What begins as a simple story about a kid leaving his homework until the very last minute becomes something far more poignant in Last Minute. Set in 1989, before smartphones, Google, and instant answers, writer-director Michael Cusumano‘s charming short follows a single mother racing against the clock to help her son complete a major school assignment. But beneath the laughs and relatable procrastination panic lies a thoughtful reflection on self-reliance, community, and the small everyday experiences that have quietly disappeared from modern life.
As the short screens at this year’s Tribeca Film Festival, our Peter Gray spoke with Cusumano and star Charity Schubert to discuss the real-life childhood disaster that inspired the film, the surprising emotional power of White-Out and landline phones, the connections we’ve traded for convenience, and why a frantic overnight homework assignment might be the perfect lens through which to examine what we’ve gained – and lost – in the digital age.
I wanted to ask about this premise, because it feels incredibly specific and universal at the same time. For both of you, was there a real “Oh no,” homework moment from your childhood that became the emotional seed for this story?
Michael Cusumano: It’s funny – I just had lunch with one of my friends from grade school, who still lives in Astoria, Queens, and we were talking about the film. Without me even mentioning it, he immediately recognised the assignment that partly inspired the story.
In the film, it’s one element off the periodic table, but when we were kids, we had to make an entire periodic table. Looking back, that’s kind of insane to ask of a kid. So I thought, “That’s too much for the movie.” Instead, I used it as inspiration. I made the kid a little younger and a little more dependent on his mum coming to the rescue, and I found a sweet spot with a project that you could realistically finish in one night.
Because with the actual assignment, if you hadn’t started early, you were completely screwed. I let it slide and ended up having to come up with a fact for every single element on the periodic table.
What actually happened is one of those things that would seem completely contrived if I put it in the film. I was up all night working on it and ended up being rescued by a snow delay. School was delayed by two hours, and that gave me just enough time to frantically finish this absurdly difficult project.
Charity Schubert: Yeah. For me, I don’t really remember having any huge last-minute panic projects. I was definitely a procrastinator, but I think I was also a little too much of a goody two-shoes to ask my parents to do the work for me. So I mostly just hustled and kept the panic to myself.
I do have one story, though, that today feels completely insane and hilarious. I had to do a science project – I think I was in seventh grade – and my dad helped me build it. It wasn’t a last-minute thing, but I ended up making a weather vane out of balsa wood. Because it was so lightweight, we needed to add some weight to the tip so it would actually turn properly.
And this really tells you how long ago this was: my father hot-glued an actual live .22 bullet onto the weather vane as a counterweight. Then I took it to school.
Looking back now, it’s unbelievable. Nobody thought twice about it. It was just, “Yep, that’s a science project.” Today, of course, there would be an emergency response team waiting for you at the front gate. But at the time, it seemed completely normal.
Really the epitome of “It was a different time.” I know that, Michael, you’ve described reaching an age where your memories started to feel historical. Was there a particular detail from 1989 that suddenly hit you emotionally while writing this? Something that younger audiences might not even recognise now?
Michael Cusumano: While writing it, I kept coming back to that feeling of being completely stranded. That panic of realising you don’t have the book you need, the library is closed, you waited too long, the bookstore is shut, or they don’t even have the book you’re looking for. You’re completely out of options and somehow have to find a way through it. Now, there’s always something you can look up online. There’s always another avenue. But back then, there really were moments when you hit a wall.
I tried to capture that in the opening anxiety nightmare that kicks off the film – that feeling of, “I am beyond screwed. There is no hope for me. All is lost.” It’s exaggerated, of course, but it’s rooted in a very real emotion. Procrastination is universal. It’s never going away, and I’m sure kids today can absolutely relate to that part of it. What I’m not sure they can fully relate to is that pure dread of having no fallback option. No internet, no instant answer, no backup plan. Just the sinking feeling that you’ve run out of time and you’re on your own.
It really wasn’t that long ago that we just didn’t have access to mobile phones at school. It really does feel like a whole other world though. That’s why watching this made me really happy, because it was just a reminder of that time. Charity, Jackie could have so easily been played as this frazzled chaos, but the film is rooted in love and resilience. How did you balance the comedy with the quiet panic of a parent who’s basically trying not to fail her child?
