Jordan Chandler’s NFTS grad film Brutal is an engrossing, and somewhat petrifying, trip into a mother’s heart-pounding illusory loss of her baby. However, nothing is how it seems or where it should be, trauma rears its ugly head in a dark and towering residential block as our protagonist relives agonising and harrowing past experiences, chasing an ever moving and untenable resolution. Chandler, whose background in conceptual performance art speaks to the purposeful rhythm which propels us along every step in the film’s unbroken takes, and the incredibly meticulous and menacing production design. Brutal speaks to women’s innate and often unspoken fears surrounding motherhood alongside the inevitable judgement they faced at every turn. It’s a fiercely bold short and Chandler’s unapologetic female voice both behind the lens and when calling out the inequality endured by women in the industry is one to be kept an eye on. As part of Brutal’s premiere on DN today we had the pleasure of speaking to Chandler about inviting her audience to question their own biases and judgements, planning and achieving an impressive 16 setups a day and ensuring that the rich sound design was woven into every facet of the story.
I am prone to particularly vivid and gripping dreams and nightmares, tell us about the haunting dream which inspired Brutal.
The initial concept came from a dream where I was a badass businesswoman in a tight tailored grey suit with kitten heels and a brick of a mobile phone. Now and again I’d pause dramatically, drop the phone from my ear in slow motion and say, “Where is my baby? I’ve had her for two weeks and not fed her once.” I’d run out into the street where I believed I had parked the buggy – to of course find it empty. I look to my right to see a mob of angry women charging towards me who I assumed were out to punish me for being a bad mother, but who had actually in fact also lost their babies. I’d then of course transform into ‘the saviour’ and lead them off on a quest to a tower block in order to save our kin. This dream was a recurring series, but the location and business attire would change. It was clear – I was terrified of being a mother and knew I wasn’t alone in my fear.
This frustration shaped the tone of the film’s opening. It’s grounded in naturalism and dares the audience to pass judgement. It’s almost like I’m squaring up to them, challenging: “Go ahead, say it. I dare you, call her a bad mother.”
Dreams are not easy to translate, is that why you lean into a surreal and phantasmagoric expression of those recurring fears?
I didn’t start off at film school, I went and made wacky, conceptual performance art at Central Saint Martins, which led me to physical/dance theatre, then tried wiggling my way into the film world where I knew I belonged. I’ve never been a conventional linear storyteller but that’s not because I’m some avant-garde genius, it’s because I’m hiding from the painful truth of reality. Making abstract and surreal work is about as much as I can handle for the moment so when it came to writing Brutal, I decided surrealism made sense. The process was bloody brutal, I wrote a film that would act as a love letter to my mum, validating her painful and tricky experience of being a single mother, I told our story and it was fucking terrifying. Truthfully, I worried that 20 minutes wouldn’t be sufficient to convey the complexity of a mother’s experience; I feared they’d cast judgement and overlook her heroism and that meant my own mother’s heroism essentially. I needed the film to carry the depth of my love for her.
This actually became a crucial part of the writing journey. I was angry that I even had to worry about how people might judge the character Maya. This frustration shaped the tone of the film’s opening. It’s grounded in naturalism and dares the audience to pass judgement. It’s almost like I’m squaring up to them, challenging: “Go ahead, say it. I dare you, call her a bad mother.” It’s as if I’ve laid a trap, which perhaps was unfair, but what I really want is for the audience to walk away realising they were quick to judge, questioning where that judgement stems from. Ultimately, it’s a confrontation with societal perceptions of motherhood, and I hope it leaves viewers reflecting on their own biases.
It’s an impressively ambitious short in terms of locations, production design and camera work.
Pre-production was an absolute whirlwind, and honestly, so much was being asked of every single department in such a short space of time, it was an immense pressure and all during the last drag of Covid to add to the load. I certainly lost the plot a couple of times. My Producer, Richard Priseman, and our production managers, Sophie Moulton and Caoimhe Sheehan were the beating heart. They went above and beyond, and I can’t stress that enough. We had three and a bit months to go from concept to script, to reality, and somehow, they never once let the chaos break their trust or spirit. They had to find nine different locations, including a safe rooftop for our actress to jump from and negotiated a studio set built inside a tank that we then flooded with two feet of water.
We shot Brutal over a span of eight days, consisting of night shoots and early starts. We had a break somewhere in the middle, but my god, did we suffer! Estefania Carpio, our cinematographer, is incredibly talented and ambitious. She’s calm, collected, and commands huge respect from her team, which meant we were able to pull off an average of 16 setups a day. This was only possible with the help of our fabulous 1st AD Sam Roffey. Honestly, 16 setups a day is insane, considering the detailed conceptual lighting choices and the nearly impossible-to-perfect, intricate dolly shots we were doing. But Estef and I love a moving camera. Blocking developing shots is my happy place, it was warranted. We couldn’t just cut away from the tension; we were making a psychological thriller.
