The National Film Festival For Talented Youth 2019 Closing Night: Generation NOW

The NFFTY is scheduled to end on October 27, 2019, with these last seven short features: Virgencita, Green, Men Helping Women, Winner of Peace, Charley Horse, The Best is Yet to Come and Lavender.

Virgencita (Giselle Bonilla, 23, Alex Hass, 22, Aqsa Altaf, 24, Jean Ng, 22, California)

With Virgencita, writer-director Giselle Bonilla offers satirical commentary on the oppressive effect Catholicism ordinarily has in a Latinx household. The talk of God, divinity and chastity paints a portrait of perfection, a portrait that’s decidedly ill-considered, particularly when it comes to women in a Latinx household. Deploying inspiration from her own experiences as a Chicana woman, growing up in a religious family, Virgencita is a darkly funny and consciously sardonic look at purity, and how funny she thinks it is that women (as part of the Catholic faith and a pious clan) are expected to remain pure and innocent.

An establishing shot of inside a church highlights a fidgety and stumbling Josefina (Giselle Bonilla). She seeks guidance from a priest (Art Bonilla), who immediately asks her when her last confession was. She casually tells him it was around grade school, and she goes on to describe an incident with a teacher, in which he molested all of his students, but her (“Why didn’t he? Like all these victims, and what was wrong with me? Not that I was molested, God forbid, I was just offended that I wasn’t”). The sense of humor is fittingly unseemly, with Josefina hastily uttering her anxieties with dubious intent. Some of Josefina’s insecurities involved her appearance and sexual maturity. These anxieties are heightened because the discourse of sex is nonexistent in Josefina’s home, predominantly because her stern mother expects purity, through and through.

A title sequence infused with Latin music in the background then commences, until cutting to complete silence. With her mother focusing on cutting vegetables in the kitchen, Josefina comes in to prepare a snack of her own. They don’t interact, but a piercing stare from her mother clearly conveys her disapproval of what her daughter is eating. The next scene has them sitting on a couch, on opposite ends, barely talking to each other. At one point, the mother even says, “Keep eating those chips and you’re gonna get even fatter.” Josefina understandably leaves the room and ends up taking a shower, while her mother takes the bowl of chips for herself (a subtle snippet of hypocrisy on the mother’s end).

Soon enough, Josefina attempts to masturbate in the shower, but ends up getting injured, waking up in a hospital room and being treated as a suicidal patient. Josefina isn’t given the chance to divulge the actual cause of her injury because of her mother’s ardent rage and insensitive probing. Thinking her daughter attempted suicide, the mom asks numerous questions. Questions like: “What are people gonna say? Why are you punishing me? What problem could you possibly have?” If Josefina did try to end her own life, these are the wrong questions to ask. More appropriate questions would be: Why did you feel the need to end your own life? What can I do to help you? The mother’s reaction is alarming and off-putting, but Josefina puts on a rather annoyed face.

Throughout the 10:30 runtime, Josefina’s exasperation is radiated through eye-rolls, headshakes and sighs. Smaller moments in which her mother decides to eat Josefina’s chips after declaring them unhealthy further penetrates the so-called line of integrity she holds dear — and the line fades more and more when her mother’s misprizing mental health, and proclaiming God will punish her daughter for trying to take her own life. Although Josefina isn’t suicidal, and she wounded herself trying to masturbate (libido can be destructive), the mother’s verbal wrath is far from saintly. Every teenager needs “the talk”, and sex-induced shame should not be pushed upon those who are still young and finding themselves (it’s a parent/guardian’s job to inform them of sexual matters).

Virgencita’s mordant hilarity and brutal honesty adeptly depict the empty weight women have to sometimes carry in a Latinx family, who are deeply influenced by Catholicism. They’re expected to be pure and virtuous, yet vilifying sex and even neglecting the discussion of it, is a dispiriting practice. Giselle Bonilla’s perspective can be trusted and understood, and she translates her thoughts of “decency” and sexual desire in one expeditious, wonderfully biting farce.

Green (Kylie Murphy, 23, New York)

Kylie Murphy’s Green tackles a relevant issue, one that’ll likely remain relevant as cases of sexual misconduct against those at the top are still being unveiled. Although his name is never specifically denounced, Louis C.K. is a direct parallel to the comedian who returns to the comedy club in Murphy’s short feature, soon after dealing with multiple allegations of sexual misconduct and being found guilty of such actions.

