Le Pupille brings you into a Catholic Orphanage during Christmas in the height of the Second World War. Despite the frugal times and strict Mother Superior, the girls find joy in a few magical scenes reminiscent of the wonder of early cinema.
In the Catholic Orphanage, objects are a scarcity. Unlike the often stuffy materialism of today’s modern world, the girls in Le Pupille live in large rooms with very few things around them. This partly emphasizes the frugality of the war period, and in turn, distinguishing any warm nostalgia for Italian fascism, but it also sets a blank slate for the rare objects included in the movie to star. The radio and the giant red cake are enhanced by the absence around them, making them seem much more luxurious than they should be.
The frugality in front of the camera is also seen in the film’s production. The director, Alice Rohrwacher, shot Le Pupille completely on film, and therefore all of the special effects are completely VFX free. This gives the film a playful magic that feels like the wonder of the Melies’ silent films. In one scene a baby appears out of thin air (from one shot to the next), whilst a freeze-framed shouting Mother Superior conveys shock from what feels like the kids perspective in another. Unlike the seriousness of modern VFX, that often strives for digital realism, the old school special effects used here add wonder and magic to film. It encourages wonder rather than inhibiting it.
It’s this simplicity both in front of the camera (with the limited objects and distractions) and behind the camera (in the production process) that makes this short Christmas film feel so playful and joyful.
There’s always a lot going on at AFI Fest, from red carpet premieres and international film festival hits to highly anticipated films from returning filmmakers. However, the short films can sometimes fly under the radar, even though it always features a wealth of talent. This year we focused on the animated offering with a couple of dashes of live action.
Here are our highlights from the short films at AFI Fest 2026.
The Best Short Films at AFI Fest 2026
Trading Cards (Australia)
The sinister nature of Trading Cards fit the week-before-Halloween timing of AFI Fest perfectly. It explores identity, mental health, and the erosion of childhood innocence through the story of a man who journeys back to encounter his younger self. The animation of the older self reminded me of the morally ambiguous villains of Studio Ghibli films that you never fully trust. He’s creepy and creatively animated, and he makes this short unique and memorable. Director Radheya Jang is one to look out for in the future.
Venezia Diorama (Italy)
Somehow Venezia Diorama manages to be both classic and fresh. The quaint pictures of Venice are elegantly detailed, giving the short a timeless feel, while the little windows where the animation occurs are uniquely captivating. These animation windows highlight movement in an otherwise still-life picture, and convey the effects of time and erosion on a city; showing Venice slowly succumbing to time.
We Were Here (India)
Silly, but pertinent, We Were Here follows three men that can’t find work and choose to become robots in a satirical play on the rise of ‘artificial intelligence’ and smart machines. The jokers in this docu-comedy emphasize both the uselessness of humans playing machines and the specificity of machines in the human realm. It’s a tongue-in-cheek protest against the current capitalist state of the world and a reminder that humans will always be more human than machines.
In The Beginning (Poland)
In The Beginning tells three quirky true stories about our treatment of animals across the ages. Each story is quite interesting and captured my attention in the same way as the science videos from Kurzgesagt. However, the beautifully vibrant coloring sets this short apart. Each story is marked by a different color, which while simple, appears dynamic and eye-catching.
Where Were We (India)
Studio Eeksaurus have dropped the most creative animated commercials of the past year in Desi Oon and The Godawan, so we weren’t surprised to find more creativity here. In Where Were We, we’re taken on a trippy dive into an anxiety laden handbag, with each item coming alive to portray different anxieties in the owners life. This short further proves the talent of Studio Eeksaurus and shows that they don’t need advertising money to make great short films.
Saba (U.S.)
Combining an emotional punch with an imaginative world in which gravity is reversed, we would not be surprised to see Saba on the Academy Awards shortlist in the not too distant future. It shows Saba, a grandfather, with his grandson living on a floating boat reminiscent of the titular castle in Howl’s Moving Castle. As they navigate storms, and Saba metaphorically ascends to heaven, the grandson transcends horizontal planes to find closure. It’s an emotional and creative hit.
Aktos (Kazakhstan)
It’s not often you see Kazakh animations on the festival circuit, so this is worth a watch just for this reason. However, more than that, you can find felt-based characters that ooze a homey warmth through their texture. The depictions of traditional Kazakh clothing and food also turn this sad tale into a heart-warming one. The flashbacks and backing soundtrack might add a bit too much melodrama, but it’s a method that almost guarantees tears in the film’s viewers.
We strongly encourage everyone to check out AFI Fest next year. Please find previous coverage of AFI Fest here and check the official AFI Fest website for news on next year’s schedule!
Immerse yourself in the patriarchy embedded in a traditional family in Lahore, Pakistan with Joyland. Don’t let the upbeat title mislead you. Whilst there are some warm moments in Haider’s queer coming of age story, his awakening is framed as a privilege of his gender. The women are all victims of the patriarchy whether they’re within the family house or outside it.
Despite being confined to a wheelchair, the grandfather is still the head of the household consisting of his two sons and their wives, as well as his eldest son’s many children. Haider, the youngest son, holds the focus of the first half of the film as he transitions from a house husband supporting his wife, to a husband seeing other women and turning his wife into a house-wife. The focus on Haider is representative of the patriarchal society he exists within. The audience initially sympathizes with him because he’s looked down on by the men of his family for his assumption of traditionally female role. Because of this set up, his queer coming of age is celebrated as it feels like he’s finally able to come out of his shell. The focus on his budding romance with his boss are some of the happiest moments of the film. However, in the second half of the film, his queer coming of age is framed as his male privilege.