Estef had this fantastic idea to mix spherical and anamorphic lenses to differentiate between the moments in reality and those in the psyche.
We shot on a Sony Venice, as Estef wanted to pull as much detail from the darkness as possible, and felt this was our best bet. We also used two different types of lenses. Estef had this fantastic idea to mix spherical and anamorphic lenses to differentiate between the moments in reality and those in the psyche. She worked closely with our superstar designer, Nathalie Carraro, to develop the haunting levels of consciousness that manifested on each floor of that tower block.
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I want to know more details about your blocking, does your love of this part of the process come from your background in dance?
Yes, 100%. Every position and every moment has to be intentional and carefully rehearsed. There’s no cutting or fixing things in post, you have to create an immediate impact. Rhythm and timing are everything; it sits in your body, and you know when something’s off, it’s weird, feels like you develop a secret 6th sense (sounds wanky but it’s true, like someone ties a knot in your chest and keeps pulling it tighter). Transitioning to film, I was thrilled to treat the camera as an added layer to the choreography, almost like a new character. Coming from live performance, I couldn’t rely on a ton of setups or extra coverage to fall back on. Instead, I focus the energy on building tension and flow in a single, continuous movement. There’s something powerful about crafting that rhythm, that sense of momentum, in one unbroken take.
Alongside the multitude of locations, there is an incredible amount of talent and skill in the production design in the short.
Nathalie is an extreme talent. When she was drawing up her vision to translate the script, she influenced a lot of our shot list with her set piece designs. It really was a beautiful collaboration between the three of us. Nathalie managed to create a sense of heaviness and grit, drawing from different eras to reflect the outdated opinions and judgments surrounding Maya. She created this overwhelming feeling of suffocation, even in the brighter, more clinical spaces. The layers of storytelling in the set dressing and architecture were incredible. It was mesmerizing to watch both Estef and Nathalie bring the visual landscape together. Brutal’s visuals are rich with riddles and detail.
My favourite scene is the one in the laundrette. The juxtaposition with the mainly dark lit haunted memories. What was the significance of this part?
Thank you! I’m glad you like it, I nearly cut it, it was so difficult to get right in the edit. It’s actually one of my favourites now too…I think because it’s so bloody relevant in my everyday life at the moment but also because it’s plucked from a childhood memory of putting a white sock in the coloured wash by mistake. I remember feeling the intense reaction it caused. Reflecting on it now, I see it as a symbol of the relentless pressure on mothers to perform and to always ‘get it right’. There’s this weight on mothers to manage everything, to provide, sustain, and never crack under that role society places on them.
Patriarchy does an insidious job of redirecting anger away from the system and toward each other also, and expressing that here was hard but necessary.
The laundrette represents that quiet weight that so many mothers carry. It’s sad to think about, but often, it’s other women who reinforce these pressures, judging and criticising one another. I remember hearing gossip in school that was passed through kids, little judgments from mothers in the playground. It’s heartbreaking that we’re conditioned to uphold these expectations, which only perpetuates the idea that women have to keep proving themselves. Women often turn on each other, influenced by a patriarchal system that silently pits them against one another. It’s heartbreaking that we’re conditioned to judge and criticise one another for not living up to standards we didn’t create. It makes me furious. That feeling of fury, mixed with the inability to defend oneself, because you know the fight isn’t with them, makes me vulnerable to a lot of criticism. Patriarchy does an insidious job of redirecting anger away from the system and toward each other also, and expressing that here was hard but necessary. But also, this scene is another example of the Silent Hill inspired riddle planting. She clings to the hope that her child is a girl, desperately projecting this wish, believing it would be easier to look into her ‘daughter’s’ eyes without seeing the shadow of her rapist staring back.
It is obvious that each and every detail was considered when bringing the film together in post.
Mazyar Jalaleddin, our composer, created a hauntingly beautiful score that somehow managed to both break your heart and terrify you at the same time. He experimented with different genres and eras, ensuring that each floor of the building had its own unique sound, much like the shifting lighting and design landscape, music added a visceral, almost guttural layer to the film’s atmosphere, amplifying the emotional complexity of Maya’s journey. Dan and I wanted the sound design to be as immersive as possible. From the beginning, we heightened and distorted everyday sounds — footsteps, breaths, the creak of doors — to create a sense of unease, something slightly off-kilter, just like Maya’s crumbling reality. The inspiration from Silent Hill was clear in how we used sound to reflect Maya’s fractured mental state. Sound became its own character, guiding the audience through her emotional descent in a way that neither words nor visuals alone could capture.
