Best Premiere Viewings of June 2025

1. Duhul aurului / Lust for Gold (Mircea Veroiu & Dan Pița, 1974)

Split in two loosely connected chapters – Mirza (directed by Veriou) and The Chest (directed by Pița) – Lust for Gold is an entrancing period drama which slyly mirrors the circumstances behind the Iron Curtain, all the while exploring the human predicament in a way that renders it timeless. Light on dialogue, but heavy on poetic, beautifully composed images and inspired camerawork (Iosif Demian), as well as on idiosyncratic score densely interwoven with premonitory folk songs (Dorin Liviu Zaharia), this little known 70s gem is one of those films that reinvigorate and elevate your love for (arthouse) cinema, locking you into its world – illusory, yet true – for ninety minutes.

2. Les quatre cents coups / The 400 Blows (François Truffaut, 1959)

It’s hard to say anything new about highly acclaimed classics such as Truffaut’s feature debut, but it is even harder being a child surrounded by a bunch of dysfunctional adults, or worse, a child in a grown man’s body disoriented in a dysfunctional society, but that’s a whole different story... Anyhow, Jean-Pierre Léaud plays the central role of a troubled kid, Antoine, with a fascinating blend of natural talent and the conviction of a versed actor, carrying the bittersweet, quietly poignant film on his still frail shoulders. Under Truffaut’s taut, unwavering direction, he is assisted by Henri Decaë who starkly captures the grit and melancholy through the keen eye of his camera, with Jean Constantin’s wistful score softening the edges of Antoine’s unenviable coming of age, as the themes of rebellion and never-ending search for freedom resonate as strong as they did more than six decades ago...

3. Hotel de lux / Luxury Hotel (Dan Pița, 1992)

A Kafkaesque allegory of totalitarian regime, often evocative of the current reality in Serbia, Luxury Hotel is told from the wry perspective of a young restaurant manager, Alex (Valentin Popescu), struggling with the mad, reactionary ways of the Employer who owns the titular place. Deliberately unsparing and increasingly absurd, the film reaffirms the viewer’s disdain for authority, and navigates us – in a fever dream-like daze – across the extravagant lounges, damp utility rooms, a dusty library, and a crowded prison, rarely providing a breather. Through the gates of a freight elevator moving slowly from one floor to the next, we are introduced to the hotel’s (ever-crumbling) model of class stratification, bearing witness to the metastasis of despair in a stifling atmosphere of paranoia emphasized by a number of restrictive medium shots and closeups, as well as by the VHS surveillance footage.

4. Thriller (Sally Potter, 1979)

Mimi – the tragic heroine of Puccini’s opera La bohème – joins forces with the free-spirited character of Musetta (turned her alter-ego?) to investigate the circumstances surrounding her own death in Sally Potter’s performative, formally challenging short Thriller. The French-accented voiceover leads the viewer through the feminist narrative with slight queer undertones, as Bernard Herrmann’s iconic string piece for Psycho intrudes the otherwise brooding soundscape planted with the excerpts of 1938 La Scala recordings of the said opera. In addition to the original footage largely composed of frozen, La Jetée-style vignettes, the film utilizes stills of productions at the Royal Opera House of London, as well as photographs of needlewomen, the courtesy of the National Museum of Labour History. It all makes for a potent concoction, plunging you, puzzled yet mesmerized, into the pitch-black shadows of the highly expressive B&W images that emphasize the experiment’s phantasmal qualities. The minimalist attic setting poses as a liminal (and limiting) space, adding to the dreaded sense of inevitability...

5. Predator: Killer of Killers (Dan Trachtenberg & Joshua Wassung, 2025)

One of the finest installments in the Predator franchise, animated omnibus Killer of Killers is anchored in utterly impressive action sequences, from the single take tracking shot in The Shield chapter, to no talking, and all showing ‘chanbara’ of The Sword segment, to disbelief-suspending dogfights in The Bullet, with the gladiatorial epilogue acting like a cherry on top. The viewer is taken to the 9th century Scandinavia, Edo period Japan, North Africa during World War II, and finally, an alien planet in the distant future, each of the settings beautifully rendered in stylized CGI, often channeling the (blood-stained) spirit of old-school anime. Tratchtenberg and Wassung prove to be a dynamic directorial duo, effectively utilizing the possibilities of the medium, and making the most of the 80-minute time frame, i.e. providing just enough meat to keep you invested in their heroes’ survival. 

6. Los hermosos vencidos / Beautiful Losers (Guillermo Magariños, 2021)

“This fucking world is so disgusting now.”

And yet, Magariños manages to find some exquisite if bleak beauty in a story of two strangers transporting a corpse across Mexico in his fiction feature debut. Initially, Mara (firsttimer Tania López) and Daniel (Diego Calva) are bound only by the promise of the payment they’ll receive once the job is done, but after a routine police check goes awry, their partnership grows stronger, and more intimate. As the two misfits open up to each other, sharing their perspectives on life, purpose and death, secrecy is traded for sincerity, and their odd, somewhat Beckettian journey creates a space for the viewer to reflect upon. The locations they use as stops are far from the postcard-perfect imagery, but they all appear inviting in their brooding remoteness, largely by virtue of DoP Carlos de Miguel’s picturesque framing. Although the pacing could’ve been tighter here and there, Beautiful Losers is a solid effort – a minimalist road movie carried by melancholic visuals and unaffected performances.

Honorable Mention:

Un rêve plus long que la nuit / A Dream Longer Than the Night (Niki De Saint Phalle, 1976)

“Everything you can imagine truly exists.”

Best Premiere Viewings of May 2025

1. ...a pátý jezdec je Strach / ... and the Fifth Horseman Is Fear (Zbyněk Brynych, 1965)

“Hate is contagious. More so than any plague. And it spreads by chain reaction.”

I have seen great many films that are beautifully shot, but Jan Kalis takes B&W cinematography to a whole new level of stunning, the party scene being the standout, with its brilliant blocking and the subtlest (i.e. not once showy) use of camera angles and movements. Making the meticulous framing even more compelling is Zbynek Brynych’s art of transmuting those images into a mesmerizing if dread-inducing portrait of paranoia that permeates Nazi-occupied Prague, and – in an anachronistic twist – actually represents the city under the stern Stalinist regime. The sublime expressiveness of the visuals is accentuated by uncanny silences, and Jiří Sternwald’s sparsely, yet cleverly deployed score – discordantly disquieting as the epitome of mental strain caused by oppression which is best reflected in the ‘nervy’ performance from Miroslav Machácek as a tragic hero, Dr. Armin Braun. The undercurrent of Kafkaesque absurdity adds another layer of nightmarish depth to the story that seems unfortunately relevant today.

