Emerging filmmaker Iain Forbes brings a striking new voice to the short-film landscape with After Dark, a brooding and imaginative work that blurs the line between the intimate and the uncanny. Known for his meticulous visual style and instinctive feel for human vulnerability, Forbes crafts films that linger long after the final frame. With After Dark, he dives into themes of isolation, memory, and the fragile spaces we occupy when night begins to reshape the familiar. In this conversation, Iain reflects on his creative process, the emotional undercurrents that drive his storytelling, and the journey behind bringing After Dark to life.
This film is so striking. Can you talk to me about where this idea came from?
After Dark is a short film rooted in a real experience of mine. It began with an encounter I had late one night, which my writer and I later developed into a drama. In the film, a young man crosses paths with a stranger on his way home—an unsettling meeting that mirrors what happened to me.
The first half of the film is very close to the real event: I met a young woman in Oslo who seemed frightened, and at first I genuinely believed she was in immediate danger. I was trying to figure out how I could help her, and slowly began to realise the situation was far more complicated than it initially appeared. That encounter became the seed of the story, and we built After Dark from there.
“In many ways, After Dark is a small love letter to Naked, particularly in how that film follows Johnny through these strange, intimate, and mysterious encounters over the course of a single night.“
Were there any influences behind the film, whether that’s the story itself or the general look of the film?
We had two very clear inspirations for the film. The first, as I mentioned, was the true story—the real encounter that sparked everything. The second was a film I love deeply: Mike Leigh’s Naked. In many ways, After Dark is a small love letter to Naked, particularly in how that film follows Johnny through these strange, intimate, and mysterious encounters over the course of a single night.
One moment in Naked especially inspired us—the scene where Johnny meets a young woman who’s also trying to find her way back to someone. We returned to that sequence often while shaping our own story.
We also looked closely at Naked for visual inspiration. After Dark is deliberately desaturated, echoing the look of Naked. Even though we shot digitally, we tried to emulate some of the bleach-bypass feel that Mike Leigh’s film has. That process was great fun for us. We were all watching Naked constantly during development.
“I still find film most exciting when you’re left with questions—not frustrated, ideally, but curious. I love when a film pushes you to reflect on its themes, on the characters, and on how you as a viewer fit into the situation.”
I recently watched two of your other short films, Revisited and Semper Fi, and noticed a through-line between those works and After Dark: you often embrace ambiguity, especially in how your films end. They tend to close on something open-ended rather than offering a definitive resolution. What draws you to that approach, and why is ambiguity such an important part of your storytelling?
That’s very perceptive. I’ve had to reflect quite a bit on the ambiguity in After Dark, and you’re right—Revisited and Semper Fi share that same open-ended quality. For me, what draws me to this approach is that one of the things I love most about cinema is a sense of mystery, of not fully knowing. I watched a lot of Tarkovsky early in my career, and his influence definitely shaped my taste. My earlier films were even denser and more opaque—you often had no idea what was going on—so over time I’ve been slowly moving from pure obliqueness toward something an audience can at least grasp the shape of.
But I still find film most exciting when you’re left with questions—not frustrated, ideally, but curious. I love when a film pushes you to reflect on its themes, on the characters, and on how you as a viewer fit into the situation. Those are the kinds of films that stay with me, and I think that’s why that sensibility has become inherent in my own work.
If you make things too concise or definitive, you close down the viewer’s analytical space, and for me the film becomes more easily forgotten. Especially in short films, which I think are closer to poems than novels, leaving things open invites people to engage more deeply.
Your actors in this film are incredible. What was the casting process like? How did you land on these two incredible actors?
Thank you. I’m very impressed with both Simen and Billie in this film. Working with them was genuinely a pleasure. When my writer, Andreas Lübke, and I started developing the project, there was an early moment where we just looked at each other and thought, “Maybe Simen should play Kristian.” He was our first idea, and in fact, the only person we auditioned for the role. We already knew him, he’s a great guy, and we felt he embodied that “everyman” quality—someone who seems like a friendly, perhaps slightly conservative average Joe who genuinely wants to help, but who gradually becomes more suspicious and prejudiced as the night unfolds. He captured that arc beautifully and was incredibly easy to communicate and collaborate with.
Casting Mia, the role Billie Barker plays, was more challenging. I didn’t have an immediate sense of who she should be, because the character requires a really delicate balance. At first, we need to read her as a kind of damsel in distress, but as the film progresses, the audience should start to question her, to sense other layers—something edgier, maybe even slightly dangerous. So I needed someone who could play innocence and vulnerability while also accessing something more assertive and unpredictable. I auditioned a lot of young women in their early twenties, many at the beginning of their careers.
When Billie came in, I already knew of her, but her audition really stood out. She had both energies—softness and intensity. We did the 7-Eleven scene where Mia starts yelling at Kristian, and she improvised a version of it that was so strong we actually rewrote the scene to match her impro. A lot of the lines she shouts in the final film came directly from her. That was the moment I knew she was right for the role. She brought something raw and exciting that I wanted to explore on set with both her and Simen.
You were a graduate from the Norwegian Film School in 2022. Do you have any advice for film school graduates on getting out there and making films starting out?
