There is a particular ache that comes with outgrowing a life you once thought would last forever. It can live in a familiar road, a song you have not heard in years, a friendship that slowly changed, or the sudden realisation that you are no longer the person who first inhabited those memories. Goodbye Stuart understands that feeling intimately.
Written, produced, co-directed by and starring Amelie Anstett, the short film unfolds across a single summer day as Elle prepares to leave for college in New York. Before she goes, she returns to the people and places that shaped her childhood, confronting the quiet emotional weight of a chapter closing before she feels entirely ready to let it go. Alongside Ashton Arbab as Ethan and Isha Punja as Sophie, Anstett builds a coming-of-age story grounded not in spectacle, but in glances, pauses, unfinished conversations and the bittersweet knowledge that some goodbyes happen long before we find the words for them.
For Anstett, the idea was personal from the beginning. “We all have a ‘Stuart’,” she says, describing it as a place, a person or a season of life we are leaving behind before we fully understand its significance. That universal idea became the emotional foundation of the film, allowing Goodbye Stuart to move beyond one character’s experience and into something more recognisable: the grief of becoming someone new.
That same sense of transition runs through the performances. Arbab’s Ethan carries much of his emotion beneath the surface, reflecting on the relationships that drift rather than break, while Punja’s Sophie sits at the intersection of youth and adulthood, holding onto a summer she already seems to understand will become a memory. Across all three performances, restraint becomes its own language.
The project also marks an important creative evolution for Anstett. Having begun as a dancer before moving into acting, she now steps fully into authorship, bringing together performance, writing, directing and production. Just as significantly, she has chosen to build an immersive digital world around the film rather than simply release it in a traditional way, turning Goodbye Stuart into an exploration not only of nostalgia, but of how independent stories can reach audiences in a changing media landscape.
In conversation with House of Solo, Anstett, Arbab and Punja reflect on growing up, the power of silence, friendships that change shape, the emotional complexity of nostalgia and why some of life’s most important moments are the ones we only understand after they are gone.
Amelie Anstett
Goodbye Stuart feels deeply personal. At what point did you realise this wasn’t just a story you wanted to tell, but one you needed to make?
I realised it very early in the writing process. I kept returning to the idea that we all have a “Stuart”, a place, a person, or a season of our lives we were saying goodbye to before we fully understood that it was ending. Sometimes we don’t recognise the significance of a moment until we’re already looking back at it. I knew I needed to create something that could hold that feeling. Although the details of our stories may be different, we all know what it is like to outgrow a version of our lives that once felt permanent. I wanted Goodbye Stuart to feel personal to everyone who watches it, regardless of their age or where they are in their own story.
You wear almost every creative hat on this project, from writer and producer to co-director and lead actor. Which role challenged you the most emotionally, and which surprised you the most?
Every role asked something different of me, and I’m incredibly grateful for how much I learned through each one. I also had the most wonderful team around me, including my co-director Nic, our cinematographer Nikoli, our cast, and every person who helped make the process feel possible.
One of the most unexpected challenges was securing the music. I don’t think people always realise how long and intricate that process can be. Music is the heartbeat of this film, so finding songs that carried the same emotional language as the story was incredibly important to me. I’m so proud of where we landed and excited for people to hear the final soundtrack.
Directing surprised me the most. I knew I would love it, but I didn’t anticipate just how at home I would feel. There is something almost indescribable about carrying a story in your imagination and then watching other artists breathe life into it. It felt a little like seeing something I had once dreamed become real in front of me.
The film explores that bittersweet moment between adolescence and adulthood. Why do you think those final days before life changes forever stay with us so vividly?
They are the final few pages before a new chapter begins. Even if we don’t recognise their importance while we’re living them, some part of us understands that we are standing at a threshold. Memory is also so deeply connected to our senses. A familiar road, a certain song, or the smell of summer air can return us to a former life in an instant.
