Peer Review: PACO

Who are three contemporaries that you admire?

These lists are more echoes than declarations – more about memory’s whisper than any claim to merit. But today, these are the names that surfaced, like old friends drifting back into view. 

Tom Kuntz, known for his wicked sense of humour, perfect timing, and an uncanny ability to craft characters whose quirks aren’t just surface – they go deep. In his worlds, the strange is never strange for its own sake. It’s a language. A logic. And suddenly, the unexpected doesn’t just happen – it makes perfect sense. Every project expands the frame of what’s possible, where oddity becomes insight, and comedy quietly reveals something true. 

Each of his projects feels like a love letter to creativity, signed in crayon, and delivered by interpretive dance. 

Spike Jonze, for constantly breaking expectations – each of his projects feels like a love letter to creativity, signed in crayon, and delivered by interpretive dance. 

And Tim Godsall, for his beautifully awkward human moments, the kind that make you laugh and cringe and feel oddly seen. These three all share something  

Skittles Touch, by Tom Kuntz. 

Please share 3-4 pieces of work that exemplify great comedy direction.

Skittles Touch, by Tom Kuntz. Hilarious, dark, and totally deadpan. It’s what happens when magical realism takes a wrong turn into suburban tragedy. 

Cadbury Dairy Milk: Gorilla's Moment, by Juan Cabral. A gorilla, a drum solo, and Phil Collins. It’s everything and nothing at once. That’s comedy with swagger. 

A man walks. Slowly. In speedos. That’s it. And somehow, it says everything you need to know about tone, timing, and tequila confidence. 

IKEA Lamp, by Spike Jonze. Smart, the emotional manipulation of an abandoned lamp… and then, boom: the director calls you out for crying. Brilliant misdirection with heart.

Southern Comfort Beach, by Tim Godsall. A man walks. Slowly. In speedos. That’s it. And somehow, it says everything you need to know about tone, timing, and tequila confidence. 

IKEA Lamp, directed by Spike Jonze.

What do you like most about the work that you do? 

I get to invent characters that are equal parts strange and tender – little islands of weirdness with a soft heart. I love building these human beings who feel just believable enough, full of quirks, contradictions, and stories that smell faintly of melancholy and marmalade. 

Also, I love the moment on set when everyone’s silently wondering, “Are we really filming this?” and you think: Yes. Yes, we are. And it’s glorious. 

Furlined felt like a place where craft matters, where people take risks, and where strange ideas find a good home.

What has your career journey been like so far, and what brought you to Furlined? 

It’s been a bit like one of those long airport layovers where you unexpectedly meet the love of your life. I started with fiction, moved into ads, and kept chasing stories that made people smile sideways. 

Furlined felt like a place where craft matters, where people take risks, and where strange ideas find a good home. Also, they understood my sense of humour – which is both rare and alarming.

Cadbury Dairy Milk: Gorilla's Moment, directed by Juan Cabral.

What is one thing every director needs? 

An inner compass for tone — and a poker face that holds through chaos. Also: good shoes, bad ideas, and the wisdom to know which is which. A dark sense of humour helps, as do headphones, patience, and the ability to say “interesting” in five distinct tones – ranging from awe to existential despair. 

A DOP who once whispered, “Warm the face with soft diffused light – it makes the audience care.”

Did you have a mentor? Who was it? 

No official mentor, but plenty of accidental ones. Editors who taught me rhythm. Art directors who proved that a crooked lampshade can carry emotional weight. A DOP who once whispered, “Warm the face with soft diffused light – it makes the audience care.” A sound recordist who believed silence was sacred. And a producer who told me, “Say it with conviction, and they’ll think you’re a genius.” I listened. Mostly. 

Southern Comfort Beach, directed by Tim Godsall.

Who is the greatest director of all time? Why? 

Comedy doesn’t have a “greatest.” It refuses hierarchy. But if I had to name a few who shaped my sense of direction: 

Jacques Tati, for giving deadpan a sense of humour. In his world, comedy isn’t loud – it drifts, tiptoes, and stumbles with grace. The humour becomes a quiet dance between the absurd and the everyday, unfolding in the gestures of ordinary people. His characters don’t just make us smile – they remind us how time, routine, and tradition quietly shape who we are. His comedy is rooted deep, grounded in the soft architecture of mankind. 

His characters don’t just make us smile – they remind us how time, routine, and tradition quietly shape who we are. 

Wong Kar-Wai, not for comedy, but for the tenderness and humanity in his characters. His films are an ode to mankind, to modern lives quietly unraveling, to characters searching for home and finding flight in the dark. He doesn’t just frame beauty – he frames moments suspended in time, where love lingers, even when unspoken. Heartbreak, in his hands, becomes choreography. 

John Landis, for finding joy in chaos. His films make the unexpected feel possible, like a coffee cup filled too high, trembling with laughter, just waiting to spill into disaster. The humour doesn’t walk in politely – it erupts, splits, and crashes through the frame, one glorious mess at a time. 

Original trailer for Schlock, directed by John Landis, 1973.