A Choreography of Liberation: The Real and Tangible Fusion of Dance and Story in Pause (Directed by Keisha Tonte Njoku)

In experimental cinema, which has garnered a massive following these days, every image, sound, and shot can serve a metaphorical purpose within the film’s thematic framework. In fact, the work’s semantic universe is built through small moments. Due to the symbolic and metaphorical nature of experimental films, a filmmaker inherently pays double the attention to the signs and visual elements of their work.

The beginning of Pause demonstrates that the director was aware of the impact of their shots—especially the opening shot—with exemplary precision. The atmosphere the filmmaker, Keisha Tonte Njoku, establishes right at the start is seamlessly intertwined with the introduction of the characters. By utilizing parallel editing, they not only make character introduction engaging but also successfully generate suspense.

The Importance of the Opening and Generating Suspense

In short films, openings and introductory sequences are of paramount importance because they are tasked with enticing the audience to keep watching within a very limited timeframe. Failing at this stage means losing a golden opportunity. Experience has shown that if a filmmaker fails to craft an engaging beginning, it is incredibly difficult to recapture the audience's lost attention and curiosity in the second sequence.

In Pause, we witness that the use of suspense helps the filmmaker stimulate the viewer's curiosity right from the start. The viewer asks themselves: Who are these women, and what are they doing in the middle of the woods? Why are they panicked, and what are they running from? Amidst these questions, the filmmaker introduces the core element of the work—dance—into the narrative with remarkable subtlety: as the characters stumble while fleeing, they begin executing certain dance movements.

Several factors contribute to the formation of this spectacular opening:

1. The brilliant performances of the dancers, who masterfully and skillfully transition from the acting space of a fiction film into dance. Every single reaction of the actors works brilliantly during this transformation.

2. The precise use of music, which helps this transformation occur smoothly, subliminally, and gently. The doors of music open softly to the film, rather than abruptly. The music itself begins from a relatively sparse space—featuring only electronic drums—and gradually fills out with choral vocals and other instruments. Therefore, musically speaking, this opening is a crescendo—a gradual and gentle swelling of volume in both visuals and sound.

Visual Proportion and Narrative Integration

A key feature of Pause is that it knows how to use its shots in perfect moderation. These shots are neither so cluttered and packed with elements that they weary the viewer's eye, nor are they empty; rather, they progress in a well-justified proportion. The size of each shot, the duration of the pause and lingering on each subject, the manner of displaying the subject, and simultaneously the multiplicity of frames (the number of shots juxtaposed in editing to build a single movement) are all correct and fitting. It is neither ostentatious and overly technical, nor is it raw and amateurish.

Aside from the dancers' astonishing performance, a crucial point to consider is how this work differs significantly from other dance-centered films. Many works claim to have blended dance with dramatic elements, but in practice, we simply see a number of professional dancers dancing from beginning to end. Here, however, in the beautiful short film Pause, we are faced with a genuine, tangible fusion of dance and story. The filmmaker advances the narrative properly while simultaneously maintaining dance as a part of that narrative. In fact, dance here complements and drives the story forward, rather than the drama serving as a mere excuse to showcase dancing.

Because many dance films fail to find actors who can dance well, they constantly struggle with narrative and plot progression. One can assume this is why filmmakers prefer to bypass the narrative aspects of the film that require acting skills. This is not the case here; by leveraging the actors' dual capabilities in both dancing and acting, the filmmaker advances the narrative and the dance simultaneously.

Structure, Pacing, and Spatial Contrasts

The filmmaker intelligently recognizes the capacity of each musical piece and each created atmosphere, knowing how to utilize them just enough to fit the context without inducing boredom. Consequently, the first musical piece concludes within the very first three minutes, and suddenly everything ends like a dream experienced by the character. Thus, the filmmaker deliberately distances the fantasy space of dance from real life, and this alienation effectively gives the audience room to breathe. Filmmaking—and specifically directing a short film—is, above all else, about timing. It means having a precise understanding of the function of even a single second in a work that must deliver its message within a limited time.

The second part, without being explicitly segmented, begins from the end of that dream. New music, a new rhythm, a new atmosphere: this time, the interior of a house. The filmmaker deeply understands spatial contrasts and diversity. They know that after the forest setting and the appropriate rhythm of its movements, the film must move to a domestic space—from the outside to the inside. In this transition, elements naturally must change to match the setting.

The female character wakes up from a dream, and with her awakening, the interior chapter begins. This time too, the dance movements begin softly and gently. The characters we see in the house, dressed differently from the forest chapter, seem to be suffering from something—a suffering that can only be expressed through the language of dance. A sense of chaos and distress is visible in the characters' faces and behavior, and the actors' execution beautifully helps us perceive this internal, mental tension.

The enclosed space is not merely a location; it is an opportunity for the filmmaker to showcase their characters trapped within frameworks and limitations:

• A woman trapped in the kitchen, who happens to be shown from a distance framed by a doorway.

• A woman trapped in an office environment.

• A depressed woman in a bedroom.

These are all spectacular examples of such directorial decisions. Therefore, dancing here is actually a vehicle for the film's three female characters to voice their protest against these conditions—to show they are unhappy with their situation. Dance can even serve as a catalyst for contemplating liberation. The interior chapter also ends through a character coming to her senses inside a bathtub, running for a duration close to that of the first chapter. Once again, following the established pattern, it is time for the filmmaker to transition from an interior to an exterior space.

Formal Aesthetics and the Climax

We can see that the filmmaker is well-versed in the principles of formal aesthetics: the exterior space of the first chapter, the interior space of the second chapter, and once again, an exterior space—the street—in the third chapter. Nonetheless, in line with the filmmaker’s penchant for variety, the third exterior space differs from the first. This time, we see the women of the narrative on city streets, in a society that—much like the previous chapters—acts as a source of pressure and discomfort.

In this work, we witness how the environment can become a catalyst for psychological pressure, limitation, and emotional tension for women. These tensions are externalized through dance—and effectively, through the physical body. By dancing, the women do not just display the sheer volume of this tension and their grief; through this very dance, they contemplate liberation and freedom. Freedom, suffering, depression, anger, and fear are all manifested through dance in this film.

After the street chapter, we return to an interior space, albeit briefly. Then, as the binary structure of the chapters is completed (totaling 4 chapters), the filmmaker intelligently designs a concluding chapter whose location differs from all four previous chapters: the stage. On this stage, we witness brilliant solo and group choreography by the characters. In an abstract space, this dance can be considered a synthesis of all the concepts raised throughout the film.

Pause is an artistic, delicate, and captivating film that successfully constructs its intended universe by focusing on pivotal moments and employing the language of metaphor. The film is filled with moments overflowing with the will to live, suffering, the struggle for liberation, and, of course, the quest for beauty.