A government program sends female agents to comfort isolated men in hopes of preventing mass violence.

All We Can Do is an audacious blend of drama and dark comedy that imagines a near-future America where loneliness becomes a public-health emergency — and the government’s solution is as unsettling as it is oddly tender. In this sharp, socially conscious short, female agents are dispatched into the homes of critically isolated men for a sanctioned night of intimacy, an initiative designed to curb the country’s epidemic of mass violence. Through this provocative setup, the film explores the emotional voids, systemic failures, and human contradictions that simmer just beneath the nation’s political anxieties.

What begins as a bold sci-fi premise quickly reveals a deeply human story, one that looks squarely at connection, desperation, and the uncomfortable spaces where policy and personal longing overlap. With its tonal balance of humor and heartbreak, All We Can Do challenges viewers to confront the roots of American loneliness — and the absurd lengths a society might go to fill them. It’s an inventive take on a difficult subject, handled with sharp writing, grounded performances, and a satirical edge that lingers long after the credits roll.
Below, we speak with the filmmaker about the world behind All We Can Do, its themes, and the ideas that shaped this provocative vision.

The film powerfully contrasts compassion and control — human connection turned into state policy. How did you approach balancing that emotional tension within the narrative?

It was key to me that Maya, our protagonist, was a character who couldn’t hide her emotions well. Bureaucracy in America does its best to feel so lifeless. Just go to the DMV or try and do anything with your low-rung health insurance provider – it sucks. Systems work more seamlessly when you give orders to ignore the variance of human emotion. And so I wanted this character to be told to go on a “mission” and to do it with the steely intensity of a militant, but she just can’t hide who she is: a broken human looking for connection. And ain’t that just all of us?

Did you want the audience to empathize with the agents, the men, or the system itself — or to feel conflicted about all three?

Empathy was on my mind a lot during this. The first draft of the script, Nick (the incel) was completely deplorable with no redeeming qualities. But then I posted an ad on craigslist saying I wanted to interview anyone who viewed themselves apart of “incel” culture (for those who don’t know, “incel” stands for involuntary celibate men – a.k.a., sad dudes who can’t get laid for a myriad of reasons). I actually got some responses and talked to real humans with real trauma. It made me re-write the script and make Nick a character with more dimension. Would I hate him if I met him in real life? Probably. But I also do feel bad for him and recognize he’s been traumatized, and I want to do my best to not let my empathy muscles atrophy. So do I have empathy for the system? No. The people within it… well, I’m trying.

“All We Can Do” echoes the rhetoric often used by politicians after tragedy. How did you decide on that phrase as the title, and what layers of irony or truth do you hope viewers take from it?

Being insulted by phony, garbage rhetoric is what this whole film came from. Born out of a Groundhog Day effect of waking up, and almost every other day, there it is – another mass shooting headline. And what do we get from lawmakers and legislators? Empty promises and hollow words. Thoughts and prayers. And it’s not like there aren’t such obvious things we could do as a country. Look into what Australia did after the Port Arthur massacre in 1996. Look at how effective UK legislation has been in tackling the issue. So I wanted the title “All We Can Do” to sort of remind the audience that we should continue to be insulted by regurgitated phrases fed to us by political figure-heads. There are things we could be doing as a country to save lives – and we just aren’t.

Maya’s journey captures both idealism and exhaustion — the will to make change inside a system that resists it. How did you build her emotional arc to reflect that conflict?

Exhaustion is exactly the right word. At the start, you can tell this is sort of her last attempt at trying to find hope in the face of her trauma. She should just feel so utterly tired and pissed. And by the end of the film, well… I think everyone inherently always has a pilot light of idealism flickering on. Like it’s really, really hard to completely extinguish hope in a human. But as the credits roll, as bleak as it sounds, I wanted to sort of capture someone who genuinely might have lost all hope. I’m very interested in whether or not people choose to continue on. How trauma changes you. I hope Maya finds a better path, but y’know what… sometimes people don’t. And it’s heartbreaking to me.

The story sits between realism and speculative fiction. How did you balance that — keeping it grounded enough to feel real, but exaggerated enough to expose absurdity?

I definitely wanted to sort of trick the audience. I wanted the idea of sanctioned handjobs to feel so absurd to try and get everyone laughing, but then as the film goes on, it should feel so increasingly bleak in a sort of “got you” kind of way. I wanted the audience to think, “wait, I thought this was supposed to be funny?” My intent was for the comedy and premise to lure you in, but then, the reality of the traumas that people face to mass shootings, that should bleed throughout the remainder of the film. It informs everything and sort of punishes you for thinking this would be a fun, whacky journey.

While the premise is political, the heart of the story feels personal — one woman’s emotional breaking point inside a broken system. Was it important to you that the film remain human-scale rather than overtly polemic?

100%. The film was originally supposed to end abruptly, Sopranos-style, in the office after the general says the line, “That’s all we can do.” But I realized, just before shooting, that I didn’t want it to end on the general’s terms. The system may have broken our protagonist, but at the very least, I wanted to finish with a quiet human moment on the floor of someone’s garage. There’s at least real hope that can be born from that pain.

You’ve said the film is meant to provoke and frustrate. What kinds of reactions have stood out to you so far — any interpretations that surprised or even unsettled you?

So many times, people have commented on how giving handjobs to sad, violent dudes might actually reduce mass shootings. I get the impulse to say that – I wanted there to be some weird, distorted logic behind the film’s plot. It’s hard to look at the majority of mass shooting perpetrators and not realize (some of them have openly said it in manifestos) that their violence came from how they perceive women and the lack of sexual/maternal affection in their lives. But at the root of it, it’s just not a viable solution. It’s smoke and mirror absurdity. Bureaucracy loves to give you empty, false solutions. Don’t fall for it. If there is an issue with guns killing people in a country, hey, maybe let’s take away a few guns. Could we just try it? We’ll focus on fixing our fucked up little American man-children next.

You’ve previously directed shorts like The Hereafter and Medallion, each exploring social or ethical questions in different forms. How does All We Can Do build on or diverge from your earlier work?

I think it continues my trend of exploring stories that deal with great, almost insolvable traumas, through a lens of high-concept narrative. When tackling big issues I want to sort of displace/disorient the audience. The stories should feel like they are coming out of left field to maybe, just maybe, get you thinking in a different way. People are very stubborn. I don’t blame anyone for being so – I am too. The only thing that potentially has a .1% chance of changing their minds about something is if they hear it told in a surprising, galvanizing way. I guess that’s what I’ll always attempt to do with my work, and I hope All We Can Do has at least a .1% success rate in changing a mind, in even the smallest of ways.

What are the books, podcasts or even YouTube Channel that you recommend young filmmakers to get their hands on?

Kinda random but I still think about S-Town (a podcast made by the Serial people) as being one of the most cinematic things I’ve ever heard. If I can turn one person onto that, do it. I know you didn’t ask about shows, but I still am so confused how Berry Jenkins’ “The Underground Railroad” isn’t lauded as the best miniseries ever. Watch “Outdoor Boys” on YouTube to remember that there is something good and honest in this world.

Can you share with us some of your favorite short films you’ve seen lately?

All of the shorts that Conner O’Malley makes are so groundbreaking. Just look him up on YouTube (he’s a part of the Tim Robinson crew). I think he’s one of the great modern satirists. Also shout out this short “What the Heck is Going On”, I saw it at a festival recently (from filmmaker Greg Rubner) and I really dug it.