Best Premiere Viewings of October 2026

(The October list is unranked, sorted in chrono-alphabetical order.)

1. Gilda (Charles Vidor, 1946)

In the titular role that can be viewed as the glamorous embodiment of queer desire, Rita Hayworth sparkles even brighter than Jean Louis’ beautiful, tailored-to-a-T gowns, effortlessly outshining not only her partners, but the film itself – a dazzling blend of silky noir and classy romantic melodrama. The central love triangle between Gilda, her ex-lover Johnny Farrell (Glenn Ford), and the current husband, Ballin Mundson (George Macready) may actually be all about the yearning of the two men for each other, with plenty of verbal and visual hints to support the assumption.

From Johnny’s inaugural monologue in which he admits that he ‘knows the American sailors’ and the very first, cruising-like encounter with Ballin, to pretty much every scene in which Gilda ‘separates’ them while burning like a living flame of passion, the story simmers with gay innuendo; its happy end – atypical for the genre – standing in for Johnny’s acceptance of his homosexuality, and freedom from the possessive partner. But, whether you perceive it in that way or not, it is virtually impossible not to fall for the great many of the feature’s qualities – the flamboyant hair-flip introduction of Hayworth, Goosson & Polglase’s most elegant art direction, Rudolph Maté’s eloquent B&W cinematography, and delightful comic relief, largely by the courtesy of Steven Geray’s supporting character, just to name a few.

2. North by Northwest (Alfred Hitchcock, 1959)

A perfect compromise between art and entertainment, North by Northwest feels like watching a history of (playful) spy thrillers (and some romantic comedies) that would follow in its footsteps, none of which has all of its qualities – a stellar cast portraying colorful characters, a mischievously brilliant screenplay brimming with double entendres, and an effortless cultivation of suspense that sees its master at the top of the game, with his frequent collaborators – cinematographer Robert Burks, production designer Robert F. Boyle, editor George Tomasini and composer Bernard Herrmann – all acting as an irreplaceable right-hand man.

3. Beat Girl (Edmond T. Gréville, 1960)

I could’ve sworn that Gillian Hills was in her early 20s when the film was made, but I would’ve been very wrong, because she was actually only 16, just like her rebellious heroine, Jennifer (hence the obvious body double in a couple of scenes). Hanging out with cool ‘cats’ and ‘chicks’ in a suitably named ‘Off Beat Café’, she is an impulsive art-school drop-out who brushes-off any attempt of her architect father (David Farrar of Black Narcissus fame) and young French stepmother (Noëlle Adam) to keep her ‘square’. However, her angst-fueled search for identity comes with peril – embodied by a suave strip-joint owner played by the great Christopher Lee – especially when she starts digging dirt from her new mommy’s not-so-shiny past. It all comes in a pulpy or rather, subtly sleazy yet beautifully photographed teensploitation package that sees slim Oliver Reed in one of his early credited roles jiving along Hills to John Barry and His Orchestra’s catchy theme that blends jazz, twist and rock’n’roll to dance floor-inviting effect. You may also recognize his ethereal co-star Shirley Anne Field from Joseph Losey’s superb genre-blender The Damned that would come out in 1962. Not the ‘most’ of features, even within the domain of cultural and generational clash, but it is a fun and sassy one.

4. Les Perses / The Persians (Jean Prat, 1961)

“Even in our deepest of sorrows, every day offers us a little joy. Let it enter your hearts. For death forever repeals the value of riches.”

Based on the only surviving part of Aeschylus’ trilogy of tragedies, The Persians recounts the aftermath of Xerxes’ defeat in the naval battle at Salamis (480 BC), from the losers’ perspective provided by the elders of Susa, and the Queen Mother Atossa. The son of Darius the Great (whose ghost is invoked later in the story), Xerxes is initially celebrated as ‘the dragon with the fiery gaze’ and ‘the son of the golden rain’, only to be called ‘the madman’, ‘the wretch’ and ‘the most impetuous’ of sons, once the news of his failed invasion of Athens reaches the court.

The collective sorrow for many human losses, regardless of nationality, and the spiritual decline caused by the ruler’s hubris and destructive ambition are addressed and explored – in their timelessness – through the prism of ancient times evoked through the stylized setting and costumes inspired by bas-reliefs of Persepolis. Jean Prat directs with a stark, unflinching formal rigor, and an incredible sense of mise en scène, guiding his actors as if he were a hypnotist; their trance-like histrionics wholly attuned to the solemn atmosphere further emphasized by Jacques Lemare’s striking B&W cinematography and Jean Prodromidès’ sublimely dramatic score comparable to Orff and Stravinsky. Working within the limits of TV production, Prat & Co. achieve some quite impressive results.

5. Sult / Hunger (Henning Carlsen, 1966)

There is nothing attractive about poverty, nor romantic about a starving artist (writer, in this particular case), and yet, Hunger is one of the most beautifully shot films, simultaneously making you utterly impressed by its stark B&W imagery, and very uncomfortable, as if you’re experiencing the protagonist’s misery firsthand. Adding to the uneasiness – in equal measures visceral, cerebral and lyrical – is Per Oscarsson’s slim, heavily weathered appearance, his super-weird body language, and superlative, bitterly humorous line delivery that altogether bring to downtrodden life a character, Pontus, swaying on the brink of existence, yet managing to maintain his humanity and (the last remnants of) dignity. Too proud to admit that he is in a desperate need of help, Pontus often wears a courteous smile, renouncing his last dime in favor of the more disadvantaged, as he roams the streets of Victorian Christiania (now, Oslo), his trajectory taking the shape of a spiral, one that leads straight down to madness. Given the extremely generous amount of screen time, he has a strong hold on the viewer who feels as if trapped in a Dostoevskian limbo that borders with a Kafkaesque maze of the absurd, although it is not bureaucracy but one’s own doing that sets the nightmare in motion...

(The film is based on the eponymous novel by the controversial Norwegian Nobelist Knut Hamsun.)

6. Nippon yôkaiden – Satori / A Japanese Demon (Yōichi Higashi, 1973)

An aquarium employee, Aya Komakura (Mako Midori), believes that her boyfriend died by the hand of a mind-reading demon, Satori (Hatsuo Yamaya), but she is not the only one seeing him. Her initially sceptic psychiatrist (Kei Satō of Onibaba and Kwaidan fame), and new love interest, enigmatic vagabond Taro (Jirō Kawarazaki), also come into contact with the entity. However, writer/director Yōichi Higashi doesn’t seem to be interested in the horror potential his summoning brings, opting instead for some sort of a psycho-drama rooted in magical realism, reflecting on human condition within the soci(et)al context of the time.

An all-around oddity, A Japanese Demon rests on excellent performances, particularly from Mako Midori (Blind Beast) whose confused face against the white wall partly covered in soft shadows makes for a potent establishing shot. In fact, every single closeup of her eccentric heroine Aya is a pleasure to look at, often by virtue of her big, expressive eyes, transfixed in a silent, mystifying stare. Her chemistry with Kawarazaki is sweet, strange and sultry, with their dynamics acting as an emotional core of a loosely structured narrative set in both urban and rural Japan, shot with an expert eye by Masaki Tamura.

7. Nuit d’or / Golden Night (Serge Moati, 1976)

In a twisted reality of Nuit d’or – titled after an underground casino owned by a mysterious man of the same nickname (Maurice Ronet) – Klaus Kinski’s gambler and murderer antagonist Michel Fournier comes back to life after being disposed of and cremated by his own family. And no, he is not a nightmare demon as Freddy Krueger would be starting with 1984, even though Kinski’s face and controversies surrounding his persona emanate pure evil, making him a perfect fit for a deplorable villain. However, Michel’s revenge is of a surprisingly tame kind, vexing his ‘close ones’ with creepy handmade dolls, until he kidnaps his own daughter, Catherine (Valérie Pascale) – born in the affair with his brother’s wife, Véronique (Marie Dubois) – and a religious cult gets involved. 

The dynamics with the next of his kin are largely (and thankfully!) depicted as a mischievous game, despite his occasional outbursts of anger, and the subtlest of abuse insinuations, yet the film is imbued with a strong sense of foreboding, and a disquieting feeling, further amplified by all-pervading ‘offness’. One can say that the story unfolds or rather bends according to the fever dream logic, or the laws of magic realism, with most of the characters acting like semi-hypnotized marionettes whose strings are pulled by an unknown puppeteer from the deep shadows. A dense atmosphere of sinister, conspiratorial quietude is underscored by moody, often hardly detectable humming, with production designer Georges Lévy and cinematographer André Neau providing some exquisite imagery, serving as the only firm anchor to the feature’s vagueness.

