Sarah Francesca Brænne

Akam, a young literature teacher, lives a comfortable life in Oslo until his estranged uncle from the Iranian part of Kurdistan comes for a surprise visit. Despite limited space in his shared flat with friends, Akam feels obligated to invite his uncle to stay for a few days. However, his uncle quickly makes himself at home and shows no sign of leaving anytime soon. Torn between his sense of familial duty and growing tension in the flat, Akam begins to suspect there's more to his uncle's visit than just a casual trip. What follows is a series of revelations and unexpected events that could have life changing consequences for them both.

After a chance encounter with her estranged best friend Petter, who stands accused of rape, Guro is thrust into a harrowing moral dilemma: should she stand by him, risking her own reputation and sense of self, or sever the tie, abandoning someone she once trusted most? MERCY premiered at the 48th Norwegian Short Film Festival, where it won the Golden Chair award for Best Norwegian Short, and it also won Best Short film at the Norwegian film award Amanda. The film’s stark, unflinching narrative examines the fragile line between loyalty and judgment, forcing audiences to wrestle with uncomfortable questions about friendship, stigma, and how quickly trust fractures under accusation.

Increasingly overshadowed by her boyfriend's recent rise to fame as a contemporary artist creating sculptures from stolen furniture, Signe hatches a vicious plan to reclaim her rightfully deserved attention within the milieu of Oslo's cultural elite.

A feverish and tragicomic Oslo where people, via a series of short scenes, succumb to stress, aggression and alienation, before being forced into some neglected folklore with deadly outcomes.

At her own premiere party, Anna is sexually harassed on the dance floor. The Cock-Swan outside the club now becomes a clear symbol of the patriarchy and Anna wants to destroy the sculpture.

The film is about the special phenomenon where convicted murderers receive love letters from strangers. Those who write these letters have never met the inmates. And the disturbing fact about this phenomenon is that the women who write don't know anything about the prisoner, other than what they are sentenced for.

Aspiring musician Agnes desperately clings to her youth in a world that refuses to stand still, exploring the shift from carefree twenties to more serious thirties, capturing the chaos, pressure, humour, and melancholy of this transition.