At Raindance, we teach filmmakers how to avoid these mistakes.
Today, we’re doing the opposite.
Because the fastest way to understand craft is to understand failure.
If you can spot a bad film in ten seconds, you’re already learning how not to make one.
So here it is — the Raindance Seven guide to making a truly, spectacularly terrible short film.
1. You Can Never Have Enough Lens Flare
Shoot directly into the sun.
Then add more light.
Then bounce it off a mirror.
Lens flare should obliterate faces, emotions, and any remaining dignity. If the audience can see what’s happening, you’ve failed.
2. Write Dialogue That Explains Everything
Never trust subtext.
Have characters say exactly what they’re feeling, what they plan to do next, and what already happened — preferably in the same sentence.
Example:
“As my brother who betrayed me ten years ago, I feel conflicted standing in this kitchen right now.”
Perfect. No notes.
3. Shake the Camera Like It’s a Moral Position
Tripods are for cowards.
Handheld every scene.
Zoom mid-sentence.
Rack focus accidentally.
If viewers feel mildly nauseous, you’re on the right track.
4. Music Must Emotionally Bully the Audience
Quiet scene? Add strings.
Argument? Add bigger strings.
Someone looks at a phone? FULL ORCHESTRA.
Music should tell the audience what to feel — loudly, repeatedly, and without irony.
5. Cast Your Friends (Especially the Ones Who Can’t Act)
No auditions. No rehearsals.
If someone once said “I’ve always wanted to be in a film,” cast them immediately as the lead.
Bonus points if they:
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Look at the camera
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Forget lines
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Apologise mid-scene
Raw authenticity.
6. Ignore Sound Entirely
Built-in camera mic only.
Let traffic, wind, fridges, and passing trains dominate the mix. Dialogue should sound like it was recorded underwater — or in another postcode.
Remember: bad sound makes even good images feel amateur. That’s efficiency.
7. End With Something Deep (But Meaningless)
No resolution.
Cut to:
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A character staring into nothing
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A slow walk away
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A vague voiceover about “time” or “truth”
Fade to black.
Add a quote you found online.
Let the audience argue about what it “meant” because you don’t know either.
🎯 Want a Terrible Short Film Script Template?
Here you go — plug-and-play bad cinema:
PAGE 1
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EXT. SOMEWHERE – DAY
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Overexposed. Lens flare everywhere.
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Character looks sad for no clear reason.
PAGES 2–4
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Long dialogue scene explaining the backstory twice.
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Random cutaways to hands, windows, clouds.
PAGE 5
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Sudden argument. Camera shakes. Music swells too early.
PAGE 6
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Someone cries without motivation.
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Another character says something “deep”.
FINAL PAGE
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Slow motion walk.
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Voiceover about life.
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Fade out before anything is resolved.
Congratulations. You’ve written a terrible short film.
🎬 Why We’re Telling You This
Because every one of these mistakes shows up constantly in first films.
At Raindance, we don’t mock beginners — we arm them.
Once you can spot bad craft, you can fix it.
Once you understand why films fail, you can make yours work.
🚀 CTA: Learn to Break the Rules Properly
If you want to make films that don’t fall into these traps:
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🎓 Raindance Film School — HND, BA & MA programmes
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🎟️ Raindance Membership — community, events, resources
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❤️ Independent Film Trust — scholarships & access for filmmakers who need it most
Learn the rules.
Break them intentionally.
Don’t make terrible films by accident.
Want more Raindance? Start Here
Photo Credit: Bertie Watson
I founded Raindance Film Festival in 1993 because the British film industry was closed, polite, and congratulating itself while shutting new filmmakers out.
I co-founded the British Independent Film Awards in 1998 because British indie film deserved more than a shrug, a pat on the head, and a Tuesday night screening.
Raindance didn’t start as a brand. It started as a rebellion: film training without gatekeepers, a festival without permission, and a community built by filmmakers who weren’t waiting to be invited in.
Later, we took it global: Toronto, Vancouver, New York, LA, Berlin, and Brussels, because independent film doesn’t belong to one city, one class, or one accent.
I’ve produced 700+ short films and seven features, including Deadly Virtues (2014) and ALICE, which won the SXSW Grand Jury Prize (2019) not because someone “discovered” us, but because the work earned its place.
I’ve written three books used by filmmakers worldwide because too many courses taught compliance instead of survival.
In 2009, I was awarded a PhD for services to film education, ironic, given that most of my career has been about tearing down the rules that education insisted you follow.
I don’t believe in waiting for permission.I believe in making work, building systems, and forcing the industry to catch up.
Specialties: Independent Film (the real kind) · Producing · Writing · Film Education · Festivals · Breaking Broken Systems
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