Beginning with a piano concerto opening, we open on the empty streets of a modern city before a dishevelled man (Cameron Moon) appears in a brown coat. Slowly walking along the street, the man looks disturbed but vulnerable with only the wind blowing through his hair as we witness deserted pavements.

The film is completely silent which delivers an incredibly eerie feeling and the man slowly moves from concerned to contemplative. The washed-out colour grading and the browns and yellow palette gives the short an earthy feel. More of which later.

And as the man sighs, we are not put off by this strange encounter but there’s a warmth and grounded feeling throughout.

But as we take stock, a woman (Paula Mur) in a similar-looking brown coat rushes through the empty streets and she crosses paths with the man, and both take a moment to pause.

After briefly staring at each other, a kind hand and a caring hug show an intimacy that has been absent before now. 

More arthouse than a narrative piece, Petrichor focuses on mood, feeling and atmosphere. With no dialogue (the only words spoken by the two are inaudible), the film is open to interpretation as to its meaning too.

As the two embrace I got the feeling that reaching out to strangers during these socially distant times appeared to be an influence. And unheard words suggested to me a reflection on the difficulties of communication as a part of a continued Covid metaphor.

The word Petrichor itself is defined as the smell that accompanies the first rain after a long dry period. And with that in mind, this short excellently captures the aroma of someone rising up after a barren time owing to a fleeting rendezvous with someone flowing into their life. An acquired taste for sure, but worth checking out to decipher your own meanings in an ambitiously ambiguous short.