8. Iphigenia (Michael Cacoyannis, 1977)

A masterful if harrowing anti-war (and anti-patriarchal) parable firmly anchored in three exquisite central performances – Tatiana Papamoachou’s heart-aching embodiment of innocence eventually transformed into honorable resignation; domineering, scene-stealing histrionics of the great Irene Papas as Clytemnestra, and Kostas Kazakis’ sweat-drenched portrayal of an agonizing father and king Agamemnon. Through the supporting character of Odysseus, Cacoyannis criticizes opportunism and demagogy, depicting soldiers as a brainwashed and bloodthirsty mob that makes you want to scream: “Death to warmongers!” On top of that, the film possesses a strong ‘ancient times’ aura by virtue of shooting locations and costumes, all gorgeously captured in their dusty glory on 35mm, and accompanied by a starkly elegiac score from Mikis Theodorakis.

9. Henry & June (Philip Kaufman, 1990)

“Everybody says sex is obscene, but the only true obscenity is war.” 

Adapted by Philip and Rose Kaufman from the autobiographical writings by Anaïs Nin, Henry & June is a fascinating throwback to Paris of the Great Depression era, revolving around Nin’s transformation through her steamy relationship with American novelist Henry Miller and his wife June. Unfamiliar with either of the artists’ bios and works, I approached the film free of any preconceived expectations, and found myself utterly enchanted by virtually every single of its aspects, from the establishing shot of the leading star Maria de Medeiros’ big & deep eyes, to non-exploitative channeling of erotic energies, to Uma Thurman’s take on June that initially sees her as a noir-inspired femme fatale only to become a delightfully campy drama queen.

Also superb are Fred Ward as Miller, and Richard E. Grant as Nin’s husband Hugo, but the major star here is the gorgeous cinematography by Philippe Rousselot whose camera is in love not only with the cast, but also with the authentic costume and production designs of predominantly earthy tones by Yvonne Sassinot de Nesle and Guy-Claude François, respectively. The great many of Rousselot’s frames wouldn’t feel out of place in a fine art gallery, especially if accompanied by Mark Adler’s exquisite selection of period pieces that evoke the bohemian lifestyle of the characters, all the while establishing a smoky and sultry atmosphere. On top of that, the Kaufmans inject subtle bits humor, some of which through the witty editing choices, with ‘bun in the oven’ given a whole new meaning at one point...

10. Joshua Tree, 1951: A Portrait of James Dean (Matthew Mishory, 2012)

Drawing a parallel between the French poet Arthur Rimbaud (portrayed by Christopher Higgins in a highly stylized prologue) and the ‘rebel without a cause’ (a coolly understated performance from James Preston), Matthew Mishory delivers a dreamy (and often quite steamy!) speculation on the tragic icon’s queer side of private life. Through Dean’s relationships with various men, some of whom are fictionalized versions of his close friends and collaborators, the writer/director illustrates the enigma surrounding the actor, refracting it through the prism of gay gaze and ‘collective cinematic memory’, in his own words, all the while rejecting the form and structure of a conventional biopic. His sultry vision is beautifully captured on 35mm in elegant, high-contrast B&W, with a few color sequences on 16mm providing a hefty dose of tactility, also operating as emotional anchors, and reflections of both Dean’s and his mysterious roommate’s longing. And though certain scenes give off the awkward ‘perfume ad’ vibes, there’s no denying that the imagery stands out as the feature’s greatest forte...

11. Жена Чайковского / Tchaikovsky’s Wife (Kirill Serebrennikov, 2022)

In Kirill Serebrennikov’s nuanced, solemnly delirious character study of Antonina Miliukova (a hauntingly devout performance from Alyona Mikhaylova), hell is a marriage between a pious woman and a gay man. Arranged to silence the rumors of the composer’s sexuality – still regarded a taboo subject in certain Russian circles – it sees the obsessed wife slowly driven to madness, with subtle surreal touches providing welcome light to a funereal atmosphere of her harrowing melodrama. The 19th century Russia is shrouded in dark and desaturated colors of Vladislav Opelyants’ austere yet painterly cinematography that gives Robert Eggers a good run for his Nosferatu money, whereby a Papaioannou-esque (read: dick-infested) part of the long take finale anticipates Barry Keoghan’s nude dance in Saltburn. Elevating the epilogue is a gloomily delightful art-pop song Oh, how black the sky is (originally, О, как небо чёрно) by experimental band Shortparis.

12. Gui cai zhi dao / Dead Talents Society (John Hsu, 2024)

It is not easy being a ghostress, particularly a rookie (i.e. unlicensed) one, in a ‘ghost eat ghost’ world of the afterlife... which is so vibrant that one can easily mistake it for life. Depicted from the spooks’ perspective, death seems like a never-ending stream of talk-shows, talent auditions, live broadcasts of scare tactics, and of course, good old hauntings of streets, public toilets, hotel rooms and internet videos. Occasional breaks from all this razzmatazz provide some rare moments for the (un)dead characters to hang out or contemplate on their past, and the possibilities of the future amongst their own kin.

Marking a sophomore feature for its co-writer/director John Hsu, Dead Talents Society is a riotous horror-comedy (more comedy than horror, to be precise) from Taiwan, and its sparkly & campy supernatural story ranges from absurd (as in an odd giraffe leitmotif) to laugh-out-loud hilarious to genuinely moving. Its two-hour running time may be a turnoff for the viewers not very fond of the genre, but it is so beautifully made and entertaining that your mood is bound to be lifted, and the film’s flaws forgiven. Between gags and lines, it has something to say about grief, identity and letting go, as well as about certain aspects of modern society, including fame and celebrity culture.

13. ChaO (Yasuhiro Aoki, 2025)

A dead ringer for a Masaaki Yuasa’s anime, Yasuhiro Aoki’s feature debut is a gorgeously animated eco-fantasy whose utopianist heart beats in the rhythms of acceptance, interspecies coexistence, and of course, love. Based on a screenplay by Hanasaki Kino (Children of the Sea), it plays out like a futuristic version of The Little Mermaid, deconstructed into a manic mix of vibrant colors, eccentric characters, absurd humor, and experimental design. The latter comes as no surprise considering that it bears the signature of the hyper-creative artists working under the banner of Studio 4°C that brought us the acclaimed classic Memories, as well as a number of offbeat pieces such as Mind Game, Tekkonkinkreet and Mutafukaz.

Uplifting and sincere in its portrayal of a bizarre marriage against the backdrop of nature’s sustainability vs. technological advancement, ChaO epitomizes the power of wild imagination, and transforms the vast field of the medium (im)possibilities into a busy playground. Its high-octane energy is nothing short of infectious, whereby the level of details in a plethora of maximalist frames has the effect of a dopamine injection.

14. Estrany riu / Strange River (Jaume Claret Muxart, 2025)

A film of candid emotions, unadulterated sensuality, and delicate lyricism, Strange River explores queer desire from the perspective of one 16-yo Dídac, portrayed with natural and innocent charm by newcomer Jan Monter. While cycling along the Danube with his family – full of understanding for his (homo)sexuality – he encounters a mysterious boy, Alexander (Francesco Wenz), whose true identity is kept ambiguous from the first appearance to the last disappearance, both tied to the river. Is he a water spirit, an embodiment of adolescent longing, or a projection of Dídac’s transition from boyhood to manhood?

Whatever the answer may be, there is an endearing, borderline sublime connection of the two youths, subtly conveyed through meaningful silences, soulful glances, gentle smiles, and soft kisses. It is in those moments – marking the last and dreamiest third of splendid micro-acting – that Muxart’s feature debut works best, exposing the young author’s keen poetic sensibility, comparable to the likes of Franco Piavoli, or Christian Petzold at his most enigmatic. Further elevating his vision – very likely emerging from a deeply personal experience – is DoP Pablo Paloma’s boxy framing on 16mm film which accentuates the pervading sense of nostalgia, and the malleable nature of memories. Also emphasized by analog textures is the lushness of the German countryside setting, provided with warm tactility and idyllic abandon that blurs the boundaries between Dídac’s reality and imagination...

15. Tabasco (Andrius Žemaitis, 2025)

Read the review HERE.

16. Vgainoun mesa ap’ ti Margo / They Came Out of Margo (Alexander Voulgaris, 2025)

“Are we just the thoughts of other people?”

The answers to this and other questions, posed between the lines, remain stubbornly elusive throughout an experimental (metafictional?) blend of psychological drama and musical flirting with horror, and making the Greek Weird Wave come across as even weirder. Like a tapestry weaved of delicate emotions and crippling fears, the film unfolds in an intimately claustrophobic atmosphere of a birthday party, its central figure being a 40-yo songwriter Margo, who traded popularity for self-imposed seclusion, along with her partner Rhea.

Likely suffering from depression and/or anxiety, the titular heroine exists in a self-professed ‘denial of the end’ – a mental limbo which sees the phantoms of her subconscious coming to life, as if in an ancient curse that mysteriously killed her older sister Margaret. However, Alexander Voulgaris aka The Boy – credited as writer, director, editor and composer (of a dissonantly dreamy score!) – is not interested in the plot, rather focusing on ‘vibes’, ‘moods’, and ‘rhythms’, with his cast performing as if participating in some sort of a therapeutic ritual. Shooting on 35mm and Super 16 (many kudos to DoP Simos Sarketzis), and fetishizing the ‘frame drop effect’ that further distorts Margo’s reality (into a delirious music video), he delivers an odd chunk of cinema that seeks to capture the finest nuances of the artist’s wounded soul, unafraid of stumbling on its way.

