“[subtext]” is the recipient of the Critic’s Choice Award for the 2024 Cinema Femme Short Film Festival. This award is given by a film critic, and this year, the film was chosen by Peyton Robinson, film critic for RogerEbert.com, and contributor to Cinema Femme magazine.
As innocuous as a first date may seem, there are few experiences that require such openness and vulnerability in order to be effective. Cinematically, the first date is often rendered with either instant chemistry or charming awkwardness. What “[subtext],” directed by Erin Brown Thomas and written by Olivia Haller, provides instead is a brutal honesty: frustrations, fears, and anxieties portrayed with attitude and tension rather than meek chuckles and sporadic eye contact. The stereotypes of romanticism are stripped away, and this harsh sense of realism is left behind, comfortingly, for us to quickly identify with.
Luna (Olivia Haller) and Cameron (Hunter Stiebel) meet at a bar for their first date. The short starts from Luna’s POV, and in a “Freaky Friday”-style shift, pivots to Cameron’s after. We come to know their first impressions and initial anxieties this way. And as the date carries on, the film’s dialogue consists only of the characters’ inner thoughts, until a shattering moment throws them both out of their own minds and forces them to really get to know each other. To speak in the present. Thomas’ voyeuristic, largely static direction prompts us to laser in on the actors, as does the lighting, which literally spotlights their table.
“[subtext]” is utterly relatable, hilarious at some points and devastating at others. Its unabashedness is refreshing and effortlessly empathetic. Luna and Cameron aren’t really listening to one another, instead fixated on their own ruminations and in conversation with their own emotional biases. Haller’s writing is acrobatic, juggling tones and perspectives with fun and fluidity, while the actors (including Haller herself) did the same. And when the story reaches its crushing climax, we’re thrust into an even deeper level of realism than prepared, yet undoubtedly grateful for the care and candor displayed.
But while “[subtext]” tells the story of one particular date in one particular restaurant, it really serves as a microcosm of our present culture. A discussion about where anxieties, hopes, and personal histories collide, it feels universal. It’s precisely the type of romantic-comedy that 2024 demands: one that centralizes on mental health without the pity treatment, doesn’t undermine anxieties or trauma for plot fulfillment, and finds the humor in moments of coping. That’s what romance is, vulnerability in spite of, not for the sake of, and “[subtext]” leaves plenty of room for laughs amidst its seizing moments of concern – shallow and thorough – and concludes with the guidance to give ourselves the same grace we give to others.
