«As Long As You Want» by Matt Santos

For those dreaming of a career in acting, every day can feel eerily similar: auditions that go unanswered, small roles fought for with effort, lunch breaks squeezed between monologues. Life becomes an audition, every moment a chance to seize, and the real challenge is to be truly seen—not for the character you’re playing, but for who you are. As Long As You Want captures one of those rare moments when, within the repetition of that routine, something sincere emerges. An encounter that is unplanned, simple, and quietly full of possibility.

Liz and Brad meet in a quiet basement to run lines together. At first, it seems like a typical rehearsal: two young actors helping each other out, working through a script. But soon the lines become a pretext for something more. The boundary between fiction and reality begins to blur, and the conversation deepens. Liz opens up about her relationship, one that no longer feels like home—where she feels unseen. No tricks, no pretenses—just two people opening up recognizing something in each other.

As Long As You Want moves with a quiet sensitivity, steering clear of dramatic exaggeration. Written, directed, and performed by Matt Santos—who also stars as Brad—As Long As You Want is a film that leans into emotional truth. Opposite him, Liv Corriveau gives a beautifully restrained performance as Liz, carrying the quiet vulnerability of someone who’s tired of pretending. The chemistry between the two is palpable but never forced. What happens between them is all in the nuance, the pauses between words, the slow arrival of unspoken understanding.

Shot in Canada with minimal resources and a keen eye for realism, the short film captures what often goes unseen. As Liz’s departure from the city looms, she’s faced with a decision: return to a life that no longer fits, or stay in this fleeting but truthful moment.

As Long As You Want is not about resolutions or declarations. It’s a slice of realism that doesn’t shy away from vulnerability, and never lets go of a quiet, tender note. A small, graceful portrait of what it means to feel seen—if only for a moment.