Director: AJ Moss
Writer: AJ Moss
Cast: Corina Carrillo, Jyllian Petrie, Matt Mattson, Natalie Paige Willison
Running time: 15mins
Morbid Sight is honest about what it is. This is a proof of concept – with a note in the end credits informing us it was “based on the feature length screenplay by AJ Moss”. The writer-director behind this production clearly envisions a world with more time and space to tell a wider story set in this universe, then, and that’s fair enough. I don’t begrudge anyone the opportunity to use a short film as a pitch, to excite producers, and pay for a larger artistic vision.
One of the great strengths of short narrative, is that you get to come in late, and get out early – leaving the (ideally) intrigued audience trying to fill in the gaps themselves, and crying out for more. Any unnecessary details can be cast aside in this format, while the central intrigue of your larger story gets the chance to snag as much interest as possible.
The problem for Morbid Sight, is that it doesn’t seem particularly confident in that process – and results in an attempt by Moss to have his cake and eat it too. The script does come in late, and leave before the narrative’s greater journey commences, but Moss is either too proud of some of the twists and turns of his feature script, or doesn’t believe in the core enough to let it stand alone – somewhat undermining both the idea that core could be enough to draw in monied interests, and the importance of the standalone production audiences are actually being invited to engage with here.
We begin with Claire (Corina Carrillo) arriving at the house of her estranged step-mother Linda (Natalie Paige Willison), and Linda’s brother ‘Uncle Dave’ (Matt Mattson). Claire, a qualified psychotherapist, has dwarfism, and immediately has this used to insult and abuse her, when her step-mother hears that she is coming to stay.
“Was the city life a bit too big for you?” Linda sneers – revealing herself to be a deeply bigoted character right from the outset. But before the film’s conclusion, Moss’ script attempts to find the time and space to try and make it seem as though there could be a reason for her behaviour. There are two key issues with this. The first, practical point, is that this ‘intrigue’ is eating into the time we will spend delving into the issues of Cousin Sarah (Jyllian Petrie), which are the whole reason for Claire’s return, and the source of the core concept that any feature would hinge upon.
The amount of detail presented in relation to the complex family drama dynamic is unnecessary. Indeed, most of the family dynamic is unnecessary. If this were simply boiled down to a dialogue between a psychiatrist and their patient, the narrative could still run the same course, and carry much of the same impact. Returning to the project later, with a (presumably) 90-minute run-time, would allow for that to be added in, and adequately fleshed out. Perhaps it would even be done in a way that didn’t still make Linda come across as a first-rate psychopath? (Without spoiling this twist, I can only say that it involves an adult forming an abusive grudge against a child for something their father did.)
But that’s all the critical equivalent of playing fantasy football. I can’t say one way or another what a larger version of this project might look like, where it might succeed or fail. More pressing for me is the way that this version lets itself down here, and misses opportunities for the kind of storytelling that would make it interesting in its own right. Particularly, when it comes to addressing the prejudice directed at Claire.
We get an ugly insight into the way that her condition is used to attack her; used by others desperate to define themselves as superior to her by any means necessary. But this is not something which thematically follows Claire into the treatment room where she speaks to her cousin.
The conversation with Linda is compelling thanks to the acting prowess of both Carillo and Petrie – both of whom run the emotional gamut, and deliver towering performances that make any other presences seem flat, and cartoonish by comparison. Petrie transitions from a welcoming, warm individual in this strange, cold environment, to a domineering manipulator, whose mask falls the moment she doesn’t receive confirmation of every one of her biases. Meanwhile, starting from a sense of security and professional confidence, Carillo’s building sense of dread, sadness and pain is etched into her face, shifting gradually until the moment overwhelms her character.
That is all excellent work on their part – and I sincerely hope it helps them to attract the eye of casting agents for other productions. But none of that talent or energy goes toward exploring the dynamic between the characters; which one assumes wrongly is underwritten by familial respect, and the other steadily reveals is expected to be of ownership and confirmation. Linda is every bit as bigoted as her aunt – but she is less direct in her application of it; rather than saying things for herself, she quotes her aunt. Her goal is more insidious – rather than establishing petty dominance, it is ownership of Claire. And when that doesn’t work, she is all too happy to resort to physical control.
The core – which I expect the longer script focuses on in detail – is Linda having apparently developed psychic abilities. The whole meeting, from her point of view, is not to get help with possible delusions, but to rubber-stamp the validity of what she is saying. The fact is, there are many other controlled environments she could do this with – but she chose the one where she felt she could impose ownership on the other person. But while this dynamic actually could help hook us in for the sci-fi/supernatural story that Moss seems more interested in – and help to invest us in the short we are actually sitting through – it is quickly dropped, and left under-explored, for the sake of more time with side-characters that don’t seem particularly useful, and an excruciatingly slow climactic twist which we have, ironically, seen coming 10 minutes ago.
There is obviously potential here. This project, if it decides to use its supernatural hook as an opportunity to talk about ableism and the exploitation of people living with achondroplasia – by their families, or wider society – could be an excellent commentary-driven thriller. As it stands in this particular form, however, too many characters and plot details which the writer could not stand to cut, leave this a convoluted drag, that undermines that potential.
