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Momentum by Julien Marsouin, Abraham Mercado, and Guillermo Castellanos is a poetic, culturally rich experimental short that celebrates the universal, primal drive to run. The film elegantly weaves together the stories of four distinct tribes from around the world, spotlighting how running is embedded in their identities, landscapes, and rituals.
The film’s clarity of vision and attention to cultural detail shine through. The narrative has a dreamlike, almost meditative quality, inviting the viewer to reflect on movement as both survival and joy. It’s a heartfelt tribute to the beauty and meaning of running across time and cultures.
Let’s Fall in Love the Old Way by Sunny Liu is a clever, lighthearted hybrid short set in a near-future where AI dating coaches run the show. The film starts abruptly, but quickly becomes funny and genuinely entertaining, and with refined and subtle nuances, the message comes across clearly.
The tone is breezy, the acting is spot-on, and the Mandarin voice-over feels authentic. Visually, it’s stylish and contemporary, and ultimately, this is a fresh, playful take on love in a digital age. Easy to watch, satisfying, and leaves you with a smile.
Caterpillar definitely crawls under your skin with a spike-covered backbone. And this is art direction turned up to 11, darkly polished and emotionally immersive. It's a full-body mood, with the kind of precision that says: “I know exactly what I want to make you feel.”
The Marilyn Manson vibes, the heavy yet melodic swing of the soundtrack, the visual styling that’s not afraid to be abrasive, it all adds up to a music video that hurts (so good-for the lover of hurt). A professional finish across the board. This creator knows their craft.- Definitely award worthy even not shown at the theater.
Gentle is a slow exhale of grief wrapped in memory and the unspoken language passed between women. Crafted with rare emotional intelligence, the film moves like a memoir, soft and out-of-sync in ways that feel wholly intentional, mirroring how our minds remember, fragmented, faded, and painfully clear in the strangest moments.
The direction by Alex Naghavi honors Sara Decou’s poetic script with careful restraint. Nothing is rushed. Every shot feels like it’s holding something: a memory, a weight, a truth too delicate to say aloud. It’s a film that trusts its audience to sit in the ache, to hear what isn’t said.
There’s little air, and even less resolution. But what it offers is something rarer: space. Space to feel, to relate, to remember your own losses quietly. It doesn't demand emotion; it earns it.
A Story of Water is not just about water, it’s about life itself. It’s about memory, loss, ancestry, and the deep connection between humans and the natural world. The story flows between the intimate and the infinite, where water becomes a witness, a memory keeper, and a path back to wholeness.
The chosen animation style (rooted in the art of Frida Méndez) is stunning. It elevates the story into something timeless and symbolic. There is a brief moment of black screen midway through that could have been shortened, but it doesn’t take away from the film’s emotional impact.
The voiceover is profoundly human. It carries both urgency and surrender, like a final breath that says, “It’s okay if I don’t get to tell it all… I’m already where I need to be.” A rush to speak, yet a peace in simply being.
It's one of those quiet films that speaks loudly. The lingering presence of love through machines, that poetic extension of memory, of presence beyond physical form. It feels less like a sci-fi dystopia and more like a tender letter to grief and care. And yes, the choice not to make the robots resemble humans is intriguing… perhaps intentional?
Like love remembered, not replaced. The visuals hum with softness. The robots are gentle, the lighting subdued, and the emotional pull is strong without trying too hard. It’s a hopeful glimpse of the kind of future AI could support, a future that honors what was without erasing it.
SENSE is a sleek, fast-paced short that delivers a visceral commentary on addiction, thrill-seeking, and the commodification of sensation in the digital age. It’s stripped of dialogue but rich in physical storytelling, letting body language and rhythm carry the emotional tension.
While the synopsis suggests the danger emerges into the real world, the more haunting truth is that the danger begins internally—as neurological addiction, dopamine dependency, and virtual thrill-seeking erode reality. That collapse doesn’t need blood to be horrifying; it’s already happening in the mind.
