Clump & Thud, Thud, Thud: Adam Kelleher on DIY Filmmaking and Dublin’s Untold Stories
Interview & Article by Helena Wrenne
Dublin-based filmmaker and visual artist Adam Kelleher has carved a unique niche with his raw, evocative style, which resonates with audiences hungry for something different. I discussed with him his latest short film, Clump & Thud, Thud, Thud, which blends gritty realism with a melancholic edge, drawing inspiration from the mumblecore movement of the 2000s. Known for pushing boundaries in both form and content, Kelleher’s work has reached international audiences, from screenings in New York to collaborations with diverse artists like Zack Villere, EFÉ, and Bricknasty. His newest release, featuring a talented cast of Irish creatives such as musician EFÉ and DJ Lychee, is no exception. The recent sold-out screening of Clump & Thud, Thud, Thud is just the latest proof that Kelleher’s DIY approach and intimate storytelling continue to captivate.
In conversation with Ethereal, Kelleher shared some insights into his creative process and the inspiration behind Clump & Thud, Thud, Thud, beginning with how the project emerged from a challenging personal period.
“It came from a point where I had finished How Are You in 2023,” Kelleher began. “There were a couple of video projects I had worked on that never saw the light of day or lost steam. My self-worth was on the floor and I felt very stuck.” The film’s premise begins with a young woman who finds herself stuck with a clump in her head. Unsure what to do about it, she roams the streets of Dublin, Ireland in an attempt to rid herself of the monotonous thuds and escape her roommate's loud acting practice. “I had written a really short one page story which is the monolauge you end up hearing in the film. The ‘clump’ came to me as a metaphor and word that I associated with how I felt at the time. It scared me, so I wanted to make something out of what I was feeling.”
“Originally, I didn’t want to make it into a film—it was just something I had written,” he explained. “But at the time, I was watching a lot of mumblecore films, and those stories about people in their early to mid-20s felt so relatable. I felt seen in so many ways. This aesthetic appeals to me, and it felt like the right avenue to tell the story. It was an exercise that started out as something really grim in my head, and then I turned it into something that’s maybe relatable and even entertaining.”
Noting how common that feeling is for young people in bustling cities like Dublin, I asked him about his creative process. Many young people can relate to that sense of feeling “stuck” and adrift. “A couple of images and feelings came together that had been accumulating over time,” he explained. “When she puts the key in the bucket and hoists it out the window—that was an image I really wanted to use. From there, it kind of birthed a female energy around the image, and it spread quite naturally. I was figuring out how to string along these images into the film. It wasn’t so much about a story as it was about showing a feeling.”
For Kelleher, the film became an exercise in capturing emotion over plot, breaking away from narrative conventions. “Nothing’s worse than sitting through a short film that’s so story-driven and plot-heavy. I wanted to explore a feeling, to show that to people. That’s what makes the short film format so valuable—it’s perfect for exploring an emotion in a brief, impactful way.” Originally, he’d hoped that his work would be lighthearted. “Every time I read over it, I wanted it to be really funny,” he admitted with a laugh. “I thought it might come across as quirky and funny, maybe a bit melodramatic—but then it was just...melodramatic. It took me a long time to be okay with it being actually dark.”
Going back to the mumblecore movement, I asked Adam more about his style and how mumblecore influences his film style to his illustration and photography. “Like I said before, mumblecore is super relatable,” Kelleher reflected. “It’s just super real people, basically complaining. I didn’t go to film school, so the aesthetic—the zero-to-no-budget, scrappy, make-film-however-you-can approach—came naturally to me. The quality of the image and the professionalism of the presentation don’t matter as much, as long as you’re striving to say something meaningful. I know ‘mumblecore’ is a pretty loaded term, but it’s also what makes filmmaking feel accessible to me. That’s what I want to do in my life—I want to make films that people can actually see. I put them online; you don’t need to go to a festival or any kind of gatekeeping space to access them. I love films made for actual people by actual people, instead of films tailored to impress someone who might put you in a room with someone who might give you money.”
He continued as I asked about his illustration work, “I can see that influence carry over into my other work too. A lot of my illustration is done on paper and then scanned in, keeping it cheap, rough, and real. Some of the music videos I’ve done are cleaner, but I still try to keep that DIY authenticity at the heart of everything.”
Kelleher’s affinity for the camcorder has been a defining feature of his work, giving his films a spontaneous, hands-on feel that aligns perfectly with his DIY ethos. “I use camcorders for a lot of my work,” he explained. “My last film was filmed that way, and I’ve done content for others, like tour vlogs following EFÉ on tour in 2022. I love the camcorder—I love how easy it is to use. Anytime I’ve worked with a bigger budget and crew, I find it a bit slow, and it kills the spontaneity and the vibe.”
