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 2024 (Modern Cinema Edition)

Featuring everything but the kitchen sink of post-2000 cinema - predominantly 2023 and 2024 releases - that I was introduced to during this year, the following list encompasses a wide variety of genres and subgenres, ranging from f-rated body horror and cyberpunk animation, to an African folklore-inspired drama and martial arts extravaganzas, to boldly erotic queer flicks and the first adaptation of Bulgakov's masterpiece novel The Master and Margarita that I could sit through without any regrets. And let's not forget a deeply personal project of delightfully chaotic nature, a zero-fucks-given experiment in eye-popping visuals, and a triumphant return from the retirement by the legendary Hayao Miyazaki. Mini-reviews for the great majority of these films can be read through monthly compilations - January / February / March / April / May / June / July / August / September / October / November / December.

1. The Substance (Coralie Fargeat, 2024)

2. Poor Things (Yorgos Lanthimos, 2023)

3. Mami Wata (C.J. 'Fiery' Obasi, 2023)

4. Mars Express (Jérémie Périn, 2023)

5. The Zone of Interest (Jonathan Glazer, 2023)

6. She Is Conann (Bertrand Mandico, 2023)

7. Chłopi / The Peasants (DK Welchman & Hugh Welchman, 2023)

8. La bête / The Beast (Bertrand Bonello, 2023)

9. The Return (Uberto Pasolini, 2024)
10. He bian de cuo wu / Only the River Flows (Wei Shujun, 2023)

11. Chime (Kiyoshi Kurosawa, 2024)
12. Jiu Long cheng zhai - Wei cheng / Twilight of the Warriors: Walled In (Soi Cheang, 2024)

13. Megalopolis (Francis Ford Coppola, 2024)

14. Someone from Nowhere (Prabda Yoon, 2017)

15. Kurak Günler / Burning Days (Emin Alper, 2022)

16. Banel e Adama / Banel & Adama (Ramata-Toulaye Sy, 2023)

17. The Girl with the Fork (Ignacio Maiso, 2024)

18. Rumours (Guy Maddin, Evan Johnson & Galen Johnson, 2024)

19. Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga (George Miller, 2024)

20. Sirocco et le royaume des courants d'air / Sirocco and the Kingdom of the Winds (Benoît Chieux, 2023)

21. Vermiglio (Maura Delpero, 2024)

22. The Shadow Strays (Timo Tjahjanto, 2024)

23. La Chimera (Alice Rohrwacher, 2023)

24. All of Us Strangers (Andrew Haigh, 2023)

25. Once Within a Time (Godfrey Reggio & Jon Kane, 2022)

26. Aurora’s Sunrise (Inna Sahakyan, 2022)

27. Dead Whisper (Conor Soucy, 2024)

28. Eileen (William Oldroyd, 2023)

29. Sayyedat al-Bahr / Scales (Shahad Ameen, 2019)

30. Kimitachi wa Dō Ikiru ka / The Boy and the Heron (Hayao Miyazaki, 2023)

31. AGGRO DR1FT (Harmony Korine, 2023)

32. Femme (Sam H. Freeman & Ng Choon Ping, 2023)

33. Caché / Hidden (Michael Haneke, 2005)

34. Sanctuary (Zachary Wigon, 2022)

35. Мастер и Маргарита (Михаил Локшин, 2024) / The Master and Margarita (Michael Lockshin, 2024)

