The opening moments of Notice Me throw you straight into an awkward, unforgettable beat: a new tenant catches sight of their alluring next-door neighbour at a moment usually reserved for private life. That stumble of recognition is the catalyst for Amy Leonard’s compact, emphatic short, which follows a young woman named Em as she relocates to East London to launch her podcasting ambitions and quickly develops a crush on the person living next door. The film wears its humour openly while also holding space for quieter, fuller conversations about identity and belonging, anchored by a cast that balances comic timing and vulnerability.
Packed into roughly twenty minutes, the film manages to touch on multiple strands of queer life without feeling rushed. Lena Dunham serves as an executive producer, lending profile to a project that foregrounds the everyday textures of sapphic attraction and community. The cast includes Francesca Amewudah-Rivers as Em, Daisy Bevan as AJ, and an acting debut from writer-creator Amy Spalding, familiar to audiences from other queer-forward work. The short also makes the most of its setting: the beloved lesbian bar La Camoniera sits beneath Em’s flat and becomes a kind of living backdrop for the film’s warmth and politics.
Performances that anchor the comedy and the ache
The emotional center of Notice Me is a performance that balances the silly with the sincere. Francesca Amewudah-Rivers brings a mix of self-consciousness and courage to Em, portraying the small, human embarrassments that come with early crushes and the larger stakes of queer visibility. Opposite her, Daisy Bevan supplies an effortless cool that contrasts with Em’s flustered energy, creating chemistry that feels lived-in rather than staged. Meanwhile, Amy Spalding‘s first on-screen turn reads like a wink to queer audiences who know her by reputation; her presence deepens the short’s ties to contemporary sapphic culture without distracting from the story at hand.
Themes: community, solidarity and dyke history
Beyond a romance-tinged laugh, the film deliberately explores the meaning of communal care in queer spaces. Characters in Notice Me talk about the power of standing with one another, and the script threads in conversations about trans solidarity, compassion, and the legacies of lesbian culture. The story spotlights a fundraiser party held to support someone’s top surgery, turning what could have been a brief plot point into a reminder that personal joy and political life are often inseparable in queer communities. The bar itself, La Camoniera, functions as more than a location: it is treated as an institution and sanctuary, one of a dwindling number of purpose-built lesbian venues in the UK.
Representation on screen
Notice Me intentionally resists the trope that sapphic narratives must be tragic to be meaningful. Where many stories dwell in secrecy or loss, this short opts for a tonal mixture of levity and tenderness that celebrates the messier, hopeful parts of falling for someone of the same gender. The film also includes small, memorable props and details—an unexpected climbing-gear cameo, for instance—that give texture to the characters’ lives. These moments help make the film feel lived-in and specific while underscoring larger themes about access, visibility, and the daily logistics of queerness.
Cultural resonance and small gestures
There is a particular warmth to the way Notice Me depicts queer nightlife and friendship. Scenes set in the bar feel like a communal hug rather than mere scenery, and the decision to center a fundraiser for top surgery reinforces the film’s commitment to mutual aid. The dialogue and pacing allow space for laughter and for reflection, and the short’s brisk runtime becomes an asset: it delivers emotional punches and cultural commentary without overstaying its welcome. In that concision, the film acts as both a love letter and a call to remember the value of queer-led spaces.
Why this short matters now
At a time when many queer narratives are framed by struggle alone, Notice Me offers a refreshing portrait of people actively seeking joy and community. Its mix of awkward humour and heartfelt solidarity makes the experience feel immediate, relatable and important. Beyond the screen, the film gestures to the broader ecosystem that supports queer storytelling: from established figures like Lena Dunham in a production role to publications and organisations that amplify such work. Supporting outlets that centre LGBTQIA+ women and gender-diverse creators helps ensure projects like this one continue to be made and seen.