Best Premiere Viewings of 2024 (Modern Cinema Edition)

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

1. The Substance (Coralie Fargeat, 2024)

2. Poor Things (Yorgos Lanthimos, 2023)

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

4. Mars Express (Jérémie Périn, 2023)

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

6. She Is Conann (Bertrand Mandico, 2023)

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

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

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

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

13. Megalopolis (Francis Ford Coppola, 2024)

14. Someone from Nowhere (Prabda Yoon, 2017)

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

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

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

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

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

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

21. Vermiglio (Maura Delpero, 2024)

22. The Shadow Strays (Timo Tjahjanto, 2024)

23. La Chimera (Alice Rohrwacher, 2023)

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

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

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

27. Dead Whisper (Conor Soucy, 2024)

28. Eileen (William Oldroyd, 2023)

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

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

31. AGGRO DR1FT (Harmony Korine, 2023)

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

33. Caché / Hidden (Michael Haneke, 2005)

34. Sanctuary (Zachary Wigon, 2022)

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

36. Motel Destino (Karim Aïnouz, 2024)

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

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

39. Lonesome (Craig Boreham, 2022)

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

41. Stopmotion (Robert Morgan, 2023)

42. Terrifier 3 (Damien Leone, 2024)

43. Club Zero (Jessica Hausner, 2023)

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

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

46. City Hunter (Yūichi Satō, 2024)

47. Afterglows (Taichi Kimura, 2023)

48. Think at Night (Greg Hanec, 2024)

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

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

Best Premiere Viewings of December 2024

1. Слънцето и сянката (Рангел Вълчанов, 1962) / The Sun and the Shadow (Rangel Vulchanov, 1962)

“But the noise can’t drown out the silence. It’s stronger, don’t you feel it?”

If you think that feel-good/light-hearted films cannot be poetic and/or poignant, let alone involve a few experimental montages one of which reflects the fear of nuclear devastation (preceding the dream sequence from T2: Judgment Day!), you most probably haven’t experienced the magic of ‘The Sun and the Shadow’. Rangel Vulchanov’s masterfully crafted, über-romantic dramedy stars Anna Prucnal and Georgi Naumov who make for one of the loveliest and sexiest couples to ever grace the screen with their charming, not to mention eye-candy presence. The chance meeting between their unnamed characters during a summer holiday develops into a friendship, then love affair, their smiles lifting the viewer’s spirit, and gently tucking it in a shiny aura. But, where there is light, there are also shadows, as suggested by the title, yet the darkness in their thoughts – expressed through both stylized dialogue and off-camera voice-overs – gets easily dispersed by virtue of the beach environment, half-naked bodies and, most importantly, the youngsters’ burning lust for life and freedom! Matching the central duo’s beauty which is not only skin-deep is Dimo Kolarov’s gorgeous B&W cinematography accompanied by Simeon Pironkov’s colorful soundtrack, with the message of togetherness and peace by the end defying the authoritarian regime of the time. 

2. Nazar (Mani Kaul, 1990)

My third encounter with Mani Kaul (Uski Roti, Duvidha) is a singular, hard-to-describe experience. ‘Nazar’ – based on short story ‘A Gentle Creature’ by Dostoevsky – is a sublime poem, its tender verses written with utmost devotion. It could also be perceived as a musical composition, its hypnotizing rhythms establishing a peculiar mood of being present and absent at once. A fine selection of moments, each scene corresponding with one in a dreamlike standstill, the film eschews drama in favor of stream-of-consciousness wanderings, lines broken into numb, unfinished thoughts. Actors, including Kaul’s daughter Shambhavi, are directed in a hyper-stylized manner, as Piyush Shah’s lingering camera, and minimalist score by Vikram Joglekar and D. Wood further elevate the absorbing atmosphere...

3. Xích lô / Cyclo (Anh Hung Tran, 1995)

The poetry of poverty and crime. Raw. Dirty. Gritty. Unsparing. Increasingly elliptical. Borderline surreal in its hyper-realism. Soaked in sweat and melancholy; at once sensual and visceral. Its beauty is harrowing and mentally exhausting, yet incredibly sublime, reaching for the very core of your being. A brooding portrait of urban misery, painted in silent cries, its living colors slithering across the canvas. Only a handful of lyrical moments lift the heavy curtains of despair... Anh Hung Tran directs with sympathy for his fallen heroes – played by both pros and non-professionals – but even he is powerless against their unenviable reality, and the allure of evil which permeates it. And so, he joins them in their meandering through the Ho Chi Minh underbelly, because together they may reach a semblance of hope...