2. Mr. K (Tallulah Hazekamp Schwab, 2024)

Kafka meets Jeunet, and Cronenberg passes by to say ‘hi’ in a surrealist mystery of absurd proportions, with the leading man Crispin Glover amplifying eccentricity via both his strong presence and superb performance. His magician protagonist’s desire to escape is at a weirdo heart of an existentialist allegory / a meditation on (metaphysical) loneliness set in a decrepit but extravagant hotel whose labyrinthine, charmingly vintage, and ever-shrinking interior establishes a dense atmosphere of claustrophobia. Broom closets are turned to secret passageways, and members of brass orchestra emerge from small wall openings, as things go from irrational to ludicrous, all tucked into exquisite, green-and-brown-dominated designs by Manolito Glas and Maarten Piersma. The ‘impossible architecture’ of the place appears to reflect Mr. K’s growing confusion, or rather living and breathing nightmare, whereas the pacing – along with the quirky inhabitants unwilling to change status quo – works against his efforts to find the exit. Not much is disclosed about this character, and yet his unenviable situation feels relatable, the inexorable vagueness of the narrative compelling the viewer to root for him. I’m not familiar with Schwab’s earlier directorial efforts, but being a sucker for Kafkaesque cinema, I can’t wait to see what she has in store next.

3. Manhunter (Michael Mann, 1986)

In one of the most stunningly framed thrillers (hats off to cinematographer Dante Spinotti!), the immersive, chilling austerity of visuals finds a perfect match in the psychological tension that simmers under the surface. Suspense is built and maintained through an expert use of cinematic language, and is sometimes strongly felt when you least expect it, the scene of petting a sedated tiger being a great example. Even the watching of home videos is enveloped in a menacing aura largely emanating from Tom Noonan in the role of a deranged killer dubbed ‘the Tooth Fairy’. Although his screen time is limited and none of the heinous crimes is shown, what is left to the viewer’s imagination is nauseating enough. And that gives a pretty good idea of the mental strain under which the hero of the story – adapted from Thomas Harris’s novel Red Dragon – operates, as he tries to enter the perpetrator’s mind, with William Petersen approaching his character in a similar fashion. Mann has a firm (at times, perhaps, too firm) grasp over the material, providing us with a somewhat bizarre, In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida catharsis.

4. Sinners (Ryan Coogler, 2025)

In a postmodernist throwback to the early 1930s, the vampire horror is revitalized with a lively blues twist, introducing the incredible, viscerally velvety baritone of Miles Caton in his outstanding silver screen debut. A perfect choice for someone with a legendary gift of ‘piercing the veil between life and death’, as shown in the anthological scene of ‘conjuring spirits from the past and the future’, he is partnered by Michael B. Jordan in a twin role played smoothly, and with indelible charisma. Actually, it is the entire cast that leaves a lasting impression, making you forget that what you’re watching brims with all-too-familiar bloodsucking tropes, seamlessly blended with elements of crime, musical and action genres. Also lending gravitas to the proceedings is Coogler’s gripping direction, and his keen sense of suspense and mise-en-scène, beautifully supported by Autumn Durald Arkapaw’s crisp cinematography, and Ludwig Göransson’s brilliant score. 

5. Kuro Tokage / Black Lizard (Kinji Fukasaku, 1968)

In one of the most fascinating (not to mention feminine) drag performances, Akihiro Miwa commands every scene (s)he’s in, as the titular mastermind criminal who runs a nightclub adorned with Aubrey Beardsley’s art, has a thing for shiny jewels, and owns a secret living doll museum in which one of the ‘statues’ is played by THE Yukio Mishima. The latter’s stage adaptation of Rampo Edogawa’s novel serves as the foundation for Kinji Fukasaku’s psychedelic noir – a sparkling confluence of comic book-like pulp and classy camp aesthetics that turns a cat-and-mouse battle of wits into a dreamlike cinematic delight. A bizarrely romantic ode to beauty, Black Lizard is a feast for the eyes, whether it is soaked in deep shadows, awashed in vivid colors, or both at once, providing a fitting backdrop for Miwa’s compelling melodramatics.

6. Den stygge stesøsteren / The Ugly Stepsister (Emilie Blichfeldt, 2025)

A spiritual successor to Coralie Fargeat’s acclaimed sophomore flick The Substance, The Ugly Stepsister is one of the boldest takes on the Cinderella story, amping up the gruesomeness of the Grimm Brothers’ version, and adding a dash of kink. Set in a fictitious kingdom of what appears to be the 19th century, the film is told from the twisted perspective of Elvira (Lea Myren, a tour de force in her first big-screen appearance), whose daydreaming of marrying prince Julian (Isac Calmroth) – charming only in her imagination – sets her on a painful, self-destructive path of meeting the cruel beauty standards. Assisted by her toxically ambitious mother, Rebekka (Ane Dahl Torp), and challenged by the original protagonist turned mean-spirited blondie (Thea Sofie Loch Næss), she subjects herself to inhuman procedures of Dr. Esthétique, and her tutoress, ranging from eyelash sewing (evocative of the iconic Opera scene) to a tapeworm diet (!) with a sickening epilogue.

Add to that the rotting corpse of Cinderella’s father that plays a sort of a stand-in for the fairy godmother, and the infamous toe-cutting depicted in all of the practical SFX g(l)ory, and you have yourself a squirm-inducing reading of a fairy tale that puts Emilie Blichfeldt on a map of filmmakers to keep an eye on. What elevates her feature debut is the empathy she feels for her (anti)heroine, as well as for other deeply flawed (and largely opportunistic) characters, embodying it in another stepsister, Alma (Flo Fagerli, lovely!), and eliciting it from the viewer. Her sense of style, pacing, dark humor, and edgy satire are also commendable, complemented by sumptuous set and costume designs that convey the period, without taking away from the contemporaneity simmering under the surface.

7. The Committee (Peter Sykes, 1968)

“I think the whole world is a madhouse... an extended madhouse...

As long as the dialogue goes on, there’s a chance of rationality.”

