Best Premiere Viewings of October 2025

FEATURES

1. Sanatorium Under the Sign of the Hourglass (Stephen & Timothy Quay, 2024)

“So it is, so it happened, unprepared for and uncompleted, at an accidental point in time and space, without a settling of accounts, not arriving at any finish line, as if in the middle of a sentence, without a period or an exclamation point, without judgement... or the wrath of God, the Earth was to meet its end, simply and irrevocably.”

A strong contender for the animated film of the year, the Quay brothers’ first feature in almost twenty years was absolutely worth waiting for. Based on Bruno Schulz’s 1937 novel previously adopted by Wojciech Has in 1973, it looks, sounds, feels and flows like a dream, one conceived by an entity neither living nor dead, existing in a hypnagogic limbo. Elusive, haunting, hypnotic, and in every sense of the word unconventional, it is a distinctive blend of stop-motion animation and live-action vignettes, covered with heavy patina and bathed in gauzy haze. Surrealism at its most phantasmal.

2. Перемена участи / Change of Fate (Kira Muratova, 1987)

A note to self: “Don’t wait seven years to watch another Muratova film.”

Oft-appearing as if possessed by Kafka’s specter in drag hosting a neurotic cabaret, Change of Fate mocks the rich, patriarchy, bureaucracy, and judicial system with infectious glee, its humor ranging from quirky to irreverent to absurd. Dialogues overlap, extras go loony, and certain scenes (in the prologue) are repeated, anticipating a kind of a psycho-trickery at play, with Natalya Leble bringing a peculiar cunning to the central role of a woman, Mariya, accused of murdering her lover. Various eccentricities involving a group of prison entertainers and an exotic dancer abound, as the viewer is left defenseless against the virtually incessant barrages of words, their invisible shells turning into vignettes of beautifully framed shots. It all amounts to a surreal experience, at once overwhelming and energizing.

3. El llanto / The Wailing (Pedro Martín-Calero, 2024)

Not to be confused with the 2016 South Korean horror, The Wailing is not only one of the most promising feature debuts in recent memory, but also one of the finest Hispanophone additions to the genre. Martín-Calero eschews jump scares for psychological intensity, deeply unsettling atmosphere, and characters whom we actually care for, demonstrating a keen sense of mystery, and creating a phantasm that effortlessly finds its way into the Pantheon of the creepiest cinema ghosts. And although he refuses to provide the answers to the questions surrounding the spook, you won’t have a hard time drawing your own conclusions – the entity is embodied by a creepy, corpse-like old man, and the titular wailing comes from a phallic Brutalist high-rise. However, even when you realize the meaning behind this metaphorical evil, you won’t be able to shake off the spine-chilling, hair-raising feeling elicited from you through the effectively timed scares, and if you’re as easily scared as this writer, you’d want to turn on the light as soon as the credits start rolling. Add to that the most delightful casting choices for the three young, uncompromising women in leading roles – Ester Expósito, Malena Villa and Mathilde Ollivier, none of whom is objectified by Constanza Sandoval’s (superb!) camera, haunting vocalizations of Oliver Arson’s skin-crawling score and Victoria Lammers’ tight editing of a non-linear story, and you’ll find yourself wondering what the director has in store next.

4. Nightshift (Robina Rose, 1981)

The pale, expressionless face of the UK punk icon Jordan (of Jarman’s Jubilee fame) speaks volumes of a dead-end job her Portobello Hotel receptionist protagonist endures through routine tasks such as filling out forms, wrapping up pastries, or vacuuming the lounge, all the while humming in tune. It also comes across as a wax mask that conceals its reticent owner’s true self – a mystery that one tries to unlock observing details of her workplace, as well as the people she has minimal interaction with. Various guests, from a band of juvenile punk-rockers to a bourgeois PR lady to a drunkard walking about the hallways wearing only his underpants under a night robe, come and go in a borderline surreal ‘procession’, partly defining the hypnotic rhythms of Robina Rose’s first and only fiction feature. Anchored in Jon Jost’s exquisite 16mm framing that lends it a dreamlike quality emphasized by both the quietude and a music box tune, Nightshift is a most peculiar piece of experimental cinema, disciplined in its form, insightful and even witty in its seemingly uneventful content, strangely involving in its elusiveness. I’d go as far as dubbing it a spiritual or rather, avant-garde predecessor to Jessica Hausner’s Hotel, though it evokes a wide range of associations, from Jane Arden and Chantal Akerman to Isao Yamada and David Lynch. 