17. Gekijoban Mononoke Dai-San-Sho: Hebigami / Mononoke the Movie: Chapter III – The Curse of the Serpent (Kenji Nakamura & Tomoaki Koshida, 2026)

The final installment in the Mononoke trilogy sees the unique, maximalist style of the series reaching its peak, even though the previous two films made it seem like an impossible task. Once again, our mysterious medicine seller hero returns to Ōoku, where the grudges from the past – feeding on twisted human passions – bring forth his most formidable opponent. Edo of the phantasmagorical past depicted here looks straight out of a series of avant-garde ukyo-e coming to unrestrained life, with the absolutely insane level of details and some of the most unimaginable combinations of colors keeping your eyes wide open and glued to the screen. To call the imagery kaleidoscopic would be an understatement, unless the kaleidoscope in question belongs to some wild, inebriated, psychedelics-abusing deity gone on a reality-bending rampage, which is so stunningly conveyed through the snappy (or rather, frantic!) editing of a state-of-the-art blend of 2D and 3D animation set to a pounding, decidedly modern score. On top of that, the seiyū cast are at the top of their game, vocalizing their characters’ inflammable emotions with a fervor that occasionally evokes the sheer theatricality of Kabuki.

18. Hope (Hong-jin Na, 2026)

In Hope Harbor, a small village near the Korean Demilitarized Zone, the investigation of a mutilated cow turns into a bloody and destructive fight for survival, with confused, panicked denizens facing a monstrous threat. And that’s pretty much the spoiler-free plot of the latest feature from Hong-jin Na (The Chaser, The Wailing) who easily beats a recent alien-themed Hollywood flick by a veteran filmmaker, delivering a wild, almost three-hour-long roller-coaster ride. During its first hour, Hope is a masterclass in high-octane action splashed with gore, and peppered with wry and/or dark humor that is injected with some crude sauce during a welcome break, after which we are treated to more breathtakingly directed foot, car and horse chases with CGI creatures. Speaking of which, the VFX are the film’s weakest point, with the computer animation often sticking out like a sore thumb, and yet rarely if ever hampering the energy of Na and his dedicated team, well-conditioned actors in particular, their characters behaving as irrational as any small place person would in such an insane situation. Well-seasoned film buffs are likely to recognize cues taken from a wide variety of sci-fi, horror and action offerings from the West, but there is not a single one of those that can match the weirdo thrills and quirks of Hope.

19. La bola negra / The Black Ball (Javier Ambrossi & Javier Calvo, 2026)

“Only mystery keeps us alive.”

A serious contender for the pantheon of the 21st century classics, the sophomore feature from the creative (and ex-romantic) couple known as ‘Los Javis’ is a melodrama of epic scope, assured direction, and intense sensitivity. Anti-war and anti-fascist at its glowing core, it intertwines three narrative threads into an ardent tribute to Federico García Lorca and his lover Rafael Rodríguez Rapún, or rather, all gay men whose lives were forcefully ended; drawing inspiration from the poet’s unfinished play, and gracing it with a poetically and poignantly snowy epilogue. 

Boasting stellar performances from the entire cast, it marks the promising debut for musician turned actor Guitarricadelafuente in one of the leading roles, and sees Penélope Cruz in a bravura cameo as a ‘cupletista’ (cabaret singer & sex worker) delivering one of the key lines. However, the film’s main forte is Gris(elda) Jordana’s striking cinematography and elegant camerawork that capture not only the lushness of production design by Roger Bellés’, but also the many nuances in both mental and emotional states of the characters, as well as the mood of each scene, further enhanced by Raül Refree’s riveting and resonant score.

20. Never After Dark (Dave Boyle, 2026)

Hidden behind a prosaic title and run-of-the-mill ‘ghost hunting’ premise is a pretty solid J-horror evocative of the heyday of the genre, its dense atmosphere and unhurried pace already earning it comparisons to the work of Kiyoshi Kurosawa... which may be a bit far-fetched, especially when taken into consideration is its explanatory final twist that is usually a must for the (mainstream) American filmmakers. Speaking of whom, Dave Boyle – in his first attempt to send some chills down the viewer’s spine – seems to be at home in Japan, demonstrating great respect for the country’s culture, and sparking strong chemistry with his minimal cast; the standout being Moeka Hoshi in the lead, as a delightfully quirky traveling medium, Airi. 

The setting – a vintage B&B surrounded by a thick forest – is a character in its own right, and not to mention that all of its classical beauty is captured to the last detail (and mirror reflection!) by Patrick Ouziel’s expert cinematography, with Jonathan Snipes’ offbeat score often complementing it in a manner that’s as unexpected as Airi’s inebriated dancing to an experimental retro-pop tune Silhouette sung by Nigerian-American pianist, improviser and hymnologist Sharon Udoh. That particular scene – not just randomly dropped in, mind you – leaves such a sweet aftertaste that the paradoxical (or rather, preposterous?) reveal in the finale feels less disappointing, though what we have here is a fine example of a ‘journey more important than the destination’.

21. Street Fighter (Kitao Sakurai, 2026)

The third live-action feature based on Capcom’s long-running franchise, and the third video game adaptation that I immensely enjoyed this year, ‘Street Fighter’ is big, loud and proud of its rampant silliness, and vivid cartoonishness. Taking cues from the fighting tournament-based B-movies of the late 80’s and early 90’s, it fully embraces pulp and camp, and delivers two breezy hours of almost non-stop action. Surprisingly, it also embraces bromantic / homoerotic subtext of buddy comedies from the same period, as if striving to ‘outgay’ flicks such as Tango & Cash and Showdown in Little Tokyo, whether it be the lines imbued with queer innuendo, or the use of bisexual, neon-drenched lighting.

With its focus pulled on best friends and rivals Ryu (Andrew Koji) and Ken (Noah Centineo), unlike the trashy 1994 vehicle for Jean Claude Van Damme, the film mixes both canonical and non-canonical elements into a good ol’ ‘beat the psycho dictator and don’t allow your anger to consume you’ story. Of course, as relatable and close to reality as it sounds, it is but an excuse for the easter eggs-filled showcase of trademark moves by the characters deeply rooted in stereotypes, and existing in some parallel universe 1993 when Black Hole Sun by Soundgarden and Come Out and Play by Offspring were released a year earlier, and What’s Up? by 4 Non Blondes could be played on walkman in flashbacks set in 1987.

Speaking of which, Sakurai follows in Tarantino’s footsteps and spices up the proceedings with wonderful 2D animated sequences – the courtesy of Titmouse studio – that provide insight into Ryu and Ken’s shared past, training under their master Gouken, and going separate ways after he is killed by his brother Akuma, stripped away from his humanity by the so-called ‘Dark Hadou’ power. Evoking the memory of ‘Street Fighter II’ anime from 1994, those portions of the movie betray the team’s fondness of the game series, but the same goes for the most parodic of ‘distortions’ too, from Cody Rhodes’ tongue-in-cheek take on Guile to Jason Momoa’s armpit-scratching Blanka to David Dastmalchian’s eye-rolling channeling of M. Bison’s psychopathy and delusions of grandeur.

22. The End of Oak Street (David Robert Mitchell, 2026)

Proving himself a versatile filmmaker, David Robert Mitchell (It Follows, Under the Silver Lake) pulls off a Spielbergian throwback to the 80s summer blockbusters, totally unexpected yet immensely entertaining and cozily nostalgic if somewhat ‘prickly’. It may not be as wild as a roller-coaster ride that is the South Korean extravaganza Hope, but this Jurassic theme park by way of  a typical American suburbia has enough edge-of-the-seat thrills, moving family dynamics, meaty visual effects, and wicked jokes to keep you engaged for 100 minutes. As pulpy as the prehistoric hell that breaks loose and forces the Platt family to fight a variety of dinos (many kudos to the team of CGI artists!), The End of Oak Street does not pretend to be anything more than a simple ol’ school fun requiring an extra dose of suspension of disbelief, and that’s just fine.

23. The Incomer (Louis Paxton, 2026)

Chekhov’s gun is given a wiggly red dildo makeover in Louis Paxton’s promising feature debut – an often riotous ‘pagan’ comedy that I didn’t know I desperately needed. Set on a remote Scottish island inhabited by seagulls and an eccentric brother and sister duo, The Incomer pits offbeat folkways as the means of coping with a trauma against the impersonal modernization steeped in cold bureaucracy, exploring the human need for true connection and belonging, through the prism of oft-irrational fears, such as the one of change.

The primordial power of storytelling is another prominent theme, addressed as a tool for tearing down the walls we build around ourselves, believing that we’ll be protected from the terrors of the outside world. In a clash between two kinds of ‘safe havens’, one erected by the siblings, and the other by the titular incomer – an awkward government council worker, deadpan humor meets genuine emotion to a heartwarming effect marked by the characters’ self-realization.

