I watched filmmaker Stefan Hunt’s brilliantly rambunctious dance short Yeah The Boys a few months ago for DN’s Bolton Film Festival Best of Fest article earlier this year and was struck by how seamlessly it blended narrative and expression in a way that honoured the art form of dance and also the toxic truth of masculinity. It’s a choreographic short in a sense, in that it starts with a story-driven beat before opening itself fully into dance sequences. The movements and gestures performed by the dancers are continuously tinged with lewd, brazen textures too, reminding you of the comment Hunt is making on masculinity and the excessive nature of drinking culture. A truly impressive marriage of dance and narrative that we were keen to dig into, DN spoke with Hunt about his working relationship with partner Vanessa Marian on the short’s story and choreography, the creative choice to go dialogue-free, and the joy of working with legendary Australian band The Avalanches for the film’s Aussie-rich score.
Yeah The Boys is such a fun, fresh, but also insightful, take on the dance film. How did it come to be?
It all started with my wife, Vanessa Marian, she wrote and choreographed it. Initially, it was just a dance development, where Vanessa worked with six Australian male dancers to dig into masculinity from a feminist angle. She loved what came out of those sessions so much that she asked me to come on board and turn it into a short film. She also wanted a male perspective in the mix to keep it authentic. We always joke that I was the ‘cultural advisor’. But really, Vanessa and I have lots of conversations about identity and who gets to tell what stories. As a female Indian immigrant in Australia, she wanted to bring that lens into the project.
Our goal was to capture the raw energy of Aussie drinking culture in a backyard ‘piss up’.
What was your process of collaboration like? Did you rehearse ahead of shooting the film?
We developed and rehearsed the dance over three weeks, though it stretched out to nearly 18 months since it was all self-funded. Our goal was to capture the raw energy of Aussie drinking culture in a backyard ‘piss up’. We had a really clear vision of the exact light we wanted to film in, so this made the shoot really ambitious as we only got a few takes of each scene. Luckily for us the dancers are mad pros and hit their marks every time.
How early in the process did you decide to go dialogue-free? And how was it working with your performers on the gestures featured in the short?
We actually started Yeah The Boys with some dialogue in mind, but as we developed this story that peeled away at the layers of Aussie masculinity, we found ourselves scrapping lines in favour of emoting through gesture and sub-text until we ended up with this entirely dialogue-free piece, from the boys. In essence, we wanted the audience to experience the physicality, the gestures, and the unspoken dynamics that feel so ingrained in these settings, and cutting out words felt like the most powerful way to get there. Working with the performers on their gestures may seem like a unique process to some but to Vanessa, it’s the creative language in which she’s most fluent as a choreographer. The challenge was in creating movement that felt heightened whilst still feeling completely pedestrian.
In essence, we wanted the audience to experience the physicality, the gestures, and the unspoken dynamics that feel so ingrained in these settings.
Working with trained dancers, alongside Vanessa’s choreographic assistant, technical dance expert Alice Robinson, meant we could push for risky lifts, falls and jumps and not worry about any broken bones. From there it was about imbuing the piece with the more subtle gestures, the back slaps, chokeholds, shoeys, and crowd surfs, to give it that grounded realness. With every scene unfolding in a single long, dizzying take, we had to choreograph every single element of this film, including the camera movement, down to the fingernail. It was honestly such a fun process and we are so grateful to the dancers for giving every take 150% of their energy.
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It must’ve been incredible to work with The Avalanches on the music. When did they come on board?
The music was a big deal for us, but we didn’t actually start looking for a composer until after we’d shot the film. We knew it would be tricky to pitch a “dance film about masculinity” so we decided to shoot it first and then go after our dream artist: The Avalanches. We reached out, sent them a rough cut, and they really connected with it. Over a few months, we worked together to build the score, filling it with iconic Aussie sounds, from TV shows to Kookaburras, the iconic Aussie native bird.
What camera equipment did you use to remain flexible and capture everything in those long takes?
We mostly used an Alexa on a Steadicam. Nothing too fancy in terms of equipment, but our Steadicam operator Justin Besser had to practically learn a dance routine to stay in sync with the dancers.
The aspect ratio is 6:5 I believe, what interested you in presenting the film in a slightly boxier visual presentation?
The 6:5 aspect ratio was a deliberate choice to create a more intimate, almost claustrophobic feel. We wanted the audience to feel like they were right there in the backyard with these characters, pressed in close as the night unfolds. The boxier frame limits the space visually, which amplifies the intensity and energy of their interactions, there’s nowhere to escape, and every gesture, chokehold, or laugh is right in your face. It draws the viewer’s eye to the performers, making their body language and expressions the focal point without distraction. This aspect ratio also gave the film a slightly nostalgic, almost throwback quality, which complements the themes of Aussie drinking culture and masculinity we’re exploring. It’s like watching a home movie, with all its rawness and closeness, but with a more polished, cinematic approach. We wanted the look to feel familiar yet unique, pulling viewers into the physicality and dynamics of the group in a really visceral way.
The boxier frame limits the space visually, which amplifies the intensity and energy of their interactions, there’s nowhere to escape, and every gesture, chokehold, or laugh is right in your face.
You said earlier that you were rehearsing over an 18 month period, how long was it after shooting that you wrapped the project?
From our first development session to finishing post-production, it took about two years. Self-funded short films are real labors of love and patience, and we’re endlessly grateful to the crew who helped bring this project to life.
They’re not just caricatures of masculinity; they have relationships and emotional layers beneath the bravado.
Why did you want to include a small narrative moment at the beginning of the film?
The opening narrative moment was important to set the tone and give the audience a glimpse of our main actor’s world before diving into the chaos of the night. It starts with a quiet, almost tender scene, a young woman gently grooming her partner in the front seat of a car. This contrast gives a sense of normalcy and intimacy, showing a softer side of him before he’s swept up by his friends and pulled into the rowdy drinking session. It’s a small moment, but it anchors the film by hinting at the complexity of these characters. They’re not just caricatures of masculinity; they have relationships and emotional layers beneath the bravado. We wanted that opening to feel relatable, showing that even ‘the boys’ have sides to them that we don’t always see in the stereotypical setting of a backyard piss-up. It helps frame what comes next, allowing the audience to see the humor, the roughness, and the vulnerability that follows as part of a fuller picture.
What else are you working on at present?
Right now, we’re developing a TV series called Back Up through an incubator program with Nick Weinstock’s Invention Studios in LA. Back Up is a dry satire that delves into the lives, dramas, and crumbling friendships of aspiring backup dancers. Drawing from Vanessa’s own experience in the professional dance industry, the series explores themes of ambition, competition, and friendship as our characters approach their 30s, often seen as an ‘expiration date’ in the dance world. Though set in a niche industry, the story is a universal coming-of-age journey about knowing when friendships hold you up, and when they hold you back, as you enter a new life chapter.
