) have been best friends since childhood, and in honor of Jodi taking an internship across the country, they decide to take a road trip to the place where they became friends. When car trouble forces them to stay the night in a small town, unspoken frustrations and their changing relationship come to light. Adams’ portrayal of the tension that can occur within a friendship when needs and desires diverge rings true to life, as does the emotional clumsiness of early adulthood. In its short 16 minutes, We Were Girls Together is a sweet, wistful look at the power of female friendship. —Paula Ibieta
DOCUMENTARY SHORTS
Bachelors Only
Bachelors Only focuses on the under-documented Mardi Gras riot of 1955 in the heart of the gay section of Bourbon Street. Well thought out and meticulously researched by the artist duo Lasse Lau and Flo Maak, the film combines archival footage of 1950s Mardi Gras with audio-cassette logs and firsthand accounts from various bachelors of that era in an attempt to uncover the mystery of what happened in ‘55, and revealing what life was like then for young gay men in the South trying to find their way. Some of the bachelors speak about the police raiding gay clubs, while others talk about hiding their “true” selves to maintain their place in society. Amidst the pressures of the Lavender Scare, the cops, and unethical laws, the queer community still seems to find a way to live. Historian Roberts Batson sums it up beautifully: Queer folk have always existed but never have they been truly a part of history. This film aims to change that. —Mike 5ive
Black Soil
In Black Soil (directed by Nicholas Weissman and Caitlin Ochs), the land holds the lessons for a multi-generational family of Black farmers of the Yazoo River basin in northwest Mississippi. The Allen farm originated from a New Deal-era 40-acre land grant. At the time, the land was considered too close to the river to be valuable, but this in fact made it exceptionally fertile. In the generations since, the family has reciprocated the blessings of the land by serving as committed stewards. The film focuses on a father and son farming team, each of whom brings their own perspective to farming. The father, Herbert Allen Jr., takes the more industrial approach that he grew up with, back when high yields were the name of the game. His son Trentis, on the other hand, has been learning the process of regenerative agriculture, in which a holistic understanding of the needs of the land can lead to more abundance long term. But there are no intergenerational tensions here. Trentis integrates what he learns slowly, allowing his father time to adjust to new ways, and is rewarded by Herbert’s genuine excitement when he sees how well it works. With stunning footage of Mississippi’s earthen riches in every frame, Black Soil radiates hope and possibility. Watching the Allen family is enough to make you believe in the possibility of healthy working relationships between generations, learn from both the mistakes and wisdom of the past, and heal our relationship to nature before it’s too late. —Holly Devon
Champions of Change
Directed by Jess Speight, Champions of Change is a close look at Son of a Saint, a football camp mentoring program. Son of a Saint is a program for fatherless boys in New Orleans that was founded in 2011 by Bivian “Sonny” Lee III, and has served over 700 young men. This film focuses on the mentors who made this difference, including former NFL player Tyrann Mathieu whose father speaks on the impact his absence had on Mathieu’s life as he served a 30-year prison sentence. Former NFL player Cornelius Lucas speaks on losing his father as a child and why he feels mentoring is vital to guide the next generation. The stories reveal obstacles to their success: growing up in a city under the shadow of Katrina, and how poverty and a lack of resources continue to plague the city’s youth. As Shawn Delahoussaye, a levee engineer and mentor, puts it, the program creates an opportunity for young men to explore their relationship with the word “Father.” These relationships bolster the community we live in and strengthen the next generation of the city. —Megan Burns
¡Hola, Paisano!