A sparkling chemistry between the leading actors – Gayle Rankin, Grant O’Rourke and Domhnall Gleeson, all giving believable performances – is starkly matched by Paxton’s well-honed comedic timing, fine sense of drama, and great use of location that makes you hear the call of the winds and sea. Also praiseworthy is Patrick Golan’s handsomely austere framing of decidedly quirky proceedings, Sarah Blenkinsop’s exquisite costume designs, and Arthur de Borman & Kezia Eales’ quaint sets.

Best Premiere Viewings of April 2026

1. Los días perdidos / The Lost Days (Víctor Erice, 1963)

Shrouded in regret, melancholy permeates virtually every frame of Erice’s (exquisite!) student film shot during 1962-63 academic year. It inhabits the lingering shadows of the past; it extends the negative space beyond the frame; it trembles in the voice of the narrator protagonist, Isabel (Luisa Muñoz); it is reflected in the standing water after heavy rain, and it intensifies every gust of the wind blowing through a graveyard. Turned into its carriers are both diegetic noises and soft, moody jazz tunes, shyly interrupting the echoes of unsentimental silence, and acting as veils for the black and white imagery composed with a keen sense of blocking, and beautifully captured by cinematographer Fernando Arribas. And within these Antonioniesque visions which externalize Isabel’s inner world, words gradually dissolve and – stripped of their meanings – become the codes for deciphering the truths of human condition.

2. L’Étranger / The Stranger (François Ozon, 2025)

Manuel Dacosse – best known for his collaboration with cine-fetishists Hélène Cattet & Bruno Forzani – has to be one of the greatest cinematographers working today, his stunning monochrome lensing evoking the 60’s classics in François Ozon’s adaptation of Camus’s 1942 novella. Virtually every frame keeps you glued to the screen, capturing not only the impressive recreation of the period (kudos to production designer Katia Wyszkop of Nouvelle Vague fame), but also the all-encompassing indifference of the antihero, Meursault.

Portrayed with icy nonchalance by Benjamin Voisin, he is the complete stranger on his mother’s funeral, in a café he frequents, in every single relationship, be it with his lover or neighbors, and even to himself and in his own dreams, but he is also the handsome stranger whom the director is besotted with. This infatuation is – to a certain degree – transmitted to the viewer as well, making him at once charming and alienating, his apathy both fascinating and disquieting it its reflection of the ‘human’ society. And though my memories of the book are too vague and hazy (I read it approximately three decades ago, in high school), deep down I felt this translation to the medium of film to be exquisite, its cinematic qualities in fine balance with questions it raises, and ambiguities it leaves you with...

3. The Serpent’s Path (Kiyoshi Kurosawa, 2024)

They say revenge is best served cold, and Kurosawa’s protagonists add some extra ice in the French remake of the director’s own 1998 feature of the same name (yet to be seen), as they exact it against the secret ring of child and organ traffickers. Even yellow is drained of its warmth to fit the biting, calculated psychological ‘game’ they play, with the (recurring) themes of loneliness, alienation and depression imbuing the morally ambiguous exploration of psychosocial pathology. Kō Shibasaki is particularly transfixing in the role of an expatriate psychiatrist, Sayoko, her ostensible calmness and unwavering determination coming off as more dangerous than the scum of the earth whom she and her partner, Albert (Damien Bonnard, also great), are after. As precise as Kurosawa’s direction – at times, evocative of Haneke – her performance amplifies the ‘essential element’ that is mystery, lingering in the viewer’s mind long after the credits have rolled. Once again, the master of silent dread demonstrates his firm-handed command over the mise en scène, employing the physical space – a fertile ground for the aforementioned modern malaise – to visualize most if not all of the mental nooks and crannies.

4. Anta mujer / Such a Woman (Agustí Villaronga, 1976)

“Lift your fatigued body and submerge yourself in dreams that the immobility of time grants to you.”

Set to Carl Orff’s ‘Carmina Burana’ and narrated by ‘the voice of the sea’ (Núria Espert), the earliest short from Agustí Villaronga (In a Glass Cage, Moon Child) feels like an ascetic version of a Corkidi’s film also comparable to Garrel – an iconoclastic amalgam of pseudo-religious mysticism, and ritualistic performance art that is at once hermetic and immersive, especially if you’re in for an esoteric mythology. Revolving around a young woman who is promised to become a saint after accomplishing ‘Five Portents’, the formally austere ‘fantasy’ is shot with a keen eye for composition on some beautiful Catalonian locations, unfolding at a deliberate pace, as it pulls you into its primordial world...

5. Venusberg (Rolf Thiele, 1963)

“How difficult it is for girls nowadays...”

Seven young women gather in a mountain resort owned by a philandering gynecologist and their mutual friend/lover, Alphonse, sharing their perspective on relationships, and trying to figure out their way out of wasting their lives just to please their man (in certain cases, men). Although the naughty doctor is frequently mentioned, he is never to be seen, and the only male character who does appear remains in deep shadows, for Venusberg is exclusively femme-centric if not feminist feature.

As if directed by a woman, it does not slip into exploitation – the nudity, its dose higher than expected from a 1963 offering, is not gratuitous but subtle, and the frequent closeups of actresses’ glamorously beautiful faces, albeit as eye-pleasing as it gets, serve as insights into the protagonists’ mental and emotional states. One of the guests, Florentine (portrayed by fatally attractive Marisa Mell) lends the film an aura of mystery, her unexplained arrivals and departures – complemented by a bizarre anecdote and reverse psychologizing – giving off strong ‘empowerment embodied’ vibes. Thiele’s stylish direction evokes the modernist tendencies of the time, and finds a great match in both Wolf Wirth’s stunning B&W lensing and Rolf A. Wilhelm’s odd, jazzily probing score.

6. All You Need Is Kill (Ken’ichirō Akimoto & Yukinori Nakamura, 2025)

Ever since the cult omnibus Memories from 1995, Studio 4°C has been synonymous with stylish animation, and the latest addition to their impressive catalog is no exception. Based on Hiroshi Sakurazaka’s novel of the same name – previously adapted into live-action feature Edge of Tomorrow in 2014 – All You Need Is Kill can be described as Groundhog Day with a Lovecraftian twist by way of a video game set on the frustratingly high difficulty.

Stuck in a time loop during an alien invasion is a young United Defense Force soldier, Rita Vrataski, whose perspective on life is challenged by both the monsters, and an encounter with a fellow sufferer, Keiji Kiriya, with whom she joins forces to break free from the time trap. Her and later, their efforts against a mysterious tree, Darol, that sprouts murderous creatures (a metaphor for today’s governments and their subordinates?) are presented as an exploration of loneliness, blending science fiction, action and mystery to exciting effect. The noticeable tonal shifts in the feature’s second half may be viewed as slightly hampering, but the artists make sure that the levels of visual goodness – unusual angular artwork beautifully matched by psychedelic color palette – never drop. Their snappily edited and aesthetically refined imagery more than compensates for the narrative foibles, complementing first-timers Akimoto and Nakamura’s slick, fast-paced direction.

7. Господин оформитель / Mister Designer (Oleg Teptsov, 1987)

One of the most visually arresting pieces of late Soviet cinema, Mister Designer can be dubbed a gothic, psychosexual melodrama dipped in a potent concoction of the Pygmalion myth, Baudelairean decadence, and oneiric symbolism of Odilon Redon whose work is explicitly referenced in the artwork attributed to the leading character, Platon Andreyevich. Portrayed by Viktor Avilov, his roughly chiseled face appearing like an unholy blend of Vlad the Impaler, David Carradine and (art historian/filmmaker) Đorđe Kadijević, with hints of Donald Sutherland, he is a tortured, morphine-abusing artist striving to unveil the secret of eternal life through the creation of realistic mannequins in pre-WWI Russia. Light (and puzzling) on plot, but heavy on atmosphere or rather, dreamlike irrationality akin to giallo, this feature marks Oleg Teptsov’s stylistically daring debut, its extraordinary art direction married to a bizarre anachronistic score, ranging from playfully dissonant to ethereally sinister aural ‘ambushes’. A meditation on artistic obsession and metaphysical decay, the film may also be read as a quest for beauty, and though it leaves its horror potential largely unrealized, it is one of those obscure and bizarre curios that the arthouse crowd must check out.

8. Johnny 316 aka Hollywood Salome (Erick Ifergan, 1998)

High on ethereal vulnerability in her first and only big screen appearance, model Nina Brosh plays or rather, channels through a sort of a haze, a jobless hairdresser, Sally, who wanders around Hollywood Boulevard, and desperately falls for a handsome preacher, Johnny (Vincent Gallo, bringing a subversion-wrapped blend of emotional detachment and self-professed piousness to the role) in the feature debut from Morocco-born French director Erick Ifergan. Loosely based on Oscar Wilde’s one-act play ‘Salome’, the film feels like a no wave revival by way of the 90’s MTV (no surprise, given the author’s background in music videos), with mockumentary bits thrown in for good measure, exploring the erosion of spirituality, the impossibility of (true) love, and a futile quest for human connection.

