Grief, mental illness and haunting are common bedfellows in cinema, and major feature films like The Babadook, The Father and Relic have interwoven these tropes, manifesting them as something potentially supernatural. Into this fertile emotional ground comes Dial – a short film by writer-director Josh Trett that tells the story of Dani (Olivia Bourne), a young woman caring for her sick Mother (Denise Stephenson). The film maintains a tight focus on its protagonist, drawing the viewer into an unsettling environment through a combination of suggestion and atmosphere.
Dani is a relatable protagonist – devoted yet resentful, and although the exact nature of Mother’s illness isn’t explained clearly, it appears to be a form of dementia as she forgets her daughter’s name and what she did only moments ago. Despite her limited screen time, Stephenson conveys sadness, confusion and love without resorting to histrionics, and while her interactions with Dani are mainly befuddled questions, there’s one that proves central to the drama. Mother is mostly seen in a chair with a phone in her hand, which becomes significant as the drama progresses (hence the title), the McGuffin of the landline telephone serving as an emblem of past connection in several ways. The phone’s battered appearance contrasts sharply with Dani’s shiny smartphone, while the presence of an engineer (Greg Lindsay-Smith), highlights the device’s redundancy, and the film’s climax expresses vital connections in a way that’s emotionally satisfying.
In terms of emotional engagement, Dial demonstrates great trust in its audience, allowing us to infer from implication and understand without explanation. This is essential in the short film format as there’s little time for exposition, and the doctrine of “show don’t tell” is arguably even more important here than in feature-length productions. Perhaps the best example of Dial‘s visual expression occurs when Dani has a chance encounter at a grocery store with the aptly credited “Woman in shop” (Sonia Soomessur). The two women see each other and exchange a couple of smiles before Dani must answer her phone, and this wordless moment expresses many things, and carries all the more impact because it’s fleeting.
Implication is also key to the film’s treatment of loss, which is expressed by sudden sounds and fragmented visuals – an effective form of presentation as it illustrates the breaking of one’s world in the event of bereavement. Despite, or perhaps because of the dire circumstances, Bourne’s performance as Dani is largely understated, her set jaw and sullen eyes conveying a sense of resignation about her depressing situation. People with experience of ailing relatives may well find the film hits close to home, and many are likely to understand Dani’s inability to express what she’s going through, enclosed and oppressed by her situation that cuts off career options and frustrates her at every turn – a “cage” that’s especially well-realised by Danni Hudson’s production design.
The locations in King’s Lynn and Norwich are largely dour, yet steeped in character, and the house where the action takes place moves from melancholic to sinister, thanks to muted colours and spaces that shift from enclosing to expansive between shots. Cinematographer Matthew Trett makes effective use of narrow and wide-angled lenses, using vignetting during moments of panic to darken the edges of the frame to create a sense of being trapped – something all the more jarring in a long shot. This technique is used effectively at a crucial point of the film to encapsulate the uncanny and disturbing environment of our protagonist.
Dial is at its most effective when understated, and while the explicit moments are a little less convincing, they can still be disturbing – especially when Dani flicks through the pages of Mother’s telephone book to find some alarming details. This reveal raises expectations that the film ultimately doesn’t reward, but that doesn’t detract from the escalating fear and dread that comes from Dani’s increasingly frantic page-turning, the quickening pace of the editing, or the disturbing images on the pages of the book. Other smart uses of editing include the appearances and disappearances of people and objects (something there and just as quickly gone), and while these instances are startling, they’re always closely linked to grief and melancholia – Trett never relinquishing the emotional core of the film. Indeed, that’s the lasting impression of Dial, a film that may unsettle and even creep out the viewer, but ultimately provides a satisfying emotional climax.
Dial had its premiere in Norwich Picturehouse