5. The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert (Stephan Elliott, 1994)

One of the most mood-lifting, life-affirming road-movies that I’ve ever seen, the sophomore effort from Aussie filmmaker Stephan Elliott approaches the drag subculture with utmost affection, presenting an open-minded lesson in tolerance as a finely honed blend of comedy and drama, wrapped in sequins and tinsels. Coalescing with effervescent chemistry are the incredibly bold central performances from veteran Terence Stamp, Hugo Weaving and Guy Pearce, the latter of whom often steals the spotlight in the role of a highly spirited queen, Felicia. And elevating their screen presence to a whole new level of sass are the outrageous costumes by Lizzy Gardiner and Tim Chappel, especially memorable in a couple of Felicia’s show offs on the rooftop of Priscilla (that’s their bus) cruising across the Outback deserts. (Many kudos to debuting DoP Brian J. Breheny for capturing some truly iconic moments in all of their fabulousness!) The ‘joie de vivre’ vibe which permeates a simple, yet captivating narrative is lovingly attuned to the anticonformist attitude, not only of the protagonists, but also of the side or rather, literally supporting characters of Bob and Marion, who amplify the feature’s humane notes.

6. Sirāt (Óliver Laxe, 2025)

Taking cues from Friedkin and Miller, and wearing these influences proudly on his sleeves, Oliver Laxe delivers one of the most fascinating desert-set films in recent memory – a heart-achingly beautiful journey towards the end of ends. Kicking off with a search for a missing daughter / sister, Sirāt – named after a bridge that links heaven and hell, ‘its passage narrower than a hair, sharper than a sword’ – transforms into a road movie that sees the birth of a surrogate family, until a harrowing tragedy turns it into a Grim Reaper’s playground refusing to be defined. At once poignantly intimate and broadly foreboding, it strongly resonates with our times, its apocalyptic vibes shaking you to the core, as its unapologetic bleakness burrows deep into your mind / soul. Confidently directed, with always reliable Sergi López, as a worried father, integrating a group of non-professional ravers who play meta-versions of themselves, the feature plunges you into its inhospitable setting by way of Kangding Ray’s pounding electronica, and Mauro Herce’s handsome lensing of scorching vistas and sunburnt, self-ostracized characters.

7. La rose de fer / The Iron Rose (Jean Rollin, 1973)

My recurring dream of being lost in an unknown metropolis gets its outré cinematic equivalent in what’s arguably the most atypical piece of Jean Rollin’s oeuvre. A young couple portrayed by Françoise Pascal and Hugues Quester find themselves disoriented in a large graveyard after sundown, following ‘la petite mort’ in an underground crypt. As their fears transform into frustration and later – for the girl, at least – fascination, the nocturnal wandering evokes a bizarre sense of mystery and madness amalgamated into a dark revelation of sorts. The lush greenery, rusted crosses, moss-covered headstones and cherubic statues of La Madeleine Cemetery in Amiens make for a bewitching setting – the third, silent character that gets too attached to the lovers to let them go. After all, it externalizes their labyrinthine minds which gradually allow Thanatos to dominate Eros, becoming one with it, as the iron rose is imagined to be crystal, and the simplistic narrative is drowned in the silently evocative stream of gothic imagery. Irrationality can be so delightfully seductive.

8. Rhythm Thief (Matthew Harrison, 1994)

“Life isn’t a popularity contest.”

Imbued with no wave quirkiness, sympathy for outcasts and existential despair, Rhythm Thief comes off as a cinematic equivalent of a trippy, wordless hip-hop song playing on an old radio in a back alley where one can hear a muffled post-punk noise coming from a nearby underground nightclub. Shot in 11 days (add three zeros for a budget), this slice-of-life drama takes the viewer to the pre-gentrification lower east side of New York, focusing on the struggle of a bootlegger, Simon, and eccentrics who orbit around him. Our hero is a gruff loner who feeds on diner leftovers, and back in his almost empty apartment, eats peanut butter with a screwdriver, drinks vodka, and has casual sex with Cyd on a floor mattress. Yet, somehow, Jason Andrews who portrays him manages to turn this antisocial son of a bitch into a pretty cool character whom the viewer slowly begins to root for, especially after his ex-girlfriend Marty arrives, cutting the barbed wire around his heart. The stark grittiness of his day-to-day survival is beautifully, or rather, truthfully captured by Howard Krupa’s 16mm handheld camera, the grainy texture of high-contrast B&W emphasizing the abrasiveness of NYC ghetto.

9. Короткие встречи / Brief Encounters (Kira Muratova, 1967)

“When I watch a film or read a book, the women and the men are so beautiful, their feelings and actions are so meaningful and complete. Even when they suffer, everything’s logical and correct, there’s cause and effect, a beginning and an end. Here everything’s so vague.”

