A man alone in his house begins to unravel as time, space and reality begin to slip from his grasp. That is the premise of Take Me Back And Tell Me More, a new short film from experimental filmmaker James Dubbeldam.
Over the past few years, Dubbeldam has carved out a distinct voice in independent short cinema. Previous works such as Life’s Design, LIFE Happens and Your Worst Enemy have showcased his interest in blending the mundane with the abstract. Often cryptic and rarely conventional, his films invite interpretation and spark discussion. His latest effort, running just over five minutes including credits, continues in this tradition with a minimalistic but thought-provoking entry that teases the limits of perception.
The plot, such as it is, unfolds in silence. A man, played by Jack Vecchio, moves through the rooms of his home. There is no dialogue, no exposition and no one else in sight. As he checks messages on his phone and closes a door that soon appears open again, something strange begins to take hold. The atmosphere thickens when he notices another version of himself outside the house, peering in. The uncanny moment lands with weight, especially as it arrives without any clear explanation.
Much like a dream that begins in realism before slipping into nonsense, Take Me Back And Tell Me More works by unsettling rather than scaring. There are no jump scares or grand set pieces. Instead, the eeriness comes from how normal things feel slightly off. It is this subtle shift into the surreal that makes the film linger in the mind, even after its brief runtime has ended.
Jack Vecchio carries the entire piece with a quiet, controlled performance. With no words to deliver and no supporting characters to bounce off, he uses body language and expression to convey a man who begins to question what is real. His physical presence grounds the film, which might otherwise feel too detached or abstract. Vecchio gives us a human point of entry into a world that is slowly becoming unfamiliar.
Visually, the film leans into simplicity. The cinematography and lighting are functional rather than flashy, but that works in favour of the story. The ordinary setting heightens the sense of disruption when reality begins to bend. A few visual tricks are used to good effect, including a portal and scenes edited in reverse. These moments are not overused and help to create the impression of a fractured timeline or a looping consciousness.
What makes Dubbeldam’s work interesting, as always, is not just what is on screen but what is left unsaid. This is not a film that hands you answers. It might even resist interpretation entirely. Depending on how you engage with it, you might see themes of memory, identity, regret or internal conflict. Or you may simply experience it as a surreal vignette that leaves a lingering sense of unease. This open-endedness will undoubtedly divide audiences.
For some viewers, that ambiguity will be a strength. For others, it may feel frustrating. Films like this tend to be polarising, and Take Me Back And Tell Me More is no exception. It will likely be embraced by those who enjoy symbolic storytelling and philosophical puzzles, while others might find it too obscure to connect with.
Regardless of where you land, there is no denying that Dubbeldam continues to take risks with his work. He invites viewers to step outside of narrative comfort zones and embrace discomfort, confusion and curiosity. In a landscape full of over-explained stories and tidy resolutions, that alone is worth celebrating.
Take Me Back And Tell Me More may not be for everyone, but it remains a thoughtful and atmospheric piece from a filmmaker unafraid to experiment. At only a few minutes long, it asks little in terms of time but offers plenty in terms of imagination.
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