I think those transitional periods remain vivid because we are changing so quickly within them. We’re grieving who we were while simultaneously becoming who we’re meant to be. There is something both painful and beautiful about that.
Elle spends much of the film confronting memories rather than dramatic events. As an actor, how do you make silence and nostalgia feel just as powerful as dialogue?
I’ve always believed silence can say everything. So much of life happens internally, in the things we feel but cannot articulate, the words we almost say, and the moments when we are trying to understand our own hearts.
With Elle, I carried the tension of someone preparing to say goodbye while not being entirely certain that she wants to leave. I wanted that conflict to live in her eyes, her energy, and the way she moved through familiar spaces. Her silence holds the weight of the last seventeen or eighteen years of her life.
Those quieter moments also give the audience room to enter the story. Rather than telling them exactly what to feel, silence allows their own memories and experiences to meet Elle’s. That breathing room was essential because nostalgia is deeply personal. Sometimes what remains unspoken is what stays with us the longest.
Rather than simply releasing a short film, you’ve built an entire immersive world around it through digital storytelling. What inspired you to rethink how audiences experience independent cinema?
“Be original” has always been a guiding phrase in my life, alongside the reminder not to be afraid of taking a risk. It is easy to believe there is one correct path, that we must follow certain steps or remain inside a particular box before we’ve earned the right to do something differently. But no two artists have the same journey, and I don’t believe our paths are meant to look identical.
I have so much admiration for film festivals and what they offer independent filmmakers, but I also recognise the extraordinary power of digital storytelling. I’ve been fortunate to build a beautiful community online, and I wanted to invite that community into the world of Goodbye Stuart rather than simply asking them to watch it from a distance.
Releasing the film digitally allowed us to create an entire nostalgic universe around it, one people can explore, participate in, and hopefully see pieces of themselves within. It was a risk, but it felt honest to the way this particular story wanted to be shared.
Having grown up in front of audiences, first as a dancer and then as an actor, how has your relationship with storytelling evolved now that you’re creating your own work?
Dance was my first language as a storyteller. Before I ever spoke a line as an actor, I learned how to communicate emotion through movement, energy, and stillness. It taught me that a story doesn’t always need words to be understood.
That foundation has followed me into acting, writing, and directing. There are many quiet moments in Goodbye Stuart, and I think my trust in those moments comes from dance. I never want to over-explain an emotion that an audience can feel for themselves.
Now that I’m creating my own work, I’m able to bring all of those languages together. I can think about how a character moves through a space, what remains unsaid, and how an image or a pause can carry an entire history. Creating my own stories feels less like stepping away from dance and more like expanding upon everything it first taught me.
There’s an intimacy to Goodbye Stuart that almost feels like reading someone’s diary. Was it ever intimidating to make something this emotionally exposed?
Yes and no. When I began writing my first short, I wondered whether I should tell a story that was entirely personal or one in which many people could recognise themselves. I began speaking with friends and family about that particular period of life, and I realised that, despite all of our differences, we shared a common denominator.
Everyone had a “Stuart”. Everyone had experienced a goodbye that changed them.
The film is emotionally exposed, but it doesn’t belong only to me. It is built from a feeling many of us carry. That gave me the courage to be vulnerable because vulnerability is part of the responsibility, and the privilege, of being a filmmaker.
I try to move through life openly and honestly, so I was less afraid of being seen than I was hopeful that someone else might feel seen through the film. If people recognise even a small piece of their own diary within ours, then sharing it was worth the risk.
What did directing yourself teach you about vulnerability, both as a filmmaker and as a performer?
Directing myself taught me how to surrender. When you are both behind and in front of the camera, there comes a point when you have to release the illusion that you can control every detail.
I needed to know the vision clearly enough to guide it, but trust the moment enough to let it become something alive. That required me to build a team whose instincts I believed in and then allow myself to be fully present as an actor.
