Before the Winter – A Quiet Storm That Cuts Deep

Some stories don’t shout—they whisper. But the weight they carry? That stays with you. Before the Winter is one of those stories.

This 15-minute short starts off like a slow burn—but by the time the credits roll, I was left with that tight feeling in my chest you only get from something that hits too close to home. It’s subtle, personal, and quietly devastating.

The film follows a young girl named May, and while she barely says a word out loud, every look and every silence speaks volumes. There’s a heaviness in her eyes, something she’s not saying—and you feel it long before you understand it. That’s the power of this film: it lets you live in the space between what’s shown and what’s left unsaid.

The performances are sharp across the board, but May’s actress completely blew me away. She carries the emotional core of the film with this controlled vulnerability that feels both natural and haunting. There’s a scene where she’s just sitting in her room, writing, and somehow that stillness tells you everything you need to know. No big speech. No dramatic breakdown. Just truth.

Visually, this short is polished. Like, really polished. The cinematography is on point—moody lighting, tight frames, and some clever use of reflections that pull you deeper into May’s world without making it feel forced or stylized. It’s intimate without being intrusive, like we’re looking through a keyhole we’re not supposed to peer through.

But where this short really got me was in its moral grey zones. The characters don’t fall into easy categories. You’re constantly questioning what’s real and who’s in the right. It messes with your assumptions in a way that’s subtle but effective. I found myself rethinking scenes even after they were over.

And as a parent? Yeah. It hit different. You watch this and you start to feel that protective instinct kick in—but you’re not even sure what side you’re on. That’s what makes it so good. It’s not clean. It’s not easy. It’s real.

Before the Winter may be a short film, but it lands with the emotional punch of something five times longer. It’s a reminder that sometimes the scariest things don’t lurk in the dark—they live right under the surface, in places we’d rather not look.