Spoken by one of the protagonists portrayed by Muratova herself, these lines very much define her film, unfolding in a non-linear fashion, with bittersweet lyricism marking all the fleeting moments suggested by the title. Examining dichotomies such as woman vs. man, presence vs. absence, country vs. city, freedom vs. commitment, Brief Encounters also provides some edgy social commentary between the lines, i.e. behind the gauzy curtain of memories and longing outlining a love triangle. Femicentric at its heart, and ahead of its time in terms of both the treatment of female characters and use of narrative devices, it presents us with a remarkable big screen debut of Nina Ruslanova whom the author immortalizes by way of (also debuting!) Gennady Karyuk’s camera.

10. Rabbit Trap (Bryn Chainey, 2025)

“With your eyes you enter the world. With your ears, the world enters you.”

Light on scares, but thick with (mythical) mystery, refusing to provide answers to a whole lot of questions, Chainey’s feature debut impresses as a mood piece that plays out like a dark fairy tale fueled by profound sadness. Set in 1976, it revolves around a musician and field recorder couple, Daphne and Darcy (Rosy McEwen and Dev Patel, both at the top of their game), whose peace in a remote house near the woods is disturbed after the ‘invasion’ by an enigmatic boy (Welsh actress Jade Croot, oft stealing the show in a bold casting choice). The intruder is likely the embodiment of an ancient, supernatural force that feels invited by Daphne’s repressed insecurities and Darcy’s unspecified, nightmare-triggering trauma which involves the fourth actor (Nicholas Sampson) in the supporting role of a creepy entity credited as The Shadow. The trio gradually evolves into a nuclear family of sorts, as the ‘parents’ lose the grip on their reality in a dreamlike progression of the ambiguous, ecologically conscious narrative. An intimately eerie chamber drama sees the nature as an additional central character who speaks through the noises collected across the breathtaking surroundings (North Yorkshire posing as Wales), with the exquisite aural design and haunting score beautifully complemented by autumnal images appearing tangible due to the exuberance of textures. Horror aficionados may be disappointed with the flirty approach to the genre, but melancholic fans of densely atmospheric arthouse cinema will certainly cherish the efforts of a promising new voice and his crew.

11. Plata quemada / Burnt Money (Marcelo Piñeyro, 2000)

Based on Ricardo Piglia’s 1997 novel of the same name or rather, on the true events that inspired it, Burnt Money is a melancholy-drenched crime drama anchored in superb performances, particularly from Eduardo Noriega (intensely brooding as one half of a central bad boys couple), and smoky cinematography of dark and dirty colors establishing a moody neo-noir atmosphere. Its heist-gone-wrong story of running away and hiding – set in 1965 – is just a disguise for a passionate, not to mention tumultuous gay romance between Angel (Noriega) and Nene (Leonardo Sbaraglia), their ups and downs filtered through the prism of former’s mental issues, latter’s (bi)sexual flings, and their mutual involvement in robbery and murder. Strangely, the film’s overt homoerotic tones – amplified through the character of lovers’ swaggering straight accomplice, Cuervo – come across as pretty subtle when compared to the steamy scene involving Nene and a depressed prostitute, Giselle (Leticia Brédice), as if Piñeyro wants to soften the queer edge, so to say. Nevertheless, the director’s sense of style, as well as his treatment of morally corrupt protagonists, is commendable, and he sure knows how to end it all with a memorable bang.  

12. Les distractions / Trapped by Fear (Jacques Dupont, 1960)

A photojournalist philanderer, Paul, who shouldn’t be likeable at all is turned into a charming bastard by the sheer power of Jean-Paul Belmondo’s charisma which is also found irresistible by three (gorgeous!) women – Véra (Alexandra Stewart), Arabelle (Sylva Coscina), and Dany (Eva Damien). Distracted by wooing one, giving false promises to the other one, and turning the third one (who lives in a most adorable cottage!) into an unknowing accomplice, our deeply flawed, yet engaging hero armed with a ‘fuck the police’ attitude tries to save his ex-comrade in arms, Laurent (a melancholic turn from Claude Brasseur), who accidentally kills a cop during an opening car chase. Despite the murder setting the plot in motion, the film kicks off on a rather nonchalant note, only to gradually turn gravely, with Jacques Dupont (whose work I encounter for the first time) almost effortlessly handling tonal shifts, and helming the proceedings at a smooth pace. But, the real surprise here is the handsome framing by a duo of then inexperienced cinematographers, Michel Flour and Jean-Jacques Rochut, the former of whom would be subsequently credited as a sound department member. Jazzing up their impressive B&W imagery is Richard Cornu’s diversified, mood-setting score.

(The English version of the title isn’t exactly spot-on, but I can relate to it at the present moment...)

