Title cards sometimes find subtle ways to hint at a film’s emotional landscape – delivering ideas and tone without giving too much away. In Trevor Sagide’s latest short film Hunger, the title card sets the mood with precision. Against a black screen, the disturbing barking of hounds grows exponentially louder, until the title appears – its lettering slowly revealing the film’s setting from within.
This setting is a cold, blue kitchen, in a dimly lit house stretched oddly due to the camera’s angle and lensing. As soon as the title appears, the visuals reverse and the setting takes up the space while a black void lingers over the film’s title. What it all means is left for the viewer to piece together, as the narrative gradually unfolds.
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In a daringly uncut shot of the kitchen counter, we watch a young man enter the house and begin to plate a cake with focused care. Beside him, a radio blares the recent disappearance of a young woman, Sarah (Naomi Berur), and the police’s arrest of her parents, revealing her troubled home life.
Soon we learn that Ryan (Daniel Muturi), the man in the kitchen, has supposedly saved Sarah from her misery. He has kept Sarah hidden in his home to save her. The irony is razor sharp, as is the haunting atmosphere that develops in the slow reveal of exposition as the film progresses. It’s a refreshingly brave approach in a medium where some young filmmakers, unsure of themselves, would turn dialogue exchanges into boring information dumps.
Sagide wields obfuscation like a weapon, giving the audience just enough to stay hooked but filling the gaps with an engaging visual rhythm. We understand that Ryan has locked Sarah in his house, but the nature of their relationship unravels slowly through subtext in Ryan’s dialogue.
Sarah remains mute throughout the 20-minute runtime, her gestures giving way to the troubled psychology of her character. The obscurity comes smartly at play here, with shots capturing her at twisted angles, hiding her face from the viewer.
In turn, Ryan’s psychology reveals itself through his obsession. That interplay of contrasts allows for two dynamic characters and psychological profiles to bloom, adding to the tension of the narrative.
Sound design is also crucial here. Snippets of sounds intensify the tension in the air, the audience holding their breath for an eventual explosion. There’s the aforementioned barking of dogs, the soundless cuts changing days, heads banging on doors and raspy breathing as Sarah feels trapped. Then there’s the final crescendo timed to the buzz of a microwave. The diegetic sound feels poorly mixed, but that intentionality gives it a haunting feeling as it booms across the screen.
Visually, Hunger bears Sagide’s signature warped quality to it. The shots are captured from lower angles, filtering between creepy wide angles and nauseating close-ups that distort the viewer’s bearings within a scene.
The editing, too, is masterful, both confounding and revealing the details in the narrative. As in his previous short films such as The Silence of Music, Sagide repeats scenes and fragments continuity to offer layered perspectives.
In Hunger, there’s repetition in dialogue, deliberate continuity errors and different versions of the same scene (like the finale in the kitchen). These repeated scenes show us how Ryan perceives their relationship versus how Sarah’s troubled psychology envisions her situation. It’s a fascinating play on how the nuances of a supposed “love story” can be both tender and obsessively creepy depending on the lens.
Muturi portrays Ryan’s madness with pantomime flair, including enlarging his eyes with delightful relish each time he shows his love for Sarah. In contrast, there’s an opaque quality to Sarah that Berur is forced to channel through her physicality. Berur’s stiffness and subtlety of emotions make Sarah feel like a creepy ghost in her own horror story.
In essence, Hunger comes together using contrast and perspective to engage the audience. From holding scenes with confidence to utilising each element to present this psychological conflict, Sagide continues to build on his aesthetic and voice as a rising young Kenyan filmmaker.
Hunger is currently available to stream on VOD at hungerfilm.nairobivisuals.com
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