Ali Cook’s new short film The Pearl Comb has officially earned its place on the Oscar-qualifying stage, marking a significant milestone in the actor-turned-filmmaker’s career. Blending nuanced performances with striking visual storytelling, the film has quickly become a standout on the festival circuit. In our conversation, Cook discusses how the project began, the creative risks he took along the way, and what audiences can expect from this rising filmmaker’s latest work. The Pearl Comb unfolds as a mythic Victorian tale in which a fisherman’s wife attracts a doctor’s attention after performing what appears to be a miraculous cure on a boy suffering from tuberculosis.
Where did the idea for this film come from?
The film really draws from two sources. The first is the old mermaid mythology of Cornwall. I’ve always been fascinated by how, in the original stories, mermaids were far from the Disney versions we know today—they were dangerous, often deadly creatures. I wanted to return to those roots and stay faithful to the darker, authentic mythology.
The second inspiration came from the true story of the Edinburgh Seven, the first women in Britain to study medicine. Despite their training, they weren’t allowed to practice. That injustice resonated deeply with me and led to one of the film’s key lines: ‘Are the public more afraid of an educated woman than of a witch?’ That question ultimately became the central theme of the film.
Did you take any influences from any other films or filmmakers when it came to making this film?
No, I never went to film school, and I wouldn’t describe myself as a film buff. I watch a lot of movies, of course, but I’m careful not to immerse myself too much in other people’s work—there’s always the risk of unconsciously imitating what you’ve seen. Some people have said the film has a Robert Eggers quality. I love Eggers’ work, but there wasn’t any deliberate influence there. I think the comparison comes mainly from the presence of a dangerous mermaid, which naturally leads people—myself included—to think of The Lighthouse. And there’s also the folk element, which is something his films often explore.
Your actors in this film are incredible. What was the casting process like?
Simon, who plays Lutie—the fisherman and husband—actually starred in my first short film, so we were already good friends. In that project he played a mysterious farmer, so casting him as a mysterious fisherman didn’t feel like much of a stretch. He’s always on my list for anything I do; I just really rate him as an actor.
Beatie came to us through a suggestion from my associate producer, Amy. She and her mum were fans of Poldark, and since Beatie had appeared on the show—with a Cornish accent, no less—we knew she had experience with period roles set in that world. We approached her directly, and although she was probably the hardest to secure, we were incredibly lucky to have her join the project.
For the Mermaid, we opened up the casting completely and searched far and wide. We worked with Grace Evans, who was assisting Anna Kennedy at the time, and she said casting a mermaid was her favourite job of the year. That process eventually led us to Clara, who was absolutely fantastic.
“from day one, it became a very high-end, demanding process. In a way, I think I took it on partly to test myself—to see if I could handle that kind of pressure.“
The film itself, it’s so beautifully shot and put together. Everything from the costumes, props, sets, all completely transports the viewer into the 1890s Cornwall. What was it like putting all of this together?
I won’t lie—it was a huge amount of work. When I first wrote the script, I was like a five-year-old scribbling, ‘…and then the mermaid bursts out of the ocean,’ without giving any thought to how on earth we’d actually pull that off. But once you commit to featuring a fantastical creature, everything else has to rise to that level. Otherwise, what’s the point—unless you’re making a comedy and intentionally going for a deliberately silly-looking mermaid.
Because we wanted her to feel real, everything surrounding her had to be meticulously accurate to the period. So from day one, it became a very high-end, demanding process. In a way, I think I took it on partly to test myself—to see if I could handle that kind of pressure.
What does the pearl comb itself symbolise to you? And how did that object evolve during the writing and filmmaking process?
The Pearl Comb is actually rooted in a real Cornish legend. There was a family in Cornwall called the Pellas, known as ‘cunning men.’ Before the era of trained GPs, cunning men were the local healers—part doctor, part folk magician—and it was genuinely considered a profession in Britain. Much of that history has been erased or softened because of our heavily Christianised historical narrative, but cunning men continued to exist well into Christian times.
According to the Pella family’s legend, they were healers because one of their ancestors met a mermaid thousands of years ago and was given a pearl comb. That idea became the seed for the film. I was struck by how strange and specific the object was. What I love about true folklore is that it’s always slightly odd—there’s an eccentricity built into it. And we love that oddness in storytelling. Think of Alice in Wonderland or Charlie and the Chocolate Factory—they’re memorable because they embrace the bizarre.
