Sinnside

The scouts

Sinnside inverts the fairy tale into something genuinely unsettling—it's *Hansel and Gretel* stripped of moral instruction and played as architectural nightmare, where the gingerbread house becomes a surrealist fever dream nobody else would greenlight. The film earns its weirdness by refusing to explain itself, which is exactly the kind of bet-against-consensus filmmaking that actually sticks.

Font Bisier constructs this short as deliberate visual ritual, each frame composed with the symmetry and artifice of theatrical staging—there's a lineage here running through expressionist horror and contemporary baroque cinema. The restraint in the editing, the way it lets dread accumulate through negative space rather than cuts, marks this as a work conscious of its formal debts.

The decision to shoot the children's faces with such flatness and reserve—almost detached—while the restaurant swells with grotesque choreography makes the entire film work; it's the refusal to sentimentalize the young characters that lets the horror operate without cynicism. That one tonal choice transforms what could've been derivative into something that feels genuinely strange on a micro-budget.