36. Motel Destino (Karim Aïnouz, 2024)

37. Le règne animal / The Animal Kingdom (Thomas Cailley, 2023)

38. Le Vourdalak / The Vourdalak (Adrien Beau, 2023)

39. Lonesome (Craig Boreham, 2022)

40. Le coeur du masturbateur / The Masturbator’s Heart (Michael Salerno, 2023)

41. Stopmotion (Robert Morgan, 2023)

42. Terrifier 3 (Damien Leone, 2024)

43. Club Zero (Jessica Hausner, 2023)

44. Des Teufels Bad / The Devil’s Bath (Veronika Franz & Severin Fiala, 2024)

45. A Quiet Place: Day One (Michael Sarnoski, 2024)

46. City Hunter (Yūichi Satō, 2024)

47. Afterglows (Taichi Kimura, 2023)

48. Think at Night (Greg Hanec, 2024)

49. Jour de colère / Interstate (Jean Luc Herbulot, 2024)

50. To kalokairi tis Karmen / The Summer with Carmen (Zacharias Mavroeidis, 2023)

Best Premiere Viewings of August 2024

1. Mami Wata (C.J. 'Fiery' Obasi, 2023)

‘Mami Wata’ is, hands down, one of the most stunning films created on the African soil. Deeply rooted in legends of the titular sea goddess, it keeps you glued to the screen, in the state of wide-eyed wonder. Its remote, exotic world is gorgeously captured by Lílis Soares whose breathtaking, high-contrast cinematography corresponds with dichotomies that underpin the story, familiar yet poetic. As the ebony shadows, pearly grays, and foamy lights feast your eyes, Obasi manages to establish a connection with your primordial self, as he, inter alia, examines the pros and cons of traditional values conflicted with the unstoppable modernization. Eliciting intense performances from his cast, with an assured hand and clear vision he leads the viewer to an oneiric conclusion that justifies the ‘fantasy’ label, and leaves you mystified...

2. Experiment in Terror (Blake Edwards, 1962)

The dark presence of the film’s antagonist, one Red Lynch (a sinister bravura by Ross Martin), looms over a bank clerk, Kelly Sherwood (Lee Remick, whose very presence is astounding!), and her younger sister Toby (a fine supporting role by Stefanie Powers) in what appears like a prototype noir thriller / police procedural for a plethora of subsequent Hollywood flicks. Blake Edwards – best known for the Sellers-starring ‘Pink Panther’ series, and ‘Breakfast at Tiffany’s’ – directs with a keen sense of cinematic storytelling and Hitchcockian suspense, assisted by Philip H. Lathrop’s immersive, shadow-infested cinematography, as well as by Henry Mancini’s haunting score that is pregnant with mystery. There is something slightly proto-Lynchian about the dense atmosphere, and not only because of the ‘Twin Peaks’ sign our heroine drives past by in the opening sequence...

3. On the Waterfront (Elia Kazan, 1954)

Tautly directed and superbly acted. Aurally, visually and emotionally striking crime drama that hasn’t lost any of its relevance.

4. Sayyedat al-Bahr / Scales (Shahad Ameen, 2019)

A co-production of Saudi Arabia, UAE, Jordan and Iraq, ‘Scales’ marks a commendable feature debut for writer-director Shahad Ameen who translates her own experience of growing up in a men-dominated society into a dark fairy tale. The story of a 12-yo girl, Hayat (Basima Hajjar), is set in a fishing village on a remote, unnamed island with a horrifying tradition of offering first-born daughters to the sea, and is told largely through images, with dialogues reduced to a bare minimum. The harmonious marriage of gripping B&W cinematography by João Ribeiro with the hauntingly elegiac score by Fabien and Mike Kourtzer creates a dense atmosphere of mystery, partly embodied by mermaids. They also represent one side of Hayat’s inner conflict that burns at the very core of Ameen’s narrative which, according to one of her interviews, has no antagonists, with both women and men turned into the victims of a cruel custom...

5. Naked Tango (Leonard Schrader, 1990)

Frequently bathed in red lights in accordance with the brothel setting, Eros tangos with Thanatos in Leonard (older brother of Paul) Schrader’s first and only directorial effort – a high-camp homage to the roaring 20’s, with a baroque style to die for! The film’s lavish production design and noirish cinematography are so captivating that one can easily forgive almost every bit of corniness in an incredibly sexy blend of romantic melodrama and gangster flick that sees Mathilda May turned into a Louise Brooks look-alike, with Vincent D’Onofrio portraying her Valentino. The love-hate, dirty-dancing affair of their characters – a young woman escaping one prison just to end up in another, and a suave, sleazily charming ‘tango king’ killer – gives soap operas a good run for their money. The final shot is the epitome of cinematic artifice.

