The Academy Award-nominated short documentary “I Am Ready, Warden” offers an intimate look at justice, redemption, and forgiveness in the final days of a man on death row. Directed and produced by Smriti Mundhra through her company Meralta Films, the film has earned a nomination for Best Documentary Short at the 2024 Academy Awards, marking another milestone for the two-time Oscar and three-time Emmy nominee.
Alongside producer Maya Gnyp, Mundhra brings a deeply human perspective to the story of John Ramirez, who was convicted of murder and spent 14 years on death row before his execution. The film takes its title from Ramirez’s final words—“I am ready to go. I am ready, Warden”—and provides a rare, unfiltered glimpse into the emotional weight of his final days.
Rather than taking a political stance, “I Am Ready, Warden” presents the reality of capital punishment through the experiences of those directly affected. The film highlights how the years between crime and execution shape not only the convicted but also the families left behind. One of the most striking elements is the perspective of Aaron Castro, the son of Ramirez’s victim, who carries the trauma of his father’s murder.
The documentary’s restrained storytelling allows audiences to draw their own conclusions. “We wanted to examine this issue in an honest, authentic way by assuming humanity on both sides,” Mundhra explains. “Not assuming that one side is righteous and the other is wrong.”
Visually, the film creates a sense of intimacy while maintaining a degree of restraint. Mundhra and Gnyp worked with cinematographers Raphael Roy and Ian Moubayed to develop a style that is raw yet delicate, often framing subjects from the side or behind to capture unguarded moments.
Awards Focus sat down with Smriti Mundhra and Maya Gnyp to discuss the film’s journey, the challenge of exploring such a complex subject, and the artistic choices that shaped its emotional tone.
Awards Focus: Congratulations on your Oscar nomination! “I Am Ready, Warden” is such a powerful and thought-provoking short film. What was your initial reaction when you found out it had been recognized at this level?
Smriti Mundhra: Thanks, Ben. I mean, it never feels normal, you know? Even having been through this one time before, it never feels normal. I mean, it’s the highest achievement in our field, and it never feels like this was the path that was intended for us. To have gotten here is just unbelievable. But it’s Maya’s first nomination, so maybe she has something to add.
Maya Gnyp: It feels absolutely incredible—just incredible, incredible. And I think, especially with a film that has meant so much to all of us and to the people we collaborated with on it, it feels really, really special. And Smriti is right—we first premiered this film in February of 2024, and after that, there was a period of quiet. So we weren’t really sure where it was going to go. The last couple of months have been a really welcome and amazing surprise.
AF: To start with a foundational question—what were your personal views on the death penalty before embarking on this project?
Gnyp: I’ve never been for capital punishment, and that remains my position. As an Australian national, it’s never really been something I’ve even considered as an option. So it was never really a question for me, and I came to this subject matter from that perspective.
Mundhra: Yeah, and for me as well, I’ve never been a proponent of the death penalty. But when it comes to policy—especially one that has never directly impacted me—I like to assume good faith on the part of those who do believe in it and really examine why those policies are in place. Is there an aspect of it that I don’t see or understand because it doesn’t touch my life?
That’s why it was really important in this film to explore the issue from Aaron Castro’s perspective—he’s the victim’s son. It’s one thing for me, living in Los Angeles and never having been impacted by the death penalty, to have a strong point of view on it. But how would I feel if my father was murdered in cold blood?
That’s why it was crucial to examine that perspective as well. And the fact that, coming out of this, most people recognize—especially through Aaron’s story and journey—that maybe capital punishment doesn’t offer the closure or justice it claims to. That’s the strongest statement against the death penalty we could have made, rather than pushing an aggressive anti-death penalty agenda.
AF: Let’s go back to the beginning—how did this project come about, and what initially drew both of you to it? What made this story feel like the right one to tell?
Mundhra: For me as a filmmaker, I’ve always been interested in examining big institutions and systems that are designed to protect me but may be morally questionable. Criminal justice is just one of them. I’m lucky to live a life where the criminal justice system doesn’t impact me directly on a day-to-day basis, but as a U.S. citizen—and as a human being—it’s still present.