Backstage, female comedians C.J. (Iman Richardson) and her friend Maggie (Kate James) are informally conversing and preparing for their set. When Maggie is called on-stage, C.J. stays back, only to confront the manager, David (Steve Waltien), on his decision to let a comedian found guilty of sexual harassment come back and perform again. The male comedian guilty of these sordid actions is never seen or named, but C.J. is completely baffled and disgusted by David’s actions as a club manager, growing increasingly repulsed by the toxicity that plagues the club and a man’s frame of mind.

For the entirety of Green, the camera follows C.J. as she becomes more flustered, tetchy and uncomfortable in the backstage room. When David openly drops the male comedian’s name, C.J. begins interrogating David’s decision. At one point, David says, “Come on, his reputation was destroyed.” C.J. promptly blurts out “By his own actions.” In another moment, David shamelessly states “It’s not like he raped anybody.” So much halfwitted bilge drips from this man’s blabbering mouth, so galling dialogue is employed. Thankfully, C.J. remains levelheaded.

The unregulated disputation unravels in a backstage room, lit by blue and red neon lights, and characterized through turbulent camera movements (shot-reverse-shot) that imitate the intensity of the discussion. The 4-minute argument feels raw, and Iman Richardson unleashes a proper anger and sense of clarity during a time when forgiveness needs to be earned, and this “unnamed” male comedian has done no such thing to earn back his humanity. The men in the room brush off the severity of the comedian’s tawdry activities, while the women are petrified. Kylie Murphy’s brutally truthful and disheartening short film spans 11:39 minutes, and in those minutes, lays out the recurring issue of sexual misconduct and how it can be seen as a trivial offense.

Men Helping Women (Isue Shin, 23, Derek Miranda, 24, Nate Burke, 24, California)

Isue Shin’s Men Helping Women is an unorthodox study on gender politics and how sexual harassment affects women in the office. Shin constructs the film through stages, exploring the phases in which a man in power will navigate their way to a woman’s servility — but Shin’s still unable to provide the cure. You would think men would be able to act like decent human beings, especially the ones with money and power, but that’s wishful thinking.

Here are the stages, according to Shin: The first stage is Denial (“I am astonished, bewildered, stunned by the outrageous claims being made about me, which I absolutely deny”). The second stage is This Isn’t Me (“Anyone who knows me, or has worked with me, or has watered my plants or has walked my dog, knows I’m not someone who would”). The third stage is Let Me Explain (“I wanna make it clear that not one of those relationships were anything but consensual”). The fourth stage is Miss Me? (“I know what you want”). The fifth stage is I Was Wrong (“I apologize to anyone who felt uncomfortable or disrespected, that was never my intent”). The sixth stage is Just Let Go (“I moved on”). They will always try to cover their tracks and paint the victim in a negative light. They want to appear vulnerable, victims to salacity, but their words are empty.

Instead of applying a simple step-by-step tutorial video of how men misuse their power for their sexual appetite, Shin churns out metaphors and symbolic imagery out of ordinary objects. The ball and cup sleight of hand trick is utilized to show how deceptive their words can be. The crack of an egg spills out its contents without controlled intent, therefore aligning with the man’s recklessness. The pop of a balloon shows how fast one dirty little secret can explode, and how little the culprit actually cognizes the damage they caused. They undervalue what they’ve done.

Men Helping Women (04:43) is a brisk, illustrative and influential compilation of imagery that doesn’t try to overcomplicate its intentions. The reasoning is robust, and the heed that goes into the sound design and editing orients perfectly with the vivid depiction of everyday objects. It goes to show you that diurnal objects can help typify real-life issues that curse the professional life of women across the world. Men Helping Women is a worthy voice against sexual harassment.

Winner of Peace (Marisa Kelly, 19, Taylor Killefer, 21, Claire Imier, 19, California)

Sukhjit Kaur Khalsa is a first-generation Australian Sikh spoken word artist, announcing her arrival on national television by appearing on “Australia’s Got Talent” in 2016. Marisa Kelly and Taylor Killefer document Sukhjit’s struggles with how her choice of living through spoken word poetry affects the Sikh community and her family.