During an engine check-up, a hitchhiker decapitates the driver with a car hood, sews his head back on, and the victim miraculously comes to life with no memory of what happened. Later on, the unnamed (anti)hero –portrayed by singer and actor Paul Jones (credited as Central Figure), and showing no signs of psychopathic behavior whatsoever – gets the invitation to the mysterious Committee, when the elements of Kafkaesque reality start kicking in. In the so-called Lodge where Central Figure is summoned along with many others, including his amnesiac Victim (Tom Kempinski), people socialize in a rather relaxed (holiday) atmosphere that is at one point heated up by the wild, out-of-nowhere performance of The Crazy World of Arthur Brown. Pink Floyd is also featured on the psychedelic soundtrack, and the dialogues vary from absurdly comical to (pseudo)philosophical to metaphysical, touching upon dichotomies such as individual vs. society, authority vs. its rejection, impulsiveness vs. passivity, and providing you with a mind-titillating experience. Anchored in cinematographer Ian Wilson’s keen lensing, with certain angles emphasizing the ‘offness’ of the goings-on, Peter Sykes’s hour-long debut is a cool, charming cinematic oddity, something like Cocteau’s ‘cenatur in reverse’ that is initially mistakenly referenced as ‘senator in reverse’ during a mod party. The real question is: “Do you play bridge?”

8. Freaky Tales (Anna Boden & Ryan Fleck, 2024)

With its heart (and attitude) in the right place, the latest offering from Anna Boden & Ryan Fleck (Captain Marvel) brings a delightful concoction of (dark) humor, action, drama and fantasy all neatly packed in four interconnected stories of Oakland’s underdogs. Teen punks defend their hangout zone from skinheads, a rap duo is immortalized after a local stage duel, a weary debt collector is given a chance for redemption, and a basketball player releases his inner ninja on a racists’ den. A pulptastic love letter to the 80’s, cinema, music, comics, and the town of Oakland where Fleck grew up, the film wears its various influences – from Heavy Metal and Scanners to Blue Velvet and Pulp Fiction to Scott Pilgrim vs. the World – on its sleeve, gluing them with edgy social commentary or rather, keen sense of poetic justice, and blurring the boundaries between myths and memories. Its nostalgic hyper-reality is beautifully framed in academy ratio by Jac Fitzgerald, and sprinkled with a pinch of VHS artifacts in post-production, whereby the mixtape vibes of the narrative structure are reinforced by the soundtrack’s eclecticism. Lending gravitas to this charming, fun-filled romp is the solid cast, the standouts being Dominique Thorne and Normani (in her big-screen debut) as empowered besties, Pedro Pascal, brooding in the role of an ex-henchman, Tom Hanks in a movie-connoisseur cameo, and Ben Mendelsohn with his pitch-perfect take on a slimy police sheriff.

9. Swimming Home (Justin Anderson, 2024)

So, it seems like Theorem and Swimming Pool have a child baptized by Yorgos Lanthimos in a secret queer chapel haunted by Yoshishige Yoshida’s spirit. As odd (and off!) as it gets, Justin Anderson’s feature debut marries deliberate emotional inertia with uncanny formal austerity into a surrealist drama that wears absurdity and alienation proudly on its sleeves. ‘An acquired taste’ label easily applies to pretty much every aspect of this film, from the weird framing that emphasizes detachment, to Coti K’s discordantly unnerving score pulling you into an opaque dream, to mannered performances from the ensemble cast orbiting around always reliable Ariane Labed in the role of a mysterious, ‘toxic’ stranger. Even nudity / eroticism is treated in a way that makes one more puzzled than titillated, adding to the (inspiring) sense of disorientation. Now, that is a good fix of unconventional cinema!

10. Houdini (George Marshall, 1953)

Filmed in glorious Technicolor, with a resplendent score adding to the magic, Houdini is a snappily paced, partly fictionalized biopic on one of the greatest illusionists portrayed by Tony Curtis whose good looks are matched by innate charisma, dedicated performance, and sparkling chemistry with his then wife Janet Leigh, also great. Breezy, zesty, and crackling with life-affirming energy, the movie can be seen as a celebration of following one’s dreams at any cost; its eye-pleasing set and costume designs beautifully framed by Ernest Laszlo who previously collaborated with Joseph Losey on his version of M.

Scents of Arcadia

Conceived in times of heightened repression, Scents of Arcadia may be viewed as my most rebellious series, its sensual, exuberant compositions defying not only the reactionary forces / conservative thought, but the very bleakness of life’s realities, as well as the ever-growing miasma of death. Portraying mythologized entities / heralds of the subconscious mind, these lucid, omnierotic visions of often symbiotic bond between vegetation and flesh strive to cloud suicidal ideation, and through the eyes that pop up in peculiar places, peek into the observer’s soul. An exploration of collages’ painterly potential, they exist between flights of fancy, and deeply rooted fears, dissolving the latter in the ethereal vastness of the skies.

Additional note: The titles of 12 ‘chapters’ form a sort of a prose poem.

“Immortality lays eggs in a twisted lullaby of our birdless nest. Heaven may bleed and hell may freeze, but she will be here, tormenting me, reinventing me. Softer than distance, I reopen portals, and silence escapes. Everything (b)ends.”

Immortality Lays Eggs

In a Twisted Lullaby

 Of Our Birdless Nest

Heaven May Bleed...

... and Hell May Freeze

But She Will Be Here

Tormenting Me

Reinventing Me

Softer Than Distance

I Reopen Portals

And Silence Escapes

Everything (B)Ends

Best Premiere Viewings of April 2025

FEATURES

1. Myth of Man (Jamin Winans, 2025)

“Let me take you by the hand,

Away from here, to another land...”

(The Cranberries / Put Me Down)

Another land – an incredible and mystical one at that – is exactly where Jamin Winans (Ink, The Frame) takes the viewer with his third fiction feature, reviving your sense of childlike wonder, and excelling in the world building department. A passion project years in the making, Myth of Man is the director’s finest offering to date – aesthetically compelling, whimsically playful, and emotionally resonant, it washes over you like a soft wave of the purest dreams that don’t need to be analyzed to be cherished. Told or rather shown from the perspective of its deaf-mute heroine credited as Ella (Laura Rauch, gently creating one of the most adorable and humane characters to hit the screen recently), it completely eschews words in favor of images and music, coming across as a modern silent film. Exploring the timeless themes of love, loss, death, and firm belief in what you do (especially if it’s art), this delightfully quirky steampunk fantasy transcends the genre confines in its becoming of sublime audio-visual experience. More marvelous than anything Marvel and other big studios have been hyper-producing, Myth of Man blends live-action, SFX, and animation on a less-than-1-million budget, in a way that you can almost sense the pulsing of its authors’ souls.

Recommended as a companion piece to Amélie (2001), MirrorMask (2005) and/or La Antena (2007).