Thought-provoking, tightly crafted, and lingering long after the last frame.
Edge of Silence is a hauntingly poetic short that navigates the emotional terrain of domestic abuse through a deeply personal lens. The voice-over, delivered with raw authenticity, anchors the film—guiding us through the protagonist’s inner world as she balances on the edge of despair. The visuals are metaphorical, dreamlike, and delicately executed, supporting the narrative without overwhelming it.
While the theme is heavy, the film handles it with bold sensitivity, using symbolic language and imagery to reflect pain, confusion, and ultimately, self-rescue. A powerful portrayal of resilience, and a moving example of how storytelling can transform suffering into strength.
This is a well-executed short with a sharp and clear message. The world-building is effective, and the storyline delivers a powerful commentary on systems of oppression disguised as political agendas.
“D.I.C.E.” makes its point without ambiguity—and it does so with a strong sense of visual style and rhythm.
The cinematography is impressive, and the editing supports the narrative well. The film is a complete and impactful story with something to say—and it says it loud and clear.
This is the kind of AI-powered short that instantly grabs your attention: an emotionally charged love story set in a world where the lines between human and robot blur, both in plot and visual style. The film is strikingly original, every frame feels like a moving painting, with bold brushstrokes, drips, and textures that elevate the entire piece to something artful and memorable.
Every character and setting, from the tender moments to the tense confrontations, is rendered with consistency and intention. Reflection is proof that when artists use AI tools with real vision and skill, the result can be truly mind-blowing, more than just a “tech demo,” this is a full-blown work of art. One of the most satisfying and beautiful shorts in the lineup.
A visually sumptuous meditation on stillness, identity, and quiet rebellion, The Golden Finale stands out for its luxe aesthetic, gilded mannequins, marble textures, glowing pearls, and every polished surface bathed in carefully placed light. The film feels like walking through a high-end fashion house after hours, where the silence is not emptiness, but a gathering of energy and potential.
The use of AI tools is masterful, serving not just as a technical experiment but as a genuine creative force.
What’s most striking is the consistency and attention to detail. Every shot is deliberate; the visual language oozes luxury and restraint, yet hints at subversion beneath the surface. The sound design complements it.
Heroic Villains is a bold, poetic, and visually immersive tribute to the Chicano experience, blending tradition, rebellion, and surrealism into a stunning mosaic of cultural symbolism. The masks aren't just decorative, they become emblems of love, identity, and transformation. The soundscape, while experimental, reinforces the dreamlike quality of the film, as though memory and myth are stitched together by spirit and defiance.
The film is layered, and its strength lies in the tension between beauty and chaos. The director’s statement adds immense depth, but the short manages to stand on its own, a compelling, glitchy dance between remembrance and resistance. This isn't just experimental for the sake of it. It’s thoughtful, it’s artful, and it’s alive.
This is not just a film, it’s a slow-burning meditation carved out of metaphor and mystery. A Thousand and One Stories of STONE takes its time, unapologetically experimental in structure, and whispers its narrative like incense smoke curling through a temple.
Blending live action with AI-generated imagery, the film invites viewers into a Rashomon-style prism of perspectives, each one reflecting a different speculation about a user named “Stone” who has disappeared. It’s eerie, elegant, and stylistically bold, with cinematography that feels painterly in intention.
The philosophical weight is felt: "Hell is not other people, hell is you." A line that lingers like smoke in the lungs. This is a thoughtful, art-forward short that embraces ambiguity and layered introspection.
It’s sharp, deadpan, and soaked in the exact flavor of satire that today’s startup circus needs. What makes it sing is the balance, it’s not just parody, it’s truth with a grin. The timing, delivery, and tone are all dialed in. The writing is clever without being too smug, and the AI visuals are perfectly absurd while still fitting into the mockumentary structure.
The best part? It doesn’t feel like it’s trying to be impressive. It just is. Like Nash Fineman himself, mildly unhinged but deeply committed to the bit.
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