The Unfurling Acre
Joan navigates the quiet erosion of time, watching her husband, Herman, fade into the landscape of their shared past, all while the autumn outside mirrors the season of their lives.
# The Unfurling Acre
**Format:** Short Film / Anthology Episode | **Est. Length:** 10-12 minutes
## Logline
An elderly woman, grappling with the slow erasure of her husband's memory, clings to the small daily rituals that defined their sixty-two-year marriage, only to confront the terrifying reality that she is losing herself along with him.
## Themes
* **Memory and Identity:** The exploration of how our sense of self is built upon shared memories, and the profound dislocation that occurs when that foundation crumbles for one person, threatening the identity of the other.
* **The Quiet Grief of Caregiving:** The film portrays the silent, internal, and often invisible emotional labor of a long-term caregiver—the daily "small amputations" of watching a loved one fade away.
* **Ritual as an Anchor:** In a world becoming increasingly unrecognizable, the adherence to small, repeated actions (like making tea) becomes a vital tether to a past life and a way to impose order on emotional chaos.
* **The Inevitability of Loss:** The autumn setting, fading light, and falling leaves serve as a powerful metaphor for the natural, yet painful, processes of aging, decline, and the final letting go.
## Stakes
Joan risks losing not only the man she has loved for a lifetime but also her own sense of self, which is inextricably linked to their sixty-two years of shared history and memories.
## Synopsis
In the weary golden light of a late autumn afternoon, JOAN (80s) watches her husband, HERMAN (80s), as he sits vacant in his armchair, a newspaper forgotten on his lap. The sixty-two years of their marriage hang in the quiet air between them. Her mind drifts to the past—to decades of raking leaves together, to the birth of their son, EDDIE, and to the sharp-witted man Herman used to be.
These memories are now a stark contrast to the present reality. Herman's mind is a landscape of fog, where he often mistakes his son for his long-dead brother. For Joan, each forgotten name is a "small, quiet amputation," and she has learned to stop prompting his memory to avoid the pain of his blank, polite smiles. The silence of the house is heavy, broken only by the hum of the fridge and Herman's shallow breathing.
Seeking refuge in routine, Joan goes to the kitchen to perform a familiar ritual: making tea. The simple, tangible act—using his chipped mug, smelling the bergamot—is a comforting anchor in her shifting world. She returns to find Herman exactly as she left him. After gently rousing him, he has a brief moment of lucidity. As he takes the mug, his unsteady hand spills a small stream of tea, and Joan tenderly cleans it, a small, practiced ballet of their daily life. A mention of their son bringing apples elicits a genuine smile, a fleeting glimpse of the man he was.
The moment is broken by the insistent buzz of the telephone from the other room—Eddie, calling as he always does. As Joan walks towards the sound, the last of the day's light fades, and Herman's form is swallowed by the growing shadows, leaving only a silhouette. In this moment, Joan is struck by a profound and chilling certainty: she is utterly alone, suspended between a past that is eroding and a future she cannot bear to name.
## Character Breakdown
* **JOAN (80s):** Resilient, observant, and deeply loving, Joan is the film's emotional core. Her life has been reduced to the quiet, intimate world of caregiving. She is a woman defined by a shared history that she is now the sole keeper of, navigating her grief with a quiet stoicism that is beginning to fracture.
* **Psychological Arc:** Joan begins in a state of managed grief, using routine and memory to sustain her connection to Herman and her own identity as his wife. By the end, the fragility of this state is exposed; she is forced to confront the impending, absolute loneliness of her future, realizing that as Herman disappears, the version of herself that existed only with him is also dying.
* **HERMAN (80s):** Once a capable and witty man, Herman is now adrift in the fog of advanced dementia. He exists in a gentle but confusing present, punctuated by flashes of a jumbled past. He is not a tragic figure, but rather a quiet presence whose absence is felt more powerfully than his presence.
## Scene Beats
1. **THE WATCH:** In a quiet, sun-faded living room, Joan watches Herman, who is lost in his own world, an unread newspaper on his lap. The weight of their 62 years is palpable.
2. **GHOSTS OF AUTUMN:** Joan looks out at the last leaves on a maple tree, triggering a vivid memory of a younger Herman and their son, Eddie, playing in a giant leaf pile. The memory is warm, vibrant, and painful in its contrast to the present.