Opening to a medium shot of Sukhjit looking out a window until getting deeply intimate, the camera emphasizes Sukhjit’s hands as soon as she begins blurting out infectious poetic prose. She even naturally elucidates why the short doc is originally named Winner of Peace: “One day, I heard my mom say, my name’s Sukhjit, it means winner of peace.” In many ways than one, Sukhjit wields a keen fire and passion to unite communities and people. Kelly and Killefer then show Sukhjit at a spoken poetry event, highlighting her ardor and self-assurance, only to transition to the bullying she endures from people in her own community, particularly men.

“I decided to use art as a way for people and an audience to actually listen.” The beauty of art is how it reflects society, and gives you, the artist, a podium to speak your truth and ignite peaceful discourse. For Sukhjit, she got bullied by men in her community. She responds to the malicious comments with laudable grace: “You know what, it’s not your fault, it’s not; it’s the society that you live in, it’s what you’ve been taught is okay.” Sukhjit assumes great stickability, and her smile usually overpowers the malefic spirit of hate.

Kelly and Killefer also take a look at Sukhjit’s home-life. “I don’t know what my parents really think of me. They don’t share a lot. I think they love me; they probably have to love me.” When Sukhjit says this specific line of dialogue, her bright, contagious smile slowly falters, and she looks fairly dejected. Not all smiles can resist doubt. Sukhjit embraces her emotions and opinions through spoken word poetry — and although it’s far from being a painless and effortless practice, Sukhjit is a vital presence promoting rectitude and unity. Marisa Kelly and Taylor Killefer coalesce live videos, personal interviews and, of course, poetry to outline Sukhjit’s fervor and aspiration to follow her own path. All the while inspiring others to take a stand for something that’ll make the world a better place.

Charley Horse (Luna Garcia, 17, California/Israel)

Punk rock fuses hard-edged melodies and singing techniques, stripped-down instrumentation, and anti-establishment lyrics. Because of Punk’s rebellious spirit, it relates heavily to younger people who are seeking their purpose or identity. Luna Garcia’s punk-infused tale of self-discovery follows Hila (Amit Levit), an eighteen-year-old punk in modern-day Tel Aviv, Israel, who is thrust into an identity crisis on the eve of her military conscription. Alongside her recalcitrant best friend, Talia (Meital Kalika), Hila spent a while away from home to immerse herself in the punk scene. Talia and Hila play punk music, they slather graffiti on walls and they steal.

The introduction to Hila is scored through harsh, unrelenting drum beats and guitar chords that swiftly intensify. Hila narrates how punk music empowers her. The editing is urgent and the chaos is something Hila relishes — but like many other troubled souls, the thought of family overwhelms her anarchic impulses. Hila phones her mom, explaining how she’s coming to the induction ceremony on Wednesday. Hesitant to tell Talia she never withdrew from the military, Charley Horse is a weighty tale of sacrificing one thing you love for another; promising to live a life you’ll hate, but for the sole intent to keep your family.

Amit Levit plays Hila with an anxious face and modest pliability, who’s clearly bent out of shape whenever she’s withholding a lie from Talia. Meital Kalika plays Talia with a muted taste of authority, thinking Hila will follow her wherever she goes without contemplating other factors in her life. Garcia and production designer AhaNah Chapman makes complete use of the setting, starting in a mucky punk club illuminated with red lighting, a vacant street in which a plain wall is in need of prohibited decoration, and a beach backdropped with city lights.

Hila and Talia’s friendship is expressly deep, and if they do physically drift apart, their memories will keep it intact, until they see each other again. At one point, Hila says, “But we can’t continue to perform here forever.” At this moment, they’re putting on a show, a fun and lively performance that Hila will hold close to her heart, but their paths are different — and despite the heartache of leaving a best friend, it’s a naturally painful but sometimes necessary occurrence. Luna Garcia’s short film lasts 10:21 minutes, and it’s a short but bittersweet tune that rings true to the complexities of friendships. Hila says it best: “Sometimes, forcing yourself to change feels like getting a charley horse. You know it won’t last forever.”

