SXSW ‘Midnight Short Program’ Review: Apotemnofilia, Dream Creep, Make Me A Pizza, & Lullaby

“Indulge your cravings for horror, gore, and dark comedy” is how SXSW’s “Midnight Short Competition” program has been officially described, but this category goes far beyond that. Shorts are often overlooked when they premiere at festivals, as the limelight is often shared between anticipated features and unexpected critical darlings, but these quick, bite-sized offerings can be windows into strange, surreal worlds that are worth exploring. For this year’s edition of SXSW Midnight shorts, we will be looking at four works — “Apotemnofilia,” “Dream Creep,” “Make Me A Pizza, and “Lullaby” — in an attempt to explore the varying moods that horror offers as a transgressive, boundary-pushing genre.

Apotemnofilia

★★★★

Jano Pita’s “Apotemnofilia” poses an intriguing question: what could possibly lead to the total breakdown of one’s body integrity? Body Integrity Dysphoria is a real disorder, and apotemnofilia is the desire for amputation of a healthy limb, where this impulse can be fueled by a number of determining factors. Some might feel as if the limbs are not a real part of their body, leading to the creation of dissociative distance, while others might experience this impulse due to body dysmorphia, specific mental health conditions, or complicated psychosexual circumstances.

In Pita’s film, Clara (Lucía Azcoitía) is in a rather vulnerable mental state, where she feels “fat and awful” on the night she’s supposed to make a comeback as a theater actor after a hiatus due to pregnancy. Locking herself in her dressing room, Clara scrutinizes her body with both awe and disgust, as if repulsed by the sensory perception of her tangible existence. Her agent incessantly bangs on the door, begging her to open it, her tone ranging from tender sweetness to exasperated frustration, but Clara spirals with no way for anyone to reach her.

The dark comedy aspects of “Apotemnophilia” shine when a contrast is evoked between the ludicrous fighting outside the dressing room and the harrowing breakdown that Clara experiences, poking and prodding at her thigh with sharp objects with alarming intensity. She feels “infected,” as if her body has been quite literally invaded by alien parasites, and this frenzied “operation” is the crux of this short. Although it is likely that viewers might have an inkling about what might occur, the examination of this experience is brutal and uncompromising in an unprecedented way.

Dream Creep

★★★★★

It takes thorough, ingrained artistry to evoke and sustain pure terror in a short, given how precious time is in terms of establishing a link between the screen and the viewer. When it comes to body horror, reveling in the grotesqueness of the flesh is not enough — the mind and the body are inexplicably conjoined, and these aberrations must challenge our understanding of our own selves. Carlos A.F. Lopez’s “Dream Creep” does exactly that while executing a concept that might sound ludicrous even on paper: the source of horror being an earlobe, which emits monstrous growls and a desperate plea for help. “Dream Creep” sells this concept with effortless confidence and remarkable skill, creating a lean, mean experience that leaves us eager for more.

Reviewing a short inevitably demands that the story be mentioned, at least in broad strokes, but “Dream Creep” is a sensory experience best felt rather than being told about or known. The only other time I felt so engrossed and blown away by a short in sensory terms was Kyle Mangione-Smith’s brilliantly nasty “Annihilator,” and “Dream Creep” scratches this very specific artistic itch that cannot be articulated. This is a short that appeals to fears that no one might have considered before, challenging the viewer to engage with a nightmarish scenario that both feels too outlandish for reality and probable enough to induce visceral fear. Absolute perfection, no notes whatsoever.

Make Me A Pizza

★★★

Baffling cinematic experiences can be precious. Self-aware, sharp, deliberately satirical, and sleazy windows into something that is both delightful and disgusting are rare, and the short format is perfect for these sentiments that might feel misguided in a feature-length presentation. Talia Shea Levin’s “Make Me A Pizza” is one such attempt, where two people transcend their flesh and become pizza. No, this is not an innuendo, as this literal transformation serves as an ascension to something grander, where the worth of our bodies fails to eclipse that of a perfectly baked, oozy slice of pizza. This “Marxist porno” indulges in extremes that work beautifully in some parts but, in others, feels a bit too absurdist even for my tastes.

That is not to say that Levin’s short does not impress, as it dares to dive into the chasms of disgusting greasiness — both literal and philosophical — where layers of identity are shed and remade again. Despite the conscious sleaziness, there is an element of awkward sweetness that permeates throughout, and the two-person cast is remarkable in the way they embody the short’s anti-capitalist messaging while being effortlessly engaging. The practical effects are commendable without a doubt, where the repulsiveness of the act is the point, cemented by a foundation of tender erotic sleaze and fond aftercare. It is an experience worth investing in, as it feels like a chaotic fever dream right after post-orgasmic clarity. Whether that appeals to you or not is completely subjective, but the memories of that tryst are bound to be unforgettable.

Lullaby

★★★1/2

Chi Thai’s “Lullaby” delves into guilt-induced trauma, where the experience is contextualized through the lens of a female refugee (Jan Le). This is a visceral brand of horror that requires no knee-jerk jumpscares to amp up the fear, as it is based on a true story rooted in deep-seated pain and trauma. Thai dramatizes these complex emotions with interesting visual flairs, where the rot of the repressed incident leaks through reality as black tar, contaminating every aspect of the protagonist’s existence. Interventions from outside this hyperspecific bubble feel jarring instead of comforting: a thread of terror is tugged at whenever the landline rings or when her living conditions are poked at by bystanders who might mean well but are none the wiser about her intense inner turmoil.

“Lullaby” could benefit from more taut pacing, as the gradual slow burn only works in bursts, but these explosive moments are exceptional. Making peace with the past is often not an option, with the burden of these excruciating truths being too heavy, where a seemingly harmless inanimate object might trigger a world of pain. Jan Le captures the subtleties of such an existence with great poise and skill, carrying the film right to its poignant, evocative end.

The ‘Midnight Short Program’ was a part of the 2024 SXSW Film Festival.