Silence is not the absence of sound. In film, as in the arts, it is a presence of what is withheld. In some instances, it is used as a tool or even a style to shelter secrets, conceal intentions or make the faintest noise resound with urgency. The films in this program, ‘Howls Beyond a Muted Soundscape’ (Short Film Program 4), treat muteness as a condition for revelation. Words are often secondary to gestures, pauses, intervals and visuals.
 

In ‘Old World, the forest holds its breath until a poacher stumbles upon a fragment of another reality. The encounter is shaped less by what is said than by the quiet weight of grief that fills the air. ‘Master-piece’ works within another kind of muted space, where an artist’s struggle with heritage and betrayal is carried in the silences between performances. The unspoken cost of preserving tradition becomes as tangible as the art itself.
 

The theme extends to ‘At the End of the Thread’, where silence accompanies judgment and loneliness. Celio’s ability to see lovers’ bonds is matched by his readiness to cut them, a task done without fanfare until the thread turns toward him. In ‘The Christ and the Skull’, medieval Toledo’s stillness is charged with menace. Darkness muffles a duel between two knights, allowing the supernatural to slip in without warning, its presence more felt than heard.
 

‘Tiger’ reminds us of warnings that go unheeded, implying that it’s swallowed by the dense jungle. The silence is the stillness before something predatory and the inevitable arrives. ‘The Story of My Meat Life’ approaches quiet from an internal space where a lifetime of food choices is narrated in a diary-esque, almost whispered register. What lingers is a light persistence of a personal ritual.

In 'Sewing Love', silence becomes a space where intimacy and loss intersect. Two souls weave themselves into each other’s lives like threads of a psychedelic river’s current, carrying with them joy, sorrow and the inevitability of change. Here, silence deepens its resonance, marking death, rebirth and decay as part of its transformative flow.
 

‘Sound from the Kitchen’ closes the program by breaking the spell. Here, the clatter and rhythm of cooking erupt into playful chaos, reminding us that noise, too, can be born from silence.
 

Across forests, kitchens, medieval courts and the private landscapes of the mind, these works clearly shows that silence is never empty. It howls without a voice, carrying testimonies; rippling volumes. In this program, muteness carry meanings. As viewers travel back to their homes, we let them bring sound as a guiding amulet of sorts so the act of listening proves to be a needed power.