Hugo Hernández and Berenice Rodriguez are two Mexican immigrants who run the beloved El Paisano Bakery in Harrisonburg, Virginia. Directors Mariana Martinez and Jess Daddio deftly weave together stories from Hugo and Berenice about their lives before and after coming to the United States. Amid images of towering cakes and colorful sweet breads, the couple opens up about their everyday joys and fears, obstacles they’ve conquered, and ones that remain. ¡Hola, Paisano! is a reminder of the awe-inspiring journey immigrants must traverse to build a new life, as well as an indictment of the cruelty and fear that current immigration policies inflict across the United States. —Paula Ibieta
Second Line
Edouard Lemiale’s five-minute film centers around New Orleans poet, historian, and activist Chuck Perkins and the New Orleans tradition of second lines. Born in Pigeon Town, Perkins is well known to many artists and locals and can often be found at his lively event space, Cafe Istanbul. Perkins’ poetry provides the backdrop while images of second lines flow past, weaving across the screen amidst the sound of drums and tubas. “We want the beauty and the pleasure,” he recites, and it’s true. It’s hard to imagine that over two decades ago, the decision to rebuild this city was a question that could be posed. Trying to capture what happens in the streets of New Orleans takes a poet to truly explain: “There’s freedom in these streets.” —Megan Burns
Settling St. Malo
If you’ve heard of Louisiana’s historic Filipino community, whose presence here stretches all the way back to the 18th century, it’s likely due to the work of poet Randy Gonzales. With an art practice that combines scholarship and multidisciplinary storytelling, he has successfully restored the Filipino community to South Louisiana’s cultural mainstage. In Settling St. Malo, director and co-producer Virgile Beddok retraces the ground laid out in his poetry collection by the same name to connect his personal family history to the broader impact of the Filipino diaspora. The material is perhaps a less natural fit for film—or the 30-minute runtime is just unnecessarily long. Still, Gonzales is a seasoned traveler of this particularly vibrant corner of Louisiana history, and it’s fortunate to be taken along. —Holly Devon
Some Kind of Refuge
Precarity has always defined the lives of those who chose to settle along the New Orleans batture, a strip of land Uptown between the river and the levee. Taking your chances there has historically meant hitching your survival to the whims of the river, which in turn grants you freedom from the strictures of life beyond the levee. In Some Kind of Refuge, director Alexandra Kern introduces us to the two oldest remaining batture residents, who muse about their bargain with the river as we watch them live according to its rhythms. Though a simple offering, this documentary short has far-reaching resonance. While their batture dwellings remain unusual, environmental precarity no longer is. What is less common is their joyful surrender to an uncertain future, and the loveliness of their riverine existence makes a compelling case for following their example. —Holly Devon
ANIMATED & EXPERIMENTAL SHORTS
A Little Death
Death is having an existential crisis. All his attempts to teach his bubbly young apprentice reaper the ways of the business seem to be for naught—the apprentice is more interested in flowers than scythes, wandering off to frolic with woodland creatures rather than focusing on collecting the latest soul on their list. Fortunately for Death, the person they have been fruitlessly pursuing also happens to be a psychoanalyst. And so goes the plot of A Little Death, Leto Meade and Jonathan Rockefeller’s whimsical adaptation of Nicholas Gurewitch’s 2020 graphic novel, Notes on a Case of Melancholia, or: A Little Death. The animation team behind A Little Death emulated Gurewitch’s painstaking black and white etchings, which were, in turn, heavily influenced by Edward Gorey’s deliciously macabre cartoons. Splashes of hot pink are the only other color, and an important plot point. No actual dialogue is used, with the story moved forward instead by the jaunty soundtrack, nonsensical language (with subtitles), and the expressiveness of the characters. A kind-hearted little fable, A Little Death asks us to consider different ways of approaching work, and to appreciate what others can teach us, both in life and in death. —Mary Beth Campbell
Ball Face
Written, directed, and animated by Laurence Thérien, this animated short understands the terror of elementary P.E. class all too well. This four-minute claymation film follows a young girl whose Quebecois P.E. teacher, Eric, announces, “I tried to be a police officer, but they told me I have a heart problem.” From there, the students engage in a game that appears to be a mix of wall ball and dodgeball on steroids as Eric screams from the sidelines, “Kindergarten is over, guys. This shit is serious. This is elementary school.” And so our heroine must find a way to survive the game until the end. The absurd plotline reflects the big feelings and changes—literal and figurative—that children go through at that stage in their lives, and how they develop resiliency (for better and for worse). Thérien’s claymation figures are colorful and cartoony, and the animation details are intricate, with minute changes in characters’ facial expressions and the main character’s metamorphosis all created with painstaking stop motion animation. No CGI was used at any point in the creative process. According to Thérien, the entire creation and production took six months, with 14-hour days, six days a week. Ball Face is a testament to the artistry of claymation and a tender and funny tribute to the often surreal experience of childhood. —Mary Beth Campbell
Crab Diane
Writer/director Ryan McCown and the psychedelic sounds of composer Peter Czibolya are the perfect match for this surrealist, satirical animated story about a waitress surrendering to alien crabs. The protagonist Grace (Grace Beerhorst) lives a mundane life as a server at a seaside diner. Her sullen voice and nonchalant demeanor hide a yearning for a new life. After a long day of serving an unbearable pair of old ladies, she lies restlessly in bed dreaming of escape. Suddenly, she’s approached in her bedroom by Crab Diane (Colleen Alley), dressed in baby blue from head to toe, and she offers Grace a chance at something different. Grace surrenders to the anthropomorphic crab, then the two are sucked into an alternate world that awakens her true purpose. —Nijah Narcisse
