Every so often, a short film comes along that feels like it’s cracked open a piece of your own mind — and then gently asks you to take a closer look at what’s inside. Lucy Davidson’s Baggage does exactly that. It’s only a few minutes long, built with delicate stop-motion figures and handcrafted sets, but the emotional heft it carries feels anything but small.
Baggage first caught my eye for its premise alone: a literal suitcase that follows its owner around, growing heavier with each unresolved feeling she refuses to unpack. It’s the kind of metaphor you think you’ve seen before — until you realize how intimately Davidson brings it to life. The film was inspired by her own experiences carrying unspoken anxieties that shape how we move through the world. But instead of hammering the metaphor flat, Baggage lets it breathe, sometimes awkwardly, sometimes tenderly, always truthfully.
The short uses stop-motion in a way that feels both tactile and deeply human. Davidson, who trained at Aardman and cut her teeth on countless small sets in Melbourne, brings that old-school, frame-by-frame patience to her tiny world. Watching the suitcase bump along behind its owner, you can feel the careful craft behind every stitch and shadow. She’s talked about wanting the suitcase itself to feel like a character — not just a prop, but a quiet, loyal companion that grows more unwieldy the longer it’s ignored.
What I find especially beautiful is how Baggage keeps its tone gentle, even playful, despite the weighty subject. The sound design, the soft rustle of felt, the creak of hinges — it all builds a world that’s slightly whimsical, but never trivial. By the time you reach the final moments, when the main character sits down and finally dares to open her suitcase, it feels less like a reveal and more like a sigh of relief.
Critics have praised how Davidson’s piece balances craft with vulnerability. It’s not just a film about mental health — it’s about the everyday, ordinary ways we lug our emotional baggage through life. We pretend it’s not there, we drag it behind us, we hold it tighter than we should. And yet, as Baggage reminds us, sometimes unpacking it is the bravest (and quietest) thing we can do.
For indie animators, Baggage is also a sweet lesson in trusting small gestures. No big set pieces. No elaborate visual effects. Just felt, wire, and a handful of frames that add up to something deeply personal. Davidson has shared that working with limited space and time actually shaped the film’s intimacy — a reminder that constraints can be creative fuel, not a cage.
I love that this short is finding an audience far beyond its tiny sets — from Melbourne to international festivals and award shortlists. It proves that when we tell personal stories with care and craft, they resonate far beyond our own little studios.
So, if you’re feeling a bit weighed down lately (and honestly, who isn’t?), carve out a few minutes for Baggage. Let it remind you that your own little suitcase deserves a peek inside now and then. Maybe it’s not about shedding every burden at once — maybe it’s enough to sit with it, gently, and see what you find.