Vulnerability isn’t only about revealing emotion. Sometimes it is about admitting that you cannot do everything alone. The process taught me that surrender is not the absence of intention. It is trusting that when the right people come together around a shared vision, the story can become even more beautiful than the version you first imagined.
Independent filmmaking often demands creativity beyond the screen. How much of this project became an entrepreneurial journey as much as an artistic one?
Almost all of it. Independent filmmaking asks you to be an artist and an entrepreneur at the same time. You aren’t only protecting the emotional heart of the story. You are also solving problems, building a team, making decisions, managing resources, securing music, creating a release strategy, and finding imaginative ways to bring an audience into the world you’ve made.
There were days when the finish line felt incredibly far away. A film doesn’t simply appear once the cameras stop rolling. The process continues through editing, colour, sound, music, marketing, and countless decisions people may never see.
But that is also what made completing it so rewarding. Every obstacle asked us to become more resourceful. I learned that creativity is not limited to what appears onscreen. Sometimes it is the very thing that carries a film all the way to completion.
Throughout the film, there’s an underlying question of whether we can ever truly return to who we once were. Where do you personally stand on that idea?
I don’t think we can ever fully return to who we once were, and perhaps we aren’t supposed to. With every day and every experience, we are changed, even if only slightly. We can return to a place, a person, or a memory, but we arrive as someone new.
I think there is something beautiful about revisiting an old chapter with the perspective we didn’t have while we were living it. We may finally understand what it gave us, what it took from us, and why we had to leave it behind.
That is also a reminder to be present. No two experiences will ever be exactly the same because we will never again be precisely who we are in this moment. Growth can be bittersweet, but it is beautiful. We may not be able to go back, but we can carry the best parts of who we were forward with us.
Your guiding ethos is “Be Original”. In an industry often driven by trends and algorithms, how do you protect your own creative voice?
“Be original” has been part of my life since I began dancing at seven years old. Over time, it became less of a phrase and more of a compass for how I wanted to live and create.
I protect that voice by remembering that the internet is a tool, not reality. I’m incredibly grateful for my online community, but I also make sure I have a life that exists beyond what can be posted or measured. I value privacy, time in nature, being with the people I love, and remaining connected to the person I am when no one is watching.
It is easy to let likes, views, trends, and other people’s opinions become louder than your own instincts. I try to return to what genuinely moves me rather than what I think will perform well. Life is far too short to experience it through an algorithm. The more present I am in my real life, the more honest my creative voice becomes.
Looking back now that the film is complete, is there a moment in Goodbye Stuart that feels almost too personal for you to watch?
There isn’t one moment that feels too personal in a literal sense because, while the emotional foundation of Goodbye Stuart is close to me, the story isn’t an exact retelling of my own life. It was created to hold a shared experience rather than only my individual one.
But the final stretch of the film still affects me. There is a point when Elle begins to understand that she isn’t only saying goodbye to a place. She is saying goodbye to the version of herself who existed there. That feeling is deeply personal because I think we all know it.
After seeing the film so many times throughout post-production, watching it becomes a funny mixture of intimacy and distance. I know every frame, yet certain moments still return me to the emotion that made me want to create it in the first place. Those are the moments that remind me the film has a life beyond all the technical work it took to finish it.
This marks the beginning of a new chapter in your career as a filmmaker. What kinds of stories do you hope define your voice over the next decade?
I hope to tell deeply human stories that make people feel seen, heard, and understood. Whether I’m acting, writing, or directing, I want to create work that reaches beyond the moment in which it is watched. I want to tell stories people continue thinking about years later because something within them felt true.
I’m drawn to the quiet, complicated parts of being human, the relationships that change us, the moments that divide one chapter from the next, and the emotions we struggle to put into words. I want to make work that reminds people they are not alone in those experiences.
Over the next decade, I hope my voice is defined by honesty, intention, and a willingness to remain original. I want to be thoughtful about what I create and what I choose to be part of. More than anything, I hope to build a body of work that makes people feel something real. I’m excited for everything still unwritten.
