Pitch

There is no reason to feel excited about a short film that shows a blond young man in an aluminium bath, who looks goofy in that I'm-so-bored-I've-forgotten-why-I-bother kind of way.

The young man gets out of the bath. He's wearing jeans. He speaks to the camera. What he says isn't important. He's still looking like he needs a good smack to wake him up.

If that was it, someone should tell writer/director Sarah Tripp and her co-scribe Jenny Brownrigg to take a sabbatical in rebel-held Mogadishu to recharge their reality cells. But it's not, because, while the camera photographs the half-naked man with the sleepy eyes from intriguing angles, an energetic voice is pitching the concept of an action picture to an unseen producer.

At the same time, flashes of animated cut-out tanks and other icons of war appear suddenly for no particular reason. The juxtaposition of the adreneline-fuelled voice, promising "This film will be acclaimed as the bleeding edge," with the passive figure in the bath, who may, or may not, be the one who makes the decision, is strangely gripping.

The voice-over says, "Testosterone can be distilled," as if the secret to life is energy. Tripp plugs in. She knows.

What?

That film is alive.