Both of the leading characters are portrayed as lost, tortured souls who do not belong to the ‘wildlife’ of Los Angeles, simultaneously attracted to and repelled from each other, as their wounds keep growing, with a plethora of (beautiful!) close-ups striving to capture the nuances of their innermost workings. The intimizing intrusiveness of the camera, with another firsttimer, Toby Irwin, behind it, significantly contributes to the establishing of a dense, claustrophobic mood which marks the main forte of Johnny 316, complemented by a dissonant, broodingly trippy soundtrack. Lending it some extra gravitas are two veterans, Louise Fletcher and Seymour Cassel, in supporting parts as Sally’s mother, and good-natured store vendor, respectively.

9. They Will Kill You (Kirill Sokolov, 2026)

Kirill Sokolov demonstrated a great sense of black humor in his 2018 debut Why Don’y You Just Die? made in his native Russia, and it translates pretty well to his third – or first English-spoken – feature that doesn’t revolutionize neither of the neatly blended (sub)genres, but it is one hell of a crowdpleaser! Playing a familiar, yet immensely entertaining riff on a class struggle, it pits a young woman with the turbulent past, Asia Reaves (portrayed by charismatic Zazie Beetz), against a mysterious community of the rich attended by Patricia Arquette’s sinister character, Lily Woodhouse, and living in a luxurious NYC apartment building of the telling name, Virgil. But, the less you know about the film, the better, so I won’t reveal any more details of the plot, and just add that production designer Jeremy Reed (Gretel & Hansel) and the trio of art directors must’ve had a brilliant chemistry on the set, with DoP Isaac Bauman beautifully capturing the splatter action – likely inspired by anime – with his dynamic camerawork. Also commendable is the propulsive soundtrack and this comes from someone who is not a big fan of rap music, but still enjoys the rock-punkish brand by Nova Twins whose single Cleopatra accompanies one of the decisive battles. This is pulpy cinema at its most mood-lifting!

10. La città proibita / The Forbidden City (Gabriele Mainetti, 2025)

After debuting with a down-to-earth / anti-spectacle deconstruction of a superhero subgenre, then playing a ‘freaky’ anti-fascist riff on The Wizard of Oz in his WWII-set sophomore feature, Mainetti returns with a bold if uneven blend of martial arts actioner, gangster flick and romance imbued with social commentary. A simple tale of revenge is in equal measures pulpy and stylish, following an unlikely couple of a Chinese girl, Mei (Yaxi Liu), looking for her sister, and a restaurant cook, Marcello (Enrico Borello), whose indebted father has eloped with his much younger lover (guess who), fighting their way through the underbelly of Rome.

Add a triad – running a restaurant that shares its name with the film’s title and acts as a cover for  human trafficking – to the mix, as well as an immigrant-exploiting mafioso with hots for our hero’s mother, and you have a modern B-movie that lacks no charm even when outstaying its welcome. (The film’s 2+ hour running time may repel some viewers.) Its main attraction are hard-hitting, well-choreographed fighting sequences in which Liu proves to be a superb choice for a ‘one woman army’ type of heroine, and Mainetti demonstrates his familiarity with the Eastern counterparts, i.e. sources of inspiration, delivering some memorable set pieces. (And the same goes for the melodramatic bits.) Although his genre-juggling is not exactly a prime example of virtuosity, the director does it with gusto, earning extra points, and solidifying his position of an adventurous filmmaker.

Also, The Forbidden City absolutely beats Weapons when it comes to the grater utilization!

11. Party Girl (Daisy von Scherler Mayer, 1995)

Oddly charming in its pronounced quirkiness and easygoing queerness, the feature debut from Daisy von Scherler Mayer is unafraid to be wacky, messy, absurd, awkward, and oh-so-deliciously campy, in a certain way reflecting the character of its heroine Mary (Parker Posey, seemingly having some serious fun in her role). Partying her way to a librarian position in a groovy coming-of-age farce set against the NYC nightclub scene, she effortlessly earns her (and the film’s) title, and wins the heart of both the viewer and a handsome Lebanese teacher who works as a falafel vendor, Mustafa (Omar Townsend, coolly charismatic in his only screen appearance). Her energy – often channeled into different directions at once – parallels the very vibes of Party Girl that now operates as a whimsical, lighthearted time capsule to the 90’s, perfectly aware of its funky looseness, and fashionable abandon.

12. How to Live (Njoroge Muthoni, 2025)

“I think that is the joy that I seek, to not be afraid of the world, nor myself... When I think about my joy, I think about the freedom to change, actually. To be everything all at once. To be multiple, to be excess, to be a flood, to always overflow, to be too much, too dramatic, flowery...” (multidisciplinary artist Kuln’zu)

My first contact with Kenyan visual artist Njoroge Muthoni was his inspiring photographic work which led to a 2019 collaboration on Minus Zodiac, a twelve-piece series of ‘astrological’ collages based around his nude models. In the meantime, he has created a few shorts, and directed his first feature How to Live – a bold if flawed documentary on Nairobi’s burgeoning queer scene.

Brimming with energy – at times, posing a real challenge in channeling and sustaining within the decidedly loose, even punkish structure – the film is a vivid exploration of body, identity, solidarity and resistance through ‘joie de vivre’ shared by the members of a tight-knit community. Young and, above all, determined people who express themselves through art and/or (ballroom) performance proudly and gleefully defy the societal constraints, writing the extravagant history of gender fluidity. Their intertwining experiences and the accompanying statements are captured with utmost sincerity and transparency by Muthoni’s frequently moving camera, making sure that the segments with ‘talking heads’ never feel dull. As a connective tissue, the director utilizes minimalist ‘vogue’ vignettes depicting some of the participants, and acting as additional invitations to acceptance and tolerance. Although rough around the edges (and belonging to the genre this writer is not a big fan of), How to Live is a solid calling card for its author.

Honorable mention: Search for Beauty (Erle C. Kenton, 1934)

A missing precursor-link between Leni Riefenstahl’s Olympia and the Youth Day spectacle in Yugoslavia, Symphony of Health marks the most impressive portion of Search for Beauty – a goofy, not to mention horny pre-code comedy. Featuring dozens of Beauty Contest winners from English-speaking countries, this ‘symphony’ is an elaborately staged parade of men and women in swimwear promoting physical prowess for the fictional ‘Health and Exercise’ magazine – likely a parody of Bernarr Macfadden’s publications of the early 20th century.

Snappily directed by Erle C. Kenton, best known for H. G. Wells’ adaptation Island of Lost Souls, it stars 16-yo Ida Lupino in her American debut (thankfully, pretty innocent), and Olympic champion turned actor Buster Crabbe as a couple of athletes tricked by a trio of con artists into selling ‘sex’ under the guise of a health periodical. The feature marks one of the earliest examples of exploitation flicks, its raciness becoming overt at the very beginning, with Gertrude Michael as Jean Strange checking out Crabbe’s bulging crotch through her binoculars, while dropping: “Ooh, baby, you can come to Mama!” Adding up to the naughty (and predominantly homoerotic) antics is some unabashed rear nudity in a male locker-room, and lines such as “as far as I’m concerned, outdoors, indoors and behind doors” spouted during the exchange of beefcake photos in a hair salon. It’s a curious little romp that may lift one’s mood, though its boldness, suggestiveness, and the humorous chemistry of James Gleason and Robert Armstrong duo are rarely matched by its artistic quality.

Best Premiere Viewings of 2025 (Contempo Edition)

In order to squeeze as many recent (2020’s) favorites as possible, I picked 40 features classified in 11 categories (hopefully, of self-explanatory titles), each with the minimum of three entries, and only one film per director, even though I did enjoy both of Perkins’s offerings, as well as the first two parts of a planned Mononke trilogy. From the universally acclaimed to the lesser known / overlooked / underseen offerings (which, I think, dominate the list), you’ll surely find something up your alley...

~ BOLD EXPERIMENTS ~

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

Read my review HERE.

2. An Evening Song (for three voices) (Graham Swon, 2023)

Read my review HERE.

3. 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.

4. Reflet dans un diamant mort / Reflection in a Dead Diamond (Hélène Cattet & Bruno Forzani, 2025)

Directorial duo of Belgian ciné-fetishists Hélène Cattet & Bruno Forzani return with another (over)dose of ultra-stylized imagery, imbuing the details with all sorts of devils in paying a passionate homage to the 60’s Eurospy cinema, and blending in some clear nods to giallo, as well as to Maya Deren. ‘Reflection in a Dead Diamond’ is arguably their finest feature so far – a metafilmic tale of decidedly irrational proportions that may be viewed as a hallucinatory meditation on the role of cinema in shaping (or just reshaping) one’s own identity, memories and obsessions. Gorgeously lensed on 16mm which provides a warm, grainy texture and makes the colors pop out, burrowing themselves into your mind, it dazzles and disorients, as its ambiguities grow along with the intensity of a sensory stimulation.

