Femme Filmmakers Festival Review: Distance (Jennifer Williams)

I did a bit of investigative journalism whilst rewatching the short film Distance (perhaps on the verge of internet stalking?). Anyway, I discovered that Distance is the final project of a group of university students in their final year. It was director Jennifer Williams who initially conceived the story, and Danny Rowan then developed it into a script. However unintentional, watching the short with the detail of it being a final project in mind creates an enjoyable story in itself.

Distance does a good job of condensing a couple’s well-trodden arguments into a very short run-time—just over 8 minutes. Conveying the autopsy of a long-term relationship in the span of one argument over a broken-down car is impressive. It only contains two characters, the central couple Emma (Thomasin Lockwood) and Adam (Tristan Alexander). Arguably, the North Welsh setting also gives an outstanding performance. The crew travelled to this filming location, and that dedication is endearing. The choice suggests how integral the landscape is to the film.

The short’s atmosphere is lovely. I lack the technical skills to explain how the colour-grading creates such an autumnal look. I’m only self-admitting that to comment on a strangely innocuous detail—but whatever makes the actors look cold-skinned and pink-nosed, I love it. The film has an intentionally curated aesthetic (love that there was a moodboard of film stills in its initial fundraiser). Cinematographer Alexander Tanase shows real talent as both a colourist and director of photography.

Working within the film’s basic structure, a window of maybe eight hours with a couple in the wilderness, the crew had space for experimental filmmaking. Interestingly, the filmmakers wove a lot of unorthodox shots and sound design into the couple’s arguments. Argument dialogue is typically where a lot of great writing shines, particularly in films revolving around a core relationship. Rowan has taken the time to understand what intricacies go into writing a realistic verbal dispute. 

At the risk of spoiling the ‘truth’ behind the couple’s splintering, though it’s directly mentioned in descriptions, I’m going to refer to it directly. It is a challenging feat to deliver an exposition about a topic like infertility without any scripted confirmation. The main tension of the film is delivered without direct admission or context cues, which was an intrepid choice. Distance handles the topic with care, offering a resolution without crude dissection or hurtful dialogue. It focuses instead on the couple as individuals.

This is a snapshot of the moment in a relationship where future tension directly splits into a choice: stay for love or leave out of fear. The film ultimately highlights the commitment and bravery required to choose someone every day.