How far is a mother willing to go to protect her child? That question sits at the bruised heart of ‘Little Mother Lies’, a 14-minute short film written by Kitty Edwinson and directed by Amanda Deering Jones. It’s a quiet, gripping drama that doesn’t force a spectacle or need a sprawling cast to hit its emotional mark. With just three characters, one setting, and a tension that simmers from the opening frame, the film pulls you into a family dynamic that feels raw, familiar, and deeply unsettling.

The story unfolds in the warm but worn walls of Marinka’s home, where she and her sister Dorie sit at the dining table catching up over bowls of borscht. The tone at first feels light, reminiscing, laughter, fragments of memory dusted off and shared like well-kept relics. Pascale Roger-McKeever’s Dorie carries a quiet heaviness, but she’s present, trying to appreciate a moment that feels almost surreal for her. Emile Talbot, as Marinka, meets her energy with enthusiasm. Her bubbly, nostalgic warmth is palpable, as though this reconnection might be a healing of sorts.

But even at this table, the cracks show. Behind a bedroom door, Dorie’s son Owen is in withdrawal, his body restless and his mind thinking of ways to escape. The film wastes no time in showing that while the sisters are trying to rekindle something they once had, there’s a storm of lies quietly building. Owen begins going through his aunt’s belongings, searching for whatever valuables he can steal.

Pascale Roger-McKeever delivers Dorie with so much conviction that you feel her internal split long before she speaks it. She is a mother in protection mode, yes, but she’s also someone who is haunted by who she used to be. There are subtle moments, glances held too long, pauses in conversation, the slight shudder of a remembered mistake that tell you she’s not just shielding her son from the world, she’s shielding him from becoming what she once feared in herself. Dorie’s love is fierce but not blind, and that makes her all the more compelling to watch.

Emile Talbot’s Marinka is equally layered. At first, she’s excited to see her sister again. There’s a spark of nostalgia, the kind that makes you forget for a moment why certain distances were created in the first place. But as reality seeps in and the truth about Owen becomes harder to ignore, you see her energy change. The brightness gives way to clarity, the sort that doesn’t come with relief but with resignation. You start to understand why she left all those years ago and why letting Dorie back in might come with a price she didn’t expect to pay.

The film makes excellent use of its single location. Marinka’s home feels both intimate and suffocating. For her, it’s a haven, a cosy cocoon built over time and distance. But for Dorie and Owen, it becomes a confining space filled with fear. The fear of being discovered, the fear of being judged, the fear of what happens when the truth finally leaves the shadows. The lighting and cinematography heighten that emotional divide. The rooms are dim as if waiting for the light to expose all the secrets.

What stands out about Little Mother Lies is how much it achieves in its 14-minute runtime. It doesn’t rush, and it doesn’t over-explain. Instead, it draws you in with quiet realism and then leaves you right at the edge of the moment where everything could change. When the story ends, it genuinely feels like the point where another one is just about to begin. You can’t help but wonder what Dorie will do now that the stakes are undeniable. How will Marinka live with what she now knows? And if Owen will he slip further away, or is this where something shifts for him too?

The film doesn’t pretend to resolve the complexities it introduces. It doesn’t excuse or condemn. Instead, it captures a sliver of truth about motherhood. Sometimes protection isn’t clean or noble. It is messy, painful, and built on choices that can fracture families forever. Little Mother Lies leaves you unsettled in the best way, asking yourself those same quiet, piercing questions about how far a mother is willing to go for her child.

Rating: 3/5