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Telephone is a 27‑minute short film written, directed, and produced by Eric Red in 1986, in which an emotionally distraught and suicidal woman (Laurie Latham, whose voice is in Reservoir Dogs) dials random numbers, hoping to connect with someone. She ends up reaching a man (Bud Cort, RIP, star of Harold and Maude), telling him that she plans to kill herself in a minute unless he can talk her out of it.

He doesn’t know her. He’s never met her. But suddenly, he has sixty seconds to save a life. The film captures a grueling, intimate power dynamic: while he hangs upside down in inversion boots trying to relax, he is forced into a psychological chess match where the stakes are literal life and death.

Eric Red, a Pittsburgh native, used this short as a calling card for his visceral, high-concept style. You can see the seeds of his later work here—the same DNA that made The Hitcher and Near Dark cult classics. Red has a gift for taking a simple, claustrophobic premise and ratcheting up the tension until it’s unbearable. He would go on to direct Cohen and Tate, Body Parts and Bad Moon, as well as write one of my favorite American giallo films — and one of the first DVDs I ever got — Blue Steel.

Filmed on location in Hollywood in 16 mm, the short is visually striking. The images of the woman’s apartment bathed in neon, and the hazy skyline behind her, are gorgeous. They evoke a mood similar to the famous scenes in Tokyo Decadence, which is impressive considering Telephone predates it by nearly a decade.

For younger viewers, Telephone serves as a time capsule. This was an era before caller ID or “star 69.” When the phone rang, you had no idea who was on the other end. It could be a friend, a telemarketer or—as in this film—a total stranger inviting you into their darkest moment. Red captures the terrifying intimacy of the old rotary phone system. As Latham’s character notes, the connection they share in that half-hour is “more intimate than if we’d fucked.”

The film deals with suicide in a way that feels raw and unpolished. In the mid-80s, these conversations happened in the shadows, and Red brings that isolation to the forefront. Despite the setup, the film’s closing remains a genuine surprise. While some critics argue it could be tighter, the deliberate tempo allows the audience to feel the same exhaustion and emotional depletion as the characters. You really start to feel for Cort’s character. Maybe it’s because as film nerds, we inherently love Cort and want him to succeed.

You can watch this on the director’s YouTube page.