6. Household Saints (Nancy Savoca, 1993)

In her adaptation of Francine Prose’s novel of the same name, Nancy Savoca skillfully balances between the mundane and the miraculous, weaving a bittersweet tale of three generations of women in Little Italy of NYC. Born in a family of Argentinian and Sicilian immigrants, she creates authentic characters, and elicits captivating performances from her cast, the standouts being Judith Malina, Tracey Ullman, Lily Taylor and Vincent D’Onofrio. Gently lacing the story with a delicious sense of humor, and imbuing it with elements of magic realism, she examines the interconnectedness of tradition and modernity, superstition and common sense, mysticism and scepticism, her approach to all the themes marked by open-mindedness. And although her narrative grip is somewhat loosened in the second half, the film never loses its charm or runs out of surprises, one of which involves ‘stigmata dripping blood on the carpet’ during the intense ironing of a red and white checkered shirt...

7. Coma (Bertrand Bonello, 2022)

A formally whimsical meditation on the nature of cinema, id est dreams and their multiple realities, depicted through the prism of an ecologically conscious coming-of-age story which is seasoned with a pinch (or two) of wry, deadpan humor, and continually implodes into its subliminal spaces under the pressure of isolation.

8. Caché / Hidden (Michael Haneke, 2005)

A meticulous, formally gripping exploration of the voyeuristic nature of cinema, ‘Hidden’ plays out like a layered, subtly sadistic, and decidedly metafilmic subversion of the thriller genre, with the victim gradually transforming into the victimizer, and the curtains of bourgeois normality lifting to reveal its pathologies. The viewer is both the voyeur and the one being watched by the film itself, which creates a tangible ‘hauteur’ or rather, discomfort as one desperately expects the big reveal that remains both hidden and glaringly obvious. Haneke’s psychologically intricate (and politically charged) game finds its anchor in exquisite performances, not only from the leading duo of Juliette Binoche and Daniel Auteuil, as the austere aesthetics uphold the cruel, post-colonialist reality.

9. Femme (Sam H. Freeman & Ng Choon Ping, 2023)

Fraught with tension – emotional, sexual and psychological, Freeman and Ping’s provocative feature debut erases the boundary between overt homophobia and latent homosexuality, playing out like a simmering blend of nuanced character study and steamy erotic thriller in which the revenge for a hate crime is served with a feeling... and exchange of bodily fluids. The film’s greatest forte lies in believable performances and incredible chemistry of Nathan Stewart-Jarrett and George MacKay whose protagonists – as contradictory as human beings tend to be – slip between inviolability and vulnerability / confusion and certainty within the shifty balance of the ‘cat and mouse’ dynamics, as their tumultuous inner states are externalized through the expressive lighting and color schemes of James Rhodes’s handsome cinematography.

10. Zgodba ki je ni / Non-existent Story (Matjaž Klopčič, 1967)

The withering feeling of being lost, useless and incapable of taking control over one’s own life permeates virtually every frame of Matjaž Klopčič’s challenging feature debut – a decidedly plotless road-movie which amalgamates Antonioni-esque alienation and longing with surrealist meanderings comparable to the Czech New Wave. Revolving around a provincial worker, Vuk (excellent Lojze Rozman), ‘Non-existing Story’ aka ‘On the Run’ epitomizes bleakness in its stream-of-conscious (non)narrative, and often unexpected cuts, as well as in a multitude of close-ups capturing incurable melancholy. Emphasizing the dense atmosphere of despair in expressing innermost self is the starkly beautiful B&W cinematography (Rudi Vaupotič) perfectly matched to Jože Privšek’s jazzy, subtly expressive score.

11. Jour de colère / Interstate (Jean Luc Herbulot, 2024)

Jean Luc Herbulot of ‘Saloum’ fame once again plunges the viewer into the murky waters of demimonde, his hero Frank – played with a tired-eyed, hang-dog stoicism by Didier ‘JoeyStarr’ Morville – facing the demons of his hired gun career. Armed with a sharp sense of pacing, he approaches the pulpy, comic-like material with a straight-faced resolve, delivering a simplistic, yet effective road-movie-ish thriller whose supernatural spices add a trip-inducing flavor. His genre-b(l)ending may not be the epitome of inventiveness, but his protagonist’s guilt-ridden ride provides a surprisingly refreshing experience, backed up by moody lighting of Hugo Brilmaker’s neo-noir cinematography, Pierre Nesi’s unobtrusively propulsive beats subtly intertwined with some classic pieces, and Asia Argento embodying the feisty spirit of Eurotrash cinema in the supporting role of Frank’s lover Anna.

