No.25 Baker Street
Arri Alexa Mini
2.35:1
Directors Note
No.25 Baker Street is a film about tension that lives in the ordinary. A laundrette on a winter night in 90s becomes a pressure cooker, where silence, glances, and half-finished sentences carry as much weight as the thud of a machine or the creak of a door. I grew up around these spaces, practical working-class places where people gathered not out of choice but necessity. They are communal yet lonely, familiar yet unsettling after dark. That contradiction is at the heart of this story.
The film leans into paranoia and trust, and how fragile both can be when the backdrop is fear. With Fred and Rose West dominating headlines, communities were haunted by what might be lurking behind every ordinary front door. I wanted to capture that atmosphere, how real horror does not come from the supernatural but from the banality of everyday life twisted into menace. In a world where violence against women is so relentless, we wanted to flip the script. Our protagonist carries her own private loss and in the shadows of this laundrette she finally finds a way to act. What begins as survival shifts into something more, as she quietly rewrites her place in a story that for too long has been written by men.
Stylistically No.25 Baker Street is stripped back. Long takes, deliberate silences, CCTV monitors, reflections in the drums of machines. These are the tools I will use to make the audience feel what Linda feels, exposed, uneasy, forced to second guess what they are seeing. At its core this is not just about a stranger in a laundrette. It is about women carrying unspoken fears, about small towns living under shadows, and about how survival sometimes demands retribution.