So rather than turning the object into something more dramatic or ‘sexy,’ like a dagger with ancient markings, I loved that it was simply a comb. It’s unusual, it’s understated, and that inherent oddness made it far more interesting to me.
“When you write your own material, you already know exactly how you want it delivered. You’re not second-guessing what a director might want, the way you do when you’re making a self-tape. That’s the luxury.“
You wrote, directed and acted in this film. What was it like playing three roles?
I come from a comedy background, and most comedians are both writers and performers, so that dual role feels very natural to me. To my actor friends it seems wild, but as a stand-up you’re used to writing an hour of material, taking it out on stage, refining it, and essentially performing a one-person show with characters and narrative. So in that sense, moving into directing doesn’t feel like such a leap.
When you write your own material, you already know exactly how you want it delivered. You’re not second-guessing what a director might want, the way you do when you’re making a self-tape. That’s the luxury. The downside is that no one is there to reassure you when it’s your performance on the line. A big part of directing for me is making the cast feel confident and supported—but of course, as the director-actor, you don’t have someone doing that for you.
Thankfully, I had my associate producer, Amy, who knew the script inside out and kept an eye on the monitors for me. And I worked closely with our continuity supervisor, Tom Moody, who was brilliant. He also watched the monitors and helped keep an eye on my performance, which made the whole process far more manageable.
How did you approach working within a short film budget while maintaining such cinematic ambition?
It is a high-end short, and that really came from what the script demanded. I’d already made a more modest short before—one that I wrote but didn’t direct—so this time I wanted to push myself. We intentionally aimed for something more ambitious to see whether I could handle the pressure of a larger crew and the volume of decisions that come with a higher-scale production.
A huge part of what made that possible was having Matt Wilkinson as my producer. He’s a very established feature-film producer, and because of that, he had access to an incredible pool of crew. We benefited enormously from friends of his coming on board at mates’ rates or as favours. Having Matt, along with Patrick Tolan, who works closely with him, was invaluable. They were like two experienced sergeants in the trenches—completely confident in what they were doing. That kind of support is something you rarely get on a short film, and it made a massive difference.
The film juxtaposes medical science with belief-based medicine. From a directing standpoint, how did you visually or tonally distinguish these two forms of medicine and the larger debate that they kind of represent in society now?
I used to have a joke in my stand-up act: What’s the difference between a ruthless businessman and a new-age hippie? One’s my mum, the other’s my dad. And that really does sum up my background. My dad was very fact-based and practical, while my mum was all crystals and tarot cards.
I approached the film in two distinct ways that reflect that duality. First, you have the doctor—my character—who arrives with this brisk, factual, almost clinical manner. He clearly represents the scientific worldview. Then he meets this woman who is immediately more folkloric and ethereal. She doesn’t claim to use medicine; she insists she uses hexes to heal people. So you get this striking juxtaposition between science and superstition.
The second element is narrative. The doctor believes she’s spinning him a fairy-tale—what he sees as a gentle, well-meaning lie. She says she uses magic, but he suspects she might actually be a highly skilled, self-taught healer. We don’t realise that he already knows she’s lying until the twist later on.
And visually, we reinforce that contrast. In the flashback sequences, we used a slightly different grade and a more stylised look so that those scenes feel like a fairy tale rather than grounded reality. It’s a subtle way of signalling to the audience that these moments might be a fantasy.
What is coming next for you? Are you working on anything new?
As an actor, I’m always auditioning, and I’ve got a small role in an upcoming Channel 4 series called Falling Down, which was a fantastic project to be part of. It’s written by Jack Thorne, who’s such a celebrated writer, so that was a real privilege.
Alongside acting, I’m developing two feature films—one is a ghost story and the other a supernatural thriller. I’m really trying to make the transition into feature filmmaking now. With The Pearl Comb, we achieved a level of production value that feels very close to a feature, so I’m starting to feel ready to take that step.
A producer once told me, ‘It’s the same thing—just an hour longer.’ I’m not entirely convinced it’s that simple, but that’s what he said.
Speaking with Ali Cook reveals a filmmaker in full command of his voice—thoughtful, precise, and unafraid to blend the grounded with the mythical. The Pearl Comb has not only earned its Oscar-qualifying status but has also positioned Cook as a director ready for the demands of feature-length storytelling. As he moves toward his next projects, his unique blend of genre, folklore, and character-driven craft will no doubt continue to distinguish his work.
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.
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