Sonni has lived with an undiagnosed form of muscle wasting condition since childhood. She shares how filmmaking became an escape, how her experiences shaped her deeply personal short film, Taxidermy, and why she is determined to direct it herself.
“I never believed I could direct a film with my condition – and now I am!”
I have been writing my short film, Taxidermy, for around a decade. Almost a year ago, it was finally picked up by a producer. It’s an 11-page script and will run for roughly 15 minutes, but the story holds years of thought and emotion.
Taxidermy explores grief, disability and identity
The film is a one-room conversation between two men meeting for the first time. One is grieving the death of his husband. The other was blind and received the husband’s donated eyes, so he is adjusting to life with sight. Their meeting gives them space to talk honestly about grief, identity and what it means to lose something that has shaped who you are.
The character’s disability is different from mine, but the feelings behind the story are personal. In my twenties, while starting university, I went through repeated diagnoses that were later disproved. Some came with frightening predictions about my future. I’m 32 now and doctors still can’t identify the exact type of muscle-wasting condition I have.
“Taxidermy was the closest I could get to being entirely open and making myself feel better, without having to face the fact that I was being entirely open.”
I’m not very good at talking about things that terrify me, so I moved away from writing science fiction and fantasy and began writing about what I know and feel. Giving those emotions to a character with a different disability let me explore anger, fear and acceptance without becoming too specific. That’s why Taxidermy is the most personal thing I’ve written.
Finding my place behind the camera
I studied Film as a GCSE, and later did screenwriting at university. At first it became a form of therapy and escape while I was growing up with muscular dystrophy and in foster care. But I later had to challenge my own self-doubt that my condition meant I wouldn’t be able to work in the industry.
Writing showed me where I could fit in the world. Directing felt less certain though.
“I worried a crew might not take me seriously, or that I’d have to admit I couldn’t do something and be told the production wouldn’t work.”
Instead, people in the industry reminded me that this is my film. If I find an approach and a crew who will work with me, there’s no reason I can’t direct it.
My producer has been thoughtful about asking what I need without being patronising. Working independently with a small crew means we can shape the production around what’s possible. It’s both terrifying and exciting, but I’ve learnt that creativity matters more than being able to do every physical task myself.
Taking the film forward
After receiving encouraging feedback but not securing film funding, we decided to crowdfund, with 5% of what we raise being donated to Muscular Dystrophy UK. It was important to me that the project supported the community, even though muscular dystrophy isn’t part of the film’s plot.
I also create self-portrait photography, often using my body and muscular dystrophy as part of the work. Whether I am making images or films, storytelling gives me a way to be honest, make something visual and keep creating on my own terms. With Taxidermy, I want to turn a deeply personal script into a film that helps people think differently about grief, disability and identity.
