Once Upon a Midnight Dreary, I Was Bored and Kinda Weary
Ryan Connolly’s Tell (2012) is a short horror film based on Edgar Allan Poe’s The Tell-Tale Heart — or at least that’s what the description claims. In reality, it’s more like The Tell-Don’t-Show Heart, because for fifteen minutes, all this movie manages to show is how long fifteen minutes can feel when absolutely nothing happens.
You can tell Connolly really wanted this to be a psychological horror masterpiece — an exploration of guilt, madness, and the unrelenting toll of conscience. What he made instead is the cinematic equivalent of being trapped in a freshman film class group project where the only thing scarier than murder is the dialogue.
If Poe were alive today and saw Tell, he’d probably grab a hammer himself — but not for artistic inspiration.
A Hammer Murder, Because Why Not
Our antihero is Taylor (Todd Bruno), a man so devoid of charisma he makes drying paint look mysterious. He starts the film in an argument with his girlfriend, Jenny (Shana Eva), who is sharp-tongued, impatient, and apparently the only person in the script with a pulse. Taylor, overwhelmed by emotion or possibly just tired of hearing lines written by someone who reads Screenwriting for Dummies, takes a hammer and kills her.
It’s meant to be shocking — a burst of primal violence that sets the stage for guilt and madness. Instead, it looks like a DIY home repair gone wrong. The sound design is oddly flat, the camera work too polite. You can practically hear the director whispering, “Make sure the fake blood doesn’t stain the carpet, guys.”
Taylor wraps Jenny’s body in a sheet, hides her in the attic, and immediately starts acting guilty enough to get caught in any CSI cold open. Then he calls his buddy Ray (Tim Connolly), whose best advice is, “You’re on your own, man.” I sympathize — if someone called me confessing to a murder in a short film this dull, I’d hang up too.
Guilt, Ghosts, and Glaring Amateur Hour
What follows is a psychological descent into madness — or at least that’s what’s written on the tin. In practice, it’s Todd Bruno staring at things. He stares at the attic. He stares at the floor. He stares at blood that looks suspiciously like strawberry syrup.
Then the noises start. Thumps from the attic. Jenny’s ghostly voice. Blood dripping down. You’d think this would be terrifying, but somehow it’s not. The scares land with all the impact of a deflated whoopee cushion.
The cinematography tries its best to look brooding and atmospheric — dim lighting, handheld shots, eerie silence. But instead of dread, it evokes the feeling of watching someone rehearse for a student stage play called Mild Anxiety: The Musical.
By the time Taylor slips on blood and knocks himself out, I found myself quietly rooting for the blood puddle.
When the Dead Ex-Girlfriend Is the Most Lively Character
Jenny’s ghost occasionally shows up, but not in the spooky The Others or Hereditary kind of way. More like the “oops, we forgot to turn on the fog machine” kind of way.
Her appearances are supposed to blur the line between guilt and supernatural revenge. Unfortunately, they blur the line between “artistic ambiguity” and “we ran out of budget for effects.” Jenny materializes, whispers ominously, and disappears like a bored Snapchat filter.
Shana Eva does what she can, but there’s only so much an actor can do when her role consists of “stand there and glare.” She’s not a vengeful spirit; she’s an annoyed ex trying to get her deposit back from a bad apartment.
Officer Diaz: The Film’s Real Hero (Because She Ends It)
Enter Officer Diaz (Adriana Pascual), the film’s best character — not because she’s well-written, but because her appearance means the movie is almost over.
Diaz knocks on Taylor’s door, suspicious about the earlier argument. Taylor, sweating like he just remembered the film still has five minutes left, tries to play it cool. It doesn’t work. She comes inside. He panics. And just when you think we’re getting a proper Poe-esque confession scene, Taylor decides to stab her in the neck instead.
This results in the most awkward knife fight in horror history — two people grappling in slow motion while trying very hard not to bump the camera tripod. Eventually, she shoots him. Both fall dramatically against opposite walls, sitting there like two teenagers grounded for being stupid.
And just like that, Tell dies.
Poe Must Be Rolling in His Crypt
Here’s the thing: adapting The Tell-Tale Heart is tricky but not impossible. It’s a masterpiece of tension, paranoia, and psychological collapse. But Tell replaces subtlety with sound effects, emotion with exposition, and Poe’s dread-filled atmosphere with something closer to a YouTube tutorial titled “How to Make Horror in Your Garage.”
Poe’s narrator is driven mad by guilt, his heartbeat echoing in his mind until he confesses. Connolly’s Taylor is driven mad by poor lighting and a bad case of the plot hiccups.
The original story builds pressure until it bursts. This film just… meanders. It’s like watching someone nervously pacing before they realize the oven’s been on the whole time.
The Editing: Jump Cuts from the Depths of Despair
Connolly edited the film himself, which might explain why it feels like a trailer for a movie that doesn’t exist. Every scene cuts just before it gets interesting, like the film is afraid of its own runtime.
One moment, Taylor’s staring into the attic. Cut. He’s on the phone. Cut. He’s stabbing someone. Cut. He’s bleeding out. Cut. The editing rhythm feels like it was done by someone trying to win a speedrun competition in Adobe Premiere.
And those “jump scare” sound effects? Imagine a cat walking across a synthesizer while someone shouts “boo!” into a tin can.
Acting: A Masterclass in Looking Constipated
Todd Bruno deserves some credit — it’s not easy to carry a film when your character is 90% internal monologue and 10% poor decision-making. But his performance lands somewhere between “mild indigestion” and “forgot his lines but kept going.”
His portrayal of guilt feels less like psychological torment and more like someone who just remembered he left the stove on. When he screams, you don’t feel fear — you feel secondhand embarrassment.
Every other actor seems aware that this is a short film made by friends, and they treat it like one. The result is a collection of performances that could best be described as “cordially committed.”
A Tell-Tale Sign of Overconfidence
To be fair, Connolly’s enthusiasm is palpable. He clearly loves filmmaking — the production design, the camera work, the DIY blood effects, all proudly displayed in his Film Riot episodes. But love isn’t enough. You can admire his ambition while admitting Tell feels more like a technical exercise than an actual story.
It’s a demo reel wearing Poe’s corpse as a costume.
Every frame screams, “Look what we can do with no budget!” which is charming — until you realize they forgot to include pacing, tone, or a reason to care.
Final Thoughts: Tell Me Why
At its best, Tell is a decent student short with admirable ambition. At its worst, it’s proof that just because you can adapt Poe doesn’t mean you should.
The film is like a haunted house where the ghosts keep apologizing for the mess. You can sense the effort, but the execution never lives up to the premise. It wants to be a chilling tale of guilt and madness; instead, it’s a mildly unsettling episode of Film Riot: After Dark.
Still, I’ll give Connolly this — it takes guts to swing a hammer at Poe’s legacy. Unfortunately, it also takes talent to hit the nail on the head.
Verdict: ★★☆☆☆
Tell tries to whisper terror but mostly mutters nonsense. The only thing truly horrifying is the pacing. If guilt drove the narrator insane in Poe’s story, boredom might do the same here.