~ FANTASY ~

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. 100 Nights of Hero (Julia Jackman, 2025)

Read my review HERE.

3. Frankenstein (Guillermo del Toro, 2025)

“Perhaps, I thought, this was the way of the world. It would hunt you and kill you just for being who you are.”

I must admit two things – I have yet to read Mary Shelley’s novel, and I have to file this feature under ‘the films that unexpectedly made me cry’. Guillermo del Toro’s Frankenstein is – in my book – the director’s most moving piece since Pan’s Labyrinth, with Jacob Elordi’s heartbreaking, even sensual portrayal of the Creature amplifying the unabashed romanticism the proceedings are infused with. The film’s visual splendor, largely owing to Tamara Deverell’s meticulous production design, and Kate Hawly’s exuberant, Ishioka-invoking costumes, is wonderfully captured by cinematographer Dan Laustsen, and harmoniously matched to Alexandre Desplat’s emotionally resonant score. Although I wouldn’t have minded a cut here and there, the two and a half hours spent in the (hyperbolized) Victorian gothic world left me in awe.

4. Irati (Paul Urkijo Alijo, 2022)

Based on Jon Muñoz Otaegi’s graphic novel The Circle of Irati (originally, El ciclo de Irati) which draws inspiration from Basque legends, the sophomore feature from Paul Urkijo Alijo (of Errementari fame) is a beautifully realized medieval fantasy revitalizing the magic of the sword & sorcery subgenre. Set against the backdrop of the clash between the paganism and Christianity, the film takes the viewer into the Pyrenees forests rendered enchanted by cinematographer Gorka Gómez Andreu, labyrinthine caves guarded by beings of mythological yore, and stone castles where the power dynamics are incessantly shifting.

In a story deeply rooted in local folklore, Alijo speaks of universal and “timeless human issues”, as Júlia Olmo notes in her review for Cineuropa, touching upon “the weight of roots, the idea of loyalty and honor, the meaning of identity, the struggle for a place and the value of that struggle, the meaning of faith, the classic concept of ‘the beautiful death’ (filling one’s life with deeds to achieve eternal glory, to be remembered and loved in eternity), the fear of forgetting, the presence of death in life, the search for your origins and the price of that search”. These themes are explored through both the titular heroine, a feisty pagan girl (Edurne Azkarate, stellar in her first big screen appearance), as well as a young Christian nobleman, Eneko (Eneko Sagardoy, excellent), learning to accept the mysterious ways of nature personalized by the goddess Mari (Itziar Ituño, a strong vocal presence bolstered by an intricate costume of red, intertwined threads). Speaking of nature, one can easily notice the ecological aspect of the proceedings, particularly in the scenes of bleeding tree stumps, and stones, with the overarching perspective being more feminine than masculine...

~ HORROR ~

1. 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 even though 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.

2. Mina ni ko are / Best Wishes to All (Yūta Shimotsu, 2022)

Even before the cards of Yūta Shimotsu’s (promising) feature debut are laid on the table, ‘Are you happy?’ sounds like one of the most ominous questions your own grandmother may ask you. Dealing with the price of happiness, generational decay, the dichotomy of selfishness vs. selflessness, and (the lack of) empathy in a dehumanizing society, Best Wishes to All transforms the family home and its pastoral surroundings into a setting for a nightmare of false normalcy that seems impossible to awaken from. Laced with cynically dark humor, and soaked in ‘something feels off’ atmosphere right from the get go, the film serves as a constant reminder of how twisted reality tends to be, especially when you’re striving for kindness, like the unnamed protagonist sympathetically portrayed by lovely Kotone Furukawa. There’s no place for the meek here, and the bleak prospects are accentuated by Yuma Koda’s unnerving string score, and Ryuto Iwabuchi’s austere cinematography somewhat reminiscent of Kiyoshi Kurosawa’s works, not to mention the freaky bits of utter irrationality that amplify the psychological tension.

3. 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 debut 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. 

4. Keeper (Osgood Perkins, 2025)

Not even ten minutes into the film, shadows are steadily on the move, with the sense of unease crept under your skin, partly by virtue of the opening montage, and only getting stronger as the out-there moments grow weirder, and to a certain degree, darkly humorous. When Perkins reveals his hand, you are already attuned to the shaken mental and emotional state of Tatiana Maslany’s (vulnerable?) Liz whose romantic getaway has transformed into a twisted ‘cabin in the woods + folk horror’ nightmare, and you can’t help rooting for her. Often framed in a way that evokes Yoshida’s geometric / negative space ‘traps’, she is the anchor of a bizarre, fairy tale-informed story with a feminist twist that sees reality distorted by mysterious supernatural forces, one of which has likely been imported from Japan (code: neck-stretching). Some of her actions may appear irrational, but it could be the effect of a chocolate cake that ‘tastes like shit’, and – along with a jar of honey – plays an important role of reducing your craving for sugar, in addition to being one of the red flags. Enhancing the all-pervading, psychologically intense atmosphere of paranoia and uncertainty, both reflected in Liz’s expressive face, is Edo Van Breemen’s suitably unnerving score that – in harmonious coordination with the camera’s smooth gliding – transforms the setting into a character in its own right...

5. Bring Her Back (Danny & Michael Philippou, 2025)

In the sophomore feature from the Philippou brothers (Talk to Me), grief is possessed by evil under bizarre, ambiguous circumstances that involve a Russian VHS tutorial for a soul transfer (?) ritual. Many questions remain unanswered (because sorrow needs no explanation?), as the things go from nasty to nastier, and no one is spared, a couple of squirm-inducing scenes leaving deep, permanent scars in the viewer’s memory. The characters’ traumas feel palpable, yet – unlike the news regarding the escalation of police brutality in the rotten state of Serbia – they never feed suicidal thoughts, and the black bleakness that permeates the film, with a tendency to get under your skin, isn’t as stressful and hurtful as the current reality. Surprisingly, there are sparse, but welcome moments of poetic beauty to be found amidst the supernatural (and human) threat, making the nightmare slightly more bearable. The Philipous elicit excellent performances from their cast, young Jonah Wren Phillips being the standout on his way to the Pantheon of creepy kids of horror cinema.

6. Else (Thibault Emin, 2024)

Focusing on a couple of jarring opposites and weird chemistry, impulsive Cass (Edith Proust) and prudent Anx (Matthieu Sampeur), Else – Thibault Emin’s promising feature debut – chronicles a bizarre pandemic that takes metamorphosis to a whole new level of merging with one’s own possessions and surroundings, be it a cellphone, sidewalk, apartment walls or satin sheets. Themes of adaptation, evolution, identity (or rather, the loss thereof), oneness, trauma and love are explored through a bold if uneven, fever dream-like mélange of romantic dramedy, Tsukamoto-esque body horror, and surrealistic sci-fi, with psychological elements thrown in for good measure. A somewhat unbridled, experimental narrative with slight pacing issues evokes the lockdown memories as it glides towards the implosively abstract coda, whereby Léo Lefèvre’s excellent camerawork intensifies the sense of claustrophobia, striving to find the beauty in macabre mutations. Garish colors gradually fade into velvety B&W, signifying changes that occur not only to the characters’ flesh, but minds as well, with a possible influence of Eraserhead betrayed in the process... 

~ GENRE-B(L)ENDERS ~

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

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

2. Sinners (Ryan Coogler, 2025)

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

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

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

4. The Hanged Man (Korab Uka, 2025)

Taking cues from Pasolini and the Greek Weird Wave, first-time director Korab Uka generates an offbeat, ambiguous allegory of class struggle or rather, upper middle class guilt, immigrant experience, and spiritual (innermost?) transformation strongly reminiscent of Theorem, but also highly evocative of its hardcore re-imagination The Visitor (2024) by Bruce LaBruce, though much tamer and artful during the sex scenes.

In under 70 minutes, and on a shoestring budget, he packs quite a punch, establishing a dense atmosphere of almost nauseating inescapability, primarily by virtue of the picture’s (literally) square format, limitations of the house setting, and decidedly murky lighting. His story of a young doorman at a family dinner which grows increasingly awry finds its anchor in the noteworthy feature debut for sad-eyed Max Pettit, with the rest of the starring quintet – made of newcomers and non-professionals – playing their roles in a deadpan to camp register, all boldly uninhibited in the exposure of self-loathing. The darkly surreal ‘chamber drama’ of their unknowingly lost characters is composed with resolute austerity by cinematographer Donte Underwood who also serves as the editor, defining the film’s ominously lethargic rhythm.