That’s a great question. I think the most important thing is to get out there quickly and start making something. Don’t spend too long waiting for your first feature or a big-budget opportunity. After Dark is a good example of that for me—we came straight out of film school and said, “Alright, let’s just keep moving.” We entered a small workshop with the project, secured some modest funding, and suddenly this film that began so simply has become really significant for my career. Now it’s Oscar-qualified and has had a strong festival run.
Congratulations on that!
Thank you—it’s been really exciting, and it’s given me a great boost, especially now that I’m developing a feature. The festival momentum has been incredibly encouraging.
The second thing I’d say is: if you’ve gone to film school, hold on to those connections. Collaborate with the people you studied with. The producers and writers I work with now are people from school who have grown into strong positions, and we’ve supported each other along the way. That’s been invaluable.
So really, my advice is simple: don’t stand still, and nurture the relationships you build. Those connections are often the most important thing you take with you from film school.
What is the Norwegian film scene like? And have you been tempted to make films anywhere else?
Great question. As you might guess from my name, I do have some roots in the UK—I’m half Scottish—but I moved to Norway when I was three, so I’ve grown up very Norwegian. I’ve always wanted to make films here; there’s so much about Norwegian culture that excites me.
At the same time, I’ve always dreamed of working in Scotland or elsewhere in the UK. I even applied to the NFTS a couple of times, so it’s something I’ve daydreamed about. Fate, however, led me to the Norwegian Film School. That said, I do have some projects that merge my Norwegian and Scottish sides—some historical pieces exploring 16th-century connections between Scots and Norwegians. I’d love to tackle those one day, maybe even a period piece featuring Scots coming to Norway.
So yes, I would definitely love to work in the UK at some point, but for now I’m focusing on getting established in Norway, where there are currently many exciting opportunities.
“Visually, we wanted the characters to always exist in pools of light and shadow, creating spaces where anything could emerge.“
In After Dark, everything from the cinematography, pacing, sound design portrays this feeling of discomfort and confusion for the audience. Can you talk about the techniques that you used to portray this within the film?
Yeah, that’s a good question. The key element for me was creating a constant feeling of unease. I’d describe After Dark as a drama-thriller, or at least thriller-adjacent—there’s this tension that seeps in gradually throughout the film.
Visually, we wanted the characters to always exist in pools of light and shadow, creating spaces where anything could emerge. The cinematography alternates between very close, intimate shots—always following Kristian’s perspective—and wider, more observational shots that adopt a thriller-like point of view, emphasizing his sense of being watched or followed. It’s a juxtaposition between intense closeness and the isolation of the surrounding darkness, making the entire film feel inhospitable. There’s no safe space: the streets are cold, and even indoor locations, like the 7-Eleven or Kristian’s flat, are filled with harsh lighting and shadows. The audience never gets a sense of comfort—they’re on this journey with him through the night.
The desaturated colour palette, which we discussed in relation to Naked, amplifies that feeling, as does the deep contrast of light and shadow. Sound and music were also key. Working with Sebastian, our composer, we developed a techno-ambient score that reflects the city in winter—mechanical, impersonal, with an underlying thriller energy.
All of these elements—lighting, cinematography, sound, and music—come together to balance empathy for Kristian with a persistent sense of suspicion and tension. That was the core of what we wanted the audience to feel.
What do you think After Dark says about human nature in moments of uncertainty?
That’s a great question. For me, the film is really about how we perceive ourselves as “good people.” Most of us like to believe that if someone is in danger, we’d step up, reach out, and do the right thing. But it’s another thing entirely to be confronted with a situation that’s complex and increasingly difficult to understand. How far are we willing to go? How much risk are we comfortable taking to be helpful or kind?
The film invites the audience to reflect on those questions. In that grey area, would we keep stretching out a hand, turning the other cheek, or would we step back—revealing that perhaps we aren’t as selfless as we like to think? Maybe we’re more protective, more afraid, more selfish.
I hope the audience comes away thinking about Kristian’s choices. Some people say, “I wouldn’t have spoken to her at all,” while others get frustrated, thinking he should have acted differently. The goal is to spark that internal discussion: what would I do in his shoes, and what really counts as the right thing to do?
You spoke about the feature film that you’re working on. My last question was literally going to be, are you working on anything else? If so, what? Can you talk about the feature film at all in any more detail?
Absolutely—I can give you a little tease, though it’s still early days, and I’m really excited. My writer has been messaging me, and the third draft of the script is almost done, so I’ll be diving into it very soon.
It’s a drama, and for anyone who’s seen Revisited, it explores some similar themes around how a family copes with grief. The story follows a man in his 30s named Vemund, who could almost be called a “grief influencer.” He makes a living giving talks about how to handle grief and has built his life around a narrative about his deceased father.
But as Vemund reconnects with his family, we start to see that the story he’s woven—his idea of legacy—is actually complicating everyone else’s grieving process. The film is a family drama set around a baptism in Southern Norway. It’s sunny, celebratory even, but the ghosts of the past emerge on a day that’s meant to be about new life and the arrival of a child.
Megan Hilborne (Instagram: meghillbilly) is a freelance writer and film critic based in Portsmouth. She graduated with a degree in Film in 2020 and has continued her study of the medium in her day-to-day life. She takes particular interest in indie, horror, feminist and queer cinema.
