“Without Kelly” screened at the 2026 Sundance Film Festival as part of the Shorts Program, following its Orizzonti International Short Film Award win at the Venice Film Festival. Made by Swedish filmmaking duo Lovisa Sirén (director) and Siri Hjorton Wagner (producer), the short offers a raw, intimate portrait of young single motherhood and the layered longings that shape it—longing for pleasure, attention, autonomy, and time with your baby. Set over the course of a single 24-hour period, the film lingers in moments often left unseen, observing its protagonist with empathy rather than judgment.
Rooted in Sirén’s personal experience of becoming a mother at a young age, “Without Kelly” continues the director’s ongoing exploration of motherhood as a defining, complicated force in women’s lives. In this interview, producer Siri Hjorton Wagner reflects on the film’s deeply personal origins, its unapologetic portrayal of intimacy—from sex and nudity to breastfeeding and physical closeness—and the cultural openness that shaped its approach. She also discusses long-term creative collaboration, what it means to produce female-centered stories with care, and how trust, honesty, and collective work sit at the heart of her producing practice.
I wanted to start by hearing a bit about your perspective on motherhood and the director’s vision for this film. Where did that vision come from, and how does it relate personally?
This is the most personal film the director has made. It’s not autobiographical, but she had her first daughter when she was very young, around 21. So the film relates to that experience of being both a mother and still a kid yourself—trying to find security in who you are while caring for someone who also depends on you for security. That was the starting point for the story. For me personally, it’s a beautiful portrait of longing—the physical, almost primal intimacy you feel toward your child. That longing becomes a strong driving force in the film.
Motherhood is a recurring theme in her work. Her previous film followed three generations of women and explored how motherhood shapes who you become. Another film centered on a woman discovering she’s pregnant and questioning whether she can or should become a mother.
In this film, as with all her female-centered stories, the question is not whether the character is a good mother. She clearly is. She loves her child deeply. But she’s also flawed, young, and still figuring herself out. That’s very typical of her style—allowing characters to be raw and imperfect without judgment. She wants to portray the inner emotional life of a character and let the audience relate, rather than evaluate.
What I love about her writing is how unapologetic it is. I remember on an earlier film worrying that the audience might not like the characters because they were so flawed. But she insisted on keeping them that way because that’s how people really are.
When I was watching the film, I kept thinking about my own experience. I have a two-year-old and almost never leave him. Leaving overnight feels huge. The character struggles with leaving her baby, and I felt that so strongly—the desire to crawl into bed next to them, to see photos of them sleeping. As a mother yourself, did that resonate with you?
My daughter is older now, so it’s different. We can communicate, and she understands time. When children are very young, they don’t have that sense. When you’re gone, you don’t exist to them, and that’s the heartbreaking part. They don’t understand that you’re coming back.
Now my daughter is used to me being away sometimes. I already share custody, so she’s accustomed to that rhythm. But when she was younger, it was absolutely difficult to leave.
What I love in the film is that conflicting feeling: wanting to pursue your own interests and identity, while also wanting to be physically close to your child. You want to be everywhere at once.You want to be with them, but you’re also aware that you were a person before becoming a parent.
It’s also important to remember that when you leave, you’re leaving your child with someone who loves them. In the film, the father genuinely wants to be with his child. The child is safe and cared for. It’s often harder for the parents than for the kids.
My grandmother immigrated from Sweden to the U.S., and she used to say Americans are very prudish. Watching the film, I thought of her—especially with how bodies and nudity are portrayed. Becoming a parent changes your relationship to nudity entirely. It stops feeling sexual and just becomes practical. Could you talk about why you chose to portray that on screen, and how cultural freedom in Sweden plays into that?
When I read the script, I was genuinely happy about how explicit and detailed the intimacy was—not in a sensational way, but in an honest one. The sex scenes don’t fade out or cut away. They stay present, and I think that matters.
Sexuality can say so much about a relationship—about history, power, intimacy, and longing. Letting those scenes take up space in the story tells you so much about the characters. I also appreciate that the sex isn’t destructive. She wants to be with her child, but she also wants intimacy. That contradiction is part of who she is.
There’s also nudity outside of sex—the pub bathroom scene, for example. That scene says something about her restlessness, her need for connection, her impulsiveness. We worked with an intimacy coordinator for all of these scenes.
With the bathtub scene involving the baby, we had extensive conversations with the parents. The actor and the baby spent a lot of time together beforehand so they felt comfortable. Everything was approached with care.
One moment that really stood out to me was how casually breastfeeding is shown early in the film. It felt so real. Before becoming a mother, you might hesitate about something like that, but afterward it becomes completely natural. I’ve never seen it portrayed that way in a film before.
That authenticity is why she’s such a brilliant director, and why the film has been so well received, including winning in Venice. There’s a truth to it that people recognize.
Could you talk about your role as a producer and what that looks like day to day, especially working with the same director over many years?
I never planned to become a producer. I acted in one of her early short films, which won a prize in Gothenburg. After that, I suggested producing her next film, and it ended up premiering at Sundance. I was very lucky early on.
What drew me to producing was the collaboration. I’ve always been interested in collective work. I choose projects based on people rather than genre. I work in both short and feature formats and try to do at least one of each every year. I love putting teams together—finding directors, cinematographers, actors who really connect. That’s my favorite part, watching people come together and create something greater than themselves.
Day to day, I run my own production company. About 30% of my time is spent running the business rather than making films. I work internationally, which is essential in Sweden since we can’t make films without international partners.
Early in my career, I did everything—from buying supplies to driving vans. Now I focus on being a strong leader, thinking clearly, managing conflicts, giving honest feedback, and supporting the director. Trust is everything. The people I work with know I don’t have a hidden agenda. I’m not in this for the money—I’m here to make good films.
Long-term collaborations also mean you’re thinking about careers, not just individual films. When we made “Without Kelly,” it was partly because the director needed to keep working while financing a feature. That short film helped build momentum for what came next.
What advice would you give to a young woman who wants to become a producer?
Find your crew. That’s the most important thing. Especially early on, when you have little money and no network, you need people you trust and enjoy working with. Film is hard, especially short films. Having the right collaborators makes all the difference.
As a producer, your greatest assets are the talents you work with—directors, writers, actors. Find the ones who trust you and whom you trust in return, and build from there.
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