The Liars of Black Mountain Road: Paradigm Shifts for a Couple’s Belief in Their Inherent Goodness

Parker Croft’s The Liars of Black Mountain Road, co-written with Nolan Gould, is a sharply written dark comedy-drama of modest scale and astute insight, the sort of film that makes this job rewarding. The story follows a couple for a terse twelve minutes across the endless vista of Castaic, California, as the whiff of guilt trails behind them.

The paths of a dog attempting to cross an otherwise deserted road and a car driving through intersect before human or animal realise what’s happening. The opening shot illustrates the elegance of the writing: with the briskly swinging rearview mirror charm, it lets you know in a matter of about 20 seconds that something has gone wrong with the abruptness of lightning. The silence is quotidian—white noise and everyday movements—and the more oppressive for it.

The carnage is so inconspicuous that it takes intention and integrity to acknowledge it. The dog may as well be sleeping; the blood politely confines itself to the fur; there is no one else for miles. Really, if they had the stomach for it, Ethan (Nolan Gould) and Abbie (Millie Gibbons) would drive away. But they are conscientious, to the best of their ability, and that is a caveat upon which the film hangs itself.

It begins with the justification: he has to clear his name for his sole witness. It is an urgent need for him to unload any guilt from his conscience, lay it on the still warm body if necessary. It begins with Abbie’s quick support: it was the dog’s fault, Ethan could not have seen that coming. They both agree, and that’s where the problem begins to brew.

These are well-written characters. They have adopted the trappings of morality without really accounting for its demands, so when the guilt stations itself in their psyche, the weight is immediately overpowering. Young and privileged, they are unprepared to be repentant and nothing more. Abbie insists they call the owner—she cannot deliver the news herself. Ethan does it—he cannot tell the man it was their car. Abbie cannot stand the evasion, Ethan cannot bear the spot on his pristine white shirt.

The writing very obviously positions Abbie as the better, more conscientious half of the pair. And yet like recognises like, and often loves it, too. And so the climax arrives unhurried and calm, a quiet, choreographed earthquake, that shakes loose the relationship as well as their understanding of themselves.

There is a self-awareness to The Liars of Black Mountain Road, inspired by the director’s own experiences. It allows the film to find its humour, a wise substitution for seriousness. Much is left unsaid, coded in performance directed with fine-point subtlety. The denouement booms with the size of the elephant in their roomy car. It does not disappear with a very well placed and very surprising needle-drop. It amplifies it.

Watch The Liars of Black Mountain Road Short Film Trailer