4. The Return (Uberto Pasolini, 2024)

Directed with epic modesty, assured elegance, and sepulchral mood of a Greek tragedy, ‘The Return’ is first and foremost an absorbing masterclass in acting given by its two leading stars, Juliette Binoche as Penelope and Ralph Fiennes as Odysseus. A brooding, deliberately paced meditation on loss, trauma, heroism, persistence, violence, transience, and the human condition in difficult times, the film brilliantly captures the bleakness of post-war despair by virtue of Marius Panduru’s austerely beautiful cinematography, and Rachel Portman’s discreet, elegiac score. Carefully building it to a visceral climax, all the while eschewing the mythical in favor of the psychological, Pasolini and his co-writers emphasize the timelessness of the story, and make it resonate on a subconscious level.

5. Juliette ou La clef des songes / Juliette, or Key of Dreams (Marcel Carné, 1951)

Under a fascinating guise of a hopelessly romantic fairy tale that gives off some strong H.C. Andersen vibes in the heartbreaking coda, Marcel Carné addresses the tricky allure of escapism, as well as a number of socio-political issues, painting an unflattering portrait of post-war France and its people. Through the central theme of forgetfulness and its impact on history, he lends the film timelessness and universal resonance, reflecting on the importance of truth, no matter how ugly or painful it is. Supported by a brilliant technical team, with cinematographer Henri Alekan (of ‘La Belle et la Bête’ fame!) setting his camera in dream mode, Carné takes the viewer on a highly memorable cinematic journey.

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

Taking cues from ‘Alice in Wonderland’, ‘The Wizard of Oz’, ‘Thumbelina’, 60’s and 70’s psychedelia, Miyazaki’s oeuvre, and perhaps, catty adaptations of Kenji Miyazawa’s writings, Benoît Chieux delivers an instant modern classic for both children and the arthouse crowd, as he lights up the viewer’s imagination. Too clever to pay direct homages, he pulls you effortlessly into a lavish, bittersweet fantasy dedicated to a special sisterly bond, and softly speaking of art as the means of overcoming grief. The quirky designs of his artists team, ranging from a bird-headed prima donna to crocodile-shaped dirigibles to a lighthouse with giant eyes instead of a lamp system, burst with colors, and come to life by virtue of smooth, hand-drawn animation and dedicated voice talents. The picture-book quality of the phantasmagorical wind-swept world under the pillowy clouds finds its ethereal counterpart in Pablo Pico’s dreamy score, providing you with an awe-inspiring experience.

7. Vermiglio (Maura Delpero, 2024)

A filmic equivalent of quietude and restraint, ‘Vermiglio’ appears like a lost artifact from the 20th century, worthy of comparison with the most poetic of classics. Evocative of Franco Piavoli, and to a certain degree, Sonja Wyss’s little known yet fascinating debut ‘Winterstilte’, it takes the viewer back in time to a secluded village in the Italian Alps, treating the mundanity of a multigenerational family with often breathtaking lyricism. Maura Delpero directs with admirable composure and tenderness, her vision – subtly tinted with nostalgia – brought to life through the stunning framing of cinematographer Mikhail Krichman, best known for his collaborations with the acclaimed Russian filmmaker Andrey Zvyagintsev. The austere beauty of his picturesque compositions is only matched by the reserved performances from both professional and non-professional actors, who keep emotions simmering under the surface, and cheap sentimentality at bay...

8. Le monache di Sant’Arcangelo / The Nun and the Devil (Domenico Paolella, 1973)

“The Church would never say no to a chance to increase their wealth.”

Wrongly labeled as horror, ‘The Nun and the Devil’ is one of two nunsploitation films directed by Paolella in 1973, the second one being ‘Story of a Cloistered Nun’. Similarly to its ‘companion piece’, it is allegedly based on the authentic records, and is one of the least sleazy examples of the said subgenre. Set in the 16th century convent of Sant’Arcangelo di Baiano, it chronicles the story of a power struggle, poking at hypocrisy in the ranks of clergy, with the ‘Devil’ in the English version of the title posing as a metaphor (and hiding behind the cardinal’s robe). Its greatest forte lies in Claudio Cinini’s brilliant art direction, with Pasolini’s frequent cinematographer Giuseppe Ruzzolini capturing the lavish set and costume designs with a keen eye. And you know that you are dealing with pure cinema the moment you’re introduced to the younger nuns and novices portrayed by Anne Heywood, Martine Brochard, Claudia Gravy and then 18-yo Ornella Muti, each one more seductive than the next, their faces framed by habits exuding with glamour and/or eroticism.

9. Jonathan (Hans W. Geissendörfer, 1970)

“The only solution is obvious – the total elimination of the vampires.”

A peculiar or rather, bizarre piece of rural gothic, ‘Jonathan’ plays out like a parable of class struggle, with ruling vampire sect freely moving during the day, and terrorizing villagers near the German North Sea coast in the alternate 19th century. The titular hero joins a group of locals and students who plan to rise against the bloodsucking government (which somewhat resembles the current situation in Serbia), and during his quest, we’re introduced to occasional absurd digressions that give off Kafka rather than Stoker vibes. The latter’s writings served as a source of inspiration for director/writer Hans W. Geissendörfer whose unique if flawed offering can be labeled as a missing link between Rollin and Herzog in his ‘Heart of Glass’ or ‘The Enigma of Kaspar Hauser’ element. Unfolding in a deliberate pace, its atmosphere as dampy as it comes, the film is dominated by earthy tones of Robby Müller’s brilliant framing, his camera gliding elegantly on its way to Wenders and Jarmusch collaborations in the following decades. 

