Premiering today on Directors Notes, Amsterdam-based writer/director Véras Fawaz delivers an unnerving slice of psychological tension with his short film Warm. Inspired by a chillingly real ‘stranger than fiction’ US news story he stumbled upon with actor Gover Meit – where a woman locked her boyfriend in a suitcase during an argument – Fawaz crafts a meticulously controlled nightmare rooted in the mundane horror of a second-hand marketplace sale. Warm traps viewers within the stark confines of an almost-empty Dutch house, witnessing the escalating power play between seller Meili (Jenny Hsia) and an enigmatic buyer (Gover Meit). Fawaz masterfully explores the suffocating grip of social and parental power, particularly how Meili’s overbearing mother haunts her ability to assert boundaries. As we premiere this unsettling exploration of politeness turned peril, we speak to Fawaz about transforming that bizarre true crime spark into potent cinema, dissecting the invisible power dynamics that drive the film’s tension, and the deliberate shift from observational calm to claustrophobic dread.
How did you come up with the idea for this unnerving story of over politeness, power and control?
The short film Warm began with one of those “Wait, what?!” moments. Back in 2020, my friend Gover Meit and I stumbled across a bizarre U.S. news story: a woman had locked her boyfriend in a suitcase during a fight, and he never made it out. That disturbing image stuck with us. The idea of being physically trapped, and the terrifying power that gives the person on the outside, felt like fertile ground for a film. But the real spark came from something closer to home: Marktplaats, the Dutch version of Craigslist. It’s where people buy and sell anything but it’s also full of eccentric characters and strange interactions. Early on, we pitched the concept to our friends at Underscore, a production house based in Amsterdam, and they immediately jumped on board. Though Gover and I financed the film ourselves, their support gave the project real creative momentum.
That tension between ordinary exchanges and hidden danger became the perfect backdrop but beneath that lies a deeper theme — power.
How did you move from that initial ‘stranger than fiction’ concept to a fully rounded script which, alongside the central weird encounter, ups the ante and emotional stakes by introducing Meili’s overbearing, judgmental mother?
The concept is simple: a second-hand sale gone wrong. I was fascinated by the question: you never know who you are letting into your house with these kinds of sales. That tension between ordinary exchanges and hidden danger became the perfect backdrop but beneath that lies a deeper theme — power. Social power, the kind that’s invisible but ever-present, and parental power, especially how it shapes identity when you’re growing up under a dominant hand. Meili’s mother reveals the emotional grip she still has on her — disapproving of her breakup, resisting her independence. She’s the reason Meili struggles to say no. The shadow behind every decision. And in the end, it’s that shadow Meili finally steps out of when the suitcase shifts hands.
As you’ve mentioned, tension is a driving force in this film. How baked into the script was that vs dialled up through Jenny Hsia and Gover Meit’s performances on set and then later when cutting Warm?
Every moment of tension was carefully engineered, rehearsed, refined, and then fine-tuned in the edit. I come from an editing background, so I direct like one: I shoot very little, but what I do shoot is precise and deliberate. That leaves room for experimentation in the performances. We also researched real experiences of women during second-hand sales, from invasive questions to the feeling of being watched. These moments fed directly into the power dynamic between Meili and the stranger.
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You make great use of a distinctly minimalist and natural aesthetic, which feels contemporary and familiar, and fitting for the themes of the film. Can you touch on the technical elements of your visual approach and how those, in turn, fed into the narrative?
Thank you. We shot Warm over three intense days in a nearly empty house in the Netherlands. It was a small crew, intimate vibe, long hours. Together with DP Simon Meesters, we dissected the script and chose a restrained, almost observational visual style. But halfway through, that shifts when the deal turns psychological. We mark that moment when the suitcase falls silent, and for the first time, the camera glides forward on a dolly. We begin with observational distance but as Meili’s world contracts, so does the lens. Yet we never fully reach her, she remains just out of reach.
We dissected the script and chose a restrained, almost observational visual style. But halfway through, that shifts when the deal turns psychological.
In a world of infinite stylistic options, I believe restraint is the real craft. Holding back and then deploying your tools with precision leaves a deeper impression than showing off. That, to me, is how films become timeless. If people watch Warm in fifty years and still feel something… that would mean everything.