12. Afterglows (Taichi Kimura, 2023)

A gorgeous confluence of glowing lights, silvery grays and funereal shadows makes Taichi Kimura’s feature debut a sheer delight to look at, with an eclectic score – at turns gently evocative and dissonantly foreboding – elevating the viewing experience, even when the narrative loses momentum. Unfolding in an unhurried pace, the story revolves around a grieving taxi driver, Akira Morishima (a superb turn from Kentez Asaka), who’s gradually losing his grip on reality, transforming ‘from a relatable everyman to a ticking time bomb ready to explode’ (Sean Barry, Asian Movie Pulse). Inebriated with (deceptive) memories of his dead singer wife, and obsessed by another woman who is the spitting image of his Sayuri, Akira leads us through the (surrealistic) labyrinth of his troubled mind that finds its embodiment in the streets of Tokyo – treated as a character in its own right. Breaking no new ground in the domain of psychological dramas, ‘Afterglows’ is nevertheless a commendable effort – a solid stepping stone for whatever Kimura has in store next.

12. To kalokairi tis Karmen / The Summer with Carmen (Zacharias Mavroeidis, 2023)

In his big screen debut, 33-yo Yorgos Tsiantoulas gives quite an uninhibited performance, baring both his body and – in a much subtler way – soul as an actor turned public servant, Demosthenes, keen on rekindling a creative collaboration with his best friend, Nikitas (Andreas Labropoulos, excellent). On nudist / cruising rocks of Athens, the duo revives the memories of a recent summer when Demosthenes adopted the adorable titular pup – the embodiment of his emotional insecurities, and plans to turn them into Nikitas’s first feature which Mavroeidis craftily employs as the basis of his own meta-dramedy. Audaciously queer, ‘The Summer with Carmen’ is neither laugh-out-loud funny, not deeply poignant, but it feels like striking the right cords in its bold portrayal of gay relationships – platonic, sexual and romantic, making the most of its quirky nature, beautiful shooting locations, and Tsiantoulas’s Herculean physicality.

13. She (Irving Pichel & Lansing C. Holden, 1935)

Discovered in the garage of silent movie star Buster Keaton, and colorized in 2006, under the supervision of stop-motion wiz Ray Harryhausen, as a tribute to producer Merian C. Cooper (King Kong, 1933), ‘She’ is a flawed, yet highly enjoyable piece of pulp cinema, boasting a sweeping score, exquisite Art Deco sets, and gorgeous costumes worn by Helen Gahagan whose elegantly commanding performance inspired Evil Queen of Disney’s 1937 classic ‘Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs’. A somewhat campy combination of romance, adventure and fantasy, it is simultaneously epic, melodramatic, and almost childlike in its transparency, with Van Nest Polglase’s striking art direction being its greatest forte. 

14. Oddity (Damian Mc Carthy, 2024)

In his sophomore feature, Damian Mc Carthy (Caveat) decidedly swims against the ‘elevated horror’ stream, in favor of delivering some old-fashioned hair-raising thrills. His story – involving everything from ghosts to home invaders to a wooden Golem – may be excessively tropey, but it works like a haunted charm, largely by virtue of dense, claustrophobic atmosphere established through beautiful cinematography, expert editing, and eerie score. The setting limitations are compensated with the exquisite production design, particularly of a country house interior that is an admirable compromise between modern austerity and retro chic warmth, operating as a battleground where human evil meets vengeful spirits. Also clashing – occasionally with hints of ironic humor – are the characters’ disparate attitudes towards the supernatural, with Carolyn Bracken sympathetically prickly in the role of a blind psychic, and Gwilym Lee sneering as her sceptical psychiatrist brother-in-law. Although no new ground is broken, ‘Oddity’ firmly stands as one of the most effective Irish offerings to the genre.

Honorable mention: The Seasons’ Canon (Crystal Pite, 2018)

If you’re a modern dance aficionado, you’ve most probably come across (and been utterly impressed by) some YouTube excerpts of ‘The Seasons’ Canon’. However, it is the full performance that overwhelms with a stunning choreography by Crystal Pite to Max Richter’s electrifying ‘decomposing’ of Vivaldi’s ‘The Four Seasons’, as well as with mesmerizing movements of the dancers (dozens of them!) often synergizing like an otherworldly organism in ecstatic, hyperkinetic and subtly erotic exchange of energies. Also praiseworthy is the team in charge of stage technicalities (lighting in particular!), and the meticulous direction of Cédric Klapisch and Miguel Octave whose cameras capture angles not visible to the audience of Opéra national de Paris where the show was filmed. Masterful!

