Truth Hurts When You Profit Off the Lie

Read Time:5 Minute, 9 Second

MOVIE REVIEW
Unfaithful!
–

Genre: Comedy, Short
Year Released: 2025
Runtime: 9m
Director(s): Seri DeYoung
Writer(s): Otha Cole, Seri DeYoung
Cast: Alexa Sutherland, Andrew Joseph Perez, Anthony B. Caldwell, Michael A. Perry, Bryce Rankins, Jordan Oz, Ronald Auguste, Jack D. Fleischer, Aimee McGuire
Where to Watch: shown at Dances With Films LA 2025

RAVING REVIEW: Reality television has always flirted with chaos, but this film doesn’t flirt—it leans into it and holds a mirror to our most voyeuristic impulses. What starts as a behind-the-scenes look at the workings of unscripted drama transforms into a character study about what happens when personal boundaries collapse under the pressure of public exposure. It's a film about blurred lines: between entertainment and exploitation, between performance and truth, and between who we think we are and who we become under the spotlight.

At the center is a man who has made a career broadcasting other people’s pain. He hosts a reality show where betrayal is currency, and humiliation is sold as closure. But when one particular guest arrives on set, what should be routine quickly becomes personal. Instead of staying objective, the host finds himself mentally, emotionally, and morally unraveling as his issues creep into the production. Warnings from his producer are dismissed, and the cameras keep rolling long after they should’ve stopped. The fallout isn't confined to the show. It spills out, threatening to wreck the very identity he’s constructed for public consumption.

What makes the narrative tick isn’t the setup, but how convincingly it critiques the broader ecosystem surrounding reality TV. It’s not just about the ethics of what’s shown on screen, but about who gets ignored behind it. A deeper layer of discomfort woven through every scene forces viewers to consider what they’re complicit in when they consume this content. Instead of simply parodying trashy programming, the film situates itself in the eye of the storm and dares the audience to sit with it.

The structure mimics the format of the type of show it’s targeting—fragmented, emotionally volatile, and intentionally jarring. By bouncing between carefully framed segments and raw, handheld moments, the film keeps the viewer disoriented just enough to feel like they’re part of the production, trapped in the chaos. It's a clever formal choice that reinforces the film's critique without ever needing to say it aloud.

The early conversations have a clipped, rehearsed quality, like they’ve played these roles for years. But as the situation grows more volatile, the cracks show. Sarcasm slips in, tempers rise, and unspoken tensions start to surface. The shift in tone is subtle, but meaningful. It's a quiet demonstration of how even the most professional relationships can buckle under pressure, especially when no one’s willing to call “cut.” And all of this in just nine minutes!

The supporting characters are more than just bystanders. The producer, in particular, feels like the film’s quiet anchor. She’s the voice of reason, trying to steer the chaos without completely blowing it up. Yet, she’s sidelined at every turn—a reflection of real-world dynamics where women often do the emotional labor while being dismissed in decision-making spaces. The world similarly mishandles the guest at the center of the scandal around her, her agency stripped as her personal life becomes plot fodder for a show she never agreed to be part of.

Thematic consistency helps hold everything together. The film isn't out to shame anyone for watching this content—it knows the appeal. However, it asks the audience to step back and question why this kind of programming became so normalized. Why do we accept that conflict equals good TV? Why do we applaud people falling apart on camera but wince when it happens in real life? The questions aren’t answered, but they’re raised with clarity and urgency.

The final stretch doesn’t offer a clean resolution, and that’s the right call. These stories don’t end so much as they fizzle out—when the cameras move on, the consequences don’t. It leaves viewers with an aftertaste that’s hard to shake, a reminder that once a line is crossed for entertainment’s sake, it’s rarely walked back. And that’s where the film finds its power—in the gray areas, the unspoken fallout, the moments that feel too uncomfortable to televise.

This is a film that knows what it’s doing. It’s smart without being smug, dark without becoming cruel, and self-aware enough to critique the system it imitates. It gets a reaction if you find yourself laughing, wincing, or sitting silently by the end. And that's saying something in a media landscape that thrives on surface-level shock.

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