“NO ROOM TO GRIEVE”

ABOUT THE FILM

PLOT SYNOPSIS

Emma, a nurse on the front lines, struggles with the silent aftermath of workplace trauma. As she tries to return to her daily routine, ordinary moments like stepping into the shower unravel into vivid, disorienting flashbacks.

Haunted by the memory of losing a patient, Emma finds herself caught in a loop of dissociation, unable to distinguish past from present. Time slows, spaces distort, and the emotional weight of her experience becomes inescapable.

No Room to Grieve is a harrowing glimpse into the psychological toll of PTSD, capturing a world where the trauma never ends — even when the shift does.

DIRECTOR’S VISION

Before working with the Ontario Nurses’ Association on this project, I had no idea how much chaos nurses endure on a daily basis. Video is one of the most powerful ways to convey information emotionally, and my goal was to translate the horror stories I heard firsthand into an immersive, grounded experience—one that helps people empathize with, rather than blame, our healthcare workers.

Authenticity was key. After speaking with healthcare professionals and individuals living with PTSD, I chose to shape the film’s structure and style around the symptoms themselves.

PTSD attacks are unpredictable. They can strike anywhere and anytime – even a nice, comforting shower can turn into a living nightmare. In this film, Emma suffers from a dissociative disorder known as depersonalization-derealization: it’s like watching your own thoughts and memories from a distance, powerless to stop what’s unfolding. Reality falls into a weird, dreamlike haze where time is fluid. It can slow down, speed up, reverse, just as erratic as the attack itself.

Sound played a key role in the film’s storytelling. As Emma’s memories blur into her present, the soundscape warps. The constant clash of running water and surgery makes it hard to predict when or if Emma will regain control. Eventually, the calming water is overtaken and distorted by the sounds from her traumatic event — failing to resuscitate a dying child, the liquid from his bleeding wound being another trigger.

To make Emma’s trauma feel real, the makeup had to hit hard. Melissa Rae-Windover’s work was brutal, hyper-detailed, and disturbingly lifelike — blood, bruises, pale skin, every detail done with surgical precision. Her phenomenal work gave the film a weight that was impossible to ignore.

Samantha Lillian’s powerful performance elevated every frame of this film. With no lines, she had to express everything through her eyes, breath, and facial twitches — she absolutely nailed it. Liam Roberts, who played the dying child, showed incredible patience and focus. He spent hours under heavy makeup on a freezing cold stretcher without a single complaint.

The supporting cast added another layer of authenticity. Most were real nurses who’ve lived these scenes in real life, which made every moment on set feel more grounded and personal. We were also lucky to have Kitu Turcas, a longtime Helios collaborator, and Liam’s own mom, Kathy Roberts, who both gave emotionally locked-in performances.

Visually, I wanted to immerse the viewer in Emma’s world from the very first shot — literally opening the door to her reality. Much like the sound, the intro’s unorthodox use of quick fades to black represent Emma’s shifting focus, trying to break or blink out of the traumatic memory before it gets worse. The moments of complete darkness in between each shot helps create the same unpredictable nature of PTSD attacks.

With little to no dialogue, and none from the main character, I relied on the visuals and sound to help carry the storytelling load. The final piece was the music. I was lucky to work with Andrew Seguin and Marcello Morle to create the score. It captures the looming feeling of dread Emma feels in the beginning, just before the attack takes hold. When the shots begin to speed up and the surgery begins, the music becomes bombastic, repeating, and unpredictable - perfectly complimenting the film’s intense pacing.

- Jendo Shabo, Director