Set against the sunburnt hills of South Africa, Her War is a quietly powerful short film that lingers far longer in the memory than its brief six-minute runtime might suggest.
With its sparse dialogue, stunning visuals, and stirring performances, director Charles Curtice paints a vivid portrait of two enemies forced to share a final moment of humanity during one of the most bitter and brutal wars of the colonial age.
The film opens mid-chase. A lone British soldier crashes through the grass, clearly wounded and near exhaustion. A single rifle shot rings out, and he drops to the ground. Approaching slowly, rifle raised, is a blood-streaked Afrikaner woman. She is not part of a military force but a farmer, a civilian, one of many South African women who found themselves unwilling participants in a war not of their choosing. When the man throws down his gun in resignation, she lowers hers in return. There is no more battle to be fought. What remains is conversation, not combat.
The Boer War, or more accurately the Second Anglo Boer War, was fought from 1899 to 1902 between the British Empire and two independent Boer republics: the South African Republic (also known as the Transvaal) and the Orange Free State. It was a war rooted in colonial ambition, mineral wealth, and the British desire to consolidate control over the South African region. For the Boers, descendants of Dutch settlers, the conflict was a fight for independence and the defence of their land and way of life.
What sets Her War apart is that it chooses to focus not on the battlefield but on the emotional wreckage left behind. It is not about grand strategies or military victories but the smaller, more intimate war between two people who should be enemies and yet, in their shared suffering, become something closer to equals. In these final moments, the film manages to say more about the futility of war and the depth of human resilience than many features twenty times its length.
Anna Green, as the unnamed Afrikaans woman, is magnetic. Her silent fury, her trauma, and her weary strength all radiate through every frame. She says little, but her face tells you everything. Zaramok Bachok plays the dying British soldier with just the right balance of regret and resignation. His voice is broken, yet his presence is not diminished. Together, their interaction becomes less about politics or nationalism and more about empathy and what it means to die far from home, facing someone you were taught to hate.
What elevates the film even further is the extraordinary attention to detail. From the dirt caked onto the soldier’s ears to the weathered bloodstains on the woman’s blouse, the film communicates years of hardship in mere seconds. The costumes are authentic and lived in. The weapons look period accurate without being stylised or pristine. This is a war fought not in glory but in grime.
Director of Photography Graham Skinner deserves special mention for his extraordinary work here. Filmed in natural light with a crew of just six people, Her War manages to look more cinematic than many full-length features. The choice to shoot in anamorphic adds a sweeping elegance to the rural setting, with wide shots that feel both epic and intimate. You can almost feel the heat on your skin and the weight of exhaustion in the air.
The film’s score, composed by Exact Opposites, is a subtle triumph. It never overwhelms, but instead gently cradles the unfolding drama, mirroring the emotional undercurrents between the two characters. It creates atmosphere without distraction, enhancing rather than announcing itself.
Remarkably, Her War was shot in under six hours. That fact alone is staggering when you consider the final result. From the precision of the camera work to the strength of the performances and the pitch perfect tone of the script, there is nothing rushed or compromised about this production. It speaks to the strength of Curtice’s direction and the discipline of his team.
Charles Curtice is no stranger to Screen Critix readers, having impressed us previously with his feature film Never Any Blue, which we awarded four stars. With Her War, he has taken things even further, creating a poignant and resonant short that feels timeless. This is storytelling distilled to its purest form, with every shot, line, and glance carrying weight.
While there are many short films that simply showcase a concept or punchline, Her War offers something more ambitious. It gives us characters that feel real, a setting that feels lived in, and a message that speaks softly but echoes long after the final frame.
In an age of noisy blockbusters and digital spectacle, it is refreshing to see a filmmaker trust the power of silence, faces, and landscape to tell a story. Her War reminds us that the most powerful moments in cinema are often the quietest, and the most profound truths can emerge not from victory but from vulnerability.