If audiences leave the film carrying just one feeling with them, what do you hope it is?
I hope they leave with a sense of gratitude for how far they have come. I want them to think about their own “Stuart”, the place, person, or chapter they once had to leave, and recognise the growth that happened because they kept moving forward.
We are often so focused on where we are going that we forget to honour everything it took to arrive where we are. Life is not easy, and becoming who we are requires us to survive endings we once thought might break us.
I hope the film invites people to pause and look at the story they are writing for themselves, all the chapters they have already lived, all the versions of themselves they have loved and outgrown, and all the pages still waiting for them. I hope they feel nostalgic, but also proud and excited for what comes next.
How has creating Goodbye Stuart changed the way you see yourself as both an artist and a storyteller?
Goodbye Stuart taught me how important it is to stand firmly in my own voice. There were moments during the process when I allowed other people to carry decisions because I worried that being young meant I might not know the right answer.
This film taught me that experience is valuable, but instinct is valuable too. Being a leader doesn’t mean believing you know everything. It means remaining open to collaboration while still protecting the truth of the story you set out to tell.
I learned to listen, consider, and then trust myself enough to make the final decision. Age does not determine whether a voice matters. Our ideas, perspectives, and convictions matter because they are ours.
Creating this film showed me that I am capable of carrying a vision from its earliest, most fragile beginning all the way into something real. As both an artist and a storyteller, I now feel more willing to take up space, trust my intuition, and stand behind the choices I make.
Ashton Arbab (Ethan)
Ethan seems to represent the relationships we leave behind when life moves forward. What drew you to him?
What drew me to Ethan was how relatable he felt. He’s not someone who wears everything on his sleeve, but you can tell he’s carrying a lot beneath the surface. We’ve all had people who were a huge part of our lives at one point, and then life slowly pulls everyone in different directions.
I was interested in exploring that quiet feeling of holding onto something that’s already changing. There was something really honest about him that I connected with immediately.
One of the film’s strongest themes is unspoken emotion. How did you approach portraying feelings that aren’t always expressed through words?
I think silence can sometimes say more than dialogue ever could. Instead of focusing on what Ethan was saying, I spent a lot of time thinking about what he was choosing not to say.
It’s often in someone’s eyes, their body language, or even a pause before they respond that you really understand what they’re feeling. Those quiet moments became some of my favourite parts of the performance.
The chemistry between the three central characters feels incredibly lived in. How did you build that sense of shared history before filming?
Fortunately, that chemistry came naturally. We spent time getting to know each other before filming, and by the time we were on set, there was already a level of comfort and trust between us.
That allowed us to listen to each other instead of thinking about the next line. I think that’s what creates relationships onscreen that feel genuine.
Did playing Ethan bring back memories of your own transition into adulthood or leaving home?
Definitely. Growing up means realising that not every chapter lasts forever, even the ones you wish would. There were moments while playing Ethan that reminded me of friendships, places, and periods of my own life that slowly became memories.
I think everyone reaches a point where they realise life doesn’t always change overnight. It changes little by little until, one day, you look back and everything is different.
The film embraces stillness rather than spectacle. Was that a refreshing change from projects that rely on bigger dramatic moments?
Absolutely. Sometimes the smallest moments are the hardest to play because you can’t rely on big emotional speeches or dramatic scenes. Everything has to feel truthful.
I really enjoyed that challenge because it forces you to trust the audience. You don’t have to explain every emotion. They’re invited to discover them alongside the character.
Ethan carries a quiet emotional weight. Were there any scenes that stayed with you long after filming wrapped?
Definitely. The scene in the barn stayed with me after we wrapped. The push and pull between Ethan and Elle really displayed the wants and needs people experience in life, and how sometimes what you want is not always what you need, and that’s okay.
Many people have experienced friendships that slowly drift apart rather than ending dramatically. Why do you think those endings can hurt the most?