Best Premiere Viewings of February 2024

1. Bride of Frankenstein (James Whale, 1935)

While ‘excavating’ for lesser-known pieces of cinema, I’ve often overlooked a number of must-see flicks, but as they say – better late, than never. When it comes to Whale’s masterful, ahead-of-its-time sequel to the most acclaimed adaptation of Mary Shelley’s novel, it is easy to see (and more importantly, feel!) why it has fascinated both audience and film scholars for decades. Its lavish studio sets, expressionist lighting, and eye-popping cinematography lend iconic vibe to great many shots, with the ‘monster’ turned into the feature’s tragic hero / emotional core shining high above very human evil (partly embodied by Ernest Thesinger’s Mephistophelian doctor Pretorius). Karloff breathes soul into Frankenstein’s creation through the nuanced performance largely dependent on grunts, facial mimicry and limited wording, making you root for him, as the clever screenplay inspires diverse readings...

2. Poor Things (Yorgos Lanthimos, 2023)

Even at his most accessible, Lanthimos is weird as fu*k... pardon, ‘furious jumping’. A bizarrely constructed vehicle for Emma Stone’s bold, uninhibited performance, ‘Poor Things’ is a delightful blend of audacious sex comedy and sumptuous steampunk fantasy, striking the right balance between a raunchy crowd-pleaser and thought-out arthouse treat. Brimming with quotable, oft-irreverently / provokingly funny lines magically matched to whimsical, invasively tempting cacophonies by Jerskin Fendrix, this prurient beast of a feature eschews politeness in favor of cinematic excess, in equal measures overwhelming and engaging. Its costume (Holly Waddington) and set design (Shona Heath & James Price) bring forth an alternative, cotton-candied version of Victorian period straight out of a deranged fairy tale told from the distorted (fish-eye) perspective of its heroine, Bella. Stunningly framed by DoP Robbie Ryan, her emancipatory (r)evolution begins with an accidental discovery of ‘keeping oneself happy’ through a genital stimulation, and culminates in fluent French, social mindedness, the discovery of cynicism, and the pursuit of a medical career, as Lanthimos and screenwriter Tony McNamara play jokes on all men who want to control her.

3. The Zone of Interest (Jonathan Glazer, 2023)

Kubrickian perfectionism meets the formal austerity of Haneke in a petrifying portrait of normality that is anything but normal, and of evil so immense that it staggers the mind, as it instills discomfort in your very viscera. That evil is not banal, as some reviewers have branded it, but rather horrifically and grandiosely absurd in its meticulously planned monstrosity / calculated absence of compassion. The atrocities it brings forth remain unseen – literally, behind the tall, concrete wall that separates the garden of earthly delights from hell, but they are strongly and insidiously felt in every fiber of your being, if your being hasn’t been robbed of humanity... Glazer’s vision – founded in history’s tendency to repeat itself – is unfaltering; his tautly unsentimental direction finely attuned to Mica Levi’s solemnly moaning score, Johnnie Burn’s eerily haunting sound design, and Lukasz Zal’s stunningly oppressive framing of ugliness that ferments under the pretty surface.

4. Banel e Adama / Banel & Adama (Ramata-Toulaye Sy, 2023)

An aesthetically triumphant debut for Senegalese filmmaker Ramata-Toulaye Sy, ‘Banel and Adama’ exists in a liminal zone between the reality and a fairy tale, as it deals with the conflict of collective superstition set in the stone of reactionary customs, and individual open-mindedness embodied by a headstrong woman. Mythically archetypal in its nature, with raw energies of non-professional actors igniting the emotional core, this simple, yet highly poetic drama also reflects on climate changes, and the power(lessness) of love in the face of nature’s harshness. The drought-stricken village whose sandy monotony is broken by colorful drapes and costumes provides a borderline surreal mise en scène expertly framed by DP Amine Berrada, and gently veiled in a delicate aural tapestry by composer Bachar Khalifé. 

