Kelly McCormack’s short film, How Brief, was inspired by singer-songwriter Connie Converse, who disappeared in 1974 at the age of 50. Converse’s story is one that fascinates me. I’ve always been drawn to stories about artists whose work went largely underappreciated during their lifetimes but whose legacies endured, such as Vincent van Gogh. I’m equally intrigued by the idea of leaving one’s life behind and vanishing—whether to start over somewhere else, reinvent oneself as someone entirely different, or simply disappear without a trace. I suspect McCormack understands that Converse’s story holds a particular resonance for many women.
In an interview about How Brief, she explained, “I didn’t want to understand why a woman would disappear or theorize some kind of mystery. I was really much more propelled by the question, ‘why not?’ Why wouldn’t a woman want to disappear?” How Brief explores that question through the story of a woman, played with remarkable emotional depth by Tess Degenstein, who returns to her childhood home for the last time. Over the course of one chaotic and peculiar evening in 1962, she reconnects with her brother (Gray Powell) and pregnant sister-in-law (Tatiana Maslany) before ultimately disappearing.
How Brief often feels more like a stage play than a film. Its production design is stylized, with sets that feel deliberately artificial rather than realistic, punctuated with pops of bright, saturated colors. Likewise, the performances are theatrical, making the film feel somewhat removed from reality, as though we’re watching a moment suspended in time and space. It’s like stepping into the void, plummeting through an amalgamation of fever dreams and flashbacks. The story itself is a bit narratively opaque. I’ll admit that I sat down to write about the film in hopes of making better sense of it. I can imagine many viewers walking away scratching their heads, wondering what they just watched. The imagery is surreal, the narrative is abstract, and the thematic significance is sometimes difficult to grasp. Yet there’s something compelling about the film’s elusive nature. Even when I wasn’t entirely sure what director McCormack and writer/star Degenstein were trying to say, I still found myself drawn into this strange, melancholic world.
Alfonso Chin’s cinematography is part of the film’s appeal. The camera moves with astounding fluidity, as if we’re floating through the set of a theatrical production. The graceful camera movements also draw attention to the carefully choreographed blocking. Through the interplay between the camera and the actors, the film becomes a whirlwind of haunting moments, each brimming with poetry. The performances are kinetic, with the actors bringing a restless energy to their characters. While their stories can sometimes feel incomprehensible, there’s a palpable sense of shared history and emotional baggage beneath their interactions.
Prior to watching How Brief, the short film piqued my interest because I’d heard numerous people describe it as Lynchian. However, I must admit that while the film has a disorienting quality reminiscent of Lynch’s work, the only aspect of How Brief that struck me as Lynchian was the moment when the camera lingers on the hum of a ceiling fan spinning rhythmically overhead. Moreover, McCormack’s film feels more like a surreal take on the work of Tennessee Williams. The exploration of a woman’s innate yearning to leave this life behind and disappear also calls to mind the final moments of Kate Chopin’s novel The Awakening.
Connie Converse once wrote in one of her final letters, “Human society fascinates me & awes me & fills me with grief & joy; I just can’t find my place to plug into it. So let me go, please; and please accept my thanks for those happy times…I am in everyone’s debt.” There’s something heartbreaking yet relatable about this sentiment of not being able to find one’s place in the world that shines through in How Brief. This short film captures that feeling in an abstract manner. It may not make sense to everyone, but for those who’ve fantasized about slipping away from the life they’ve built to escape into oblivion, something about it rings true.
While I’d love to see a feature-length film from McCormack in the future as she shows significant promise as a director, it’s fitting that this is a short film rather than a feature. It’s evocative of another line attributed to Converse: “Like life, like your smile, like the fall of a leaf—how sad, how lovely, how short, how brief.” Like the mystery surrounding Connie Converse’s disappearance, How Brief is enigmatic and raises more questions than it answers. However, that’s part of the film’s appeal; sometimes the most captivating stories are the ones that leave us wondering. This beautiful, bittersweet short film suggests that perhaps the biggest mystery isn’t why someone would choose to disappear, but what about life makes the thought of vanishing so alluring. We’ll never know whether Converse found the peace or freedom she sought, but in the words of Hemingway, “Isn’t it pretty to think so?”
