Tribeca 2025: Best of Shorts (Part 1).
From Stillness to Spiral: Three Shorts that Redefine the Family Frame.
This year’s Tribeca Film Festival offers a stirring and dynamic mix of short films: some that pierce straight through the heart, others that linger in the mind far longer than we think ourselves capable of, and many that push against the formal and thematic frames we’ve come to expect from cinema. In part one of The Produced’s Best of Shorts from Tribeca, we spotlight three vivid portraits of family: each distinct in its emotional rhythm, each shaped by its own fractures, intimacies, and quiet beauty.
Baby Blues (2025)
Dir. Helen Komini Knudsen | Norway | Shorts: Hopes and Dreams
Filled with wit and an empathetic approach, Baby Blues is a short film following a new mother, Marte, as she embarks on her first-ever stroll downtown with her baby, Astrid. Like a prayer or spell, Marte repeatedly mumbles, “nappy bags, pads, and burp cloth and pacifier,” before she leaves the house, while on the stroll, and even toward the end, self-soothing her already overstimulated brain and state of being.
The narration throughout Baby Blues unfolds as an interior monologue: scattered, raw, and relentless, mirroring the spiraling thoughts Marte spindles together on what is, quite literally, her first walk as a new mother. “Are you breathing?” she asks her baby from time to time. Or more precisely: it’s her first battle through it. Shot entirely from the POV of the baby in the stroller, looking up at Marte, the film immerses the audience in her emotional turbulence. She’s distressed, confused, excited, angry, disappointed, cycling through every possible emotion at once. While Marte’s figure hovers over the stroller’s handlebars, partially obstructing our view of the world around her, one can still sense the vibrant chaos of the bustling streets.
What the film does so well is capture the volatility of one’s inner world when submerged in exhaustion and uncertainty.
One moment, Marte reassures herself that if she can just get through this walk, everything will be fine. Next, she’s ready to whip the stroller around and retreat home, defeated. Her mental state fluctuates rapidly, often within the same breath, exposing just how fragile and unsteady the early days of parenthood can feel.
Though the journey into parenthood is deeply personal and varies widely, Baby Blues becomes a quiet anthem for all parental figures, especially those who carry and birth the child, who undergo immense physical and psychological transformation. It reminds them that even in their most isolated moments, they are not alone.
The Piano (2025)
Dir. Avery Kroll | USA | Shorts: Animated Shorts Curated By Whoopi G
As kids, we see our parents as larger-than-life figures. But sometimes, life engulfs them whole. So, watching our parents re-immersed in a craft that once defined them–before life nudged it to the back burner–is part of childhood magic.
That’s what The Piano captures so poignantly and beautifully: the wonder of seeing your parents rediscover their own magic.
The animation follows a young girl who sneaks out of bed to greet her father coming home late at night. As she tiptoes downstairs, she finds him playing beautiful tunes on the piano, a sight she’s never seen before. Drawn in by the warmth of the music, she listens intently until her father notices and gently invites her little hands to trace the joy of playing. Through seasons, milestones, and the fleeting passage of time, their shared moments at the piano evolve with them. She grows taller, even as life begins to shrink her father’s frame. And yet, their bond deepens, the music between them growing more soulful with every passing melody.
In just a short period, The Piano delivers a beautifully animated, tender reminder to cherish the moments we have with our parents and to remember that they, too, were once dreamers and creators of their lives.
Fire At Will (2025)
Dir. Morgan Gruer | USA | Shorts: Family Matters
A precisely choreographed chaos, Fire at Will is perhaps one of the most honest and sharply drawn depictions of a dysfunctional family, one where every member seems more invested in asserting their self-indulgent opinions than actually listening to one another. The result is a war of words, egos, and unresolved tension disguised as a family dinner.
The film centers on a seemingly simple premise: the parents have invited their four adult children home to announce the details of their will and that they’d be heading out for a vacation after this dinner. But like any family that only functions through dysfunction, the gathering quickly devolves. What begins as a civil reunion spirals into a battlefield of interruptions, resentment, and emotional crossfire between the three sisters and one brother, certainly, over their overstimulated parents.
The cinematography is especially striking. As tensions rise, the camera becomes increasingly erratic–shaky, off-balance, even claustrophobic–mirroring the emotional unraveling at the table. Yet amid the visual chaos, we’re still given intimate access to each character’s expressions, revealing everything from buried insecurity to passive detachment. From the outset, both the visual language and the script signal that this dinner will derail: overlapping dialogue drowns out individual voices, and the camera struggles to “find” the conversation, constantly repositioning itself as if gasping for clarity.
Fire at Will feels refreshingly unfiltered, largely thanks to its masterful writing. Dialogue overlaps not just for realism but to emphasize how unwilling these characters are to hear each other. Complete sentences become rare. People interrupt not out of urgency but as a method of control, which is to cut off dissent, shut down vulnerability, or steer the conversation in their favor. In this family, to speak is to dominate.
And that, perhaps, is the true meaning behind Fire at Will, a title that captures both the legal premise of inheritance and the emotional weaponry each character brings to the table.
The Produced Media is fully reader-funded and devoted to independent journalism and cultural criticism. Please consider supporting us with the value of an hour of your time, or whatever you can. Every contribution helps keep the work alive, and we’re truly grateful for your support.
For any collaboration, press or sponsorship inquiries, please email us at info@the-produced.com.