Charity Schubert: So Michael was very clear in his direction that Jackie should never yell at or scold her son. From the beginning, we envisioned a mother-son relationship that wasn’t entirely traditional. She’s a single mum, so she’s effectively both mum and dad, and she speaks to him more like a little adult than someone she talks down to as a child.
She can be upset with him and disappointed in him, but having a mother simply scold a child isn’t particularly interesting to watch, and it wasn’t the strongest choice for the character. So I was very careful not to lean too heavily into her anger or frustration.
I think one of the keys to finding Jackie was discovering the moments where she actually starts to enjoy the situation. She’s frustrated with Jason, she’s disappointed in him, and she certainly doesn’t want to spend her evening dealing with this project. But once she gets drawn into it and starts taking ownership of the challenge, she begins to have a little fun. She relaxes into the moment.
And that’s how life often works. Even in moments of panic and stress – when it feels like everything is falling apart and you’re convinced you’re going to fail – you still find ways through it. Through your community, through the people around you. Jackie reaches out to her friend, she reconnects with an old flame, and despite everything that’s going wrong, she manages to stay present and find some joy in the experience.
I think that says a lot about who she is as a person and the kind of mother she wants to be.
With setting the film before Google, smartphones and instant answers, do you think of this as being secretly about problem solving as a lost art as well?
Michael Cusumano: Yeah, it is. It speaks to a kind of self-reliance that I think we’re gradually losing. The idea for the film really came from thinking about all these little things that have disappeared. Snow days – that was actually one of the original sparks. I found out my nephews don’t really get snow days anymore. COVID essentially wiped them out because everyone is now set up for remote learning. So when schools close because of weather, the response is, “Just log on from home.”
That was one of those moments where I realised some of my childhood memories now have historical value. At the same time, I was thinking about technology and all the new conveniences we’re constantly being offered. They’re wonderful in many ways, but they’re never truly free. There’s always a trade-off, and often you don’t recognise what you’ve lost until you have the benefit of hindsight.
So I started asking myself: If we’ve lost snow days, what else have we lost?
To your question, I do think self-reliance is one of those things. That’s baked into the DNA of the film. Not because it’s anti-technology – it really isn’t – but because I wanted people to think about what we give up when we embrace new technologies. Were we conscious of the trade? Did we knowingly decide that this thing was worth losing in exchange for that convenience?
The film is really inviting people to look back and ask those questions.
And one of the things I wonder about is our ability to solve problems on our own. There is a certain satisfaction that comes from being forced to figure things out, from having to rely on your own resourcefulness. I sometimes worry that we’re drifting toward a kind of learned helplessness, where every problem feels like something that should be solved with the push of a button.
Again, that’s not an argument against technology. It’s just a reminder that every innovation changes us in some way, and it’s worth occasionally stopping to ask whether we’re comfortable with what we’ve traded away.
Going off the idea of last minute, is there a last minute situation that either of you have had to pull together under pressure?
Charity Schubert: This film (laughs).
Michael Cusumano: Oh, God. You don’t think we got this done ahead of schedule, do you? (laughs).
Charity Schubert: Yeah, this film was made for a specific festival, the Louisiana Film Prize, which has a very hard deadline, so we absolutely had to get it finished by that date.
As for me personally, I’ve definitely left things until the last minute before. Homework was probably the biggest one. I remember writing papers in high school, staying up late to get a draft finished by midnight, but knowing it was still a mess. Then I’d wake up a few hours before school and sit in the early dawn light at my ancient computer, frantically editing and proofreading to get it over the line. There were a lot of mornings spent getting up before dawn just to finish those papers right under the wire.
Michael Cusumano: I think I might also be exorcising some childhood trauma with this film. My parents used to throw parties at our house, and I vividly remember the sheer panic that would set in about four hours before guests were due to arrive. It was complete pandemonium – shoving things under other things, declaring one room off-limits because “no one’s going to open that door,” and throwing everything into what became the forbidden room. There was frantic vacuuming, last-minute tidying, and a general sense of chaos.
Even now, if I think about it, I can still summon that anxiety pretty easily.
Was there a prop or old school technology that when you had on set made everyone say, “Wow. We really survived this.”?
