The art of the slow burn lies in the unsaid, unfolding in subtext and silences, which somehow manages to frustrate and captivate in equal measures. Whilst Forgery, written by and starring Emily Knutsson, is not lacking in its share of lingering glances – including a disarming close-up of the male protagonist’s (played by Finn Cullen) eyes – a lot is said without really meaning anything at all.

It's the classic boy meets girl. He’s a cynic, she’s his manic pixie dream girl, and they converse solely through metaphors and witticism, which is really just foreplay draped in scholarly airs. Their flirtation hinges on the allegorical backdrop of a museum before a formal dinner, as she analogises false relationships with artistic replicas, which, despite a self-conscious title drop, creates a resonant parallel between the counterfeits of both art and love. The romantic poignancy, however, feels undermined by the ironic performativity of their exchange, as I’m left wondering whether the fraudulent sculpture or their contrived wit is the greater forgery of the film.

“I’m left wondering whether the fraudulent sculpture or their contrived wit is the greater forgery of the film”

Though she’s pretentious and he’s posh (I don’t think anyone actually calls the Westminster School ‘Wessie’), the pull of the slow burn prevails. Could he be the authentic masterpiece in a gallery of imitations? A charming notion, yet one quickly collapsed as he figuratively directs her to “visit the museum gift shop and buy a bloody postcard”. Because nothing says romance like stationery. A peripheral point, really, as he clutches a vintage film camera, ready to charmingly snap a photo of his muse like he’s wandered straight out of a Wes Anderson moodboard – minus the suspenders.

Despite the relentless repartee which probably would have benefitted from its own curator, the mise-en-scène wonderfully captured the idealised aesthetics of the Cantabrigian. Cinematographer Matthew P. Scott, whose previous films have been screened at Cannes and had a feature at this year’s BFI Film Festival, introduces this through the opening scene of a punt skimming beneath the Mathematical Bridge, as Knuttson’s character crosses overhead. Stained glass windows and a glowing fireplace illuminate the characters throughout, while the wooden panelling and ornamental detailing of the room’s interior remain visible, yet in shadow. The warmth of the lighting mirrors the intimacy of their conversation, preventing the institutional backdrop from casting their interaction as clinical. Though Knuttson’s character denies immersing herself in settings which feel like a dream, but rather history, the cinematography creates the atmosphere of storybook Cambridge, all cobblestones and claret.

“The power of the short film is that a limited runtime means every frame counts”

The power of the short film is that a limited runtime means every frame counts. The stylistic details from makeup artist Theodore Salisbury, who had experience working with Austin Butler on Dune, and the music score by Oxford alumnus Nathan De Giorgi underline the precision with which Knuttson’s script was animated. Not a strand of hair out of place, except her perpetually askew bangs which Cullen did well to ignore in their moments of charged eye contact.

Pertaining to fringe, Forgery won a five star review from the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, after Knutsson adapted it from a monologue in her 2024 show Me and My Year of Casual Monasticism. Though the transition from stage to screen has been well received, it feels as though the theatrical dialogue appreciated by a live audience falls somewhat flat under the closeness of the lens. And as both film and evening drew to a close as the characters settled side by side next to the fireplace, I found myself wondering – when exactly are they supposed to go to that dinner?