True, vulnerability makes us stronger. But in the wrong hands, it contorts and opens us to more pain than we can imagine. FLINT captures this possibility like a cry for help swiftly answered by a gunshot. The short film, written by Michael Sloyka and directed by Chris Oz McIntosh, plunges a heart-wrenching drama into the depths of social horror. And what emerges is a compelling proof-of-concept that demands a feature-length treatment.
FLINT follows Scotty (Owen Trumbly), a young teen assigned to a rural group home after a string of violent outbursts. He quickly meets Eric (P.J. Sosko), the home’s lead therapist. Scotty quickly learns the facility is barely held together. Aggression defines his housemates. His counselors ooze apathy. And Eric, though faintly charismatic, veils a much more sinister intent. The therapist builds his philosophy and approaches around an Iroquois creation myth. He describes two twins, Sapling and Flint, who effectively represent good and evil. Eric seeks to “expel the Flint” from the kids he “helps,” no matter the cost.
With relatively little space and time, Sloyka and McIntosh create an effective and undeniably human monster. The group home works like a pitcher plant, slowly and painfully dissolving those stuck there. To condense this concept, the film accelerates Scotty’s journey. (Or possibly gives it a little more time than it otherwise would, given you could easily interpret FLINT in its current form as a sort of extended prologue.) While the short still works as is, its abrupt brutality doesn’t feel entirely earned.
Fortunately, this doesn’t make FLINT feel underdeveloped — Sloyka’s background in social work and subtle attention to detail keep the script from diving headfirst into melodrama. Had this story had a little more space to breathe, it’d make Eric’s suffocating grasp that much tighter. As is, it’s hard to wholeheartedly claim the short film stands completely on its own. It works, sure, but it feels wedged between a tight, self-contained narrative and another that begs for more time. Given everything FLINT attempts to capture, a short film — though FLINT pushes that label with its roughly 30-minute runtime — makes it feel cramped.
Still, even if FLINT doesn’t see another iteration, it holds up enough as a jarring look into a broken system where predators run rampant. The film delivers a powerful villain without diffusing the real issues it sources. In less capable hands, this premise would come off as half-baked and potentially offensive. Fortunately, this psychological plummet is handled with care.