5. La fille aux yeux d'or / The Girl with the Golden Eyes (Jean-Gabriel Albicocco, 1961)

In Jean-Gabriel Albicocco’s entrancing debut that appears as mature as a peculiar mixture of Antonioni and Resnais with the hints of Cocteau and Franju, love is in equal measures folie and melancholy; as bizarre as pigeons suddenly appearing and flying around the bedroom, and as clichéd as raindrops sliding down the window-glass. It feels like a slap in the face, as well as like a snow of feathers from a torn pillow; it makes one inebriated, and the other mysterious, while both fall victims of obsession. But, above all, it brings forth a super-reality (or rather, surreality?) in which lovers and the viewer get lost, until it starts disintegrating once the third player joins the whimsical romance.

A modernization of Honoré de Balzac’s 1835 novella of the same name, ‘The Girl with the Golden Eyes’ is one of the most gorgeously photographed films, by virtue of the director’s cinematographer father Quinto Albicocco. Its elegant, shadowy film-noir looks subtly complemented by wistful acoustic guitar of Spanish virtuoso Narciso Yepes establish a dense, dreamlike atmosphere so seductive and immersive that you often find the dialogue transformed into cryptic, irrational codes under the weight of the mesmerizing images. The admirable stylistic artifice is further elevated by the leading trio of Marie Laforêt, Paul Guers and Françoise Prévost whose performances are perfectly attuned to the poetic sensibility of their characters.

6. Plein soleil / Purple Noon (René Clément, 1960)

Filmed as an invitation to a summer holiday in Italy (if only time travel were possible, to experience it in the 60’s), ‘Purple Noon’ is a loose adaptation of Patricia Highsmith’s 1955 novel ‘The Talented Mr. Ripley’. I haven’t read the book, and I’d have to re-watch the 1999 film to make comparisons, but Clément’s version – a stark character study – appears tailor-made for Alain Delon, as everything and everyone gravitate towards him, or rather, the dangerous, yet fascinating antihero that he portrays. Largely reliant on the actor’s natural charisma and glassy, penetrating gaze, his performance is the very definition of magnetism, making the viewer root for this bad, devilishly clever boy, and thus challenging one’s own moral code. As compelling as Delon’s Tom Ripley is Clément’s assured direction, so neatly synergized with Nino Rota’s authentic score, seductive Mediterranean locations, and Henri Decaë’s handsome cinematography, elevating a crime story.

7. Le orme / Footprints on the Moon (Luigi Bazzoni, 1975)

Befittingly named Alice, an Italian translator – portrayed with utmost dedication and gripping intensity by Florida Bolkan – falls into the rabbit hole of her own deteriorating sanity. Plagued by a B&W nightmare in which an astronaut is left on the Moon under the command of Dr. Blackmann (an imposing cameo of Klaus Kinski), and suffering a memory loss of the past three days, she travels to the (fictitious) town of Garma (pictured in a torn postcard), in hope of figuring out what the hell has happened to her. Some of the locals there, including a red-haired horror-regular Nicoletta Elmi, believe she is a woman called Nicole, and seem to know more about her than she is willing to accept. The struggle between her conscious and unconscious mind, as well as the clash between her and others’ perceptions of not only her identity, but reality as well are distinctly mirrored in beautifully captured and strongly felt spaces, initially defined by rigid geometries of modern interiors and exteriors, and then increasingly ‘softened’ through curvier lines of Islamic architecture (Garma is represented by Turkish locations), natural environment (beach and forest), and stained glasses in the style of Art Nouveau. Luigi Bazzoni’s unhurried direction, Vittorio Storaro’s breathtaking framing, and Nicola Piovani’s haunting melodies create a dense, entrancing, at times stifling atmosphere that put you in the paranoid heroine’s shoes, and leave you with a bitter, yet satisfying aftertaste. ‘Footprints on the Moon’ may not be a masterful psychological drama, but it is a noteworthy fusion of substance and style; an obscure anomaly from the period largely remembered by black leather gloves and brightly colored blood.