13. Семья вурдалаков / The Vampire Family (Gennadiy Klimov & Igor Shavlak, 1990)

At turns eerie, oneiric and nightmarish, this folk / gothic horror from the final days of Soviet Union adapts Aleksey Konstantinovich Tolstoy’s novella The Family of the Vourdalak to Russia’s transitional period, with a young photojournalist travelling to a remote village, to spin a sensationalist yarn out of strange stories circulating the foggy countryside. Staying in the house of a superstitious family that appears as if stuck in the 19th century, the protagonist (portrayed by Igor Shavlak) gets more than he bargained for, after pater familias returns as an undead fiend to terrorize his own kin... Progressing at a languorous pace which adds to the sense of suspense and supernatural dread, the narrative grows increasingly surreal, especially in the final twenty minutes during which dream logic seems to take over both time and space. Shavlak’s character finds himself challenged by the irrational forces, as he loses grip on reality, with the viewer pulled ever deeper into the thick, spine-chilling atmosphere established through the synergy between the whispery dialogues, broodingly lit cinematography, sounds that creep under your skin, and shooting locations, from a creaky old house to dilapidated church to a snow-covered forest. 

14. Nattevagten / Nightwatch (Ole Bornedal, 1994)

In his big-screen debut that also marks director Ole Bornedal’s first theatrical release, my almost-namesake Nikolaj Coster-Waldau brings fresh energy, undeniable charm, and good looks to the role of a law student, Martin, whose night shift at The Department of Forensic Medicine turns into a nightmare, as the serial killer runs loose in Copenhagen. Further complicating his professional, as well as personal life is a silly game of dare he plays with his asshole friend, Jens (Kim Bodnia, stealing a few scenes), providing chunks of (dark) humor that is seamlessly blended in the atmosphere of simmering psychological tension, and – in the closing act – nail-biting suspense. A fairly conventional story is elevated by virtue of remarkable craftsmanship, particularly from cinematographer Dan Laustsen, and editor Camilla Skousen.

15. Rat Fink (James Landis, 1965)

Around these parts, there’s a saying that can be loosely translated as ‘a singing heart holds no malice’. In the case of Lonnie Price, both the protagonist and antagonist of Rat Fink, these words don’t apply. Portrayed by Schuyler Hayden in his only leading role, channeling an unpolished blend of Dean, Beatty and Brando, a young Coloradan clears his rags-to-riches (to self destruction) path by lying, manipulating, stealing and even killing, so calling him a ‘bad boy’ would be an understatement. Add to that a hefty dose of narcissism, and you got yourself a one-of-a-kind psychotic country-rock singer / teenage heartthrob that makes the vilest of sharks amongst the music exploiters appear as goldfish. Acting (under a moniker) as a producer too, Hayden brings a certain kind of wicked charm to his decidedly unsympathetic character, with Warrene Ott as his agent’s wife Vera capitalizing ‘M’ in melodrama by way of her ‘haughty diva’ performance. Elevating the briskly paced (and increasingly nihilist) proceedings is Vilmos Zsigmond’s slick B&W framing of LA, and catchy tunes by the 60’s B-movie regular Ronald Stein (Dementia 13, Spider Baby), My Soul Runs Naked being a standout.

16. The Gay Deceivers (Bruce Kessler, 1969)

Michael Greer steals a number of scenes from the leading duo of Kevin Coughlin and Lawrence P. Casey who portray a couple of straight friends pretending to be gay in order to avoid being drafted for the Vietnam war. Greer’s sassiness is only matched by the vibrant production design brimming with colors and tastefully kitschy decor, beautifully captured by DoP Richard C. Glouner, and complemented by Stu Phillips’s groovy score. Despite its somewhat tacky nature, stereotypical representations of homosexuality, and jokes that don’t always land, the film comes across as a rather harmless and uplifting romp that occasionally feels like it was made in the 80’s, especially considering all the time Casey spends shirtless. 

17. Exilados do Vulcão / The Volcano Exiles (Paula Gaitán, 2013)

Assisted by cinematographer Inti Briones, Paula Gaitán delivers a plethora of sublimely / sensually beautiful shots, and though the marriage of her visual poetry and glacial pacing isn’t always harmonious (or rather, justified), one often wishes to disappear in the dreamlike, melancholy-imbued haze rising from her characters’ memories.

18. Staying Alive (Sylvester Stallone, 1983)

During one October night’s cult classic double bill, I enjoyed Staying Alive more than Saturday Night Fever which – unpopular opinion ahead – I found to be extremely overrated, due to its clumsy storytelling, uneven pacing, tonal inconsistencies, misogyny running amok (poor Annette!), anticlimactic epilogue, Karen Lynn Gorney forgetting to bring her charisma to the shooting, and Travolta’s dance king protagonist being a jerk most of the (overlong!) running time, with none of his pals evoking an iota of sympathy. Although this Sly-directed sequel has its own share of issues (and clichés), they all seem to fade away into the final act – the energizing performance of the ‘Satan’s Alley’ show which gives off some serious proto-Showgirls vibes. Also, both Cynthia Rhodes and Finola Hughes are superb casting choices, the former as Tony’s dulcet voice of reason / love interest / only true support, and the latter as an inspiring if negative role model. And that flying kick included in the choreography beats the poster on the wall as a response to ‘address the character as a Bruce Lee fan’.