3. **A FADING MAP:** A flicker of a smile on Herman’s face makes Joan wonder which memory he’s visiting. She reflects on his painful memory lapses, like mistaking their son for his dead brother.
4. **THE RITUAL:** Overwhelmed by the silence, Joan escapes to the kitchen. She performs the deliberate, grounding ritual of making tea, paying special attention to using Herman's favorite chipped mug. It's a small act of normalcy.
5. **THE OFFERING:** Joan returns and gently rouses Herman. He is disoriented, asking if it's morning. He has a brief moment of recognition as she places the tea beside him.
6. **A SMALL SPILL:** Herman's hand trembles, spilling tea. Without a word, Joan gently dabs his hand with a napkin—a tender, practiced motion. He asks about Eddie, and a mention of apples brings a rare, genuine smile to his face.
7. **THE SUMMONS:** The sharp, insistent buzz of the phone from the kitchen shatters the quiet moment. It's their son, Eddie.
8. **THE SILHOUETTE:** As Joan rises and walks toward the phone, the last light drains from the room. Herman is enveloped by shadows, becoming a mere silhouette against the window. Joan is struck by a wave of profound, chilling loneliness, facing a future without him.
## Visual Style & Tone
The visual style will be naturalistic and intimate, using soft, motivated lighting that mimics the fading autumn day. The color palette will be dominated by warm, dying colors—gold, amber, rust, and deep brown—which are slowly encroached upon by the cool blues and greys of twilight, mirroring Joan's emotional state. The cinematography will emphasize texture: the gnarled skin of hands, the worn fabric of the armchair, the crispness of old paper, the crack in a ceramic mug. Shallow depth of field will be used to isolate Joan, visually trapping her in her own thoughts even when she is in the same room as Herman.
The tone is melancholic, contemplative, and deeply empathetic. It is a quiet, observational film that prioritizes internal emotional truth over external action. Tonal comparisons include **The Father (2020)** for its subjective and disorienting portrayal of memory loss, **Amour (2012)** for its unflinching and intimate look at love confronting mortality, and the character-driven poignancy of **Still Alice**.
**Format:** Short Film / Anthology Episode | **Est. Length:** 10-12 minutes
## Logline
An elderly woman, grappling with the slow erasure of her husband's memory, clings to the small daily rituals that defined their sixty-two-year marriage, only to confront the terrifying reality that she is losing herself along with him.
## Themes
* **Memory and Identity:** The exploration of how our sense of self is built upon shared memories, and the profound dislocation that occurs when that foundation crumbles for one person, threatening the identity of the other.
* **The Quiet Grief of Caregiving:** The film portrays the silent, internal, and often invisible emotional labor of a long-term caregiver—the daily "small amputations" of watching a loved one fade away.
* **Ritual as an Anchor:** In a world becoming increasingly unrecognizable, the adherence to small, repeated actions (like making tea) becomes a vital tether to a past life and a way to impose order on emotional chaos.
* **The Inevitability of Loss:** The autumn setting, fading light, and falling leaves serve as a powerful metaphor for the natural, yet painful, processes of aging, decline, and the final letting go.
## Stakes
Joan risks losing not only the man she has loved for a lifetime but also her own sense of self, which is inextricably linked to their sixty-two years of shared history and memories.
## Synopsis
In the weary golden light of a late autumn afternoon, JOAN (80s) watches her husband, HERMAN (80s), as he sits vacant in his armchair, a newspaper forgotten on his lap. The sixty-two years of their marriage hang in the quiet air between them. Her mind drifts to the past—to decades of raking leaves together, to the birth of their son, EDDIE, and to the sharp-witted man Herman used to be.
These memories are now a stark contrast to the present reality. Herman's mind is a landscape of fog, where he often mistakes his son for his long-dead brother. For Joan, each forgotten name is a "small, quiet amputation," and she has learned to stop prompting his memory to avoid the pain of his blank, polite smiles. The silence of the house is heavy, broken only by the hum of the fridge and Herman's shallow breathing.