8. Glitterbug (Derek Jarman, 1994)

A punk patchwork of Super 8 ‘sketches’ captured in the period of almost two decades, Derek Jarman’s swan song is a cornucopia of filmmaking techniques; a poignant, if distorted self-portrait that transcends its essayistic form, erasing the boundaries between the private life and cinema. Featuring many of the director’s friends, from William S. Burroughs to Tilda Swinton, ‘Glitterbug’ is a sparkling, wordless stream of grainy imagery that flows whimsically across an infinite, melancholic soundscape composed by Brian Eno, evoking the sublime feeling of sadness, at once crippling, romantic and liberating. It is the angelic conversation of the creator and creation, in the shadow of the Sun that acts like the tempest...

9. All of Us Strangers (Andrew Haigh, 2023)

A deeply moving story of loss, grief, love and loneliness, ‘All of Us Strangers’ is firmly anchored in stellar performances and convincing chemistry of the leading duo, Andrew Scott and Paul Mescal, spellbinding you with its delicate emotional textures bathed in warm lighting of Jamey Ramsay’s dreamy cinematography, and interwoven with soft aural threads of Emilie Levienaise-Farrouch’s melancholic score. The thick aura of nostalgia that envelopes the gently-paced proceedings materializes from the 80’s pop tunes which magically awaken the ghosts from the pasts for one last goodbye. If approached with a pure, sincere heart, this queer fairy tale provides a rewarding experience.

10. Pequeños milagros / Little Miracles (Eliseo Subiela, 1997)

“I have no philosophy, I have senses...

If I speak of Nature it’s not because I know what it is

But because I love it, and for that very reason,

Because those who love never know what they love

Or why they love, or what love is.

To love is eternal innocence,

And the only innocence is not to think...”

― Fernando Pessoa, The Keeper of Sheep II

The sweetest and most humane of four Subiela’s films that I’ve seen, ‘Little Miracles’ is a sensitive ode to (demure) adults who never lost their inner child. Directed with a keen sense of wonder, no trace of irony, and great sympathy for the characters, it follows a couple of lonely, lovely souls – a young supermarket cashier, Rosalía (Julieta Ortega, embodying innocence), who believes to be a fairy, and volunteers as a reader for the blind, and a nerdy scientist, Santiago (Antonio Birabent at his most introvert) who lives with his basset hound Lola, and works in the Institute for Radio-Astronomy, searching for extraterrestrial intelligence. Connected only through a web-camera installed at a bus-station in what can be labeled as ‘a subversion of voyeurism through romantic yearning’, the two go about their lives as the viewer roots for their encounter, basking in the warmth of Daniel Rodríguez Maseda’s cozy cinematography, poetic quotes from Fernando Pessoa, and euphonious score by Alex Khaskin and Osvaldo Montes. Magic does exist.

11. Reflections in a Golden Eye (John Huston, 1967)

Beautifully framed in gilded widescreen, while swarming with suggestive lines, and overt symbolism, John Huston’s naughty melodrama eschews subtlety in favor of a stark, daring exploration of repressed desires – homosexual in the case of Marlon Brando’s character, major Weldon Penderton, and heterosexual for a reticent soldier, L.G. Williams, in a stoic, virtually dialogue-free portrayal by Robert Forster. Entangled in a sticky web of simmering emotions, Weldon lusts for private (parts of) Williams who embarks on nocturnal adventures that involve sniffing the lingerie of Mrs. Penderton (Elizabeth Taylor, camping things up) who enjoys riding her white stallion and ‘picking blueberries’ along with her next-door neighbor, Colonel Morris Langdon (Brian Keith). Mrs. Langdon (Julie Harris) suffers from deep, nipple-cutting depression after losing a child, and finds comfort in her gay Pinoy manservant, Anacleto (Zorro David), much to the annoyance of her cheating husband. Such a set-up can only lead to tragedy portended by a quote from Carson McCullers whose 1941 novel of the same name is adapted by first-time writers Gladys Hill and Chapman Mortimer, to be subjected to firmly held directorial reins or rather, horsewhip. In someone else’s hands, ‘Reflections in a Golden Eye’ would’ve easily slipped out of control, but Huston nails just the right tone in the depiction of painful yearning, voyeurism, sadism, but above all, his main protagonist’s fallout, with Brando’s superbly committed performance lending gravitas to the gold-cold proceedings.

