Self-care carries with it a particular tension: the quiet promise of repair and the creeping sense of ritual. The Cult, the new short film from Montreal-based directing duo LM Chabot, sits entirely inside that space. It doesn’t point to critique or satire. It moves through repetition until the surface of beauty maintenance starts to collapse under its own weight.
The film began without a subject. “This project started with a simple desire to play around,” they explain. “We wanted to try out new camera moves and get some hands-on time with a high-speed robotic arm. At first, it was purely about testing and learning.” The experiment soon shifted. “We were drawn to the idea of making something that felt like a fashion film. Coming from the ad world, we’ve always been a little envious of how much creative freedom fashion photographers and directors seem to have. At the same time, we were inspired by the mood and narrative often found in art films, the way they can transport you into an alternate space-time with sound design and impactful and meaningful shots.”
The subject revealed itself through proximity to their own lives. “As parents of three small humans, our time and mental bandwidth are constantly maxed out. Self-care is often the first thing to go, a reality many parents can relate to. That said, we’re still very curious—and maybe a bit jealous—of the non-parents who seem to have all the time in the world to take care of themselves and how intense some people get about it. That contrast between our world and their world felt like the start of a story. So we leaned into it and let that tension shape the film.”
The Cult builds its tone in small, charged gestures. A gua sha pulled across damp skin feels like scraping tears. A burst of cream lands with the weight of something bodily, edging into the erotic before sliding back into absurdity. “The idea is always to provoke,” they explain. “The cult of beauty can definitely carry something emotional, even sexual at times. At its core, it’s about wanting to feel good, feel beautiful, and ultimately, to be desired.” The film lets those gestures spiral, beginning with quiet maintenance before slipping into a cycle of insatiability, a need for more, for better, for perfection.
Costume plays a central role in the film’s tone. The characters, encased in Jay Forrest’s mascot-like designs, sit in a space between human and hyperreal. “The costume design process wasn’t clearly defined from the start. It evolved alongside our growing clarity about the narrative, which gradually took on an almost sci-fi dimension. Initially, we imagined outfits rooted in reality, but to stay true to the slightly off-kilter world we were building and to shape truly singular characters, we ultimately embraced more surreal costumes that added a layer of intrigue.” The garments, threaded with hair, move the bodies back toward something instinctive. “The urge to attract, to seduce, and the self-consciousness that comes with it are deeply embedded in our DNA, woven into our very survival as mammals.”
The visual language reflects their long collaboration and their impulse to pull from different codes. “When we were writing the script, our inspirations were a mix of art film, fashion film, and TV commercials. We like borrowing from different visual codes and blending them to create something that feels unique. Our visual references often go way beyond cinema. We’ll throw in memes, amateur videos, anything that sparks something. We’re not precious about where inspiration comes from.” The resulting aesthetic holds traces of Darren Aronofsky’s tight, fevered close-ups and Petra Collins’ soft surrealism, its rhythm occasionally tilting toward the disorientation of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.
The film moves between humour and unease without ever arriving at parody. “We always flirt with absurdity in our personal work,” they say. “We love playing with horror movie tropes and twisting them with humour. The actor’s delivery and the sharp sound design probably did a lot of the heavy lifting to keep the tone balanced. And because we never take ourselves too seriously, we’re able to dive into sensitive topics, push them to the edge, and still keep the audience on board.”
There is also a quieter reflection on the secrecy of beauty. “We like the word cult,” they note. “While many influencers openly promote and normalize these routines, in everyday life people still tend to hide them, as if admitting to the effort behind your appearance somehow discredits it. There’s this pressure to appear effortlessly beautiful, as if revealing the tricks would make you look like a cheat.”
The visual language reflects their long collaboration. “Even though Alex is more drawn to the technical side and Jolianne more to the visual and aesthetic, we built this project side by side, one step at a time. From the start, we each had scenes in mind, specific techniques or camera movements we were curious to explore, and what came out is really a blend of both our impulses. After 19 years of living and creating together, our minds have almost merged. That said, we still manage to challenge one another, to push beyond what’s comfortable. Our unspoken rule: when in doubt, go all in.”
If the film resists resolution, it is intentional. “Our film isn’t trying to make a bold statement or expose a problem. It’s more of a personal take on something we’ve been observing, a new reality we’re all navigating. It ends with an open question, and everyone’s invited to come to their own conclusion. There’s definitely a bit of ambiguity there, but we like that. It leaves space for reflection, and that’s exactly what we were aiming for.”
That ambiguity is shaped in part by where the work was made. “It’s hard to say from our perspective, since we’ve always lived in Montreal. From the outside, the city is often seen as incredibly artistic, but being born and raised here, maybe we take that for granted. And yet, having this kind of creative and expressive freedom is a real privilege. Our culture here in Québec is truly unique. Being so different from the rest of North America gives us a particular flavour. Culture is deeply valued here. It’s the driving force behind our survival and what makes us who we are.”
The film does not deliver clarity or critique. It holds its own tension, letting the gestures of self-care play until they become something entirely other than care. What remains is the residue of ritualistic self-preservation: beauty as instinct, ritual as obsessive, a slow slide into the space where maintenance becomes worship. The lingering question remains, what exactly are we worshipping? Ourselves, or an idea of who we should be?
Cody Rooney is the Editor in Chief and senior contributor at liminul.
He is a PhD candidate, digital content specialist, writer, editor, multi-media artist, and photographer.