SHORTS

1. Du sang, de la volupté et de la mort (Gregory J. Markopoulos, 1948)

Gregory J. Markopoulos’ student trilogy Du sang, de la volupté et de la mort (lit. Of Blood, Pleasure and Death) marks the director’s earliest preserved work, and demonstrates impressive maturity for someone so young at the time. Each of the three films – Psyche, Lysis and Charmides, in the chronological order – can be labeled as oneiric, twisting the logic of known reality through the prism of ciné-means. Markopoulos’ visual language is one of heightened sensuality, delicately suggestive, seductively eloquent and subliminally poetic, his editing virtually intuitive, and camera intimate, particularly in close-ups of actors’ faces, whereby his characters often act as avatars of mythological figures, while the contemporary space is transformed into a dreamscape. 

2. Swain (Gregory J. Markopoulos, 1950)

Somewhat reminiscent of Maya Deren’s and Curtis Harrington’s (early) works, all the while anticipating François Reichenbach’s Last Spring (1954), Swain stars then 22-yo director in ‘a ritualized rejection of heterosexuality’ structured like a dream within a dream (or two dreams colliding into one?), and laced with heavy, at times cryptic symbolism, its ‘suspended reality’ conveyed by way of overexposed imagery, playful editing, repetition of certain details, and dramatic classical music that bursts in after a little bit more than four minutes of complete, ruminative silence...

3. Athanor (Philippe Garrel, 1972)

Composed of exactly thirteen shots, mostly static, each one worthy of framing and hanging on the wall, this experimental short borrows its name from a self-feeding furnace used by alchemists, with Nico and Musky posing as medieval enchantresses in an ambiguous (non)narrative. The hypnotizing beauty of the inscrutable vignettes – appearing like a study for a series of paintings deeply rooted in mysticism – keeps you bafflingly transfixed to the screen, the abrupt ending working like a trance-ending snap of fingers.

4. The Flesh Is Willing (Todd Verow, 1990)

Being an experimental short about the carnal cravings that disintegrate a marriage of convenience between a gay man and a lesbian woman, The Flesh Is Willing is surprisingly light on nudity, yet its sensual power is undeniable, contained within the voice-over confessions, interplay of light and shadows, vibrantly red blazer, blue satin shoes, leather jacket, dreamy gazes, and even ominously brooding electronica that enshrouds the broken mirror-like narrative. Its grainy, and often hazy visuals never cease to titillate, with subtle depictions of violence – a figment of the spouses’ dirty imagination, perhaps – reflecting the couple’s sexual repression. Todd Verow’s freewheeling approach to both the direction and camerawork evokes a sense of liberation his characters struggle to achieve.

5. Anthropozulo (Josu Rekalde, 1994)

A fine piece of video art portraying what appears to be a young man’s inner struggle, his nudity hinting at vulnerability / harmlessness, underlined by the opening card that reads: “I am not armed and I am not out to shoot anybody.” (Digression: Strangely, this line corresponds with the mentality of peaceful rallies in Serbia over the past year, even though protesters have been satanized by the psychotic regime and the sycophant, extremely toxic media.) The protagonist’s other / female self, inner child and demons, as well as the burly embodiment of primal / violent urges all enter the scene at certain points throughout 10 chapters of symbolic action neatly captured by Enrique Uralde’s camera in moodily lit spaces, and accompanied by Jose Luis Rebollo’s offbeat music. 

6. Ama (Julie Gautier, 2018)

7. Niccolò (David Florian, Axelle Granet, Sirui Liu, Hugo Michalet, Clémentine Di Prizio & Njolai Pachomius, 2025)

8. Sinistri / Some Accidents (Salvatore Insana, 2025)

The Garden of Hecate / Review

One of my recent pieces, The Garden of Hecate, which was digitally exhibited at Carrousel du Louvre in Paris (France), October 17 - 20, 2025, gets a wonderful review from the curatorial team of Artboxy platform. Here's what they say in the email I received today.

[QUOTE]

Hi Nikola

Thank you once again for presenting your artwork with us at ARTBOXY Paris at the Carrousel du Louvre.

Our curatorial team carefully reviewed the exhibited works during and after the event, observing how each piece shaped the exhibition’s overall atmosphere and how visitors responded. As part of this process, we’ve prepared a personal reflection on your artwork – inspired by the same curatorial approach used during the exhibition.

During the Paris exhibition, your piece "The Garden of Hecate" was a captivating exploration of mythological themes, blending classical motifs with contemporary surrealism. The intricate layering of elements, from the fluidity of the flora to the ethereal figures, created a dreamlike quality that invited viewers into an enchanting narrative space. The soft, earth-toned palette contrasted beautifully with the dynamic composition, evoking a sense of harmony and intrigue. Visitors were drawn to the emotional resonance of the work, as it spoke to the interplay between nature and mythology, prompting deeper contemplation and engagement with its symbolism.