2. Bushidō muzan / The Tragedy of Bushido (Eitarō Morikawa, 1960)

An impressive showcase of formidable formal talents, The Tragedy of Bushido is sadly the only feature helmed by writer/director Eitarō Morikawa. Drawing parallels between the draconian ‘way of the warrior’ and the unforgiving corporate system of post-WWII Japan (or capitalism, in general), it thematizes loyalty, honor, and sacrifice through a provocative melodrama giving off some Greek tragedy vibes. A tale of a teen boy (played with stoic intensity by then 21-yo Junichiro Yamashita) forced to commit ‘seppuku’ for his late lord is expressively lensed by another debutant, cinematographer Takao Kawarazaki, its B&W gorgeousness masterfully complemented by a dreamlike, mystery-evoking score from Riichirō Manabe. Morikawa elicits remarkable performances from his entire cast, demonstrating a deep understanding of cinematic language, as well as a keen sense of suspense.

3. Io la conoscevo bene / I Knew Her Well (Antonio Pietrangeli, 1965)

“Trouble is, she likes everything. She’s always happy. She desires nothing, envies no one, is curious about nothing. You can’t surprise her. She doesn’t notice the humiliations, though they happen to her every day. It all rolls off her back like off some waterproof material. Zero ambition. No moral code. Not even a whore’s love of money. Yesterday and tomorrow don’t exist for her. Even living for today would mean too much planning, so she lives for the moment. Sunbathing, listening to records, and dancing are her sole activities. The rest of the time she’s mercurial and capricious, always needing brief new encounters with anyone at all... just never with herself.”

This elaborate, if unflattering description of the film’s protagonist – a naive country girl, Adriana – comes from the lips of a moody writer (krimi-regular Joachim Fuchsberger), one of many men she gets involved with on her way to the stars, and the only one who takes away from the irony of the title. A magnificent starring vehicle for Stefania Sandrelli supported by the likes of Mario Adorf, Jean-Claude Brialy and Franco Nero, I Knew Her Well feels much like a spiritual successor to Fellini’s La Dolce Vita, exposing (and condemning) the superficiality of showbiz, and its effects on unsuspecting victims, all the while addressing the evils of a capitalist machinery. Its fragmented structure is tailor-made for depicting of Adriana’s carefree life, each episode working like a charm that turns this young woman strangely and increasingly captivating, in spite of her flaws. She is adored by Armando Nannuzzi’s camera that captures all the subtleties of her freewheeling nature, and elevates her beyond an object that she is in the eyes of various ‘predators’, into a vulnerable human being desperately searching for a meaningful connection. A diversified soundtrack that acts like a time capsule of the 60’s popular music, beautifully complementing the stark B&W imagery, adds more nuances to her not fully graspable character.

4. Kyūba no koibito / Cuban Lover (Kazuo Kuroki, 1969)

Released between Silence Has No Wings and Evil Spirits of Japan, both highly recommended, Cuban Lover commemorates the 10th anniversary of the Cuban Revolution, combining a romance and travelogue with archive footage of Castro’s and Guevara’s speeches. The film’s deliberately meandering tale chronicles the road trip of a young, aimless Japanese sailor, Akira (Masahiko Tsugawa, charmingly assertive), making advances to chiquitas (when ome exquisite use of POV shots comes into play) until he encounters Marcia (Obdulia Plasencia, superb in her only screen appearance) and falls head over hills for her. Following her around the country, he learns of its turbulent recent past, but is oft-left to his own devices, as the girl doesn’t seem too keen to abandon her post-revolutionary ideals for love. Their awkward relationship operates as a guerrilla-counterpart of the one from Resnais’s 1959 masterpiece Hiroshima, Mon Amour, leaving plenty of room for the reflection on the struggle for freedom and equality. The camerawork by the great Tatsuo Suzuki who would later frequently collaborate with Shūji Terayama, also working on feature offerings from Toshio Matsumoto (Funeral Parade of Roses, Dogura Magura), captures a specific time in history with such an inviting flair that one gets the impression of being there. Adding to the authenticity of the experience is the selection of popular songs intertwined with Teizō Matsumura’s euphonious, harp-heavy score.

5. Die Sünderin / The Sinner (Willi Forst, 1951)

Controversial or rather, scandalous for its time (and place), The Sinner is a tautly directed melodrama told in retrospective by (luminous!) Hildegard Knef who portrays a former party girl/street walker involved with an unsuccessful painter (Gustav Fröhlich, superb) diagnosed with a brain tumor. Described as ‘a masochistic romantic fantasy’ by Jeff Stafford (Cinema Soujourns), it features incestuous prostitution, a lesbian kiss, brief (and tastefully done) nudity, as well as a mercy kill, inter alia, which is why it caused such an uproar in moralistic circles, and had screenings interrupted by clergical stink bombs. Beautifully shot in velvety B&W married to an ellegiac score that amps up emotions, the film brings a feverishly poetic, if overwrought tale of idealized, death-defying love, exploring the themes of self-sacrifice, perseverance, and (ennobling) suffering, with both the director’s and the viewer’s sympathies lying with its ‘sinful’ heroine. 

6. Siraa Fil-Wadi / The Blazing Sun (Youssef Chahine, 1954)

A film that launched Omar Sharif into stardom on the native Egyptian soil, The Blazing Sun is a soaring melodrama skillfully blended with the crime genre, and outspoken in its criticism of the authorities. Social realist at heart, it portrays a ‘forbidden’ romance against the backdrop of unfortunate events caused by greed, powerblindness, and disregard of progress. Its tale of (in)justice is as timeless and universal as it gets, with Chahine’s sympathies drawn toward the working folks idealized through Sharif’s character, Ahmed, a young engineer who introduces new methods for improving the production of sugar cane to the fellow villagers. Emphasizing his hero’s virtuous nature, the director pits him against an unscrupulous land owner, Taher Pasha, and his even more malicious nephew, Riad Bay, whose archetypal villainy is rooted in reality much deeper than it may initially appear. Zaki Rostom and Farid Shawqi, respectively, effortlessly slide into the roles of sleazeballs that one loves to hate. Embodying advance and modernity is Ahmed’s sweetheart and Pasha’s own daughter, Amal (Sharif’s future wife Faten Hamama, stellar), who’s given an emotional load as heavy as that of her lover, and she admirably endures. Further elevating the feature is the excellent choice of locations, particularly in the suspenseful finale, and Ahmed Khorshed’s arresting, noir-like cinematography, its high contrasts mirroring the class struggle at display. 

