WHAT HAPPENS in “The next 24 Hours” is not explosive — it is excruciating; it is not loud, but it is lasting.
In Carl Joseph Papa’s film, the aftermath of sexual assault unfolds not in dramatic explosions, but in agonizing stillness.
The 14-minute animated short does not try to overreach. Instead, it uses each moment to evoke the disorientation, fear, and internal struggle of 29-year-old Sheila, who was sexually assaulted by her partner, as she navigates the physical, emotional, and psychological minefield of the day that follows.
Rather than show explicit violence, Papa’s film lingers around what comes after: the panic, the denial, the fragmented recollection of a woman trying to make sense of her pain within the confines of time and body.
The film shows no dramatic chase of courtroom battle and revenge. Instead, we see Sheila moving through clinical procedures, awkward conversations, suppressed panic at work, and phone calls from her partner.
Christela Marquez, who plays Shiela, portrays the depth of psychological pain, confusion, and resolve built on tension, restraint, and ellipsis.
The ticking clock of the “next 24 hours” becomes both literal and symbolic — a race to report, to preserve evidence, to process emotions, and to reclaim a semblance of control.
Rendered through rotoscope animation, a visual style Papa has become known for, the film’s soft–almost dreamlike textures–contrast sharply with the harrowing subject it tackles. Papa’s animation style supports this internal landscape. Instead of graphic depictions, we’re shown emotional states: shame, fear, uncertainty.
The medium becomes a vessel for memory and trauma, where the protagonist is shaken amid a disconnected and unsympathetic healthcare system, pressure to hide everything at work, manipulative threats from her partner, and the psychological aftermath of shame, denial, and fear.
It forces viewers to sit in discomfort, to recognize the invisible weight carried by victims, and to acknowledge that survival isn’t always loud.
Papa’s The Next 24 Hours is not an easy watch, nor should it be. It’s not designed to entertain but to bear witness — to the systems that fail us, the silence that surrounds us, and the strength it takes to speak anyway.