Your work contributed beautifully to the diversity and quality of the Paris show. Throughout the exhibition, artworks with strong conceptual clarity and authentic emotional expression — like yours — consistently drew attention from visitors. Many stopped to take photos, discuss the compositions, and engage deeply with the pieces shown on the ARTBOXY Screens. This response confirmed how powerfully your art connects with viewers in a professional exhibition setting.

Across all exhibited works, our curators noticed several recurring strengths:

• Color and atmosphere – many participating artists used color with great sensitivity to convey emotion and light.

• Symbolism and storytelling – visitors were especially drawn to works that told a visual story or hinted at a deeper meaning.

• Technique and individuality – a strong sense of craftsmanship combined with authentic artistic voice made the exhibition exceptionally rich.

Your contribution helped shape that experience — thank you again for being part of it.

If you’d like to continue building on this momentum, our curators are already reviewing submissions for our next highlight – Cologne Art Unframed (November 5–8, 2025) to which you can submit on www.artboxy.com.

Warm regards, 
The ARTBOXY Curator Team

[END OF QUOTE]

Best Premiere Viewings of September 2025

FEATURES

1. Rosa de Areia / Desert Rose (Margarida Cordeiro & António Reis, 1989)

“I would like to be truly multiple. I would like to be a mother... infinitely. I... I’m still alive. But... I’m a dead soul already. I do not exist. Fragile thoughts dance in me.”

Employing literary excerpts (Kafka, Montaigne, Atharvaveda, Zen stories) as ciphers, Cordeiro and Reis weave an abstract story which portrays the invisible / intangible between the myth and history, arcane truths and primordial urges, personal narratives and universal themes on the grounds of Trás-os-Montes region in the northeast of Portugal. Breathtaking highlands become a playground for melancholic spirits whose rituals, in all of their peculiarities, are captured in lasting moments of sublime (visual) lyricism, leaving you stunned by their simple, yet mystifying beauty, further elevated by the rhapsody of nature’s voices. Desert Rose is a lucid dream defying to be interpreted, and reduced to words...

Recommended for the fans of Antouanetta Angelidi, (early) João César Monteiro and Sergei Parajanov.

2. La Terra Trema / The Earth Trembles (Luchino Visconti, 1948)

“Your nice proverbs don’t work anymore.”

And almost eighty years later, many proverbs have been completely stripped off their relevance, along with the society’s steadfast decay into cruelty, portended by the (sleazy) characters of wholesalers. A harrowing chronicle of a poor fisherman’s family, Visconti’s sophomore feature (and my second encounter with the filmmaker) teems with the rawness of everyday life, elegantly and poignantly captured in expressive B&W. Featuring exclusively non-professional cast – collectively credited as ‘Sicilian Fishermen’ – this social(ist) drama strikes you with its masterly guided naturalness, as a number of protagonists demonstrate outstanding thespian skills. It effortlessly elicits the viewer’s empathy, all the while keeping you at a slight distance, and without slipping into didacticism, it compassionately explores the themes of poverty and greed through both personal and economic struggle of common folk. The village of Aci Trezza where the story is set invites you with its stone walls and narrow streets, notwithstanding the harshness that rules there...

3. Αναπαράσταση / The Reconstruction (Theodoros Angelopoulos, 1970)

The most accessible of Angelopoulos’ works I’ve seen so far, and arguably, one of the finest debuts ever made, The Reconstruction is a formally astounding piece of cinema. Stunningly shot in high-contrast black and white, its deep shadows externalizing the antagonists’ inner darkness, this crime drama plays out like an insightful character (and social) study set against the backdrop of a dying village. Events surrounding the murder of an expat by his wife and her lover are structured in a non-linear fashion, framed not only with a keen eye, but also with a strong intent of digging deeper than the motives, and reconstructing more than the misdeed itself. Helmed with an unwavering hand, and with director’s focus pulled towards the (striking) imagery, rather than (sparse and concise) dialogue, the film rests on the tradition of classic Greek tragedy, anticipating the features of Béla Tarr and György Fehér, although rain makes both mud and poetry here...