~ ANIMATION IS ALSO CINEMA! ~

1. Gekijōban Mononoke: Karakasa / Mononoke the Movie: The Phantom in the Rain (Kenji Nakamura, 2024)

Mindblowing doesn’t even begin to describe the dazzling, hyper-stylized extravagance at display – the most unexpected confluences and clashes of shapes and colors, the whirling, bubbling and swirling patterns, twisted angles and snappy, jumpcutty editing, with all the pizzazz overlaid on a washi-like surface. Virtually every frame is a vibrant, mesmerizing piece of art compelling you to pause in order to wonder at the richness of details. Perfectly matched to the jaw-dropping imagery of the Edo-set psychedelia are rustling streams of dialogue fast-flowing through the labyrinthine interior of Ōoku quarters, all the while intertwining with the eclectic score, its solemn passages reflecting the strictness of the palace protocols. Almost as picturesque as the artwork (did I mention that the aromas and odors are visualized as well?) are the characters facing a supernatural threat that an enigmatic ‘medicine seller’ – the returning hero of the 2007 series – is self-invited to exorcize. Once the titular phantom Karakasa materializes, the film’s eye-grabbing qualities grow stronger and wilder, enhancing the phantasmagorical mystery that the story revolves around. Nakamura once again occupies the director’s chair, but opts for a significant tonal shift that may surprise the fans of the original anime, delivering the information – aural, visual and verbal – at the breakneck pace.

2. 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.

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

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

~ PERIOD PIECES ~

1. Pigen med nålen / The Girl with the Needle (Magnus van Horn, 2024)

Danish actress Vic Carmen Sonne delivers a career-defining performance in the starring role of Magnus van Horn’s harrowing period piece – a viscerally beautiful post-WWI drama that pulls no punches in its grimy and raggedy portrayal of maternal phobias thornily intertwined with existential dread. Playing out like the darkest of the Grimms’ fairy tales, with wraiths and witches disguised as ‘humans’, it is best experienced by knowing as little as possible about the (true case) story, particularly its nightmarish third act. Right from the impactful opening montage of distorted faces that wouldn’t feel out of place in a horror movie, this pitch-black drama plunges you into the muddy waters of pain, relieving it only through a few glimmers of hope, one of which is (mercifully!) saved for the epilogue. Directed with no prejudice or moralizing, and framed in brutalist, high-contrast B&W that – synergized to the ominously minimalist score – elevates the stunning recreation of the period, The Girl with the Needle is an instant modern classic that will haunt you long after the end.

2. La tour de glace / The Ice Tower (Lucile Hadžihalilović, 2025)

Arguably the most accessible feature offering from Lucile Hadžihalilović (Innocence, Evolution, Earwig), The Ice Tower plays out like an adult fairy tale or rather, tone poem that is part coming-of-age drama, part meditation on creative process, and part examination of suppressed female desire. Told from the perspective of a 15-yo orphan, Jeanne (the outstanding debut for newcomer Clara Pacini!), the film marks the director’s reunion with actress Marion Cotillard who dominates the screen in the role of an ice-cold diva, Cristina van den Berg, torn by inner turmoil. Invoking the spirits of Deborah Kerr, Marlene Dietrich and Delphine Seyrig, she makes the viewer believe that she actually is the Snow Queen of a film within a film set in what can only be described as the end of the 60’s in an alternate universe – Lucileverse, if you will. Her mystery-infused allure is superbly matched by Jonathan Ricquebourg’s expressive, austerely and uncannily beautiful lensing that transforms physical spaces – dimly lit, often exuding with foreboding, even dread – into the characters’ mindscapes. The glacial pace which corresponds with the wintry atmosphere, letting you absorb the images in all of their bleak glory, finds its aural equivalent in Lexx and Olivier Messiaen’s haunting, frost-covered notes evocative of being lost in a crystal cave.

3. 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.

4. The Brutalist (Brady Corbet, 2024)

Impressively shot, its VistaVision cinematography being nothing short of magical, and reinforced by strong performances, particularly from Adrien Brody in the leading role, and Guy Pearce as the capital antagonist, the third feature-length offering from actor-turned filmmaker Brady Corbet is also his finest directorial effort. Although somewhat hampered by the author’s heightened ambition (not to mention the unforgiving running time of almost three and a half hours), The Brutalist often comes close to greatness comparable with the 20th century epic-scope dramas that certainly served as sources of inspiration. A bleak, existentialist tale of an unflattering immigrant experience – portended by the protagonist’s skewed view of the Statue of Liberty upon his arrival to America – is so elaborate that one may be tricked into believing that a brilliant architect and Holocaust survivor, László Tóth, was a historical figure. The authenticity of his struggle – anchored in Brody’s becoming one with his character – is accentuated by a comprehensive recreation of the period that – it won’t hurt to repeat – looks stunning through the lens of Lol Crawley’s camera.

~ WASTELAND RUMINATIONS ~

1. Дала қасқыры / Steppenwolf (Adilkhan Yerzhanov, 2024)

Playing heavily distorted riffs on The Searchers under the influence of Kafkaesque existential despair and Mad Max-inspired rumbling spirit, Adilkan Yerzhanov delivers a hyper-nihilistic blend of a remorseless revenge thriller, pre-apocalyptic road movie and embittered absurdist dramedy. Steppenwolf is a film that punches you in the face first, then asks questions later, as it chronicles a tale of a mother and a ‘monster’ set against the backdrop of an unspecified conflict and (children’s) organ trafficking.

We are plunged into a lawless, godless and hopeless world which sees a young prostitute, Tamara, who suffers from a neurodivergent disorder, looking for her kidnapped son, in the unlikely company of a brutal ‘confession specialist’ – an unnamed antihero baptized by fire that devoured his family. In the leading roles, Anna Starchenko and Berik Aytzhanov, respectably, give outstanding performances that complement each other like yin and yang, her shell-shocked demureness often in a death grip with his destructive brazenness. Across the increasingly unwelcoming wasteland, their characters are directed with a carefully measured pace and considerable formal intelligence by Yerzhanov who demonstrates a razor-sharp sense of dark humor and a keen eye for composition. He translates the all-pervading feeling that nothing is left to lose into the frames of overwhelmingly bleak beauty, dominated by smoky grays and earthy tones, marrying the austere visuals to diegetic noises, from the guns’ growling to chill-inducing ‘humming’ of the steppe, occasionally intruded by elegant, hope-invoking synth score.

2. 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.

3. Bayn al Remal / Within Sand (Moe Alatawi, 2022)

In equal measures breathtaking and unwelcoming, the desert of the Neom area is more than a setting – it is a whimsical character in its own right, as well as a reflection of the mental and emotional state of the film’s hero. After he leaves the caravan, young tobacco-merchant Snam (Ra’ed Alshammari) is ambushed by a trio of thieves and later joined by a big, one-eyed wolf on his way home where his pregnant wife Halla (Adwa Fahad) waits for his return. The account on his survival amidst the dunes and rocky mountains is ‘based on a true story that’s engrained in Saudi culture’, in the director’s own words, and marks a few milestones for the nascent cinema of Saudi Arabia. Gorgeously framed and graciously paced, ‘Within Sand’ never appears like the work of an inexperienced filmmaker – Moe Alatawi’s grip rarely loosens, and his control of both human, largely non-professional actors and the beast is admirable. The addition of hallucinatory visions and dream sequences enriches the folk tale-like adventure, and in a way, softens the harshness of the landscape, all the while amplifying its borderline-surreal nature.

~ SURPRISE, SURPRISE! ~

1. Nouvelle Vague (Richard Linklater, 2025)

I haven’t been closely following Linklater’s career, nor am I an avid fan of Jean-Luc Godard, and yet I found this film to be one of the most entertaining / chuckle-inducing offerings of 2025. Centered around the shooting of À bout de souffle – the seminal piece of the French New Wave – this slice-of-history biopic is a delightful ode not only to the titular movement, but to filmmaking itself as well, irresistibly charming in its revival of the period. Everything about it gives you just the right gut feeling – the jazz intrusions, the grain of 35mm pictures, the atmosphere of spontaneity, but above all the pinpoint casting choices of Zoey Deutch, captivating as Jean Seberg, and two newcomers, Guillaume Marbeck and Aubry Dullin, nailing the roles of Godard and Belmondo, respectively. 

2. Pools (Sam Hayes, 2025)

Odessa A’zion of Hellraiser (2022) fame pours heart and soul into the leading role of Sam Hayes’s feature debut, adding an extra layer of personal touch by writing and performing two songs on the soundtrack. She portrays Kennedy, once promising student who aimlessly meanders through the college life after the loss of her father, with the film itself – a bittersweet blend of sparkling comedy and emotionally resonant drama – completely attuned to the ‘messy’ heroine. Partnered by five young, superbly cast actors whose archetypal characters are elevated through subtle nuances, A’zion brings a gust of fresh air to this John Hughes-inspired riff on The Swimmer, as she leads a pool invasion across the estates of ‘Chicago’s very own Beverly Hills’. Kennedy’s coming-of-age & searching-for-purpose tale is split into two distinct parts linked via HVAC tech subplot – the night of escapist partying brimming with invigorating energy, yet sprinkled with moments of poignancy, and the night of self-reflection and decision-making, tamer in tone, with humor ably employed as a repellent of full-blown melancholy. Both chapters – set against the backdrop of an unbearably hot summer – are directed with genuine sympathy and understanding for the protagonists, as DP Ben Hardwicke’s, editor Tucker Marolf and composer Cody Fry join forces to capture all of their inner ‘bubbles’, and evoke the freewheeling chaos of youth.