Because there’s rarely closure. Nobody did anything wrong. Life just moves forward.
I think that’s harder to process than a dramatic ending because you’re left wondering what changed. Those relationships still matter; they’re just different now. That’s something almost everyone can relate to, which is why I think the story resonates.
What did Amelie bring as both your co-star and co-director that helped shape your performance?
Amelie created an environment where everyone felt comfortable exploring the characters without fear of getting something wrong. She had a very clear vision for the story, but she also trusted us as actors.
That balance made collaboration really easy. As a filmmaker myself, I appreciated how much she valued honesty over perfection.
The story is rooted in nostalgia without romanticising the past. How do you personally balance remembering with moving forward?
I think it’s important to appreciate where you’ve been without trying to live there. Every experience, relationship, and chapter teaches you something, but eventually you have to let those moments become part of who you are instead of wishing you could go back.
That’s something I try to carry with me in both life and my career.
What conversations do you hope audiences are having after watching Goodbye Stuart?
I hope it encourages people to reach out to someone they haven’t spoken to in a while, or simply appreciate the people around them a little more.
I also hope it reminds audiences that not every meaningful story needs a huge twist or dramatic ending. Sometimes the quiet moments are the ones we remember the longest.
Independent films often rely on trust between collaborators. What made this set feel different?
There was a genuine passion shared by everyone involved. Nobody was there for the spectacle. We were there because we believed in the story.
That creates an atmosphere where people are willing to support each other creatively, take risks, and focus on making the best film possible. Those are some of my favourite sets to work on.
Looking back at your own career so far, does this project represent a different kind of creative milestone for you?
I think it does. Every project teaches you something different, but Goodbye Stuart reminded me how powerful simplicity can be.
As both an actor and a filmmaker, it reinforced the idea that authentic performances and honest storytelling will always resonate more than anything flashy. It’s a project I’ll always be proud to have been part of, and I’m excited for audiences to experience it.
Isha Punja (Sophie)
Sophie feels like someone trying to hold onto a moment she knows is slipping away. What first connected you to her? Friendship sits at the emotional centre of Goodbye Stuart. What do you think the film says about growing apart from people you still love?
I think the part of myself that connected me most to her is the inner child in me who is witnessing herself grow into a woman and relishing the intersection of independence, innocence, discernment, and responsibility.
In a lot of ways, I feel like I am between two chapters, my youth and my adulthood, and I live a lot of my life from the future point of view of someone who will someday feel nostalgic for these moments.
As far as growing apart from people you still love, I’ve experienced that specifically with some of my college friends. Going from living with a group of girls, studying together, partying together, and sharing love, heartbreak, and so many big life moments, to graduating and moving to different cities for different jobs and destinies is bittersweet.
I realised something important about relationships through this: even if a connection changes or becomes different from what it once was, it doesn’t take away from the depth and value of the bond, which is priceless and always life-changing, even if transient.
The performances feel incredibly natural. How did the cast create such believable friendships onscreen?
I really loved how Amelie gave us so much freedom to reinterpret the script and make it feel natural to our own cadence. Sometimes we spoke lines a little differently from how they were written and went with the takes that felt the most natural. I really loved how open-minded she was about this.
Also, as a cast and crew, we bonded so much in Florida. We talked about our personal lives, joked, and pulled each other’s legs, so we were really friends by the end of filming!
The film captures the beauty and sadness of change without offering easy answers. Why do you think audiences respond so strongly to stories like this?
I think it’s because that precisely defines life itself. Life is never black and white. There is a famous quote that goes something like, “There is a seed of joy in every moment of grief and a seed of grief in every moment of joy.”
I think this is the precise predicament and tragic beauty of being alive. To live is to acknowledge that you will die, and to love is to prepare for loss. Human beings understand this nuance, even if not always consciously.
I think that’s why people really resonate with films that show this nuance without instructing an audience on how to feel.
Was there a particular scene that challenged you emotionally more than you expected?
