Why aren’t we watching more short films?

A man looks at the camera, with a wall of books behind him.
Benedict Cumberbatch in The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar, directed by Wes Anderson and now on Netflix. | Netflix

Wes Anderson’s new Netflix shorts are the latest case for the form.

The short film is a neglected form of American entertainment, prevalent — you can find them most anywhere, and pretty much every filmmaker has made a few — and yet barely watched or talked about. That’s strange, when you think about it. We talk about movies (by which we mean features), and we talk about TV. Paramount recently uploaded all of Mean Girls to TikTok, in 23 separate clips, and the platform’s subscriptions spiked.

Short films, however, dwell in a liminal space between movies and TV, and they simply don’t get the same respect and interest. Even anthology shows like Black Mirror, which might be described as a collection of short films, are designed to generate meaning through their juxtaposition. I know the stand-alone short film is still a rarity on my entertainment menu, and I suspect I am not alone.

In a sense that may be because nobody really knows what a short film … is. According to the Academy of Motion Pictures Arts and Sciences — the group that gives out the Oscars, including three for short films (animated, live action, and documentary) — a short film runs a maximum of 40 minutes, including credits. That’s about the length of a network TV drama episode, once you strip out the commercials, but a short film nominee could be, in theory, the length of an Instagram Reel.

A feature-length film, according to the Academy, is anything over 40 minutes. But that has little to do with the length attributed to most movies. (When was the last time you went to the theater for a movie that was, say, 61 minutes long?) It’s vanishingly rare for any feature film to be less than around 82 minutes.

I tend to think of a short film as being an hourish and under, with its own defined arc, and a feature as anything longer. But when you think of it, the distinction is almost meaningless and randomly invented, the product of years of business and technological decisions and not having to do with any natural timeframe. Why not sit down and watch something for 25 minutes?

A man and a boy stand in a wheat field.
Netflix
Rupert Friend stars in The Swan, a new short film from Wes Anderson.

There’s something uniquely pleasurable about watching a tight, elegant short that’s exactly the length it needs to be, not inflated to an arbitrary length. Topics that would be brutal at full length (palliative care, for instance, as in the 2019 Oscar-nominated End Game) are not just bearable but moving at 40 minutes. Jokes and punchlines land perfectly in shorts, without requiring a lot of exposition or character development. (Those of us raised on Pixar shorts know this well.) Short films give filmmakers permission to take risks and play, in part because the audience might tolerate experimentation or frustration better if they know it won’t take up their whole afternoon.

Shorts generally get the most airtime at film festivals, and some garner significant fanfare. Just this year, The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar premiered at the prestigious Venice Film Festival. Pedro Almodovar’s 31-minute gay cowboy film, Strange Way of Life, starring Ethan Hawke and Pedro Pascal, premiered at Cannes this year and has been making the festival rounds ever since. (It’s bankrolled in part by Saint Laurent Productions, part of the Yves Saint Laurent fashion empire.) Once Within a Time, an experimental creation fable from the iconic documentarian Godfrey Reggio, clocks in at 52 minutes, which is just right for the material, and its release was accompanied by a retrospective series at the Museum of Modern Art in New York.

And consider the recent shorts from Wes Anderson, whose work is easy for me to admire but difficult for me to love. His stylistic tics, not in any sense bad, are difficult for me to track at length. I find myself rewinding and rewinding because I keep getting snagged on details or zone out while narrators talk. By about the 40-minute mark, my brain has entered stasis. (Yes, I always take a couple cracks at watching before I write a review.)

Luckily, The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar — one of a whopping four Anderson films that dropped on Netflix last week — clocks in at a cool 39 minutes, and it’s the longest of them. Anderson has adapted author Roald Dahl before (in 2009’s The Fantastic Mr. Fox), and as is his custom, he works with a bevy of familiar actors, like Benedict Cumberbatch, Ralph Fiennes, Rupert Friend, and Ben Kingsley. (New to Anderson’s stable are Dev Patel and Richard Ayoade.)

Henry Sugar and the three other films (The Swan, The Rat Catcher, and Poison, each of which run 17 minutes) are also recognizably Andersonian in their aesthetic, design, and thematic obsessions. I sat down to watch the longest, Henry Sugar, with a little trepidation, knowing my spotty history with Anderson. But though I did have to rewind a couple times, I found myself buzzing with enjoyment. Henry Sugar is the story of a very wealthy cad who goes through some very unexpected personal growth, and as I watched I could also feel myself growing: Did I finally feel Wes Anderson’s work, in my very soul?

Two men stand in a darkened room, looking a bit stunned.
Ben Kingsley and Dev Patel in Poison, a new Wes Anderson short on Netflix.