3. Oh, Hi! (Sophie Brooks, 2025)

“We need to cut the shit and turn to witchcraft.”

And turning to witchcraft is only one phase of Iris’s ‘going to absurd lengths’ plan to make her boyfriend Isaac love her during a romantic getaway that goes awry. What initially appears like a match made in heaven situation gradually glides into a silly micro-hell for poor Isaac who spends a good deal of the film’s running time handcuffed to bed. He’s a ‘classic softboy’ deserving of a sweet torture which writer/director Sophie Brooks employs to explore Millennials’ gender dynamics, poking fun at both young men and women, all the while demonstrating a keen sense of tonal shifts and wry humor. Behind a rather banal title that significantly lowers one’s expectations, she conceals a charming anti-romantic comedy that primarily works by virtue of good chemistry within the small, yet playful cast, with big-and-sad-eyed Molly Gordon in the lead being an affection-hungry standout. 

~ THREE MUTATIONS OF DRAMA ~

1. A Kind of Madness (Christiaan Olwagen, 2025)

Embodied by an opera singer in a fiery red gown, the ghost of the past or rather, the phantom of dementia follows Elna (Sandra Prinsloo) down the memory lane, after she – assisted and joined by her husband Dan (Ian Roberts) – escapes the care facility and flees from both the law and their three grown children, Lucy (Erica Wessels), Olivia (Amy Louise Wilson) and Ralph (Evan Hegst). The sensitive topic of cognitive decline is gently filtered through the prism of unconditional love and moments of poignant lucidity, with a healthy dose of humor imbuing a heartbreaking drama – an emotional rollercoaster that is likely to leave the most empathic among us in tears. Although Olwagen takes some well-trodden paths to tell his story, there’s no denying his film packs a punch of bittersweet sincerity, as he reflects on the nature of reality, familial ties, identity struggle, and the acceptance of truth, with his cast delivering believable performances marked by all the nuances of human fallibility.

2. Alpha (Julia Ducornau, 2025)

“Must be hell to be a kid today.”

One of the queasiest coming-of-age / single parenting tales in recent memory, Alpha plunges the viewer into a crumbling, emotionally draining and psychologically demanding world of its protagonists – the titular troubled teenager, her doctor mother, and junkie uncle, as the boundaries between the past and the present / the real and supernatural grow progressively blurred in the ‘red wind’ of traumas and memories, angst and stress (and a mysterious ‘marble’ disease). Firmly anchored in commanding, highly dedicated performances from Mélissa Boros (demonstrating maturity far beyond her experience!), Golshifteh Farahani and Tahar Rahim, the harrowing, genre-bending drama compels you to scream on the inside, simultaneously holding you in its firm embrace by means of Ruben Impens’ intimately inquisitive camera, and some brilliantly employed musical numbers, such as Roads by Portishead, and Nick Cave’s The Mercy Seat. The more you think about it or rather, the more you feel it, the thinner its layers of despair (and purposeful disorder!) become, revealing a soft, vulnerable heart beating with unreserved love.

3. Swimming Home (Justin Anderson, 2024)

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

~ WE LIVE IN DYSTOPIA... ~

1. Corazón azul / Blue Heart (Miguel Coyula, 2021)

“I am not going to say anything new. You all know how corrupt this government is... You all know that there are dictatorships where they engage in actual murder and you also know that in this one psychological death predominates. You know everything and you tolerate it. That’s why you are also guilty. Small minded beings who sacrifice their integrity for a comfortable and mediocre life...”

Shot and re-shot over the course of ten years, Blue Heart is not only a labor of love, but also a testimony to its authors’ continual resistance against multiple threats by the Cuban security agents. A powerful example of guerrilla filmmaking, it is a formally challenging, politically charged experiment that poses as an often direct attack on dictatorial ideologies, so it comes as no surprise it has stirred some controversy in countries such as Belarus. Set in an alternate reality where Fidel Castro turned to genetic engineering to create New Man for the sake of socialist utopia, the heavily fragmented story is presented in a mind-and-genre-bending blend of various formats, from found footage referencing Soviet cinema to fictitious anime to talking-head documentary to artistic pornography to newsreel montages. Speaking of the latter, the writer / director / cinematographer / VFX artist / animator / composer / producer Miguel Coyula demonstrates impressive editorial skills, delivering a cinematic equivalent of a tightly controlled fever dream which brims with beautifully framed imagery largely captured on cloudy days and thus, underscoring the all-pervading dread. His ‘partner in crime’, actress Lynn Cruz, plays one of the key roles in a manner that thickens the air of mystery surrounding the goings-on, as well as the cipher-like characters.

2. Happyend (Neo Sora, 2024)

In the narrative feature debut from Neo Sora – the son of the late and great composer Ryuichi Sakamoto – there’s a strange, almost jarring disparity between the orderly aesthetics and themes of political unrest, state control, surveillance, xenophobia, anti-conformism and youthful rebellion. His tightly controlled direction – along with Lia Ouyang Rusli’s minimalist score, unobtrusive to the point of being barely detectable, and Bill Kirstein’s excessively pedantic, geometrically rigid framing – may initially appear like an apt choice, given the dystopian setting, but eventually it proves to be way too formal and restrictive on the angsty characters. And yet, Happyend rarely produces a dull moment, its sparkling, hope-inducing emotional core lying in a tight-knit bond between five techno-loving high-school graduates largely portrayed with unaffected honesty by newcomers, their attitude towards oppression posing as a role model for the adolescents all around the world. 

3. Luka (Jessica Woodworth, 2023)

Based on Dino Buzzati’s 1940 novel The Tartar Steppe (which I haven’t read), Luka is the most Brutalist feature since Jóhann Jóhannsson’s 2020 offering Last and First Men. Filmed around the Blufi dam – an unfinished yet imposing concrete edifice in Sicily, and gorgeously photographed in ashen B&W on Super 16 by DoP Virginie Surdej, it marks Jessica Woodworth’s first solo directorial effort, her partner Peter Brosens credited as one of the producers. Stylish, if dramatically frigid, the film features an international ensemble cast of largely male actors, with the veteran Geraldine Chaplin as the only woman jumping into the role of The General.

The absurdity of authoritarianism rooted in blind ‘obedience, endurance, and sacrifice’ is the name of the gloomy, post-apocalyptic game, as a unit of soldiers wait for a mythical enemy in the Kairos fortress. Following the arrival of a young sniper, Luka (Jonas Smulders), the foundations of the stern micro-society are shaken in more ways than one. In-between their everyday chores (and nocturnal releases of feral energy through ritualistic mock-fights), our hero establishes a friendly relationship with a sprightly private, Geronimo (Django Schrevens), and a brooding communications expert, Konstantin (Samvel Tadevossian), the trio operating as the story’s well-hidden emotional core. Woodworth is more concerned with establishing a bleak atmosphere that would reflect the military-minded oppressiveness, rather than providing a traditional narrative, and to a certain degree, she succeeds in seducing you with the absorbing monochromatic imagery, if that’s your poison.

~ ACTION! ~

1. The Running Man (Edgar Wright, 2025)

Whoa... It’s been a while since I came across a Hollywood blockbuster that I wished to re-watch the moment it ended! Wright at his most crowd-pleasing directs this biting satire with infectious energy, as Powell oozes with big-star charisma in the leading role of one man against the (truth-distorting / fascist) system. Yes, it is on-the-nose, but who cares when 2+ hours almost feel like the blink of an eye that injects you with a hefty dose of a dopamine & adrenaline cocktail. Technically polished and boldly bonkers, it makes even the most caricatured of (supporting) characters come across as true to the time we live in. And, to my surprise, I enjoyed it even more than the Arnie film!

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

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

3. The Gorge (Scott Derickson, 2025)

Anya Taylor-Joy and Miles Teller spark some great chemistry from the very moment their characters start through-the-binoculars courtship. Stationed in Brutalist towers on the opposite sides of the mysterious gorge, both of them are skilled operatives on a mission of keeping whatever’s down there from reaching the surface. She’s from the East, he’s from the West, and the decades old secrets their higher-ups have been keeping are gradually revealed in a genre mashup that entertains even at its most ridiculous, largely thanks to the leading duo’s combined charisma and seriousness. (Personally, I enjoyed this flick more than, let’s say, Nosferatu, cursing whoever thought it was a good idea to release it directly to streaming services.)

Sweet romancing clears the way for some shoot-em-up survival in a conspiratorial creature-feature setting that brings to mind Annihilation, Silent Hill and the Resident Evil series, with pretty cool monster designs heavily inspired by Zdzisław Beksiński’s artwork. Derickson directs with a decent sense of pacing and tonal shifts, assisted by propulsive score from Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross, as well as by handsome lensing provided by Dan Laustsen (Nightmare Alley). It goes without saying that an additional injection of suspended disbelief won’t hurt.