Whilst Haider is out finding himself, his wife, Mumtaz, has been forced by Haider’s family to resign from her dream job and assume the domestic responsibilities expected of a wife. Simultaneously her narrative is overshadowed by Haider’s. Her screen time slowly diminishes as Haider’s grows. Even her star entrepreneurial scene from the start of the movie – in which she uses phone flash-lights to complete her job during a blackout – is hijacked by her husband when he pulls the same trick for his crush later in the film. Mumtaz’s repression by the patriarchy is represented in the empathy and upbeat scenes that are given to her husband, at the expense of hers.
Joyland is a technically faultless film – something you’d expect from a Cannes winner – and captures the dynamics of the patriarchy in Pakistan perfectly. However, whilst its Queer Palm win promises a progressive or unique portrayal of Queerness, Joyland doesn’t really stretch any boundaries here. Haider’s relationship with Biba, the only queer relationship in the film, is sacrificed for a melodramatic finale. Her role, whilst played brilliantly, mostly exists to be the exotic temptress for Haider’s macho-turn.
Rewind and Play is an incredibly uncomfortable example of how the Black experience has been written out of history. Alain Gomis digs up the outtakes from an interview Thelonious Monk did with French state television in 1969. It reveals that behind what perhaps appeared to be a simple profile of a Jazz musician, is a heavily edited, whitewashed version of one of the genres largest names. His talent and experience is deliberately reduced to a few stereotypical nuggets to fit a white European audience.
Initially, you might think that Thelonious Monk is just shy, from the short answers he gives to the interviewers questions. For example, he barely responds to the interviewer when asked about his first experience in Paris. However, as the film progresses, it becomes clear why Monk isn’t responding. He’s actually already answered the question multiple times – telling the interviewer that he faced discrimination despite being the top billing at the Paris Jazz Festival in 1954, but the French interviewer doesn’t want to hear it. He dismisses his experience of racism as ‘not nice,’ ‘derogatory’ words and keeps asking the same question to get Monk to lie.
He gives short answers as he’s not allowed to say anything else. His life and music are defined by his race, but he’s prohibited from mentioning it. In order to enforce the ‘color-blindness’ of France, the interviewer and state TV have written Monk’s life instead of allowing him to tell it. As they edit out everything he says, the interviewer ends up telling the French TV audience Monk’s life instead. Monk’s experiences have been turned into cookie cutter pieces of his life to be digested by a middle-class white audience.
The short answers, just like the shots of Monk leaving the stage after his piano pieces, also convey his justified frustration. Unfittingly for the celebrity he is, Monk is captured like an animal at the zoo, turning him into a token of fluke Black genius rather than celebrating his genius completely. He’s lit up with a ton of lights, causing him to sweat profusely, and then the camera zooms in for extreme close ups as if analyzing his anatomy to try and find something to prove his inferiority. He’s the celebrity, but he’s never offered a drink or anything to make him more comfortable. Instead, it’s the white interviewer in the position of power, leering at him whilst leaning over the piano and mandating how to respond to his questions and what to play. French TV want to take his music and separate it from his life. There’s no respect for him as a person.
Alain Gomis manages to brilliantly bring out the awful experience Monk faced in Europe through the outtakes of this French interview. He reveals that there is often much more value in the outtakes than the actual chosen footage. By highlighting this injustice, Gomis forces viewers to question all portrayals of Black celebrities and experiences by the media.
Despite a 20 year ban on making or directing movies imposed on him in 2010, Jafar Panahi continues to make films. No Bears is the fifth feature film Panahi has made since the ban, and is probably his most political. The not one, but two films in No Bears are an attack on the hypocrisies of censorship and freedom of movement.
Now that Panahi has proved the house arrest and ban on film-making cannot stop him from making films, he’s been encouraged to make something even more inflammatory – an almost direct critique of the government and of laws against the freedom of movement. In No Bears, Panahi deliberately flaunts all of the rules that have been imposed on him. Firstly, he’s directing one film, and starring in another, breaking his filmmaking ban once again. Secondly, he shows he can make films from wherever he wants – he’s relaxing in a rural village near the border and directing his film crew in another country, as well as making a film in the village where he is staying. Thirdly, he’s creating new filmmakers – both in his cameraman shooting his film in Turkey and in the people he hands off his camera to in the village. Lastly, he also shows he can go wherever he wants. He goes right up to the Turkish border as if it’s nothing. All of these things deliberately flaunt his power in spite of the government’s restrictions on him. He proves that they’ll never silence him from making films, whether that’s in Iran or outside it, with him behind the camera or having inspired someone else.
On top of this, Panahi also sets up two films within No Bears to criticize the government and the culture is has fostered. One is a film within a film, following the story of a couple in Turkey that have finally found fake passports on the black market to leave the country. This narrative highlights the discrimination in freedom of movement – granted to certain people because of birth lottery, and hidden from others. The other follows Panahi himself, as he works on this film from a rural Iranian village along the Turkish border. The longer he stays, the more entangled he becomes in the backward customs of the town. This narrative serves as an analogy for the hypocrisies of the Iranian government and censorship committees. Just as they imposed filmmaking bans on him instead of looking to solve the problems he highlights in his films, the villagers choose to make him a scapegoat for their own feuds.
For a film that holds no punches in attacking censorship and freedom of movement, Panahi’s latest is a joy to watch. It’s filled with a dry humor that pokes fun of the establishment whilst retaining a serious message. Just as much as this, No Bears is also a testament to the filmmaking drive of Jafar Panahi. No matter how many restrictions are imposed against him, he’s continued to make films and inspire others. We hope he, and the Iranian filmmakers imprisoned with him earlier this year will be released and the filmmaking bans rescinded.
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