7. Az ötödik pecsét / The Fifth Seal (Zoltán Fábri, 1976)

A watchmaker, a carpenter, and a book seller sit in a bar, and chat with its owner, when a stranger walks in. It may sound like the beginning of a bad joke, but the time and place – 1944, Budapest – suggest something much more sinister. One topic leads to another, and then, the watchmaker (Lajos Öze, brilliant!) tells a story of a tyrant and a slave, asking his buddies a hypothetical question which will haunt not only them, but the viewer as well, long after the film has ended. Dubbed ‘a spiky political cabaret of cruelty and fear’ by Peter Bradshaw for Guardian, The Fifth Seal occupies a morally ambiguous zone, exposing hypocrisy as innate to human nature, and providing an intoxicating concoction of religious, political and philosophical musings that put you into a state of disquietude... or heighten your awareness of already being there. It often feels as if it could work as a stage play, but there are certain camera movements, and sequences, such as the Bosch-inspired surrealistic hallucination, and not to mention the epilogue, that reassure us the cinema is where this bleak, anti-fascist narrative belongs.

8. Orfeu Negro / Black Orpheus (Marcel Camus, 1959)

Largely set in the heightened reality of Afro-Brazilian favela during the Carnival in Rio de Janeiro, the bossa nova adaptation of the Orpheus myth bursts with colors, oozes with passion, and overflows with energy, making for one of the most kinetic pieces of the 50’s cinema. Borderline delirious, and deliciously campy in its naivety, it utilizes dance as the primary means of expression, hypnotizing you with its infectious rhythms, as it reaches for the primordial essence of your being. Call me crazy, but I recommend it double billed with Emil Loteanu’s musical melodrama Queen of the Gypsies.

9. Les salauds vont en enfer / The Wicked Go to Hell (Robert Hossein, 1955)

In Robert Hossein’s directorial debut which marks my third encounter with his oeuvre, a prison break drama gradually transforms into a revenge flick, with the destruction of earthly paradise marking the turning point. Ravishingly enigmatic Marina Vlady – then the author’s wife – jumps into the role of a (righteously!) fatal young woman, Eva, her name highly symbolic, as she faces the threat in the form of two escaped convicts played by Henri Vidal (Pierre) and Serge Reggiani (Lucien). Hossein’s father André – French composer of Iranian Azerbaijani origin – provides a propulsive score for what can be labeled as a dissection of men’s evil captured in attention-grabbing B&W by DoP Michel Kelber.

10. Art College 1994 (Jian Liu, 2023)

Let me begin by saying that I’m not a big fan of dialogue-heavy films, and yet the third (and arguably finest) feature from Jian Liu (Piercing I, Have a Nice Day) had me immersed in its endless, philosophically-tinged talks on art, life, love and the possibilities of the future, all permeated by tension between traditionalism and modernity / the East and the West / conformism and self-expression. Its four protagonists – a group of art students at the unnamed academy in mid-90’s / reforming China – may often bite more than they can chew with their choices, yet they all feel relatable or at least sympathetic in one way or another, evoking the early days of adulthood with de-sentimentalized nostalgia. Rendered in retro-style rotoscoped visuals of gloomy, de-saturated colors that reflect their (confused) inner states, with some of the supporting characters voiced by acclaimed filmmakers such as Bi Gan and Jia Zhang-ke, Art College 1994 ranks among the grungiest pieces of Chinese cinema, and not only because its ruminative, long-haired hero Zhang Xiaojun keeps his walkman charged with Nirvana cassettes. Simultaneously anachronistic and timeless, thought-provoking and slackerish, this film is one bitter cup of tea, quite pleasing if you sip it as deliberately as it is paced.

11. The Intruder (David Bailey, 1999)

A silky, sax-heavy jazz score (by Haim Frank Ilfman) appears to be in command of not only the dreamy or rather, drowsy atmosphere which this slightly trippy neo-noir / urban gothic / psychological drama is soaked in, but also of the smooth, leisurely pace, as well as performances that often have an ASMR effect to them. The entire cast, especially Nastassja Kinski, is well-attuned to Charlotte Gainsbourg, brilliantly low-key in the leading role of a woman, Catherine, who experiences strange phenomena after marrying and moving in with a widower, Nick (Charles Edwin Powell). Is she imagining things or is she being gaslighted? Could it be the ghost of the dead wife that haunts her, or is the past parallel to the present, as hinted at in the opening, causing frequent power outages in the building, and materializing the mysterious intruder? Finding answers in the claustrophobic environment of modern, austerely and coldly elegant apartments is made more difficult by dense, foreboding shadows of Jean Lépine’s meticulous cinematography, elevating the film even in its wacky, tonally questionable conclusion. 

12. Le foto proibite di una signora per bene / The Forbidden Photos of a Lady Above Suspicion (Luciano Ercoli, 1970)

A pretty stylish giallo that eschews body count in favor of blackmailing and gaslighting, Luciano Ercoli’s directorial debut revolves around Minou (Dagmar Lassander, her pulchritude matched by an above-average performance) – a struggling businessman’s wife coerced into a sadistic relationship with a mysterious man (Simón Andreu, believably threatening) in possession of compromising info on her husband. Lassander is rivaled by Nieves Navarro (credited under the moniker Susan Scott) portraying her scene-stealing bestie Dominique, both ladies often appearing as if they wandered off a photo-session promoting the fashionable costumes by Gloria Cardi. Set designs are equally alluring in their groovy color combinations, quirky decor, and moody lighting, all neatly framed by DoP Alejandro Ulloa who previously collaborated with Fulci on One on Top of the Other (1969), with Ennio Morricone composing an appropriately sultry score. There’s a fine balance between (s)exploitation, melodrama, psychological tension, and subgenre-specific irrationality  achieved here, making for a worthwhile viewing. 

13. Ash (Flying Lotus, 2025)

Musician turned filmmaker Flying Lotus (born Steven Ellison) returns with a sophomore feature that threads the familiar territory of space-set horror, initially operating like a psychological thriller, only to deliver some bonkers Hidden-Alien-Thing goods in the final third. For most of the running time, the narrative rests on the shoulders of Eiza González (solid) as an amnesiac astronaut, Riya, with Aaron Paul as her colleague Brion amplifying her paranoia, and Iko Uwais, Kate Elliott, Beulah Koale, and director himself providing support in the flashbacks. As pulpy as B-movies get, Ash – a nickname for the planet K.O.I.-442 where the small crew of ‘terraformers’ is stationed – seduces the viewer with its colorful, psychedelic, hyper-stylized visuals somewhat reminiscent of Nicolas Winding Refn and Panos Cosmatos, enhancing the primarily sensorial experience with a brooding to throbbing, and at one point, giallo-esque score. There’s also a quirky treat for the Japanophiles in the form of a so-called Medbot – a scan & surgery robot that speaks in a dulcet female voice with a thick Japanese accent.

