Somewhere between passing and code-switching lies masking. It’s a difficult process of adopting a social mask and performing a kind of identity that one presumes society expects of you. It’s a form of self-denial and erasure in which one risks totally losing oneself. Masc, Bertil Nilsson’s provocative and evocative feature debut, takes this performance to heart.

The enigmatic film gradually reveals itself as Robin (Joshua Griffin) navigates his early career in London. Robin is a gay and neurodivergent Black man—or, if we really want to complicate things, a neurodivergent gay Black man or a Black gay neurodivergent man, etc.—who can’t find his own path until he finds himself. His main route for self-exploration, moreover, is performance. Or, masking in order to find what’s underneath.

We first meet Robin as he undergoes a strange rehearsal process. He performs a form of interview/audition, trying lines for a panel of his peers who assess how convincingly he sells a colleague a bucket of paint for an accent wall. It seems to go poorly, since the next time Robin appears in a workplace, he undertakes a completely different métier. He tries his hand at carpentry, but seemingly flubs the audition too. His supervisor asks about his love life and seems taken aback when Robin says he has a fella. His boss, hopefully unconsciously, takes a break to smoke a “fag.”

However, performance never quite leaves Robin’s process. He flirts a little with his hot co-worker and, after a perfectly chaste and platonic night of video games, the two men do a dance of sorts in the colleague’s kitchen. Fleeting edits show the guys doing a quick pirouette while opening cupboards for breakfast. They twirl while debating toast. Robin seems confident to take the lead here, if cautiously so.

These quick edits of self-referential performance create a rupture in Masc that disorients and fascinates. Nilsson subtly deviates from what initially appears to be a kitchen sink coming of age drama. The film observes as Robin changes dramatically depending upon the stage and players. However, this arresting film illustrates the ways in which we all mask in order to survive social settings.

Robin’s relationships also prove how self-perception often differs from the ways in which others see us. Robin frequently finds himself in the company of people who are gay, Black, or neurodivergent—sometimes a combination of all three; sometimes challenging any and all labels. However, his encounters frequently reframe his sense of self as he re-evaluates the way the world sees him.

During his stint at a care home, for example, he forges a decent relationship with an elderly blind Asian patient. The man seems to take a shine to Robin. Moreover, after winning Robin’s trust, the patient asks if he can feel Robin’s face to understand what he looks like. As he strokes Robin’s eyebrows, caresses his cheekbones, and feels his luscious lips, he seems to like what he “sees.” Then his hands reach upward and massage his kinky hair.

“Oh, you’re Black?” he asks. Robin, who has blue eyes and lighter complexion, pauses a beat. It probably doesn’t help that a colleague who observed his interview audition expressed concern about his “Mufasa” hairdo.

Later, Robin tries feeling the geography of his roommate’s face to replicate the experience. His roommate—a fitter femme with great style that fabulously expresses a sense of self-assurance—assumes he’s making a pass. Cue a question about whether Robin is gay, queer, bi, or whatever after he pulls back.

In short, Robin finds himself in an uncomfortable space. No matter where he goes, it seems he’s neither Black enough, gay enough, nor man enough to fit in.

Griffin, who wrote the screenplay with Nilsson, gives a quietly introspective performance. He positions Robin as a quiet observer. Acting, after all, is all about reacting. Masc methodically places Robin in scenarios in which he soaks up learned behaviours while finding the best way to enact the character he was born to play: himself.

Masc reveals itself with a completely unexpected twist that reframes the scenarios and exchanges that precede its final act. Nilsson and Griffin, however, may have been better off throwing audiences a few more cues like the aforementioned kitchen dance scene. Masc never really gels until the end, and while the film overall presents an enticing study of social roles and social behaviour, audiences may find themselves adrift with the overly elusive storytelling. Only Robin’s hair marks the passage of time as it goes from full Mufasa to braids to shaven to Chia pet to a light ’fro.

Alternatively, the film’s refusal to occupy an easily checkable box gains power the more time one invests in trying to find the right label for it. The film’s claustrophobic Academy ratio evokes the suffocating nature of boxes in which people are expected to easily inhabit. However, in refusing to satisfy the easy ways of contemporary identity politics, Masc quietly gains complexity by taking its time to find its own identity.

Masc premiered at TIFF 2026.

Head here for all our That Shelf TIFF 2026 coverage.