Maybe. But watching the other three, much shorter films — all of which are pretty intense — proved that they’re enjoyable and digestible because they simply begin and end pretty quickly. I didn’t have to lock in for an hour and a half. I could throw it on and have a whole, lovely, freestanding cinematic experience with my morning coffee.

If anything good can come out of the streaming revolution, it could be (or, at least, could have been) the cultivation of an audience and a market for short films. That would go a long way toward expanding the voices, perspectives, stories, styles, and creative visions we encounter. Film students, budding artists raising funds, filmmakers who want to test out a concept or technique, and directors from marginalized regions and communities who can’t get major studio or investor backing often start out making shorts. With an audience and enough interest, that could be funneled into further work — not just directing a big-budget movie, but telling more stories that work best at shorter lengths.

Of course, that would require us to go find them, and the companies that distribute them to put more heart into directing audiences toward them. You probably have easy access to some world-class shorts right now. Netflix, like other streamers, has an entire “Shorts” genre category under “Movies” on its site, which includes many documentaries, but scripted fiction and animated shorts, too. The internet, quite literally, is awash with short films, whether on YouTube or some specialty site.

The Anderson shorts weren’t particularly easy to find on Netflix in the first few days after release, and it’s not totally clear to the casual viewer that they’re linked without digging into the interface. Streaming platforms have a long way to go before they figure out how to coax viewers into watching the shorts.

But in a world where so much attention is drawn toward very short-form content — recall TikTok Mean Girls — this can’t be rocket science. Maybe The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar is a feint in the right direction. Who says how long a movie has to be, anyway?

The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar, The Swan, The Rat Catcher, and Poison are all streaming on Netflix.

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Ex-police chief who led raid on Kansas newspaper ordered to stand trial



MARION — Former Marion Police Chief Gideon Cody probably committed a felony crime when he told a witness to delete text messages they exchanged before, during and after he led raids on a newspaper office and the publisher’s home, a district judge ruled Wednesday.

But Cody won’t be tried for the raids, which Marion County Record editor-publisher Eric Meyer says is the real crime.

A two-hour preliminary hearing revealed new details about the texts that Cody exchanged with Kari Newell, whose drunk driving record and request for a liquor license at her restaurant ignited an international drama two years ago. Newell took the stand and testified that Cody told her during a phone call to delete text messages between the two of them so that people wouldn’t get the wrong idea about whether they were romantically involved.

“Chief Cody had stated that he felt it would be in my best interest to delete those,” Newell said.

About six weeks after the raids, Newell texted Cody to say she was concerned about having deleted their earlier messages, she said. Cody replied that she was being paranoid.

Their exchange coincided with widespread scrutiny of the police raids in August 2023 of the newspaper office in flagrant disregard for the First Amendment and legal protections for journalists. Kansas Reflector first reported on the chilling raids.

Cody, working in coordination with the sheriff’s office, county attorney and Kansas Bureau of Investigation, had investigated whether Meyer and reporter Phyllis Zorn committed identity theft and other crimes by looking up Newell’s driving record in a public online database. A magistrate judge, ignoring the absence of evidence and state law, authorized the police raids of the newspaper office, Meyer’s home, and the home of city Councilwoman Ruth Herbel. Meyer’s 98-year-old mother died in distress a day later.

Police exceeded the scope of the search warrants by seizing reporters’ personal cellphones, work computers, and other equipment. Video showed Cody reviewing a reporter’s file on allegations that had been made against him.

At the KBI’s request, the Colorado Bureau of Investigation conducted a yearlong inquiry into whether Cody or anyone else had committed a crime. Special prosecutors Marc Bennett, of Sedgwick County, and Barry Wilkerson, of Riley County, cleared all law enforcement of any wrongdoing in carrying out the raids, which spawned five ongoing federal lawsuits.

CBI special agent John Zamora testifies during the Oct. 15, 2025, preliminary hearing about his investigation into the August 2023 raids on the Marion County Record and the police chief’s request that a witness delete text messages. (Pool photo by Travis Heying/Wichita Eagle)

However, CBI special agent John Zamora learned from talking to Newell that she had deleted text messages at his request, spanning a period of one week before to one week after the raids.

The prosecutors presented an exhibit at Wednesday’s preliminary hearing that totaled 31 pages of text messages, including one where Cody said he was working with a publisher to write a book about the experience.

Zamora testified that he interviewed Newell in person in December 2023.

“Just tell me what’s happening,” he recalled telling her. “What’s going on here?”

Newell told him she agreed to delete texts, at Cody’s request, because she was worried that her now ex-husband would accuse her of having an affair with Cody, Zamora said.

Wilkerson asked Zamora, who has 30 years of law enforcement experience, if he had ever directed a witness to delete messages or documents.