14. In the Lost Lands (Paul W.S. Anderson, 2025)

“Down with the Overlord! Down with the Church!”

Maybe it’s my soft spot for Milla Jovovich, or a simple fact that I don’t remember ever seeing a witch and a werewolf in a duel, but I really enjoyed the latest flick from Paul W.S. Anderson. Pulpy to the bone marrow, and in a way evocative of something Albert Pyun might’ve conceived in his heyday, ‘In the Lost Lands’ is a flashy, if overly familiar B-movie mélange of a post-apocalyptic western, steampunk-by-way-of-medieval fantasy, and monster-beating action delivered in a glossy, video-gamey package. Ms Jovovich – Anderson’s wife and muse of the last sixteen years – plays a cursed sorceress, Gray Alys, whose abilities are deemed devil-sent by The Patriarch and his sect of faux-crusaders seeking to seize the power from the dying, yet still feared Overlord, and his scheming Queen. The enslaved (miners) see her as a potential leader of a revolution – another reason she is marked as the most painful thorn in the fundamentalists’ side. Tasked by the Queen to find a dangerous shapeshifter, she joins forces with a lonesome gunslinger, Boyce (Dave Bautista), as her guide, and together they set across the titular wastelands where the director deftly applies ‘the rule of cool’ on everything from the slow-motion sequences to the world building of his post-modernist fairy tale. There’s even a certain ‘campy poetry’ and esotericism (!) to be found here, captured in deliberately scorched visuals of dirty sepia tones and grayish blues befitting of the setting, with the (overused) ‘diffraction spikes’ effect creating an almost dreamlike vibe.

SHORTS

1. El-Fallâh el-fasîh / The Eloquent Peasant (Chadi Abdel Salam, 1970)

Primarily an art director, Chadi Abdel Salam (1930-1986) helmed only two films – a brilliant, atmospheric drama Al-mummia (The Mummy), and this short masterpiece, both starring Ahmed Marei. Based on a text from the Middle Kingdom period of ancient Egypt, The Eloquent Peasant – originally, a combination of a poem and morality tale – follows a simple, wrongly accused man whose kind words open even the iron door, anticipating an old Serbian proverb. His well-spoken reaching of justice is gorgeously framed in academy ratio, with historically accurate costume and set designs evoking Jerzy Kawalerowicz’s 1966 epic Pharaoh, and the minimalist, wind-swept score by Gamil Soliman synergizing with earthy tones of Mustafa Imam’s inspired cinematography. 

2. Žena, růže, skřítek, zlost / A Woman, A Rose, A Goblin And Anger (Antonín Horák, 1969)

Various toys and trinkets come to life in one of the most bizarre pieces of stop-motion animation to come from Czech Republic (Czechoslovakia back in the days). A hyper-surrealist (or rather, dadaist?) fantasy, this 10-minute short is a non-stop barrage of puzzling visual weirdness complemented by a mystery-intensifying music into something that probably puts a curse on the viewer who doesn’t appreciate it. The stuff that the most fragmented of feverish dreams are made of.

3. Muse (Paweł Pawlikowski, 2025)

Starring model and actress Małgorzata Bela as Muse, and Marcin Masecki as Pianist, the latest offering from Paweł Pawlikowski (Ida) is a dialogue-free ode to the joy of creation; an expressive, sumptuously shot B&W short in which the titular mythological character is challenged by the artist’s mood swings, evoking the spirit(s) of early, noir and post-modernist cinema through her ‘haute couture’ transformations.

Best Premiere Viewings of March 2025

FEATURES:

1. Dreaming Is Not Sleeping (Rouzbeh Rashidi, 2025)

Read the review HERE.

2. David and Lisa (Frank Perry, 1962)

“Normal is not the norm, it’s just a uniform.”

(Delain, We Are the Others)

One of the sweetest love stories to ever grace the silver screen, David and Lisa marks the feature debut for a number of cast and crew members – the director and his screenwriter wife (first-time using her own name, and not a gender-bender moniker), actors Janet Margolin (radiant as the titular heroine), and Jaime Sánchez, the cinematographer Leonard Hirschfield, composer Mark Lawrence, and editor Irving Oshman. Their fresh energies combined make for an engaging film in which a sensitive topic such as mental disorders is treated with utmost care and respect. The setting is a boarding school for psychologically disturbed youngsters, and its newest protégé is an intelligent and sophisticated teenager, David (Keir Dullea, superb), whose haughty demeanor is a facade built due to a lackluster emotional upbringing, not to mention thanatophobia reflected in his severe fear of touch, and nightmares of decapitation. Gradually melting his icy aura is Lisa – a ‘pearl of a girl’ suffering dissociative identity disorder, speaking in rhymes, and – despite the limited screen time – acting as the story’s big, candid and gentle heart. Their romance blossoms in an unhurried pace, as Perry shows and elicits from the viewer great sympathy and understanding for his broken characters, without resorting to overly saccharine tactics, and finding a strong support in Hirschfield’s meticulous framing of the protagonists’ beautiful faces.

3. La chouette aveugle / The Blind Owl (Raúl Ruiz, 1987)

“Fatima, according to a curious superstition, believed she could capture images in her right hand and sound in her left hand. According to her, it was easy enough to trap them by leaving her hand open for a few moments in front of a projector... She was convinced that these images and sounds had a very high nutritional value.”

Borrowing elements from Sadegh Hedayat’s (nonlinear) novel of the same name, as well as from Tirso de Molina’s play Damned by Despair, The Blind Owl is the most delirious of Ruiz’s films I’ve seen so far. A meditation on cinema, death, identity, duality, and obsessive love, it is a mind-boggling, eye-pleasing, linguistically wily, and wryly witty tale of... well, it’s hard to determine exactly, but let’s say, madness as the intrinsic part of human condition. Metafilmic at its core, it plunges you into a volatile, fever dream-like world of Kafkaesque absurdities, Borgesian puzzles, and shifting perspectives, with its convoluted structure bolstered by shadow-infested cinematography from Patrice Cologne. The highly expressive lighting alone is the reason enough to see it.