I love the phrase you mentioned when talking about the editing “letting the thriller structure enhance the emotional storytelling rather than define it” – can you elaborate on what you mean by that and how you fed this into Brutal?
Well since I come from an art school background, I wasn’t initially trained in traditional filmmaking, so I didn’t start out with a set idea of genre. My creative process usually begins with visuals rooted in feelings/emotions, which then lead to themes, concepts, and symbolism. It’s like building the frame around an existing foundation, letting the story take shape naturally. Pretty frowned upon, I’m sure, but I brought this approach into film by focusing on emotions, atmosphere, and mood first, allowing the genre to come afterwards. Brutal was always driven by feeling, with the thriller elements enhancing that rawness rather than restricting it.
We heightened and distorted everyday sounds – footsteps, breaths, the creak of doors – to create a sense of unease, something slightly off-kilter, just like Maya’s crumbling reality.
One of the best parts of transitioning into film, though, has been the collaboration with masters of their craft. I had to study genre to understand the language my collaborators use and to communicate the ‘vision’ (I cringe when I say this word) effectively – so it’s not that I don’t appreciate genre, I just use it as a tool to serve the story rather than define it. I often wonder what it was like to make films before genre expectations became so fixed. Today, there’s immense pressure to fit stories into predefined boxes for marketing purposes. It’s such a shame, leaves less room to create something new/original/different.
You, your vision and your heart are so evident in every beat of the film, I also heard there is a more physical representation of you in Brutal.
The body double in the shower scene is actually me! I was the right height, and with a quick on-set haircut, I fit the role perfectly. It was terrifying, but as a director, I believe you have to be willing to do what you’re asking of your actors. Stepping into that scene myself made it all the more personal and intense, but it was a challenge I felt I had to take on.
The scene is essentially about a rape victim who can’t shake the feeling that no matter how hard she tries, she cannot wash herself clean. There’s this visceral sense of self-hatred and disgust, feeling violently violated, and having to live with something growing inside of you as a result of that trauma. In that moment, the belly bursting at the seams wasn’t about a baby. It was a physical manifestation of the trauma, a parasite feeding on her pain, a constant reminder of the violation. I wanted to create this raw, visceral experience of what it feels like for trauma to live inside you, festering, growing, and trying to break free. The imagery of the stomach attempting to tear open was something I had sketched early on – a reflection of desperation, disgust, and pure horror. But to add a lighter note, we definitely had a laugh about having a naked director on set! Our poor 2nd AC was trying so hard to be respectful while avoiding my nipples with the clapperboard – it was hilarious.
I guess I’m struggling to balance or maybe control my rage, violence, and raw emotional truth in my writing, but I also ask myself why should I filter it out – for who am I filtering it?
I am so impressed by the bold and innovative female voices coming through recently. How do you feel making such films in a world which makes it difficult to do so?
ME TOO! I am so proud to be a woman in this industry. Seeing incredible work from directors like Rose Glass, Rungano Nyoni, Julia Ducournau, Luna Carmoon (the list could go on forever) is just so inspiring and so exciting. I guess I’m struggling to balance or maybe control my rage, violence, and raw emotional truth in my writing, but I also ask myself why should I filter it out – for who am I filtering it? There’s so much for us, as women, to be angry about, it never fails to seep into my work. People say, “Haven’t we made progress?” But then you read about Gisèle Pelicot’s mass rape case, Afghan women banned from hearing each other’s voices/speaking in public, over 130 Sudanese women committing mass suicide to escape the threat of rape, abortion restrictions quietly stripping away basic rights. It’s fucking madness.
The film industry? In 2021, women made up only 20.4% of directors and 27.7% of writers in UK films. While representation has significantly improved, these figures show a persistent gender gap in key creative roles where stories are shaped…Women are trusted less and held to higher standards when securing funding. The bias is still strong, and to be frank, it’s fucking annoying and I’m finding it hard to swallow.
What are you applying all of your skill and passion to next?
Features! I’m tackling the debut feature world right now, channelling my energy into improving my scriptwriting skills. It’s rough out there – long, lonely, and gruelling – but also incredibly rewarding! I’m working on a few projects: an unapologetically, angry revenge heist about a woman avenging her mother, a slow-burning psycho-thriller about women pitted against each other and a thriller-horror exploring vampirism as a metaphor for unhealed trauma inherited through family lineage. Genre, genre, genre… I’m both excited and grateful for the opportunity. If you’d told me five years ago this is where I’d be, I wouldn’t have believed it. Still broke, though – that part I’d have believed!
