How film can render the breathtaking panic prior to a job interview
by Wilson Murphy
The title of Paul Shkordoff’s short film—Benjamin, Benny, Ben—calls out the anxiety of his protagonist: who is repeatedly trying out, on his way to a job interview, with which name he will introduce himself: Benjamin, Benny, or Ben? In seven minutes, the film tracks his tense, emotional journey that allows us to enter into his world, exploring themes of identity, societal pressures, and resilience. Film critic Céline Roustan praised the film in her short essay on the Short of the Week website for elevating this seemingly simple walk into a gripping “authentic journey. Every shot and sound works to draw us closer to Benny’s distress as he tries to not only curb his anxiety while overcoming a course of obstacles, societal expectations, and the burden of self-doubt.
The opening scene throws us into a blurry shot of Benny walking toward the camera, leaving viewers unsure if he’s speaking or thinking. The sound crosses what Robynn Stiwell has called the “fantastical gap,” where the diegetic and nondiegetic worlds overlap (link). It reflects the disconnect between his thoughts and reality around him, while walking through nature to get to his interview and is occupied by his rehearsals. When the ambient noise of footsteps, cars, and birds begins to replace his voice, the film shifts from his thoughts to the physical environment.
At the 1:40 mark, the tension breaks when Benny falls in the mud. The camera, which had been following him from behind, moves to his front, finally revealing his face as he stumbles. The sudden, amplified thud of his body hitting the ground becomes a catastrophe. The sound of distant cars continues, as if calling out the socioeconomic gap of lacking access to transportation.
The camera lingers as Benny hesitates, looking back, questioning whether he should continue. A light ringing draws us into his mind, as the heavy breathing and stillness of the environment seem to hit pause to show this hesitation. His breathing, while diegetic, is more than just a physical detail. As Yacavone claims, sounds can “resist being adequately defined by, or reduced to, serving a narrative or denotative function” (link). The breathing bridges the gap between Benny’s anxiety and us feeling his emotions. The scene then transitions to Benny walking underneath a tunnel, again highlighting the inaccessibility of transportation. For the first time, the audience sees Benny from the front: his pace quickens, but he could never catch up with the speeding cars above.
As he enters the restaurant to clean his clothes, the city noises fade, replaced by muffled sounds inside. This brief silence feels like a respite, but it’s soon interrupted by the knocks on the restroom door. The knocking grows louder and more insistent, an accelerando matching his panic. The camera closes in on Benny’s hands as he scrubs his shirt, as he frantically whispers, “Why did I fall? So clumsy.” This knocking increases Benny’s stress—amplified by the social pressures of Black man using a bathroom seemingly off limits.
A subtle yet devastating detail follows: a cut to Benny’s application in the bathroom confirms that he is on the way to his job interview. However, there is no shot of taking the application with him, leaving the audience to question not only whether he will arrive at the interview on time but also if he left it behind. This moment showcases his vulnerability and the pressure of social judgment and the upcoming interview.
As Benny resumes his walk, the soundscape shifts again. His rehearsals become faster, more fragmented, as he cycles through versions of his name—which Roustan notes particularly resonated with her, especially for those with anxiety. Rehearsing can provide a sense of control, but it can overcomplicate thoughts, leaving Benny uncertain about something as simple as how to introduce himself. Each iteration feels like a grasp for control in an uncontrollable situation. The distorted rhythm of his speech represents his feelings of “inner turmoil” as he approaches his interview, while the sounds of cars and city chatter fade in and out, mirroring his mental state.
The absence of music underscores the film’s authenticity. Shkordoff relies on diegetic sounds—the hum of traffic, the rustle of Benny’s shirt, the distant chatter of unseen people—to ground the audience in Benny’s world and emphasize his isolation. Even as he tries to center himself, the noise refuses to let him escape.
As Benny approaches the interview, the ambient chaos fades, replaced by the intimate sounds of his heartbeat and breathing. This “negative of sound” marks his focus as he gains the courage to face the interview (link). The screen fades to black as he whispers, “Be yourself,” a mantra that feels both hopeful and desperate. When the screen returns, Benny is seated in the waiting room. His posture is low, his breathing is heavy, but there’s a shift. The slumped shoulders that once seemed to carry the weight of the world now straighten, ever so slightly. The breathing slows, changing from ragged gasps to steady inhales and exhales. In this stillness, Benny captures a small but profound victory over his nerves, preparing himself for what lies ahead.
The contrast between his discombobulated appearance and the corporate environment suggests that the seven minutes of his walk has told us everything about the seventeen years that it took him to get to this point. We don’t know whether Benny left his application behind. We don’t know how he will perform in the interview. We don’t know whether he will get the job. But we know the stakes. And we do know that he has arrived somehow at a sense of who he is. When the interviewer greets him, “Hi Benjamin,” he responds, “It’s Benny,” to which she responds, “Benny, nice to meet you.” And we know why: because Paul Shkordoff made us walk with him for the last seven minutes.