Seeking refuge in routine, Joan goes to the kitchen to perform a familiar ritual: making tea. The simple, tangible act—using his chipped mug, smelling the bergamot—is a comforting anchor in her shifting world. She returns to find Herman exactly as she left him. After gently rousing him, he has a brief moment of lucidity. As he takes the mug, his unsteady hand spills a small stream of tea, and Joan tenderly cleans it, a small, practiced ballet of their daily life. A mention of their son bringing apples elicits a genuine smile, a fleeting glimpse of the man he was.
The moment is broken by the insistent buzz of the telephone from the other room—Eddie, calling as he always does. As Joan walks towards the sound, the last of the day's light fades, and Herman's form is swallowed by the growing shadows, leaving only a silhouette. In this moment, Joan is struck by a profound and chilling certainty: she is utterly alone, suspended between a past that is eroding and a future she cannot bear to name.
## Character Breakdown
* **JOAN (80s):** Resilient, observant, and deeply loving, Joan is the film's emotional core. Her life has been reduced to the quiet, intimate world of caregiving. She is a woman defined by a shared history that she is now the sole keeper of, navigating her grief with a quiet stoicism that is beginning to fracture.
* **Psychological Arc:** Joan begins in a state of managed grief, using routine and memory to sustain her connection to Herman and her own identity as his wife. By the end, the fragility of this state is exposed; she is forced to confront the impending, absolute loneliness of her future, realizing that as Herman disappears, the version of herself that existed only with him is also dying.
* **HERMAN (80s):** Once a capable and witty man, Herman is now adrift in the fog of advanced dementia. He exists in a gentle but confusing present, punctuated by flashes of a jumbled past. He is not a tragic figure, but rather a quiet presence whose absence is felt more powerfully than his presence.
## Scene Beats
1. **THE WATCH:** In a quiet, sun-faded living room, Joan watches Herman, who is lost in his own world, an unread newspaper on his lap. The weight of their 62 years is palpable.
2. **GHOSTS OF AUTUMN:** Joan looks out at the last leaves on a maple tree, triggering a vivid memory of a younger Herman and their son, Eddie, playing in a giant leaf pile. The memory is warm, vibrant, and painful in its contrast to the present.
3. **A FADING MAP:** A flicker of a smile on Herman’s face makes Joan wonder which memory he’s visiting. She reflects on his painful memory lapses, like mistaking their son for his dead brother.
4. **THE RITUAL:** Overwhelmed by the silence, Joan escapes to the kitchen. She performs the deliberate, grounding ritual of making tea, paying special attention to using Herman's favorite chipped mug. It's a small act of normalcy.
5. **THE OFFERING:** Joan returns and gently rouses Herman. He is disoriented, asking if it's morning. He has a brief moment of recognition as she places the tea beside him.
6. **A SMALL SPILL:** Herman's hand trembles, spilling tea. Without a word, Joan gently dabs his hand with a napkin—a tender, practiced motion. He asks about Eddie, and a mention of apples brings a rare, genuine smile to his face.
7. **THE SUMMONS:** The sharp, insistent buzz of the phone from the kitchen shatters the quiet moment. It's their son, Eddie.
8. **THE SILHOUETTE:** As Joan rises and walks toward the phone, the last light drains from the room. Herman is enveloped by shadows, becoming a mere silhouette against the window. Joan is struck by a wave of profound, chilling loneliness, facing a future without him.
## Visual Style & Tone
The visual style will be naturalistic and intimate, using soft, motivated lighting that mimics the fading autumn day. The color palette will be dominated by warm, dying colors—gold, amber, rust, and deep brown—which are slowly encroached upon by the cool blues and greys of twilight, mirroring Joan's emotional state. The cinematography will emphasize texture: the gnarled skin of hands, the worn fabric of the armchair, the crispness of old paper, the crack in a ceramic mug. Shallow depth of field will be used to isolate Joan, visually trapping her in her own thoughts even when she is in the same room as Herman.
The tone is melancholic, contemplative, and deeply empathetic. It is a quiet, observational film that prioritizes internal emotional truth over external action. Tonal comparisons include **The Father (2020)** for its subjective and disorienting portrayal of memory loss, **Amour (2012)** for its unflinching and intimate look at love confronting mortality, and the character-driven poignancy of **Still Alice**.