12. Le règne animal / The Animal Kingdom (Thomas Cailley, 2023)

The beauty of the beast and the ugliness of discrimination. A genre-bending examination of otherness and our relation to it, refracted through dichotomies – parent/child, society/individual, acceptance/rejection, cruelty/compassion. Coming-of-age drama whose fantastical premise is treated with the utmost realism, and tonal shifts handled with great skill. Cailley elicits extraordinary performances from his cast, with 22-yo Paul Kircher standing out in his full-fledged portrayal of a conflicted teenager whose transition to adulthood is made extra difficult through a lupine twist. The protagonist and other mutants of ‘The Animal Kingdom’ may bring to mind films such as ‘Nightbreed’ and/or ‘X-Men’, but what we have here is... well, a different animal, flawed, yet lovable.

13. Brzezina / The Birch Wood (Andrzej Wajda, 1970)

The film is Polish, but the colors of Zygmunt Samosiuk’s spellbinding cinematography speak a variety of languages, so the intense palette – a reflection of seasonal changes – alone is the reason enough to spend 90 minutes with it. An ode to life sung from the perspective of a tuberculosis-stricken musician, Stanislaw (Olgierd Łukaszewicz), and continually interrupted by the mournful sulking of his older brother, Boleslaw (Daniel Olbrychski), ‘The Birch Wood’ washes over the viewer like a fever dream of repressed emotions and incestuous desires. Oscillating between Stanisław’s lustful optimism and Bolesław’s fierce irritability, all the while squeezed between the two wars, this heightened, somewhat mannered drama strikes you as both deeply melancholic and broodingly joyful, fortified by ardent central performances.

14. Jigokumon / Gate of Hell (Teinosuke Kinugasa, 1953)

The first color film for the Daiei Film studio, ‘Gate of Hell’ appears like a Japanese art scroll brought to life and then gently injected with the concentrated solution of George Barnard’s ‘Harmonious Arrangement of Pigments’, transfixing the viewer’s gaze with the spellbinding costume design alone. But make no mistake, the 12th century tale presented here is not a ‘jidaigeki’ spectacle, but rather a sternly solemn meditation on destructive obsession, unrequited passion, and the nature of honor. Its serene or rather, extremely disciplined surface conceals a torrent of conflicting emotions threatening to break the shackles of intense formality, yet the mask of quietude never cracks, primarily by virtue of Kinugasa’s unhurried, methodical direction, and mannered, dignified performances from his cast, especially by Machiko Kyō of ‘Rashomon’ fame.

15. Spider Baby, or the Maddest Story Ever Told (Jack Hill, 1967)

One of the most enjoyable pieces of camp cinema I’ve ever seen, ‘Spider Baby’ delivers a splendidly twisted blend of humor and horror, with its setting – a creaky, shadow-infested mansion of ‘impossible’ architecture – creating a ton of spooky atmosphere, and the trio of Jill Banner, Beverly Washburn and Sid Haig giving mischievously stellar takes on demented siblings at the core of the story. At once cartoonish and disturbing, the film is elevated to a whole new level by virtue of Lon Chaney Jr.’s emotive performance in the role of Bruno – a chauffeur turned guardian of family secrets, and it even dares to veer into a sexploitation territory, the courtesy of Carol Ohmart (House on Haunted Hill) in black lingerie that anticipates Victoria’s Secret. It gives the impression that both the cast and behind-the-camera crew had a whale of time shooting it, limited by the shoestring budget, but liberated by their combined creative energies.

Honorable mention (short):

Last Spring (François Reichenbach, 1954)

A cinematically eloquent portrait of longing, as well as a historically significant piece of queer cinema, ‘Last Spring’ is a mighty fine example of visual storytelling, greatly influenced by Jean Cocteau, particularly in the dream sequence that comprises the second half of the film, with James Dean’s movie persona inspiring the appearance of two lovers (played by non-professional actors, no doubt). Tamer than its colorful, boldly homoerotic counterpart ‘Nus masculins’ (produced in the same year), this romantic drama eschews dialogue in favor of inventive camerawork (intimate close-ups, suggestive low angles, melancholy-infused long shots, oneiric superimpositions, etc), anticipating the free-wheeling tendencies of the New Wave.