4. Esquizo (Ricardo Bofill, 1970)

“I have the biggest patience and electricity in the world. God is the universe. I am the owner of the world. Therefore, I am God. Revolution is in progress and men will become demi-gods. Democracy doesn’t exist.”

A pseudo-documentary filtered through the prism of speculative fiction, and dubbed A Fictitious Report on the Architecture of the Brain, the only feature offering from acclaimed Catalan architect Ricardo Bofill portrays the mind of a schizophrenic woman as a piece of performance art. Intersected by the footage of real mentally disordered patients, naked boys playing in the sand, and animal carcasses in the slaughterhouse, it can be viewed as a simulacrum of life under a fascist regime, especially when the ‘omnipotent’ voice-over is taken into consideration. Miraculously surviving the Francoist censors (or was it too clever for them?), it has stood the test of time, and now – when the liberties are increasingly endangered all around the globe – its relevance couldn’t be more pronounced. A challenging experiment that may be dismissed as ‘pretentious’ by the mainstream audience, Esquizo also exposes “the lack of understanding, the lack of sympathy, the lack even of seeing or being incapable of visualizing how some people suffer, how incomprehensible their anguish is”. (Daniel Kasman, Rotterdam 2016. Acting Out)

5. Boof-e koor / The Blind Owl (Kioumars Derambakhsh, 1975)

“Only death never tells a lie.”

Faithfully adapting a part of Sadegh Hedayat’s masterful novella of the same name, Kioumars Derambakhsh (1945-2020) manages to capture the spirit, if not all the layers and ellipses of the source material in his first (and only?) fiction featurette. A cinematic equivalent of a nightmare, The Blind Owl clocks at around 55 minutes, playing out like a time-distorting rumination on death, with themes of desire, guilt and tradition (as a factor of torment) skillfully intertwined into the bleakly surrealistic tale. In the central role of an unreliable narrator, Parviz Fanizadeh delivers a superb performance, his expressions and the slightest of movements reflecting the disturbed inner state of his world-weary character. Desolate surroundings of withered grass, barren trees, cracked earth, and man-made structures of mud and stone – all arrestingly framed – also play an important role in the portrayal of the protagonist’s anguished psyche...

6. Dvoje / And Love Has Vanihed (Aleksandar Petrović, 1961)

Boy meets girl (in front of the cinema), they fall in love, but his affection for her gradually fades. A simple, yet timeless story that could’ve been set virtually anywhere in the world gets a modernist / Nouvelle Vague-ish treatment in the first solo feature from Aleksandar Petrović (of I Even Met Happy Gipsies fame). On par with the masters of European arthouse film of the period, this romantic drama is bolstered by strong performances from Beba Lončar (radiant in the role of a music student, Jovana) and Miha Baloh (charming as an architect, Mirko). The jazzy, quaintly inviting score by Ljiljana Popović, and Ivan Marinček’s taut framing of both the leading couple and Belgrade of the early 60’s, define a fascinating portrayal of Jovana and Mirko’s relationsip, capturing all of its nuances, from saccharine to bitter, and transcending most if not all narrative clichés.

7. Irati (Paul Urkijo Alijo, 2022)

Based on Jon Muñoz Otaegi’s graphic novel The Circle of Irati (originally, El ciclo de Irati) which draws inspiration from Basque legends, the sophomore feature from Paul Urkijo Alijo (of Errementari fame) is a beautifully realized medieval fantasy revitalizing the magic of the sword & sorcery subgenre. Set against the backdrop of the clash between the paganism and Christianity, the film takes the viewer into the Pyrenees forests rendered enchanted by cinematographer Gorka Gómez Andreu, labyrinthine caves guarded by beings of mythological yore, and stone castles where the power dynamics are incessantly shifting. In a story deeply rooted in local folklore, Alijo speaks of universal and “timeless human issues”, as Júlia Olmo notes in her review for Cineuropa, touching upon “the weight of roots, the idea of loyalty and honor, the meaning of identity, the struggle for a place and the value of that struggle, the meaning of faith, the classic concept of ‘the beautiful death’ (filling one’s life with deeds to achieve eternal glory, to be remembered and loved in eternity), the fear of forgetting, the presence of death in life, the search for your origins and the price of that search”. These themes are explored through both the titular heroine, a feisty pagan girl (Edurne Azkarate, stellar in her first big screen appearance), as well as a young Christian nobleman, Eneko (Eneko Sagardoy, excellent), learning to accept the mysterious ways of nature personalized by the goddess Mari (Itziar Ituño, a strong vocal presence bolstered by an intricate costume of red, intertwined threads). Speaking of nature, one can easily notice the ecological aspect of the proceedings, particularly in the scenes of bleeding tree stumps, and stones, with the overarching perspective being more feminine than masculine...

8. Le Feu sacré (Vladimir Forgency, 1971)

Very 70’s, and very French, Le Feu sacré (lit. The Sacred Fire) is (sadly!) the only feature helmed by Vladimir Forgency. It is a solidly crafted drama revolving around a young ballerina-in-training, Sonia, who shares her first name with the star – Paris-born dancer of Russian decent, Sonia Petrovna, epitomizing grace. At the very threshold of adulthood, the heroine is torn between her somewhat wavering passion for classical ballet and infatuation with Pierre (Pierre Fuger) – a handsome hippie who manages a modern-dance troupe. In other words, she is compelled to choose between the rigorous dedication, and the uncertainty of freedom; following in the traditional footsteps of her godmother teacher Lily (Lilian Arlen), or just letting herself go with the counterculture flow. The largely non-professional actors who’re most probably professional dancers deliver authentic performances, with the major characters built upon many exercise and rehearsal scenes, as well as a small part of Iphigenia staged. Forgency directs them with immediacy and spontaneity, his right-hand man being cinematographer Willy Kurant who previously collaborated with who’s who of La Nouvelle Vague – Godard (Masculin féminin), Varda (Les créatures), and Robbe-Grillet (Trans-Europ-Express). Also praiseworthy are Yves Trochel’s production and costume designs, often reflecting dichotomies explored, and Sonia’s contradictory emotional states.

9. Docteur Chance / Doctor Chance (F.J. Ossang, 1997)

“She’s dreaming. Blood colors the leaves. A smell of gasoline. The metal drenched with rain. Just a wall to lean on. A piece of glass in the throat till the blood stops flowing. We empty ourselves of the world and it’s good.”