For Kelleher, the camcorder’s appeal lies not only in its simplicity but also in its accessibility. “I like the no-nonsense freedom that comes with the camcorder. It’ll look decent, and it feels so doable—it taps into that part of the brain that says, ‘this is something real, someone’s hand is on it.’” Yet, as much as he appreciates this style, Kelleher recognizes the need to evolve. “I’m trying to move on from it. There’s a tiny bit of unprofessionalism that comes with it, and I’ll try to shed that a bit. This may be my last camcorder film, especially as I start thinking more about festivals and expanding my work.”
In today’s art landscape, Kelleher sees a ripe opportunity for a revival of DIY filmmaking, even if the movement is still somewhat underground. “The culture right now is ripe for it—I don’t know why people aren’t making more things DIY,” he said. “Maybe it’s because people go to film school and get drilled on what film ‘should be,’ but people are genuinely excited to see films made by people who are just out there, making things.”
Kelleher’s own experiences reinforce his belief in this DIY approach. His last film, just two and a half minutes long, was screened in New York to enthusiastic reception. “People thought it was really cool that I had just gone out and made it. It felt invigorating to be in that space—like, we need more people to make stuff! If you’re waiting for permission, it’s never going to come.” Kelleher believes filmmakers should embrace the internet as a tool for building excitement around film in much the same way musicians promote gigs. His recent small screening was a deliberate effort to foster this community-based excitement around film.
“I think it’s a missed opportunity if filmmakers don’t take advantage of the internet to connect with audiences,” he added. “It’s about gathering people together, making it real and accessible, and showing that you don’t need all the traditional support to create meaningful art.”
For Kelleher, portraying the “dingy side of Ireland” is about challenging the sanitized or stereotyped views of Dublin that often surface in film. “It’s something I’m really prickly about,” he admitted. “When it comes to filmmaking, Ireland—and specifically Dublin—doesn’t have any sort of identity. If we do, it’s super outdated.” Reflecting on the lack of authentic representation, he pointed out that while there was a brief surge in independent Irish film in the late ‘90s and early 2000s, much of what’s shown today either glamorizes the city or sidesteps its grittier aspects.
He shared an example from his screening in New York, where viewers assumed he was from the UK. “I was like, no, this is Dublin,” he laughed. “There was a shot of the skyline that people didn’t believe was actually Dublin. We can form this identity ourselves.” For Kelleher, scenes like walking down the quays at night—an experience he describes as “kinda sketchy”—align perfectly with the “clumpiness” and mental weight that Clump & Thud, Thud, Thud explores. “It couples nicely with that feeling. There’s no reprieve in some places, and I hadn’t seen that side of Dublin in film before.”
Ultimately, he believes that portraying these raw aspects of the city can help viewers confront a fuller, more honest identity of Dublin. “The more honest we are in showing people, the more we can come to terms with it,” he explained. Through these visual choices, Kelleher hopes to communicate a side of Dublin that, for many, remains unseen or unspoken.
Kelleher’s film also grapples with the loneliness that can come with living in a big city, a theme he feels is often overlooked in Irish cinema. “It is kinda sad,” he reflected. “Why do people shy away from showing how sad it is? You have to want to find a community—it isn’t really in plain sight.” This quiet solitude pervades Clump & Thud, Thud, Thud, mirroring Dublin’s streets, where finding connection often requires a deliberate search, not just a passive presence.
By embracing this emotional honesty, Kelleher reveals a raw side of urban life that resonates deeply with viewers—capturing the often-hidden reality of a city’s isolating vastness and the personal struggle to carve out meaningful connections amidst it.
Looking to the future, Kelleher is taking a more intentional approach with his work. “I’m saying no to a few projects coming in,” he shared. “I do illustration, music videos, and content for people, but I’m respecting my time and saying no to things for the foreseeable—getting back to myself.” As a freelancer, he acknowledges the pull of multiple creative directions, which can sometimes blur his identity as a filmmaker. “For a long time, I didn’t feel like a filmmaker. We shot Clump & Thud, Thud, Thud in January, and it’s only coming out now in November. I got sidetracked, and I realized I need to fall back in love with film and keep writing.”
With this renewed focus, Kelleher is already working on new ideas. “I’m always working on stuff—there are videos I’m developing that I’m excited about, and I want to make another short film soon.” He even hinted at larger ambitions. “I’m writing a feature script as well. Not going to spill too much and jinx anything!” By setting boundaries and refocusing, Kelleher is fully leaning into his filmmaking vision, ready to bring more stories to life in his own distinct style.