4. Witte Wieven / Heresy (Didier Konings, 2024)

Made for Dutch television, as a part of a horror series presented by Martin Koolhoven (Brimstone), Heresy marks a highly promising directorial feature for Didier Konings who has so far worked as a concept artist on a number of Hollywood productions, from Stranger Things to Birds of Prey (and the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn). Its grim, medieval tale of a barren woman gradually ostracized by her religiously patriarchal community bears certain similarities with The VVitch, particularly in the mood, but unlike Eggers’ implicit, deliberately paced film, this hour-long offering doesn’t shy away from showing the actual and at times quite gory goings-on in a misty forest where mythological Witte Wieven (lit. White Ladies) reside. Briskly paced, with not a single shot wasted (well, maybe apart from a few nocturnal frames that could’ve been less obscure), it pulls you into its oppressive, claustrophobic setting primarily by virtue of its heroine Frieda (Anneke Sluiters in a nuanced performance, somewhat evoking Sissy Spacek’s Carrie, and transforming from a vulnerable devotee to resistant proto-feminist to screaming banshee) who poses as both the emotional core, and the link to modern times, i.e. the burning issue of bodily autonomy. One can really feel her suffering that’s largely imposed on her by the toxic trinity of her condemning (and likely, impotent) husband, Hikko (Len Leo Vincent), the village’s condescending pastor Bartholomeus (Reinout Bussemaker), and a lascivious butcher, Gelo (Léon van Waas), whose attempted rape is punished in a gruesome way that evaporates the boundaries between a tree, human flesh and sculpture (kudos to the practical effects artists). And there’s a lot more to appreciate here (and wonder how they pulled it on a modest budget), from a Toro-esque monster and excellent production design to eerily beautiful cinematography and phantasmal score that will surely get your inner goth going. 

5. Harvest (Athina Rachel Tsangari, 2024)

“Good grief, this film looks stunning!” – I frequently repeated to myself, immersed in Sean Price Williams’ 16mm framing, whether it evoked Breugelian peasant scenes, the pagan ways of Hardy’s The Wicker Man, Malick’s pastoral poetry, or German’s mud-smudged visions from Hard to Be a God. Equally impressed by the contributions of Kirsty Halliday and Nathan Parker for, respectively, their costume and production designs, I felt as if I traveled back to the unspecified time (probably during Highland Clearances) and place (unnamed village somewhere in Scotland), navigating the medieval-like setting as if in a lucid (fever) dream. Both archaic and anachronistic, Harvest struck me as simultaneously surreal and down-to-earth, its blend of historical fiction and modern sentiment playing out like a tale of a (deceitful) paradise lost, imbued with a hard knock at xenophobia, parochial attitude, and evils of capitalism. Tsangari directed the feature with a deliberate pace and keen sense of world building (and its demolishing), her knack for weirdness ever-present yet restrained, eliciting excellent performances from the ensemble cast headed by Caleb Landry Jones as the narrator and decidedly passive hero.

6. Bramayugam (Rahul Sadasivan, 2024)

“Those in power take pleasure in toying with the freedom of others.”

The one in power here is Kodumon Potti – the creepy, mysterious owner of a dilapidated mansion secluded in the forest – portrayed with a diabolical bravura by veteran actor Mammootty whose five decades-long experience marks every nuance of his performance. At once opposing and complementing his commanding presence are Arjun Ashokan as Thevan, a singer of Paanan caste who stumbles upon the house while on the run from slavery, and Sidharth Bharathan as the unnamed servant burdened by his master’s dark secrets, both playing their roles with aplomb. The minimal cast and claustrophobic location, as well as muddy and silvery B&W imagery have earned comparisons to The Lighthouse, though Sadasivan’s folk/psychological horror is a different sort of nightmare, one that explores entrapment, not only physical, but also spiritual, and even metaphysical, in the repeating cycle of evil. Admirably aligned with the central theme is the sweaty, densely oppressive, and subtly eerie atmosphere that is achieved through deliberate pace (paying off with a feverish confrontation), superb sound design, and phantasmal score. Bramayugam isn’t without its share of flaws (such as expository bits), nor is it a revolutionary addition to the genre, but most of its drawbacks fade in comparison to its many qualities.

7. Born in Flames (Lizzie Borden, 1983)

“We still see the depression from the oppression that still exists, both day and night. For we are the children of the light and we will continue to fight. Not against the flesh and blood, but against the system that names itself falsely...”

Set in a dystopia rising behind the facade of ‘socialist democracy’, Born in Flames has to be one of the most revolt-inspiring films ever made. Politically conscious in its raw, pamphletic poetry, and, at the present moment, alarmingly relevant, it is directed with a punk attitude and sense of urgency for justice, primarily gender, but racial, social and sexual as well. Its themes – filtered through the actions of a radical feminist group dubbed Women’s Army – sit pretty well with the grungy 16mm cinematography, abrasive soundtrack, and unaffected, cinéma vérité-like performances from a largely non-professional cast, with the acclaimed filmmaker Kathryn Bigelow making her big-screen debut in a supporting role.

