A mother grieving over her daughter’s disappearance struggles to move on after she becomes obsessed with a mysterious door that appears in her house.

The Door is a slow-burning psychological horror from director Alexander Seltzer that burrows deep into grief, obsession, and the unknown. After the unexplained disappearance of her daughter, a mother is unable to move on—until a strange door manifests inside her home, offering what seems like a path to answers. As her fixation on the door grows, the line between reality and delusion blurs, drawing her deeper into a haunting unraveling of her own mind.

The film first caught our attention at the Chilliwack Independent Film Festival and marking another chilling entry from Seltzer—previously featured with I Do and 10:33 (Top 10 2023)—The Door is a masterclass in atmosphere and restraint. With eerie visuals, grounded performances, and a thematic focus on unresolved loss, the film leaves viewers questioning whether some mysteries are better left unopened.

The Door opens with a heavy emotional weight—how did you approach blending grief with psychological suspense?

I love it when a horror film still works as a drama if you take away the supernatural elements. That was always my goal. I wanted the horror in The Door to come directly from Kara’s grief and from exploring the idea of what loss can push someone to do. The supernatural had to feel like an extension of her emotional state. Her loss shapes everything in the film. The silences, the tension with Felix, the way she moves through the house. The door is just the spark that lets that grief take on a more dangerous shape. I wasn’t super interested in just crafting a vehicle for jump scares. I wanted the suspense to build and stay rooted in emotional truth. So the real horror and tragedy comes from watching someone give in to their pain and become the very monster that created that loss in the first place.

The appearance of the mysterious door adds a surreal, almost supernatural element. What inspired that concept?

It’s a very exciting story. The idea came to me while I was sitting at my desk, a little bored, just staring at this old door in my office. I suddenly thought, what if a door just appeared in a random spot in your house one day? That image was so strange and unsettling that it stuck with me. Of course, then I built it out further, realised it would be a great way to explore my fears around becoming a parent, and that led me to Kara and Felix, and the whole story developed from there.

Kara’s obsession with the door becomes central to the story. How did you work with the actor to portray that slow unraveling?

We only had time for one read-through on zoom as Tanaya was based in BC, and we didn’ t have time or budget for a formal rehearsal. Instead, I focused on having honest, in-depth conversations with both Tanaya and Raymond about the characters and what was driving them. I cast them because I could tell from their past work and our early talks that we were creatively aligned. They understood the emotional core of the story and their characters’ pain without needing to be over-directed. That trust made the shoot really fluid. We weren’t locked into one version of a scene, which gave us room to explore on set and allowed for flexibility in the edit. I think that openness is what helped Kara’s unraveling feel honest, raw, and so grounded.

What were some of the challenges in designing or visualizing the door? Did it go through many iterations?

I already had a very clear image of it in my head before I even started writing. I knew the style, the texture, even the hardware. So it was just a matter of communicating that vision to my production designer, Logan Greene. He came back with a few options, and we landed on the one pretty quickly.
The bigger challenge was finding the right location. We needed a kitchen layout that could work with the blocking and visual language I had in mind. In the end, we built two versions of the same wall, one with the door and one without. That kind of practical build made all the difference.

What camera did you use for this film, and how did your cinematography choices enhance the suspense and emotional intensity?

My DOP, Justin Black, shot the film on an Arri Mini LF with a full set of Cooke Velvet anamorphic lenses. We spent a day doing camera tests, trying out different combinations to find the look that felt right for the story. I knew from the beginning that I wanted to go anamorphic. My last two shorts were shot with spherical lenses and tighter aspect ratios, so this time I wanted to use a wider frame to highlight the emotional distance between the characters and make the house feel isolating.

We also used camera language to draw a clear line between the real world and the mirror world. In Kara’s reality, the camera is always locked off or on a dolly, with slow, deliberate moves. Everything feels stiff and controlled, which mirrors the emotional restraint and grief she’s living through. Once we cross into the mirror world, the camera switches to handheld. It feels looser, more chaotic, and frantic. That shift let us push the suspense to a more visceral place as Kara’s world begins to unravel completely.

The pacing is deliberately tense and patient—what guided your decisions around narrative rhythm and when to reveal certain elements?

I like dropping people right into the story, giving just enough information to keep them leaning forward, asking questions, trying to piece things together. Especially in a short, pacing is everything. You only have a few minutes, so the ending needs to land hard. It should answer something, but also leave you with a new question.

The rhythm of the film came from a mix of instinct and a lot of rewriting, getting feedback and lots more rewriting – getting the script to the leanest it could be. So I’d spent alot of time feeling out the beats before we even got to set. I come from an editing background, so I’m always thinking in cuts, the flow, the transitions, the exact moment to reveal or hold back. That mindset shapes everything, even in the writing stage.

The house becomes almost a character itself. How did you approach production design to reflect Kara’s emotional state?

I was inspired by the production design in The Night House (2020), and also by the warm tones and interiors in the HBO remake of Scenes from a Marriage (2021). I loved how that show used cozy, beautiful spaces to heighten the emotional tension underneath. I wanted to do something similar by placing Kara in a warm, mid-century modern home that contrasts with how cold and numb she feels inside. The clean lines, big windows, and minimalism reflect her emotional distance. She feels trapped, like an animal in a glass cage. The house is beautiful, but it’s also sterile and isolating, just like her grief.

Do you see The Door as a stand-alone piece, or is there potential to expand the story into a longer format?

There’s definitely a bigger story here. I’ve written a half-hour pilot as well as the feature version, and we’re in active development on that now. In a lot of ways, the short is just the opening chapter. The feature takes everything further. It’s darker, more tragic, more intense. We get to spend more time with this family and explore the emotional fallout of Ellie’s disappearance. I’m really excited as the story goes into some twisted places that I don’t think even audiences who’ve seen the short would expect.

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

David F. Sandberg’s YouTube channel, @ponysmasher, is great. His breakdowns of his early shorts make the process feel approachable.

For podcasts, I’m a fan of Scriptnotes and Script Apart. Craig Mazin’s solo episode on Scriptnotes called “How to Write a Movie” is a great one that I go back to alot.

As for books, I think the best thing you can do is just read as much fiction as you can. Any genre. Romance, horror, sci-fi, drama, it doesn’t matter. Not just for idea generation, but also to learn how different stories work, how they’re told, and how to create compelling characters.

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

Coreys by Conner O’Malley, hilarious and disturbing. Perfection. I love it when I truly can’t predict where the story will go next.
Alarms by Nicolas Panay, tense and economical. Utterly engrossing, pulled the wool over my eyes in the best way.