If I’m going to benefit from a system, I believe it’s my duty to examine and question it. That’s how I approach this end of my filmography. The other end of my filmography is dating shows—which is a whole other story.
But this gives me a chance, as a citizen and a human being, to really question these systems. Whether it’s gun violence, as we explored in “St. Louis Superman”, the housing crisis, as in “Shelter”—which Maya also produced—or now capital punishment and criminal justice with “I Am Ready, Warden”, I want to explore these issues not from an aggressively agenda-driven perspective, but by looking at balance and nuance. I want to ask the audience a question and allow them to come to their own conclusion.
AF: There’s no narrator, and you largely avoid broader discussions of systemic racism or other familiar points in the debate. How did you navigate the complex moral and emotional layers of this story without imposing a singular perspective?
Gnyp: I think, in the way we always approach our filmmaking—Smriti mentioned our film “Shelter”, which was about homelessness told from the perspective of children—I think we always have to be very present and very human. You have to enter any space with your subject by listening first. Inevitably, it’s always the humanity of the subjects that shines the way forward.
That was really similar in “I Am Ready, Warden” as well. We spent as much time as we could with all of our subjects. Our time with John was limited by the prison system, but with everyone else in his world, we really spent time getting to know them—giving them space to get to know us, to feel comfortable. We had long shooting days and many of them.
Getting to know people so intimately was the most powerful way we felt we could tell this story.
Mundhra: I would just add that the notions of nuance and complexity have really been eroded in our society. We don’t see people as complex anymore—we just see them as one side or the other, pro or con, etc. But human beings are far more complex than that.
That was really important to us—to stay away from statistics and agendas, and to examine this issue in an honest, authentic way by assuming humanity on both sides. Not assuming that one side is righteous and the other is wrong.
In all of our films, that’s how we approach everything—by assuming everyone’s humanity and allowing the story, the characters, and the events to reveal themselves.
AF: As you spent time with your subjects and got to know them on a deeper level, did your personal beliefs evolve? Were there moments that challenged or even shifted your original perspective on the issue?
Mundhra: For me, spending time with Aaron Castro, the son of John’s victim, was really revealing. It didn’t change my perspective—I didn’t become pro–death penalty as a result of the time I spent with him—but I did gain a deeper understanding of the real need for closure and justice.
It was the first time I had been in such close proximity to someone who had been impacted by a heinous, violent crime. I saw the burden he carried throughout his entire life, how it derailed him from the time he was 14 years old. I understood the direct consequences of John’s actions on another person. And I also realized how unfair it is for us to look to him as a model of forgiveness. He has already carried such an immense burden, and the fact that he could open his heart to forgiveness—that wasn’t something we prompted or expected. That was purely born from his own heart and deep sense of empathy. I think it even surprised him.
But I also believe it’s too much to ask of victims. Forgiveness shouldn’t be placed on individuals—it has to be systemic. If we want change, it has to happen at a policy level. For Aaron, it wasn’t about advocating for or against John’s execution—it was about the fact that there was a trial, a jury, and a legal outcome. He said if the result had been life in prison instead of a death sentence, he would have accepted that. But every few years, the narrative would shift, and people would ask him, ‘Why don’t you forgive him? Why don’t you advocate for him to be taken off death row?”
Meanwhile, he still had to live with the consequences of losing his father and the trauma that came with it. That gave me a whole new understanding of the burden victims carry, and how unfair it is that society expects them to lead the way when it comes to forgiveness. That burden shouldn’t be placed on them—it should be addressed through systemic change and policy reform so that those already carrying so much aren’t asked to carry even more.
AF: One of the most striking early moments in the film is when we meet Aaron as he scrolls through his laptop and comes across a crime scene photo. At first, I wondered if this was a production decision to heighten the moment, but as the film unfolds—and from what you’ve shared—it’s clear this is something he actually does. What did that reveal to you about the weight he carries? And were you just as shocked to see that in the moment?