“No,” Zamora said.

After talking to Newell, Zamora said, he obtained the deleted text messages from Jennifer Hill, the attorney who is defending the city and county from federal lawsuits over the raid. Cody, who had given her his cellphone, had not deleted the text messages himself.

Former Marion police chief Gideon Cody, upper right, appears via camera for his Nov. 15, 2023, preliminary hearing in a Marion courtroom. (Pool photo by Travis Heying/Wichita Eagle)

Cody’s attorney, Sal Intagliata, of Wichita, cross-examined Zamora about his investigation. According to Intagliata, the special agent told Hill that he was just trying to “check all the boxes.” Zamora said he didn’t remember making the comment.

When Newell took the stand, she said she has had no communication with Cody since leaving town amid the controversy two years ago.

Zorn and Meyer sat front and center in the courtroom, with Zorn tightlipped and taking notes and Meyer in an incredulous slouch, newspaper tucked in his pants pocket.

Cody, who now lives in Hawaii, appeared by Zoom. He sat expressionless with his chin on his hand for most of the hearing.

District Judge Ryan Rosauer rejected Intagliata’s argument that it was “a legal impossibility” to blame Cody for deleting texts that he ultimately turned over himself. The judge found probable cause that Cody had committed the low-level felony crime of interfering with the judicial process by inducing a witness to withhold information in a criminal investigation.

Cody entered a not guilty plea, and Rosauer scheduled a trial for February.

If convicted, because he has no criminal history, Cody’s sentence would be presumptive probation.

In an interview after the hearing, Meyer said he was worried about the “big picture.”

“None of this has anything to do with the crime,” Meyer said, referring to the raids on his newsroom and home.

“This is not even about the case,” Meyer said. “This is about what he did after the case.”

He also said he was concerned that Cody was being made a scapegoat for the raids, despite the widespread involvement of other people and law enforcement agencies.

“We still want some statement, an official judgment of the court, that this was wrong, so that no one can use this excuse anymore that, ‘Oh, we aren’t sure that it’s illegal to raid newsrooms, and because we’re not completely sure, we can still do it,’ which seems like a stupid excuse to me,” Meyer said.

‘Reconsider’: Analyst says Trump’s elite supporters are getting clear message to back off



President Donald Trump's big supporters are getting a clear message to "reconsider their relationship to the regime" — and back off — as millions of people prepare to hit the streets for "No Kings" protests across the U.S, according to an analyst.

More than 2,500 events are scheduled across 50 states on Saturday and "the need for resistance is urgent," Chauncey DeVega writes in a commentary piece for Salon.

Trump has been emboldened by the U.S. Supreme Court, moving quickly to impose aggressive immigration tactics, drawing the National Guard to multiple states and unleashing attacks on the media and comedians. He's also signaled invoking the Insurrection Act and targeting "left-wing" groups.

"These lies, and the hostility behind them, reflects a larger dynamic: Trump is seen by many of his supporters as a type of god-king on a divine mission. In this worldview, resisting Trump and the MAGA movement is an act of evil — unpatriotic at best, and outright treasonous at worst," DeVega writes.

His supporters could now see the mounting tension and decide where they stand, the writer argues. And some might have a different view.

"But America is still a democracy, albeit an increasingly weak one, and Trump still needs to maintain a veneer of public support," DeVega writes. "Protests and mass mobilization threaten his legitimacy. They counter the narrative that Trump and the MAGA movement enjoy unstoppable, popular momentum. No Kings will remind political bystanders — and the undecided — that resistance is not futile. Such protests can also send a signal to elites that it may be in their self-interest to reconsider their relationship to the regime."

The protests Saturday could also have a negative impact and empower Trump to move further into attack mode.

"But protests and marches also provide an opportunity for autocrats to expand their power," DeVega writes. "Trump has repeatedly signaled his desire to invoke the Insurrection Act, which would allow him to bypass the courts and to 'legally' deploy the military against the American people to put down 'civil unrest' or a 'rebellion.' Such a move could also be a prelude to de facto martial law, cancelling elections and suspending other civil rights and freedoms."

It could set the stage for the Trump administration's increased retaliation against people pushing back — and the stakes are high as people resist.

"Many have observed that Trump, with his actions against Democratic-led cities like Los Angeles, Washington, D.C., Portland and Chicago, is looking to create a pretext for a much harsher crackdown. This makes Saturday’s No Kings protests even more consequential. In the event of any violence, whether from protesters or agent provocateurs, the president will doubtless seize on it to expand his power," DeVega explains.

"While important, attending No Kings protests is a beginning and not an end. It should be seen as a first step of sustained political activity to slow down the Trump administration and MAGA movement’s attempts to end multiracial democracy," DeVega writes.