A reckless stag night, an ill-advised visit to an ex-partner’s home, and a lingering toothbrush that never quite disappeared from the scene.
We’ve all experienced those intoxicated moments when reuniting with a former lover appears to be the most logical course of action. This is precisely how “Toothbrush” begins—with Liam, a disheveled yet endearing character, arriving at Will’s doorstep with no possessions and even less pride. His excuse? A misplaced phone and belongings, though perhaps what’s truly missing runs deeper.
To his credit, Will—still harboring traces of kindness—allows him inside, provides a blanket, and even retrieves an old toothbrush from the past. Because sometimes, the objects we leave behind carry far more significance than their physical form suggests.
What begins as a lighthearted, alcohol-fueled reunion gradually transforms into something more poignant. The film explores unspoken words and the people we struggle to release, regardless of how final the farewell seemed.
At its core lies a single, heartbreaking question:
“What are you doing here? What do you actually want?”
In that moment, the weight of everything left unsaid becomes palpable. This isn’t merely about a missing wallet or a forgotten toothbrush—it’s about hope, that persistent, unyielding force that refuses to fade.
Like a well-worn sweater, the film appears deceptively simple at first glance. Yet as it unfolds, it warms forgotten corners of the heart. Jack Armstrong and Alexander Mushore deliver performances that feel strikingly authentic—two individuals navigating the remnants of something that was never entirely resolved.
As for the ending?
It lingers—leaving viewers with a bittersweet ache, a quiet warmth, and perhaps an unexpected curiosity about the fate of their own abandoned toothbrush.
“Toothbrush” is an understated masterpiece.
It doesn’t demand attention.
It lingers in whispers.
And those whispers resonate long after the final frame fades.