Warm is very much rooted within the confines of this house, which has gone from a happy home to a bitter liminal space for Meili. How did you find your location and then map the staging to it? A standout for me is the boundary of the stairs and the discomfort I felt when the buyer violates that.
There’s something haunting about an empty house, especially your own after moving out. All those memories, all that love, suddenly reduced to four bare walls. We found the house through an amazing scout (shoutout to Allard van der Spek!), it was for sale and completely stripped. Ideal for painting walls and tossing a suitcase down the stairs. Our DP initially hesitated because of the white walls. The rule is: no white — it’s flat, lifeless. Make it off-white. Add texture. But I secretly loved it, especially paired with Meili’s deep red shirt and the stranger’s blue one. Red, white, blue. Dutch. These visual contrasts subtly reinforced the shifting emotional and power dynamics.
The staircase plays a symbolic role. It leads to Meili’s bedroom where the suitcase first appears. And there’s an unspoken rule: you don’t just go into someone’s bedroom. But he does. Whether that’s ignorance or intrusion… I leave that to the audience.
The dynamic between the two characters isn’t what you’d call conventional, they are both enigmatic and unpredictable – neither (at least initially) is the ‘bad guy’. How did you strike that believable push and pull balance between them, which allows their unconventional interaction to escalate as it does?
It took rehearsal and many conversations, especially with Gover and our script editor Wouter Brugge, about realism. A small example: originally, Meili used a knife to open the suitcase. Later, we changed it to a screwdriver. It just made more sense. Dialogue in film is tricky. What’s left unsaid is often more powerful. The glances, the silence, the way someone shifts their weight — that’s where the emotion lives. On screen, and in life.
The score feels like it sits on the line between music and rich sound design, and definitely adds an extra level of discomfort to the situation. Could you tell us about constructing your foreboding sonic palette, especially given how bright much of the film’s images are?
I briefed composer Rui Reis Maia with strange, uncanny sounds, including NASA’s recording of a black hole. Unheimlich was the keyword. We also brought in live musicians — a violinist and a cellist — to improvise. Some of their raw takes were haunting and ended up in the final cut.
What’s left unsaid is often more powerful. The glances, the silence, the way someone shifts their weight — that’s where the emotion lives. On screen, and in life.
Together with sound designer Zoé Beekes, we created a house that creaks, sighs, breathes. Zoé was phenomenal. We looked to Hereditary, Funny Games — films that know how to weaponize sound. There’s a genre shift in Warm from absurdist drama into quiet thriller. The score had to reflect that journey.
I feel like I have to ask about the suitcase; it’s a great central prop. How did you avoid suspicion (and possible calls to the police) when hunting it down? What was the process like for you using it to the extent that you did? Any horror stories when Gover climbed inside it?
We tried maybe ten different suitcases before landing on the right one. Turns out, it’s not easy to find a generic-looking suitcase that fits a full-grown human. It needed to be fabric, slightly stretchable and camera-friendly. A lot of suitcases have patterns that cause moiré on screen, that weird flickering. So we ran camera tests too.
I spent weeks visiting thrift stores and luggage shops. The hardest part? Explaining what we were looking for (without sounding too creepy). “We need one that a person can fit inside.” Sure, we said it was for a film… but yeah, we got some looks. I tested them myself — curling up inside, zipping myself shut — until we finally found the one. I’m claustrophobic. Ten seconds inside felt like forever. Gover did full takes, up to ten minutes. Massive respect. It was hot, claustrophobic, and we had to unzip the suitcase between takes to let him breathe. But all that discomfort translated beautifully onscreen. He didn’t have to, but he did.
Given how Warm ends, for you, is there a larger symbolism of the suitcase in Meili’s life?
I don’t like explaining endings and I won’t start now. I’ll just say this: A suitcase is baggage. You carry what you can. The rest, you leave behind, or it ends up breaking you.
What will we see from you next?
A feature is in the works but it’ll take some time. Meanwhile, I’m developing two new shorts set in the same universe: To the Ones Beyond the Stars (2025) and Hemelspiegel (2026). One in English, one in Dutch. I hope they bring something meaningful to the landscape. I’ll do everything I can to make them unforgettable.