Dollhouse Elephant
Without dialogue, this lush animated short by Jenny Jokela tells many stories—actually, those of an entire apartment building. The bulbous square building and its denizens feel familiar yet altogether original: The colorful cast includes an anxious introvert, insatiable lovers, an elder cook, an avid plant collector and her unhappy boyfriend, and three merry child pranksters ding-dong-ditching a long-suffering bodybuilder. Through brightly-hued paintbrush strokes, unique choral sound design, and a kaleidoscopic, fluid animation style, the audience follows each of their lives through the walls and floors of the building. Carried by a ceaseless current through their apartments, we witness their inner worlds and public existences as well as how they collide in unexpected ways. Through navigating isolation and togetherness, communities are formed—and the mesmerizing experience of Dollhouse Elephant reminds us how special it is to be part of one. —Terra Durio
Paradaïz
“[Paradaïz] noun. 1. An idyllic place or state. 2. Also, a tomato.” So opens Matea Radic’s animated short, whose title is a play on the English word “paradise” and the Bosnian word for tomato (paradajz). In an interview, Radic explained that the title “made me think about language and the space between words and their meanings, which then reminded me of my own in-betweenness.” Radic and her family fled Sarajevo in 1992 at the beginning of the Bosnian War, eventually ending up in Canada. She did not return until 25 years later. Using absurdist, childlike animation, black and white photographs and footage (some from her family archives), and traditional Bosnian music—notably, both traditional and modern versions of the Bosnian folk song “Kradem ti se u veceri [Stealing away into your evening]”—Paradaïz attempts to reconcile the past and the present. On her journey, Radic’s cartoon stand-in arrives in Sarajevo, and the passport control officer changes the anglicized version of her last name in her Canadian passport back to the Baltic “Radić” with the stroke of a pen and the wink of an eye. Cigarettes abound in the city, even lighting abandoned birthday cakes, and smiley face stickers cover up the holes in Radic’s former apartment building. A snail without a shell accompanies Radic on this journey, and a juicy red paradajz acts as a gateway while memories—many of them painful—unfold and Radic’s child and adult selves converge, if not bringing peace, then at least bringing resolution. —Mary Beth Campbell
SomatiQ Black: Neci
Created and directed by Olamma Oparah, this experimental short functions as a communal healing apparatus, narrated through archival images, soothing voices, and rhythmic sounds. The subtitle “Neci” is a Black Southern term used to describe a niece. A ‘90s commercial of the Kenya doll by Tyco Toys along with a Sesame Street episode teaching hand games calls back to Black childhood. The positive affirmations from the auntie archetype become a generational ritual that transforms the way Black women see themselves. Oparah is a storyteller, shaping the persistence of joy regardless of the colossal weight of oppression. —Nijah Narcisse
Tell Me When You Get Home
This animated slice-of-life by director Tshay Williams is a love letter to the people of the Caribbean diaspora. The film centers around 15-year-old protagonist Honest Cardamom as she wrestles with losing her mother and holding on to her memory and spirituality at her uncle’s birthday party. The animation and party backdrop act as an entry point, dropping you into Cardamom’s world and helping to visualize her unseen feelings. The various aunts, uncles, and cousins in attendance can’t help but bring up Cardamom’s mother, which only heightens Cardamom’s anxiety. She may look like her mother, but she is still trying to understand herself and what her mother meant to others. The film crams nuance into every shot: The plate of rice and peas, the guy vomiting fish, and even the “riddim” add to this fantastical story. —Mike 5ive
The Body of Christ (El Cuerpo de Cristo)
Director Bea Lema’s debut film is a striking hybrid animation that synthesizes real embroidered backgrounds with digital animation designed to recreate the look and feel of textile art. The short film tells the story of Adela, a woman who is plagued by the constant feeling of being watched. Struggling to explain what’s going on internally to her family and community, she looks to religion and spirituality for solace and begins to come to terms with a traumatic past through an experience with a healer. The film’s unique animated style is impressive: The physical and digital tools work seamlessly in the telling of this woman’s path toward healing, demonstrating the potential for new technology to amplify the beauty and imperfections of a handmade craft. —Paula Ibieta
With Tapes and Toasts in the Car (Im Auto Tapes und Butterbrot)
An electronically-distorted voice opens this short by narrating psychedelic animated scenes of outer space: “Crystals and molecular chains. Cosmic atoms. Stars decay into new formations. You and me, part of it.” From there, we meet Shari Hamu, who has just received a fatal diagnosis from her doctor: Her body, both literally and figuratively, has begun to go back to the cosmos. Unable to reveal to her loving and concerned family that she has, at most, a few months to live, she begins to have visions of Laika, the Soviet space dog. Laika—who we learn is also the narrator—acts as both a guide and companion to Shari on her journey through the stages of grief as she faces the fact that her life, just like Laika’s, is ending too soon. Writer, animator, and director Kiana Naghshineh took inspiration from Soviet propaganda materials featuring Laika and cosmonauts, and the characters are based on people in her life. Accompanied by Ziggy Has Ardeur’s electronic and hip-hop-influenced score, this 14-minute short is aesthetically bold and emotional. The cycle of life and death goes on, but that does not diminish the fact that the memories we leave behind, even a mixtape, hold meaning for someone. As Laika reminds us, “Stars decay and new ones emerge. The echo of her light remains.” —Mary Beth Campbell
The 37th New Orleans Film Festival will take place in-person between October 22 through 27 and virtually until November 1. For more info, check out neworleansfilmsociety.org.
Top photo: Daughters of the Forest
