Iceberg Jump: Short Films You Want to Watch Again and Again

David O’Reilly’s short film, «Please Say Something,» is striking, primarily due to its innovative visual approach: the 3D graphics here do not aim for realism; instead, they resemble 2D animation or a simple video game. This stylistic choice creates a unique, self-contained universe where events unfold outside the conventions of traditional cinema. Beyond the visuals, I am drawn to the unusual editing—events seem intentionally scrambled, yet one resists rushing into interpretation. I have watched this short film many times, and each time I discover something new. It feels as though my mind sinks into a viscous, slow-moving space where the internal rules are unclear, making me unwilling to reduce the narrative to something simple or predetermined.

«Jumping» is built upon elevating a single maneuver to its absolute peak. The technical execution and virtuoso timing are refined to such an extent that the six-minute runtime feels infinite. I can watch this film repeatedly, observing this jump seemingly never end, and in that lies a certain peculiar, almost meditative power. This approach remains fresh—even though the film is years old, to me it feels entirely new and groundbreaking, as if it were made yesterday.

This is a student film from California College of the Arts—essentially a standard class assignment. However, much like the previous jumping film, it is made surprisingly well: a simple concept, executed to perfection, makes the film very charming. I always use it when presenting examples to my students—a piece where you don’t have to dissect the meaning or search for hidden allusions, but simply immerse yourself in the meditative state, after which you feel compelled to shoot ten more of your own films.

I watched «Cat Soup» after only a couple of years in the profession, and frankly, I am still surprised by the combination in the film—the mix of childish, cute imagery with an extremely harsh, art-house, aggressive form that pulls toward the deep layers of consciousness and existence. The viewer finds themselves in a complex, frightening world that still manages to look like an amusement park ride. I don’t want to say much about the work: it’s best viewed the first time without reading anything, and afterward, if you wish, you can delve into the manga’s history and the tragic fate of its author.

This animated film deeply moved me early in my career, when I was a novice animator. The split-screen technique used here is something I rarely saw, other than in arthouse cinema—and those instances are countable. Although the technique seems ideally suited for short films, it is so complex that creators seldom employ it. In this context, I consider this project to be one of the finest examples of split-screen work. Watch it; I hope you enjoy it too.

«There Once Was a Dog» is featured in most selections of short animated works, and it holds one of the top spots on my personal list. Perhaps there used to be too many films like this, but nowadays, they are made too rarely. It is a rare type of auteur children’s film today—a work that engages both children and adults, combining delicate dramaturgy, deep character development, and a certain cinematic life on screen. I watched it as a child, loved the cartoon very much, and I am rewatching it now. For me, it remains a masterpiece that must be in any collection.

«Milk» is a film I could talk about for hours, but I don’t want to repeat myself because it seems everyone already knows it and holds it in high regard—almost reverence. The main thing I want to say about this film is a phrase that kept swirling in my head during the first time I saw it on the big screen at the festival: «Wait, they could actually do that?» For me, this phrase encapsulates the entire film because everything in it seems impossibly difficult, yet Igor pulled it off, and he did it brilliantly.