I think the final barn scene. I really feel that, as both an actress and a model, there is so much storytelling that happens in the eyes, even when nothing is said.
I had to channel this as Sophie with just a look to Elle, and even in modelling, this is something I have to do often. While I love doing it, and I feel like it is so healing for me as a person, so much of my ability to pull raw emotion and capture that in my eyes depends on where I am in life at that moment, and how honest I can be with my past and my emotions, essentially my triggers.
Sophie often communicates through subtle reactions rather than big speeches. How do you prepare for performances where restraint is everything?
I think restraint is my favourite part about acting. Even when I observe my favourite actors at work, Grace Van Patten in Tell Me Lies is a great inspiration for this, the ones who say so much through so little are the most moving to me.
The ability to reach a trigger, let it affect you, and make yourself swallow that lump in your throat is so realistic. It reflects so much of how we have to navigate life during emotional times. It feels more raw.
I prepare by channelling my triggers and then envisioning myself getting through life with these feelings, as I normally do. I think dealing with feelings while also being a productive member of society has honestly helped me prepare greatly.
Did making this film make you reflect differently on your own memories of growing up?
Yeah, I think it made me realise that these years since my high school graduation, which seemed so far away, really weren’t.
It brought up a lot of nostalgia and made me fondly reminisce about my own secret high school friendships turned crushes, my high school best friend, who I still keep in touch with, and my hometown, which still fills me with an immeasurable ache and homesickness when I’m away for too long.
Amelie approached this project as both filmmaker and actor. How did her creative vision influence your work?
I’ve seen Amelie put up some phenomenal and brave work as an actor while being in the same studio, and I think what I admire most about her is her fearlessness and tenacity when tackling big emotions and expressing them.
As a filmmaker, I think she is so gifted at capturing a feeling through words, art-directing cinematic, visually stunning and symbolic scenes, such as the car scenes, and through language. The immersion of all of this is what I think created such a beautiful film!
What does Goodbye Stuart say about the idea that sometimes the hardest goodbyes are the ones we never actually say?
I think it speaks to the trepidation we sometimes feel about expressing our honest feelings because of the fear of what could go wrong and what could be destroyed by that honest revelation.
But at the precipice of a big change or goodbye, none of that really matters. Goodbyes humble us by stripping us of ego and pretence and forcing us to be real.
Sometimes, when we don’t say goodbye, we wonder what could have been or what could have changed. Other times, we reflect much later and realise it was always meant to be that way.
I think there is no “perfect” goodbye, just whatever makes sense in that very moment of change, and I think this is what Goodbye Stuart captured so well.
Social media often encourages us to preserve memories constantly. Do you think that changes the way we experience nostalgia today?
Yes. I think, in some ways, it makes nostalgia easier to express, show, or reveal through art, communication, and discourse.
In other ways, I think it makes it harder to even feel nostalgia because we don’t enjoy the present as much when we are constantly worrying about how to capture it and turn it into a memory before it has even had the chance to become one.
Independent cinema allows stories like this to exist outside traditional expectations. Why do you think audiences are increasingly drawn to these more intimate films?
I think people are becoming jaded by the sheer amount of content and work being put out nowadays and are yearning for authentic, raw stories that more closely resemble their actual lived experiences.
Independent, intimate films really have the ability to do this. Blue Is the Warmest Colour garnered such a big niche, cult audience, and I think it was precisely because of this. To many people, the film felt much more similar to their own lives than a lot of bigger films.
If Sophie could speak to her future self ten years later, what do you think she’d want to remember most about this final summer?
I think she would want to remember the unique bonds she shared with both Elle and Ethan and how she brought them together in a way that was so innocent and playful.
I think she’d relish the bucket list and be really proud that they did that to honour their town and their memories together, rather than pretending it wasn’t a pivotal, life-changing summer.
I think she would feel proud and nostalgic about the fact that they were living the memory and cherishing it as a memory at the same time.
