DIABOLO TAMER

If you’ve ever looked at a spinning diabolo and thought, “You know what, that might actually be sentient,” then congratulations—you may be either dangerously sleep-deprived or the star of Keenan Gray’s "Diabolo Tamer," an 8-minute mockumentary so joyously absurd, it makes Spinal Tap look emotionally repressed.

The film introduces us to an unnamed circus performer, played with unwavering sincerity and faintly unhinged glee by Liam Gundlach—who also helped pen this carnival of chaos. He’s not just passionate about the diabolo; he tames them. He trains with them. He communicates with them. And by the end of this short, you might find yourself nodding along thinking, “Maybe those little plastic cones do have souls…”

Told through the lens of a documentary crew who—by the looks of it—entered the shoot expecting whimsy and left questioning the boundaries between sanity and circus arts, the film begins innocently enough. Our hero recounts how he first fell in love with the diabolo, which already sounds like a euphemism. He performs tricks, offers deep insights, and describes his first big show, which, of course, ended in an inferno.

But does he give up? No. Because this is a man who believes. A man who fixed his mangled diabolo and treats it like a war veteran. Watching him gently cradle it like it's the Ark of the Covenant is both hilarious and surprisingly touching.

And then the magic happens.

The film subtly shifts from mockumentary into something bordering on surreal. After a few gentle pokes from the documentary crew about the diabolo possibly being “alive,” the damn thing rolls away. Unprompted. With purpose. Down the street. The performer bolts after it like a man chasing his soulmate at an airport. The crew follows. Chaos ensues. It’s low-budget poetry in motion.

Director/editor Keenan Gray has a deft sense of timing and tone. The absurdist humour is pitch-perfect, and crucially, it never feels like it’s laughing at the subject. Instead, it lovingly celebrates delusion as a form of devotion. And by the time the diabolo is rolling out of shot like it’s trying to catch a train, you’re not questioning the logic—you’re emotionally invested in its journey.

The whole thing plays like a fever dream from the mind of someone who once did a clown course and never quite recovered. It’s part documentary spoof, part surreal fable, part therapy session for lonely circus props.

In a world overwhelmed by noise, doom, and endless discourse about AI replacing us all, "Diabolo Tamer" is a playful reminder that imagination still matters. That play is profound. And that sometimes, when your diabolo rolls away down the high street, you chase it. Because love is love—even if it’s shaped like a neon hourglass.