Some connections don’t end, they just flicker. Matt and Elias meet again to see if their “almost” can finally become something real. The question is simple: will the fire warm them, or burn them out for good?
Intermittent is one of those shorts that doesn’t try to “tell a whole life” in 11 minutes. It does something smarter: it drops you right into the middle of a relationship that keeps restarting, like an app you swear you deleted but somehow it’s still on your phone, sitting there, judging you.
We meet Matt and Elias at that weird point where you’re not together, not fully apart, and you can feel the past sitting in the room like a third person. They haven’t seen each other in a while. The connection is still there, but so is the bruised pride, the missed timing, and the “why do we always do this?” exhaustion.
The whole short is basically a conversation, but it’s a conversation with teeth. Not the kind where people speak in perfectly rounded movie monologues. This is the kind where someone says the wrong thing, then tries to fix it, then accidentally makes it worse, then you both laugh for half a second because if you don’t laugh you’ll start bleeding emotionally on the furniture.
The word “intermittent” is not just the title, it’s their relationship résumé. They circle each other with that familiar rhythm: small tenderness, quick defensiveness, then a moment of honesty that lands too hard. One of them wants clarity, investment, a sense that dating actually means something. The other is more comfortable in the modern grey zone: multiple options, low commitment, emotional hedging, and the comforting lie that you can “keep it casual” without consequences.
And yes, Los Angeles is part of the subtext. Not as a postcard, but as a mindset. There’s a line about how everyone is “looking for a better lemon for their lemonade”, and if you’ve ever watched people treat dating like a shopping cart they keep editing, you know exactly what he means. It’s funny, bitter, and painfully accurate.
The best choice the film makes is giving them a physical metaphor they can keep returning to: a lighter. At the start, it’s about quitting, about holding onto something “for safety”, because it feels like power. But by the end, the lighter becomes the relationship itself: fire that can warm you, fire that can burn you, and the terrifying part where you realise it’s not the fire’s job to be gentle. It’s yours.
There’s also a quiet maturity in the film’s final turn. The moment where “intermittent” stops being the default, and it becomes a decision. Not a grand romantic speech, not a dramatic exit. Just that adult sentence nobody wants to say out loud: now what. And the answer is basically: it’s up to us. That’s the real horror, and the real hope.
One of the most unexpectedly charming beats is the Portuguese reveal. Someone started learning Portuguese just to get closer to the other guy. That is either insanely sincere or beautifully unhinged. In a world of “seen at 2:13 AM”, this is effort. It’s also a reminder that intimacy is often built in small, nerdy, slightly ridiculous choices.
And of course the film doesn’t let the moment stay pure for too long. There’s teasing, a little sexual edge, and that playful sting couples have when they know exactly where to poke. It’s believable. It’s also the kind of detail that tells you these two have history that didn’t start five minutes ago.
Because this is basically a two-person chamber piece, the whole thing lives or dies on chemistry. The performances feel grounded and conversational, with the right amount of awkward pauses and defensive humour. The film is not trying to make them saints. One can be a bit rigid, the other can be dismissive. But the writing gives both of them a point. You understand why each one thinks he’s protecting himself.
Visually, the tight framing and that slightly boxed-in feel (the 4:3 ratio) works in the film’s favour. It makes the reunion feel intimate, almost trapped. Like they’re inside a memory they can’t quite escape.
Yes, especially if you like relationship stories that don’t rely on big plot mechanics. Intermittent is about the emotional mechanics: how miscommunication becomes a habit, how pride turns into a wall, how modern dating culture encourages you to keep options open until you have nothing real in your hands.
If I had one complaint, it’s that you’ll probably want two more minutes. Not for explanations, but for one more beat of silence where the choice can settle. But maybe that’s the point. The film ends where their work begins. And that’s a pretty honest place to stop.
Verdict: a short, sharp romance about two men deciding whether they want warmth or just sparks. If you’ve ever been someone’s “maybe”, this one is going to hit.
