All The Pretty Little Horses is a lot of things; it’s a labor of love from an incredibly hard working crew, a genuine passion for filmmaking, an intersection of my interests in sound, music, and narrative storytelling... but it’s not quite a love letter, nor a tribute to a genre, not even a film I made based on own personal experience. Moreover, this film is more of a testament to the past; AKA, my own take on an amalgamation of Appalachian stories both true and legend – of famine, drought, and supernatural mythos of the land.

 

I had the incredible opportunity to film All The Pretty Little Horses on a Nationally Registered Historic Landmark: The William Harris Homestead in Monroe, Georgia. In 2010, 16 years prior to directing this short, I was a third grader visiting the Homestead for a class field trip. I walked through the cabin with awe, took a hayride through the property, and watched Bo the Horse round up sheep in the fields next to the homestead. Little did I know 16 years later, I’d be shooting my film here in this historic piece of land in my own hometown. Even Bo made a key appearance as the centripetal horse of my story (he’s 30 years old as of 2026!)

 

Throughout my career as a writer, I’ve found writing these two things in tandem led to my strongest works -- layered characters and tragedy. I knew I wanted those aspects in this film. It started with a last name: the Payne’s. A family, wracked by insurmountable pain and grief – well, now, there really wasn’t another name for them.

 

Starting with characters like Elias was easy; a man, ripped apart by grief, falls into an intense denial, forming into a manic obsession that leads to his undoing.

However, the added nuance to Elias’ story is that he really hears Joy’s voice. It started with the old Appalachian tale - never follow a voice you hear coming from the woods. Elias followed it.

 

Then, Caleb: the hardened son who must carry the family after the death of his mother. And for him? He wants to leave the farm. His resentment is quiet - silently staring off, biting his tongue, abiding by his fathers’ wishes while trying to provide for the farm and his little sister Ruby. However, when push comes to shove, he knows they can’t stay for much longer – their fields aren’t yielding, and his father may be too far gone to save.

 

Finally, Ruby: the innocent daughter, and the final note Joy left behind. She wants to keep the peace, stay with her animals, and lean into the songs her mother used to sing to her. However, as food grows more scarce and her father becomes more manic, her empathy – and perhaps her resemblance of Joy – becomes her most dangerous trait.

 

Being able to create a Southern Gothic in my hometown was such an honor. And all in all, it is safe to say this project was both full circle and full of passion for me.

 

Though the Payne family's story is a fictional one, the stories of voices on the wind and loved ones speaking to others through various means is something very real here in the South. These stories are old, passed down for generations, some ghost stories to scare the children, some real bonafide legends that became oral traditions. The hunger pains of starvation, the crumbling fields of drought and blight; the things folks suffered through in pre 1930’s Appalachia were all very real and historic. The men and women that lived in the Homestead hundreds of years ago are testament to it.

 

I hope that audiences resonate with the combination of these two aspects of Southern Gothic-ism – both history and myth – and see All The Pretty Little Horses as a sort of Appalachian cautionary tale. I hope you enjoy All The Pretty Little Horses. If you’re not from the South, I hope you can catch a glimpse of what makes my home both horrific and beautiful. But be careful, now; don’t follow any hum you may hear in the wind.