Hunter Brockmann is a filmmaker who wears his heart on his sleeve, and it shows in ‘A Month. A Day. A Year‘. As writer, director, and actor, Brockmann opens a window into the soul of someone living with autism and depression. What’s remarkable is that his goal doesn’t seem to be overtly educational. There’s no agenda, no preachy undertones. Instead, Brockmann educates by simply being real, by subtly exposing the raw, unfiltered emotions of his character. You’re not being told what it’s like to live with autism; you’re being shown, in the most intimate, authentic way possible.

His filmmaking style is almost voyeuristic, as if we’ve stumbled upon a real-life video diary that was never meant to be seen by anyone else. The raw, unpolished aesthetic strips away any barriers between the viewer and Serge’s world. It’s uncomfortable, even unsettling at times, but that’s what makes it so compelling. Brockmann’s choice to forgo the polish of traditional cinema in favor of something that feels so real you can almost touch it is a bold move.

What’s truly captivating about Brockmann’s filmmaking technique is how it sneaks up on you. There’s no grand design or obvious direction, just an honest portrayal that pulls you deeper. Brockmann clearly has a knack for making the ordinary extraordinary, for turning what could have been just another low-budget indie into something profoundly moving. A filmmaker to respect, and keep an eye on in the future.