Director: Marlena Stam
Writer: Marlena Stam
Cast: Jim Van Der Heijden, Floris van Raaijen
Running time: 12mins
A joyous foray into filmmaking, Narcissus is a film which will no doubt make many artists sick with jealousy. Short-form storytelling is an art, one which is not only about understanding the technical side of film – how to frame a scene, when to push actors for another take, where scraps of meaning should fit into a singular edit – but about using them to find a unique and authentic directorial voice.
Finding that voice can take years – if it is discovered at all – with blood, sweat, tears (and copious amounts of debt) regularly incurred along the way. But here, first-time filmmaker Marlena Stam has burst onto the scene and nailed all of the above.
It should be noted that Stam didn’t do this entirely on her own, of course. Billed as “coming from a background in science”, her first published project saw her collaborate with “a talented and generous crew” who imparted “invaluable lessons” shaping Stam’s “understanding of filmmaking” in the process.
It is tempting to lapse into suggesting learning on the job is easy when you have a bit of STEM money to attract the best crew – but Narcissus cost the princely sum of €800. Hardly chump-change, but still, that is one of the lowest budgets from IFL’s 2026 submissions season so far – and shows excellent awareness of where to spend for maximum impact.
At the centre of that, the thing which cost the least – Stam’s own story and script – sets the film up for success from the very beginning. A masterclass in restraint, and the maxim of ‘come in late, get out early’, the story follows Narcissus (Jim Van Der Heijden) – an insecure young man who seems both obsessed and at war with himself.
The dialogue boxes clever – offering up a few funny or revealing moments of introspection, before dying down and opening up space for the audience to think and feel along with the characters. While meeting with two old, nameless, friends in a crowded and noisy night club, Narcissus is keen to impress upon everyone just how special he is – but can only do that based upon the way others see him. As soon as anyone engages with his stories of dancefloor flattery from a point of commonality, his confident façade crumbles. When it transpires that actually, his friends are also adult humans who have flirted in a club before, Narcissus fades from view – just as one friend delivers the punchline, “it’s so great to be out and all together again”.
It’s a fantastic piece of writing – but what really makes it sing is that Stam’s dialogue knows not to overstay its welcome. Instead, while the conversation continues, it blurs into background noise – and allows the film’s greatest communicator to take centre-stage: Jim van der Heijden’s face.
In the moment where his friends seem elated to be together in the here-and-now, Van der Heijden’s expression undergoes a devastating transformation – and he seems to doubt whether he is really here, or now, at all. It’s heart-breaking to watch – in part because in our most secure moments, we’ve all been lost like Narcissus.
In another scene, positioned opposite a mirror, he gazes endlessly at his reflection, obsessing over every detail. Unlike his ancient namesake, however, the stare does not seem to stem from arrogance, but a complete absence of confidence.
Again, Narcissus’ entire self-value seems to be based around what other people think of him. As he desperately goes through the motions in the bathroom, buttoning and unbuttoning his shirt, parting his hair on every side, his desperate eyes speak of a man so out of touch with himself that he yearns for others to see him, and tell him who he is. But even when he gets it, this outsourced, surface-level respect only dooms him to further disappointment.
When Ameinias (Floris van Raaijen) appears, Narcissus latches onto him as the perfect candidate for this. This attraction seems mostly based on the fact Ameinias vaguely resembles him – a kind of idealised, more confident reflection – making him the perfect surrogate to affirm who Narcissus is. But again it’s all surface-level – so while the ensuing surrealist tryst does give Narcissus a brief shot in the arm, perking him up until he realises again there is nothing exceptional about his experiences in the grand scheme of humanity, he wilts. Because at no point has he addressed anything about his inner hopes or desires – he remains utterly estranged from himself.
In a cruel irony, this will most likely send him back to the surface-level obsessions with his reflection – to repeat the cycle again. As mentioned, we come in late and exit this story early, so it is unclear how many times this cycle might have played out, or will still play out. That’s for us to imagine – with Stam’s dreamlike imagery and ambient soundtrack giving us plenty of food for thought.
Particular acknowledgements should also go to members of the crew, as Stam mentioned in her director’s statement. For me, Connor Rose is one of the MVPs from that excellent list of artists – as the sound designer and mixer whose work so subtly carries us away from the dialogue at just the right moment. At the same time, gaffers Ximena Valencia and Lex Obbens use their lighting to brilliantly underscore the mood and tempo of the story, in a way that goes far beyond the literal expectations audiences would have for the environments the story takes place in.
For example, it’s been a while since I went clubbing, but I’m pretty sure the lights in the toilets don’t fluctuate through the colour spectrum in the same way those on the dancefloor do. But by making this choice, the lighting informs us of so much more than the stale white lighting of a public WC really would. As the tone morphs from warmer fluorescence to a pallid and lifeless tone around Narcissus, his uncertain psychological state is highlighted – while we are also primed for the potential for the more fantastical or surreal elements of the later story. Of course, this lighting isn’t 100% up to safety coding – but it introduces us to the blurring between reality and fantasy (relating to Narcissus’ sense of self) present before and after the film takes place.
But crucially, Stam has marshalled the talents of these – and many more – contributors into a single, consistent tone. In doing so, she has found a unique artistic voice, and used it to compelling effect.
From top to bottom, this is a stunning piece of work, which draws inspiration from mythology, without simply resorting to making a played-out, literal modernisation of it. Marlena Stam is a writer-director to watch for the future – especially if she manages to shirk the ‘difficult second album’ trope as easily as the ‘it takes time to find your voice’ one.