A Letter Written to the Self You Used to Be

Read Time:5 Minute, 36 Second

MOVIE REVIEW
Acronymity
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Genre: Sci-Fi, Drama
Year Released: 2025
Runtime: 9m
Director(s): Andrew Imai
Writer(s): Andrew Imai, Jackson Lang
Cast: Austin Lantz, Claire Capdevielle
Where to Watch: shown at the 2025 Art is Alive Film Festival

RAVING REVIEW: ACRONYMITY begins with an idea that sounds like pure science fiction, but the experience feels closer to a psychological reflection. A man wakes up in a world with no memory and nothing to hold onto except a cryptic acronym — CCNEN — that promises some form of meaning if he can unravel it. The film treats that coded fragment less like a plot device and more like an attempt to anchor identity when everything else goes missing. Where most sci-fi projects use mystery to escalate toward a reveal, this one uses mystery to hold the viewer in a suspended emotional state, inviting them to reflect on the discomfort of not knowing who they are.

From the opening frames, the setting defines the character’s emotional reality. The production design is intentionally stripped down, almost clinical. Color choices lean toward neutral tones that refuse to comfort the viewer. The world feels constructed, but not in the usual sense — there’s no futuristic set dressing or visible technology to explain what happened to him. Instead, the room becomes an abstract representation of disconnection. The absence of markers is the point. Without context, even a blank wall becomes threatening. This design approach signals that the story isn’t hunting for explanations. It’s exploring dislocation as a lived experience.

Austin Lantz carries the short with a performance that emphasizes internal struggle over outward reaction. His presence has the stillness of someone looking at their surroundings through a pane of glass. The film never relies on drama to communicate confusion. Instead, it depends on small gestures, slow, searching movements, and moments when the character seems to examine his own body, as if confirming reality. Claire Capdevielle’s role operates as both counterpart and mirror, giving the protagonist interactions that break the isolation without grounding him. The dynamic between them remains restrained, which supports the story’s idea that recognition comes not from exposition but from fragments of connection.

Structurally, ACRONYMITY moves forward while feeling almost cyclical. The pacing isn’t built around escalation. No countdown, and no outside conflict threatens the protagonist. The tension comes from uncertainty, and the film’s restraint creates a reflective atmosphere. Short films often rush to deliver a twist or a defining answer. This one resists that pressure, opting for ambiguity. It asks the viewer to accept limited information. That choice is bold for a nine-minute runtime, and it allows the themes to linger longer than the scenes themselves.

The acronym at the center of the story — CCNEN — works like a puzzle without a codified meaning until the film reaches its final moments. Even then, the answer feels emotional rather than explanatory. Instead of reshaping the story into a conventional narrative, the reveal lands as a recognition of identity rather than a rationale for the environment. It’s the kind of solution that makes more sense in your chest than your head. The lack of context might frustrate viewers hoping for world-building, but the choice aligns with the film’s intent. Imai and Jackson Lang aren’t chasing a high-concept sci-fi payoff. They’re using the mystery as a way to express how fragile memory feels when you’re overwhelmed by change.

ACRONYMITY is defined by minimal dialogue and a sound design approach that leans heavily on ambience. The audio feels like it’s pressing inward — quiet, controlled pacing, and sparse environmental noise that creates a sense of pressure without any visible threat. The score doesn’t guide emotion, forcing the viewer to sit with uncertainty rather than being told how to feel.

On a thematic level, ACRONYMITY is interested in how identity forms when memory fails. The director’s background in physics and philosophy becomes apparent through the film’s tone. There’s clarity in the environment and philosophical uncertainty in the narrative. Instead of trying to solve identity as one would an equation, the film presents identity as intangible. That feels in line with the college experience that Andrew Imai describes in his director's statement — the quiet erasure of self that happens when you’re dropped into a new environment and expected to know who you are.

This is a short built entirely on mood, and while that choice allows the emotional abstraction to speak loudly, there is a trade-off. The world feels deliberately incomplete, leaving the viewer to question whether the mystery hides something deeper or simply avoids explanation. The film doesn’t resolve that tension, and depending on your relationship to ambiguity, that can either strengthen its impact or limit the scope of its meaning. For a nine-minute short, the ambition is clear. ACRONYMITY wants you to experience absence, not just observe it.

The film’s restraint suggests a creative voice interested in personal interpretation rather than engineered clarity. It’s the kind of project that doesn’t need everything to make sense. The experience is the message. The acronym feels less like a solution to a mystery and more like a reminder that identity is often pieced together from symbols, associations, and fragments that mean something only to the person who carries them. ACRONYMITY is small, but it carries that idea with sincerity.

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