Nikki Groton’s Shadow Dancer is a brooding, elegantly crafted short film that walks the razor’s edge between psychological breakdown and supernatural unease. In just under 6 minutes, Groton evokes the creeping dread of losing yourself, not just to ambition or fear, but to something darker that might watch from within.
The story follows a young dancer preparing for a solo performance, isolated in a rehearsal space that feels increasingly haunted, not by ghosts. Still, by the version of herself she’s trying to suppress. The tension grows not through jump scares, but through flickering lights, shadows, whispers of movement, and a deepening sense that identity itself is unraveling. There’s clear DNA here from Darren Aronofsky’s Black Swan, particularly in how both films use the physicality of performance as a portal to madness or possession.
“…haunted, not by ghosts. Still, by the version of herself she’s trying to suppress.”
What Groton brings, though, is a stripped-down intimacy. Where Black Swan is operatic, Shadow Dancer is hushed, nearly claustrophobic. It’s less about spectacle and more about atmosphere. The camera lingers on muscle tension, on breath, on flickers of shadow that may or may not belong to our protagonist. Every frame suggests something is slightly…off.
Kelsey Susino’s lead performance as Brooke, delicate and dangerous, is the key to it all. You can feel her slipping, not all at once, but in tiny, deliberate gestures. It’s mesmerizing and unsettling, like watching someone argue (in the non-verbal sense) with a reflection that argues back.
Groton doesn’t overstay her welcome, nor does she over-explain. Shadow Dancer ends with a question mark, but one that feels earned. It’s a confident, eerie piece of work from a director who clearly knows how to turn internal battles into cinematic nightmares.
"…evokes the creeping dread of losing yourself, not just to ambition or fear, but to something darker..."