The Best is Yet to Come (Abena Taylor-Smith, 24, UK) 

When you’re a teenager, what do you think about doing? Partying? Drinking? The future? For Max (Renee Bailey) and Rosa (Romani Wright) in Abena Taylor-Smith’s The Best is Yet to Come, they are first seen conversing about buying alcohol and ditching school in a small town in England. Rosa is trying to spice up Max’s appearance, determined she’ll be more likely to obtain alcohol without a valid ID. Rosa puts make-up on Max’s face, sprays perfume, and also insists she takes off her jacket off, only then revealing the suggestive outfit she wears underneath. The lengths a teenager will go to buy alcohol.

Max pulls it off by sustaining her confidence and owning her new image. Rosa and Max get carelessly drunk and decide to go for a spin on a playground carousel (the spinning is disorienting, and the sounds of children playing remind them of simpler times when they didn’t need to worry about their future). They then lie down on a hill and smoke cigarettes, all the while commenting on their small town and recollecting the onerous work they had to endure. “Do you think it’s worse to be impressed by this place?” Rosa and Max aren’t too fond of their small town, and a flashback discloses their jobs as cleaning ladies.

Frequently leaping from the present to the past, the clever editing helps piece together Max and Rosa’s friendship: Watching Rosa and Max scrub soiled floors so halfheartedly, conveys how they keep each other vitalized despite the monotony of the job. And when Max asks why Rosa missed work today, another flashback shows how unmotivated Max is when Rosa isn’t by her side, doing the same tedious work. It’s always better when you have a friend by your side. Whether it be during work, hardship or emotional support, a good friend gives you more life and vim.

Abena Taylor-Smith’s short film (09:09) strongly mentions the significance of friendships and occasional misadventures of being an impulsive teenager. Renee Bailey and Romani Wright have zestful chemistry, giving in to youthful irresponsibility and dreams of success, which will take them away from the seedy town they live in. Little do they know, they will look back one day and relish the memories made in their hometown. The last wide shot of them swinging on a swing set, all the while facing their town, communicates how they will remember their hometown for all the memories forged there. Abena Taylor-Smith’s picture is a lovely snapshot of hometown friends.

Lavender (Matthew Puccini, 24, New York)

There aren’t many dignified cinematic offerings that explore open relationships, throuples and polyamory. In Matthew Puccini’s Lavender, he doesn’t try to incorporate those elements in for a cheap laugh; instead, he scrutinizes the intricacies of these kinds of relationships in a softhearted approach. The film centers around a young man (Michael Hsu Rosen) in a relationship with a slightly older couple (Michael Urie and Ken Barnett). The trio is first seen playing the piano and singing an Irving Berlin tune. Soon enough, they’re in the middle of a steamy sex scene. Albeit they all participate in sexual activity, there’s a deep-seated connection between the initial couple, the younger man finds intriguing and heart-warming, until realizing it’s something he wants as well.

Upholding a melancholic tone and a suitable corpus of static shots, scanty dialogue only enhances the characters’ emotions. At first, the trio’s Irving Berlin sing-along implies a functional polyamorous relationship, but Rosen’s character seems awfully distant with them. Despite trying to re-establish his place in their relationship by buying one of them a priceless gift, and helping out whenever he can, his body language and facial expressions show emotional restraint.

Michael Hsu Rosen gives a graceful and quiet performance as the younger man, who at first seems faintly resentful of the couple’s heartfelt relationship, but ends up admiring what they have. Michael Urie and Ken Barnett are two good-natured souls, welcoming Rosen’s character into their life with open arms and a working heart. It isn’t until Rosen’s character finds out about their plans to adopt a baby, that he feels it’s time to move on and improve his own life.

Lavender is a delicately configured LGBTQ short film that tackles a polyamorous romance. This isn’t Matthew Puccini’s first feature (before Lavender, he produced The Mess He Made, which followed a man waiting for the results of an HIV test). Lavender is another step in the right direction when it comes to cautious and sophisticated representation (free from ridicule), and the fugacious essence of some relationships. If you’re looking for a valuable LGBTQ voice to represent your community, Puccini is a filmmaker to seek out.

Have you seen any of these short films? Are you planning to attend the NFFTY? Let us know in the comments!

The NFFTY takes place in Seattle, Washington from October 24-27. Get your tickets & passes now.