A Body Horror Fable of Fragile Masculinity

Read Time:4 Minute, 53 Second

MOVIE REVIEW
Pearls
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Genre: Horror, Short, Drama
Year Released: 2025
Runtime: 15m
Director(s): Alastair Train
Writer(s): Alastair Train
Cast: Rory Murphy, Helen Jessica Liggat, Mark Wingett
Where to Watch: shown at the 2025 Motel X Film Festival

RAVING REVIEW: PEARLS wastes no time in plunging the viewer into a story that feels equal parts absurd, unsettling, and disturbingly relatable. With only fifteen minutes to make its mark, Alastair Train’s short film approaches the horrors of fertility struggles through a lens of body horror, distorted imagery, and the kind of creeping discomfort that stays long after the credits fade. It’s not a film that politely asks for attention—it forces it, much like the invasive presence of the oysters at its core.

The premise is deceptively simple: Tony and Linda want a child, but Tony is confronted with the crushing weight of his fertility issues. Rather than facing this reality directly, he grasps for a quick solution. Enter Marvin, an oyster dealer whose product promises virility but instead unleashes consequences beyond anyone’s control. The setup allows Train to dig into toxic masculinity, the desperate lengths some men go to preserve their pride, and the collateral damage these choices inflict on partners and relationships.

What makes PEARLS most effective is how it turns a ridiculous starting point—oysters as supernatural fertility enhancers—into a symbol for denial and avoidance. The absurdity works because it never tips into parody. Instead, the story is played with grim seriousness, leaning into discomfort rather than laughter. In a way, it mirrors the real-life impulse to chase snake-oil cures, miracle diets, or dangerous shortcuts when confronted with personal shortcomings. The oyster becomes a stand-in for every desperate, misguided attempt to mask vulnerability.

Rory Murphy brings a mix of insecurity and bravado to Tony, a man unwilling to face his own limitations. His performance captures that uneasy balance between sympathy and frustration—you feel for his pain, but recoil at his selfish decisions. Helen Jessica Liggat grounds the film with an intensity as Linda, her expressions carrying more weight than words as she watches her partner unravel. Mark Wingett adds menace as Marvin, playing the role with just enough ambiguity to make you question whether he’s a predator or simply a facilitator of someone else’s self-destruction.

PEARLS thrives on texture. The close-up shots of oysters glistening with slime evoke both allure and repulsion, a fitting metaphor for the false promises they carry. Train has an eye for imagery that unsettles without relying on elaborate effects—lingering on deformities enough to trigger unease in the audience, but never tipping into shock.

The narrative occasionally feels like it’s straining under the weight of its themes. With such limited time, the transitions between Tony’s denial, his encounter with Marvin, and the fallout come quickly, leaving little room for buildup. It’s a common challenge for shorts that aim to tackle weighty subject matter: the ambition occasionally outruns the runtime. The horror isn’t only in the oysters but in what they represent—the refusal to face uncomfortable truths and the way those refusals can poison relationships.

What also stands out is Train’s confidence as a storyteller. His previous shorts demonstrated a penchant for dark humor and genre experimentation, but here he fully embraces this vision, pushing into body horror territory with a greater commitment than before. It suggests a filmmaker eager to stretch into feature-length territory, where ideas like this could be allowed to simmer instead of sprint. The short feels like a proof of concept, both in theme and execution.

PEARLS is still a short that could divide audiences. Those looking for a visceral, in-your-face experience will find enough to squirm at. For viewers willing to lean into its mix of absurdity and unease, it offers a sharp, compact meditation on masculinity, fertility, and denial that doesn’t overstay its welcome. The ending leaves you with the sense that no easy resolution exists—that once certain lines of avoidance are crossed, relationships and bodies alike can’t simply snap back into place. It’s a bleak, uncomfortable note, but it feels earned. By weaponizing both the slimy tactility of oysters and the all-too-human fear of inadequacy, Train crafts a short that doesn’t just disturb but also provokes thought.

PEARLS' effectiveness stems from how quickly and decisively it rattles, as well as how it lingers in the imagination despite its brevity. In the crowded world of genre shorts, leaving that kind of mark is an achievement in itself.

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[photo courtesy of LUNAR DRAGON]

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