Charity Schubert: For me, there were a lot of great moments during the making of the film, but one that really stands out happened at the film festival. We were allowed to set up a small table outside to promote the movie, and we put out some of the props, including one of the landline phones – a little Trimline phone.
The number of people who walked up, picked up that phone, and immediately lit up was amazing. You could actually see the pleasure wash across their faces. It was like, “Oh, this feels good.” Their shoulders would relax, and there was this instant connection to the tactile, physical experience of holding it. I watched it happen over and over again.
It was such a simple thing, but it brought a lot of joy to people, and it really reinforced one of the film’s ideas about our relationship with physical objects and experiences.
Michael Cusumano: The Liquid Paper was another one. We were in a rush the entire shoot, trying to get all the coverage we needed. We shot 24 scenes in just three days, so every minute counted. But I remember saying, “We have to stop and get an extreme close-up of the White-Out hitting the paper,” because that’s the moment when the audience is really going to feel it. I wanted that tactile sensation.
Liquid Paper just quietly disappeared from our lives. We never got to say goodbye to it. Nobody ever announced, “That’s it, this is the last time you’re ever going to use White-Out.” One day you just realize, “Wait, I haven’t used that in 20 years.”
That close-up felt important because it captures one of those little everyday experiences that used to be so familiar and then, without us noticing, simply vanished.
I’m actually just realising that now. I used White-Out for the last time, and I didn’t know!
Michel Cusumano: That’s kind of the secret message of the film: all these little things we’ve lost without even realizing it. So I was adamant. I said, “No, we’re getting this close-up. I don’t care if it puts us behind schedule.” As soon as she dabbed the White-Out onto the paper and we had it lit and framed just right, you could feel it on set. The moment I called cut, everyone was like, “Yeah, that’s the stuff.”
It was such a small detail, but it captured exactly what the film is about – a tactile, everyday experience that used to be part of our lives and then quietly disappeared. Somehow, seeing it again just felt satisfying.
The film really does feel like it’s mourning something bigger than pre-internet life. Almost like that disappearance of collective dependence on other people. Did you think of the way convenience has quietly made us less connected?
Michael Cusumano: Yes, that was certainly on my mind. And as a film lover, I’m sure you can relate, because it’s not a huge leap to apply the film’s ideas to what’s happening with film culture.
Now we have this endless stream of movies that can be beamed directly into our living rooms. In theory, it’s incredible. You think, “Great, I never have to leave the couch again.” Then one day you realise you haven’t gone to the movies with your friends in a year. You watch something you’re genuinely excited about, and there’s nobody there to discuss it with afterwards.
Again, I’m not anti-technology. Everything has two sides. You gain something, but there’s always a price. We have access now to films that I would have killed to see when I was a teenager. The ability to jump onto the Criterion Channel and work your way through Fellini, Powell and Pressburger, or all these incredible filmmakers from around the world is amazing.
At the same time, you look around and think, “Who do I talk to about this?” You’re sitting there by yourself. So there is a sense of a lost community in that. Absolutely. The film isn’t arguing that the old way was better in every respect. It’s more interested in recognising that when something new arrives, something else often quietly disappears. Sometimes it’s only years later that we realise what we’ve lost.
Charity Schubert: I would say yes. That theme definitely came from Michael as the writer and director, but the idea of a loss of community really resonated with me as an actor and as a person, looking at how we live now.
Some of my favourite moments to play were the scenes where she was reaching out to her friends and her community – those late-night phone calls and all the emotions that came with them. I loved tapping into the memory of what it felt like to be on the phone with someone late at night, having a real conversation. You’d lower your voice a little, settle into the moment, and just talk.
Getting to live in those memories was really special because, ultimately, that’s what’s interesting on film: people connecting. There’s not much that’s inherently compelling about somebody sitting in front of a screen, typing something and immediately getting what they need. What’s interesting is the back-and-forth – the arguing, the disagreeing, the commiserating, the laughing. That’s what reveals who a character is, and that’s what draws an audience into a story.
So it was wonderful to get to explore that in this film and spend time in those moments of genuine human connection.
Last Minute is screening as part of this year’s Tribeca Film Festival, running between June 3rd and 14th, 2026. For more information on the festival, head to the official site here.