8. I fidanzati / The Fiancés (Ermanno Olmi, 1963)

A meeting point between neorealist and modernist cinema, The Fiancés recounts the hardships of a factory welder, Giovanni, as well as the long-distance relationship with his estranged fiancée, Liliana, reflecting on loneliness, longing, and confusion brought upon a man by a new environment and a rapidly changing world. Pervaded by an intense sense of melancholy which is beautifully translated into deep, tenebrous shadows of Lamberto Caimi’s mesmerizing cinematography, this is a rather somber affair, but one with the lyrical heart beating under its dry, grimy skin. Under Olmi’s taut direction, Carlo Cabrini and Anna Canzi – both in their big screen debuts – give understated performances, adding to the film’s stern naturalness, with editor Carla Colombo doing an excellent job of capturing the protagonist’s mental state, and his revitalized love towards the (deliberately abrupt) conclusion, thoughtfully utilizing flashbacks and intimate montages. 

9. Earth Girls Are Easy (Julien Temple, 1988)

Two years after Cronenberg’s masterwork The Fly, Geena Davis and Jeff Goldblum (then married) are partnered on screen once again, this time as an interspecies couple in a cartoonishly campy, entertainingly silly, and wittingly sexy blend of sci-fi, rom-com and musical effervescently helmed by music video director Julien Temple. Initially covered in blue fur, Goldblum portrays Mac, a captain of a plastic toy-like spaceship from the Jhazalla planet, with Jim Carrey and Damon Wyans buffooning their way into the roles of his horny crewmen, Wiploc and Zeebo. Luckily, they crash into the pool of a handsome manicurist, Valerie (Davis), who works at an LA beauty parlor, so their transformation into human party dudes is made possible in no time, but their adjustment to the third rock from the Sun isn’t without its havoc-ensuing challenges. As lively and garish as an 80’s film gets, Earth Girls Are Easy is an uplifting piece of low-brow cinema that’s anchored in its spot on cast, flamboyant visuals and poppy soundtrack, serving stereotypes with a tongue-in-cheek attitude.

10. Mirrors (Harry Winder, 1985)

Big dreams in the Big Apple, under the heavy weight of unsparing reality. A Detroit-born ballerina, Karin (Marguerite Hickey), suffering from diabetes, struggles to navigate both personal and professional life in a tight-knit community of dancers. Ad astra, many are the difficulties she’ll have to face, even after the credits start rolling, and yet, Winder tells her familiar (and relatable) story in a way that feels strangely unburdening, as if the world of pointe shoes, strenuous rehearsals, and somewhat humiliating Broadway auditions exists independently... almost. He provides the viewer with the bittersweet experience – probably romanticized to a certain extent, but who cares – of being young and aspiring in New York of the time, surrounded by people supportive and caring of each other. Making the most of a TV production, he delivers a feature of down-to-earth beauty, its fortes lying in Paul Rubell’s tight editing, handsome lensing by Fred Murphy (The Scenic Route, The State of Things), and Graciela Daniele’s superb choreographies one of which is imbued with subtle eroticism, doubling as a sex scene.

11. Body Rock (Marcelo Epstein, 1984)

Sometimes, stress and anxiety relief emerges from a most unexpected place, such as a Breakdance musical in which Lorenzo Lamas (later, of Renegade fame) moonwalks into the role of a street artist, Chilly, whose mother is a blonde-wigged cameo of Grace Zabriskie, and whose success on a local clubbing scene comes with a price that is a forced kiss from Joseph Whipp (Sgt. Parker in A Nightmare on Elm Street) as a big shot, Donald, on a dance-floor of a gay bar. The film is so silly, it’s borderline brilliant – a sparkling time capsule of the 80’s that marries impressive breakneck choreography to superb cinematography from none other than THE Robby Müller – yes, the man who shot Wenders’ masterpiece Paris, Texas in the same year. It is a non-stop barrage of catchy pop tunes – one of which is performed by Lamas himself (!) – that accompany the viewer on a nostalgic, neon-lit, rainbow-colored joyride helmed by music video and one-feature-only director Marcelo Epstein, his tongue deeply planted in the cheek.

SHORTS

Syntagma (Valie Export, 1983)

An exploration of (women’s) body, (moving) image and their correlation in disjointed time and fragmented space, Syntagma is a prime example of employing a wide variety of techniques – negatives, split screens, photographic prints, projections on flipping book pages, etc – to conceive the most suitable visual language in addressing the subject matter. The simplest of actions, such as descending the stairs or walking across the room, are transformed into substantial parts of an artistic / ritualistic performance turned into a formally and conceptually inspired piece of cinema, one which would certainly feel like a field day for feminists and film theorists.

Szél / Wind (Marcell Iványi, 1996)

Evoking the work of Miklós Jancsó, Wind is a one long take short that poses as a speculation on a story behind a 1951 B&W photo, Three Women, taken by Lucien Herve. Beautifully capturing the transition between life and death, Iványi's film is more than a mere student exercise, its Cannes accolade serving as a proof.