Vertical Drama Review: Forgive Me, Father (2026)

Forgive Me, Father centers on Anna, an adopted young woman raised in a devout, insular community, whose life is upended when her father becomes gravely ill.

The only path to funding his lifesaving surgery is for Anna to marry Elliot, the town’s wealthiest man, publicly revered and quietly feared. To the community, he is a benefactor and moral authority; in private, he is manipulative, predatory, and cruel. As Anna’s mother relentlessly pushes the union under the guise of divine will, Anna is forced to weigh her father’s survival against her own autonomy.

Running parallel is Brad, a man from a wealthy family carrying the long shadow of guilt after his sister, Rose, was kidnapped years earlier, a tragedy he blames on himself. When his family receives word that Rose may be alive in this same town, Brad assumes the identity of “Michael,” a priest at the local church, in a desperate attempt to find her. As Anna and Michael cross paths, their connection becomes a refuge for both of them. Anna enters a profound crisis of faith, questioning the God she has been taught to obey, while Michael helps her see her own strength and worth.

What forms between them is less a romance than a collision of need: one searching for escape from circumstance, the other for redemption from guilt, each hoping that being seen might offer its own kind of salvation.

The acting is disciplined and precise.

Tess Dinerstein grounds Anna with remarkable restraint — never pushing emotion, never announcing her arc, letting internal shifts do the heavy lifting.

Cayman Cardiff delivers one of the most unsettling villains in the space by resisting cartoon-like parody; Elliot’s menace lies in his certainty and his control.

Tyler Scherer brings quiet gravity to Brad, balancing devotion, secrecy, and moral strain without tipping into sentimentality.

And Laura deserves special mention as Edith — a flatter character by design, but played with such rigid conviction that she becomes the embodiment of institutional certainty.

The supporting performances, especially Anna’s parents, anchor the series in recognizable human fear rather than melodrama, giving the story its emotional credibility.

One small but telling detail worth noting:
Shortical made the deliberate choice to pull in a longtime vertical viewer and Instagram influencer for a brief cameo with actual lines. That decision isn’t about novelty but it signals how seriously they take this space and the audience that sustains it. It’s a reminder that Shortical isn’t just producing verticals; they’re building a culture around them, one that values viewers as participants in the ecosystem, not just metrics on a dashboard.

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A bold move in the vertical genre, which is bent on over explanation, that thankfully pays off.

Meagan

Why Forgive Me, Father Works — and Why It Matters

At its best, Forgive Me, Father is a masterclass in what elevated vertical storytelling can look like. Not only in cinematic polish but in strong, purposeful performances. Nothing feels lazy. Nothing feels accidental. Every character, from the quietly devastating to the overtly monstrous, exists in service of deeper questions about faith, control, guilt, and autonomy.

The writing and direction by Ofir hold tension on multiple planes at once: Anna’s faith crisis, her father’s dying wishes, her mother’s religious gaslighting, the sheer audacity of Elliot, and the earnest pull of Brad’s search for Rose. These threads don’t compete — they braid. And they always return to Anna, whose quiet conviction becomes the story’s engine.

This is a vertical that trusts its audience with ambiguity, silence, and complexity and in doing so,

raises the bar for what the format can be heading into 2026. It assumes we’re paying attention. A bold move in the vertical genre, which is bent on over explanation, that thankfully pays off.

Where the Story Falters — and Why That Matters

My one real hesitation comes at the very end. After spending the series interrogating obedience, autonomy, and moral authority, the final wedding proposal feels less like a culmination than a contradiction. Reframing Anna’s journey around a conventional romantic resolution undercuts the independence the story worked so hard to earn. Given how restrictive her upbringing was, it would have been far more aligned to see her choose something outside of the confines of a relationship first. That choice, one of growth before commitment, agency before structure, would have brought the story to a more resonant, grounded close. Sometimes the boldest ending is simply letting a woman walk forward without locking the door behind her.

And still: this critique doesn’t diminish the experience.

If anything, it exists because the rest of the series is so thoughtfully constructed. Forgive Me, Father aims high, lands most of its punches, and leaves us with something to really think about afterward — which is a pretty good problem to have.

...Sometimes the boldest ending is simply letting a woman walk forward without locking the door behind her...

Cast: Cayman Cardiff / Tess Dinerstein / Tyler Scherer / Corinne Heinzman / Guy Richardson / Jaime Gray / Laura / Meagan Johnson

Producers | Alejandro Furmero & Adriana Santos
Director/Writer | Ofir Lobel
1st AD | Kendall Foote
2nd AD | Ariya Akhavan
Set Design | Dorothy Zhu
DP | Yardén Loir
Camera | Lucas Eubank
Sound | Oscar Coronel
Lighting | Richard Trejo
Wardrobe | Maria Morillo
HMU | Darlene Orellana

Production Co: Fumero Films

On Shortical

Images used in this article are sourced from the public internet and are presented for editorial context only. All rights remain with their respective owners.

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