He knew about my tap. And my bed. The leaky one and the one that constantly had to be fixed. He experiences my wifi every night, and he saw my legs whilst I stretched my hips this morning. He knows what it means when the rickety of the drawer rolls, that drawer in that green wicker chest— that I am getting undressed.
He knows— that when the sound of that tap becomes louder and more consistent that the brush of my mouth is to come. And the sound of my spit. He hears the splashes of my nose blowing bubbles in my hands and infers that’s me washing my face. And my breathing muffled and pronounced by some material— he figures is me drying it.
He knows the sound of the bath here. The bath with the green and white tiles. He knows because last night I accidentally kicked it. How could that even happen he asked. Because I’m positioning my leg on its side. To rub my oil on my body.
I tried to make that sound extra loud.
I switched off the light for another night. The light to the bathroom. I moved over to my bed and swept my hands over the sheets (to fix it). My whole followed. I tucked myself under the covers
and put his voice on my chest.
Thinking, reassuring, as usual, that it won’t be long until he hears the sound that’s underneath.
He knew about my tap. And my bed. The leaky one and the one that constantly had to be fixed. He experiences my wifi every night, and he saw my legs whilst I stretched my hips this morning. He knows what it means when the rickety of the drawer rolls, that drawer in that green wicker chest— that I am getting undressed.
He knows— that when the sound of that tap becomes louder and more consistent that the brush of my mouth is to come. And the sound of my spit. He hears the splashes of my nose blowing bubbles in my hands and infers that’s me washing my face. And my breathing muffled and pronounced by some material— he figures is me drying it.
He knows the sound of the bath here. The bath with the green and white tiles. He knows because last night I accidentally kicked it. How could that even happen he asked. Because I’m positioning my leg on its side. To rub my oil on my body.
I tried to make that sound extra loud.
I switched off the light for another night. The light to the bathroom. I moved over to my bed and swept my hands over the sheets (to fix it). My whole followed. I tucked myself under the covers
and put his voice on my chest.
Thinking, reassuring, as usual, that it won’t be long until he hears the sound that’s underneath.
Writer-Director
CURRENT:
Debut feature in development. Project available upon request. Email jethro.thompson@curtisbrown.co.uk.
PREVIOUS(S):
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British Short Film Awards
- Best Director winner
- Best Costume Design winner
- Best Short nominated
- Best Actress (Isobel Laidler) nominated
-
Encounters Festival (Oscar-qualifying festival)
-
Underwire Festival (BAFTA-qualifying festival)
-
Etc.
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Year: 2020, runtime: 19 mins.
-
Pre-production Kickstarter campaign here
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Post-production Kickstarter campaign here
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IMDB here
-
Full film available upon request
WE ALL JUST WANT TO BE MAD
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Curzon Cinema x Agua de Madre Competition Runner-up
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Year: 2020
Lemonade Stand
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Madrid International Film Festival
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Portland Film Festival
-
LA Comedy Festival
-
Manchester Kinofilm:
- Best Newcomer winner
-
Jakarta Independent:
- Best Comedy winner
-
etc.
-
Year: 2019
-
IMDB here
-
Trailer below, first
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Film below, second
Mr. Alan on Saturday
The Pleasure of Your Company
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Austin Microshort Festival
-
Year: 2017
Charlie who no Longer Likes Porridge
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Year: 2017
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Year: 2017
-
Flora Tennant original version available upon request (posted contains artist revisions).