Mundhra: Honestly, that scene was simply meant to be about Aaron showing us photos of his father and recounting memories. We had no idea that photo was in there. We had no idea. And then, when he explained why he keeps it and looks at it often, it was so potent. It spoke volumes about the pain he carries with him all the time. He felt he needed to desensitize himself to that image because it would come up in trial, every time John was up for appeal, and every time there was a scheduled execution date that the news would cover. That image resurfaced over and over again, and Aaron felt he had to condition himself not to react the way he did the first time he saw it at trial.
The fact that he has it mixed in with childhood photos of him and his father says so much. That line is so blurred for him—his father was someone he loved dearly, who took him fishing and barbecued for him, but also someone he feels he has to fight for justice for. And since he was 14 years old, that’s been his mission.
So, yeah, that moment wasn’t orchestrated by production at all—we were all quite shocked when it happened. Credit to our cinematographer, Ian Moubayed, who didn’t flinch when that moment came up. I certainly did behind the scenes. But I think it spoke volumes about where Aaron’s head was at.
AF: The cinematography in the film is striking—intimate yet restrained. What role did both of you play in shaping its visual approach, particularly in capturing such raw emotion? The framing often positions subjects from the side or even from behind, yet always feels deeply personal. What was the intention behind these choices?
Mundhra: We had many conversations with our two cinematographers, Raphael Roy and Ian Moubayed, about how to create a sense of intimacy while also maintaining a sense of mystery—allowing the audience to engage and really making them wait to see how people would react and how things would unfold.
With John, we could only shoot him behind that glass, in that sort of ‘glass box.’ It’s such a familiar image—if you watch any kind of true crime, 20/20, or similar programs, it’s a recognizable visual. We wanted to find a way to take him out of that space, metaphorically, so that people could actually see his humanity. That’s where we used that extremely tight angle, slightly to the side, when he’s looking into the dead corner. Raphael played around with that framing, and I thought it was really effective.
Personally, I feel that sometimes the least intimate shot is the straight, dead-on angle—it can feel a bit invasive, depending on the context. Many times, it’s appropriate, but other times, there’s more emotion and power in a quarter profile or half profile. We played with that a lot. It forces the audience to focus on the flickering of someone’s eyelashes, the furrow of their brow—to wonder, ‘What are they thinking?’ When you don’t have all the information, you lean in more to their words and body language. That was very intentional.
For the final scene, when Aaron listens to John’s recording, we wanted to create a sense of privacy for him—to allow him to process his emotions authentically. There’s often a ‘fussiness’ to production, and when we know we’re about to film emotionally potent scenes or true vérité moments, we try to minimize the production apparatus as much as possible.
But a lot of our choices are guided by intentionality in visual language, and sometimes, the most important thing is simply creating an environment where the participant doesn’t feel the need to perform for us—where they have enough privacy to truly process their emotions.
Maya can speak more to that, especially since she was the one in the room when we filmed Israel’s final conversation with his father, John, which I thought was so powerful and beautifully captured.
Gnyp: And that’s right. I think the scene with Izzy is a great example of that. By that point, we had gotten to know Izzy so well—we were so connected that he truly wanted us there. At the same time, he knew we were making a film, but he was open to it, and that became part of our language with him as well.
It was a really beautiful moment, and we were so honored to be there and support him through it. But we were also very pared back—there were only three or four people in the room with him. It was a very small, intimate setting.
Mundhra: And the whole film was shot on prime lenses. No zoom lenses. When you shoot on a fixed lens, beyond just the visual aesthetic, it means you have to earn the trust of the participant. If you want that close-up, you have to earn their trust to be physically that close. You have to work your way in, scene by scene.
With a zoom lens, you don’t have to do that. So it was an intentional choice not to use one—we didn’t want to give ourselves the ability to ‘cheat’ as filmmakers.
AF: Congratulations to you both once again and good luck at the upcoming Academy Awards!