More a (pulp) fever dream than a film, Doctor Chance appears like a vague reflection / afterthought of a gangster noir gradually turning into a road movie on a lost highway of crypto-poetic raving. Its fragmented narrative or rather, a dissolving illusion of it, exists only as a thread which holds a patchwork of cinematic references, from silent era to the French New Wave to postmodern psychological thrillers. As always with F.J. Ossang, the strongest is a Godardian influence, subtly filtered through the prism of punk nihilism into a freewheeling, stream-of-consciousness abandon. His brooding characters are but ciphers rooted in the crime genre archetypes, and confined within the images they desperately try to escape from – “disappear in flight to show that the sky exists”. A mother figure (the late and great Almodovar’s regular Marisa Paredes) and a lover (the author’s muse Elvire) may hold the keys of the exit... 

10. O corpo ardente / The Burning Body (Walter Hugo Khouri, 1966)

“I think I got old sooner than everyone else. And it was a life that passed in a blink. I couldn’t even see it.”

Even more Antonioniesque than its predecessor, ‘Noite Vazia’, ‘The Burning Body’ is a muffled scream for (absolute) freedom, also acting as a portrait of deeply suppressed desire, set against an alienating backdrop of upper-class society of intellectuals. Occupying the central role with brooding intensity, magnetic presence and an air of mystery surrounding her is Barbara Laage whose character, Marcia, is a woman on a desperate quest for a key to the shackles that bind her to her only, camera-wielding son, dead-end marriage, and boring lover. Her longing for a life unconstrained by duties manifests as a beautiful, untamable black stallion that she becomes fascinated with during a short trip to a remote desert cottage, the flashbacks of both the respite and extramarital affairs intertwined with the scenes of an ongoing party. The film’s fragmented structure – a mirror to Marcia’s emotional detachment – is well-paired with Khouri’s unwavering formal austerity which further emphasizes the atmosphere of existential ennui, making for a challenging viewing experience.

11. El Metafísico / The Metaphysician (Pablo Chavarría Gutiérrez, 2025)

The latest feature from self-taught filmmaker Pablo Chavarría Gutiérrez (Still the Earth Moves) is a strange, or rather, decidedly weird animal, one that doesn’t take itself too seriously in its tackling of the themes such as art, love, death, friendship, existential crisis, and the way our dreams (and nahuals) navigate us through life. Described as a ‘mystical comedy’, the film portrays everyday routine of a struggling writer (played with a tongue-in-cheek nonchalance by the director himself), infusing it with absurd (and bits of self-deprecating) humor, stoner wisdom, and folk magic that – combined serendipitously – often turn the banal into the surreal. It is a rough-around-the-edges concoction that doesn’t always work, but its immediacy, easygoing attitude, independent spirit, and naivete of non-professional cast aren’t without their charms, all beautifully captured in soft grays of Carlos Hernández’s B&W cinematography, and interspersed with cinematic references. 

12. The Lord of the Rings: The War of the Rohirrim (Kenji Kamiyama, 2024)

“Fat and prosperous are when men are at their most dangerous. It fills them with false courage, and false courage breeds discontent.”

A beautifully animated fantasy in which a clever and headstrong girl who has never wanted to rule defeats a cowardly psychopath who thought he was the almighty king, sending his army of masked goons on unarmed people... Oh my, the film’s antagonist has all the traits of a certain, not-to-be-named tyrant of a Balkan country, though he’s far more handsome than the latter.

13. Oni Goroshi / Demon City (Seiji Tanaka, 2025)

More or less a formulaic revenge flick brimming with intense and stylish action, Demon City is somewhat intriguing for the parallels one could draw between its ‘demons’ and their real-life counterparts, if the latter had an ounce of ‘wicked coolness’. Alas, what we get, particularly in Serbia these days (or rather, decades), are pathetic, dehumanized excuses for ‘officials’ who embody the absolute worst of imaginable vices. These lying sacks of the smelliest, most toxic bullcrap – no, I’m not apologizing for the lack of euphemism – are so detestable that all the ‘poetic’, blood-spraying justice Tanaka serves here comes across as a mild punishment compared to what those monsters actually deserve. Matsuya Onoe as a grinning, thick-lipped, corrupted-to-the-bone mayor Sunohara evokes a certain ‘head of the state’ in both appearance and his character’s sect of loyalists, with his elitist project of Mahoroba resort (a phallic building, of course!) bringing to mind the gentrified raping of Belgrade. Confronting and disposing of Sunohara’s henchmen is one-man army Shūhei Sakata (the impressive, largely physical performance from Tōma Ikuta) – an ex-hitman who can survive a superhuman amount of metal pole blows, sword cuts and falls from height in a manga-inspired rampage. If only he had the purity of students and citizens who have been protesting for the past four months...

SHORTS:

1. A Placeless Place (Sibi Sekar, 2024)

A placeless place, a timeless time, an egoless ego... After jumping into the void, is it ‘voidlessness’ that follows? And can it be portrayed? Through a character of ‘outsider’ (Kamali), Sibi Sekar continues his quest across the innermost depths – an unknown realm where universal truth manifests itself in poignant absences. Obscure visions – of a forestless forest, a fieldless field, and a roomless room – pose as the verses of a calm-inducing poem, one in rhymeless rhymes, filling the air with melancholy that stems from existential longing. The film ceases to be a conscious hallucination, as its author strives to transfigure it into a dreamless dream of a dreamer hopelessly enamored of the mystery’s soul.

2. Silence Has No Wings (Zaur Mukhtarov, 2024)

Not to be confused with Kazuo Kuroki’s 1966 elliptical feature of the same name, Zaur Mukhtarov’s short is a captivating cinematic delight. Completely void of dialogue, as well as of music (apart from a party scene), it draws the viewer into a meditative state, as it reflects on loss, loneliness and death through the character of an unnamed young woman (Nurana Karimova, an embodiment of fragility). She lives with a caged dove – a figment of her imagination? – that quite possibly symbolizes her self-imposed imprisonment in memories, or rather, acts as a vessel for the soul of a beloved one who passed away. Transformed into a phantom romance, the protagonist’s refusal to let go permeates the profound stillness of her daily routine, almost ritualistic in its depiction, and the very air of her apartment – the fortress of melancholy. Her ‘ennui’ becomes delicate poetry in meticulously framed shots of cinematographer Matlab Mukhtarov, with the director maintaining a deliberate pace of his editing, harmoniously matched to the wingless, yet sublime silence.

3. Shaolin Avengers (Andy Le, Brian Le & Daniel Mah, 2025)

Arguably, one of the finest, most loving homages paid to Hong Kong martial arts cinema, its astonishing fighting choreography shot with clarity, and intertwined with some delightfully cheesy humor.