The Singers

It’s dark outside, and lonely. Every now and again, a train rattles past, but nobody stops here. It’s dark inside. There’s light at the bar, but many of the men prefer to sit in the corners, nursing their drinks, keeping themselves to themselves. To sit at the bar is to risk being approached with a meandering joke about snails, or a request: “Spare $100 to help fight cocaine withdrawal today?”

Sam A Davis’ Oscar-nominated short is based on the 1850 short story by Ivan Turgenev, but the singing fish on the wall as we go in situates it firmly in the 1990s; probably not much later, as many of the men are smoking indoors. The blue curls of smoke rising from their cigarettes add an almost mystical element to the atmosphere, and their relationship with illness, like the breathing tube that one of the men is wearing, speaks to the sense of surrender in this place. It’s not quite a lack of hope. Something about the men suggests that they stopped looking for that long ago. It’s their quiet resignation, the sense that another drink is the best it’s going to get – until something unexpected happens.

All out of other options as he attempts to acquire more drink, the man we have already seen begging tells the barman that he will trade him a song for a beer. The barman dismisses this – it hardly seems likely to be worth it – but it gives him an idea. He’s sure that Gavin, the man with the breathing tube, can out-sing anyone in the bar. He announces that there will be a contest, with the prize of a free beer and $100 to the best singer in the bar that night.

When Davis first conceived of the film, he went hunting around YouTube and TikTok for unsung talents, so it will come as no surprise to informed viewers that the first song we hear sets a high bar – nor that the second gives it a run for its money. This is not, however, really about winning or losing. It’s about the change that takes place in the bar when the songs give permission for the men to express emotion. It’s about beauty hidden where no-one would have thought to look, and the way that, once these things are acknowledged, a room full of strangers can become a community.

The songs themselves are a pleasure to listen to. More important that quality – though that is consistently high – is the weight of expression that each singer gives. Illuminating their faces, Davis intentionally brings out wrinkles and rough skin – the features that speak to who they are, to their unique life experiences. This acts as a counterpart to the singing, suddenly revealing character, history, soul.

With a cute little twist at the end that will leave viewers laughing, this is an adeptly realised piece of work which also serves to remind us of the power of film and the importance of innovating with it. As its director has noted, it wasn’t a pitch that looked good on paper; but we need to get beyond the commercial, and take risks, to make art.

Reviewed on: 14 Mar 2026