A Personal Look Back at 2024

During 2024, I created 402 collages, half of which increased the volume of Bianco/Nero to (symbolic) 1001 chapters – 5 years of obsessing over this extensive B&W fantasy were given a sort of a closure on October 5 when my 5th solo exhibition was opened. And fifth collaboration with German composer and filmmaker Martin Gerigk resulted in the third film of The Trilogy of Demi-Entities that is largely based on my artwork. (Recently, it was awarded Best Experimental Animation at the Psychedelic Film and Music festival in New York.)

Melancholia (Non) Grata was also continued, encompassing 94 ‘squares’ at the moment, with 3 more pieces thickening the darkness of Les Fleurs du Mal, another 12 defiant flowers blooming in the Color Dolor zone, and 8 lost ghosts joining Phantasmagoria of the Spirit. The circumstantial despondency was partially absorbed into the seven ‘stanzas’ of Beyond Negative, whereas the brand new Alphabetum Arcanum series was brought forth as a response to the haunting debut album Lingua Arcana from my dear friend Jelena Perišić, creating under the moniker of Kemmer. Blue clashed with Orange through The Intoxicating Perseverance of Dusk, and in-between, the poster for Martin Del Carpio’s short VUK: Murder in a Blue World won another accolade, and several collages were digitally displayed in Paris (Artexpo, Galerie Agnes Nord), Zug (Thomson Gallery), Berlin (Nicoletta Gallery) and Dubai (Andakulova Gallery), thanks to the Artboxy curators. Dietro la Tenda (Behind the Curtain) was included in the Trois Points Magazine winter issues themed Monochrome, and a few certificates (finalist, honorable mention, top artist in the category) were issued by the Circle Foundation for the Arts.

Unfortunately, my search for a sustainable job didn’t end, and probably never will, with my hope and self-confidence both reclined on their death bed, and my fears stronger than ever...

Home Is Where the 3rd Dimension Knows the Artist's Secret Identity

Best Premiere Viewings of 2024 (Pre-2000 Edition)

When it comes to cinema, 2024 was a year of many wonderful vintage discoveries, such as Andrey Chernykh's mysterious, dreamlike debut Austrian Field, Rangel Vulchanov's highly poetic romance The Sun and the Shadow, or Gianfranco Giagni's The Spider Labyrinth - a stunningly photographed love letter to the masters of Italian horror. A number of blanks in my knowledge of acclaimed classics were also filled - The Conformist, A Streetcar Named Desire, The Saragossa Manuscript etc, and I didn't shy away from B movies and rip-offs, enjoying stuff such as Albert Pyun's Nemesis, Brice Mack's Jennifer and Lucas Lowe's The King of Kickboxers. Hereinafter, you will find a list of 100 pre-2000 favorites viewed for the first time during 2024, and if you're interested in more details, mini-reviews for the great majority of these titles are available through monthly compilations. (The rankings are mostly improvisational, so take them with a grain or two of salt.)

1. Австрийское поле (Андрей Черных, 1991) / Austrian Field (Andrey Chernykh, 1991)

2. Il conformista / The Conformist (Bernando Bertolucci, 1970)

3. O fovos / The Fear (Kostas Manoussakis, 1966)

4. Слънцето и сянката (Рангел Вълчанов, 1962) / The Sun and the Shadow (Rangel Vulchanov, 1962)

5. Kuća na pijesku / House on the Sand (Ivan Martinac, 1985)

6. Nazar (Mani Kaul, 1990)

7. A Streetcar Named Desire (Elia Kazan, 1951)

8. Bride of Frankenstein (James Whale, 1935)

9. Strangers on a Train (Alfred Hitchcock, 1951)

10. Sokout / The Silence (Mohsen Makhmalbaf, 1998)

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

12. Khesht va Ayeneh / Brick and Mirror (Ebrahim Golestan, 1966)

13. Pociąg / Night Train (Jerzy Kawalerowicz, 1959)

14. Nar-o-nay / Pomegranate and Cane (Saeed Ebrahimifar, 1989) 9

15. Fata/Morgana / Left-Handed Fate (Vicente Aranda, 1966) 9

16. Табор уходит в небо (Эмиль Лотяну, 1976) / Queen of the Gypsies (Emil Loteanu, 1976)

17. Requiem (Zoltán Fábri, 1982)

18. Hunted (Charles Chrichton, 1952)

19. In Cold Blood (Richard Brooks, 1967)

20. Experiment in Terror (Blake Edwards, 1962)

21. Xích lô / Cyclo (Anh Hung Tran, 1995)

22. 3 Women (Robert Altman, 1977)

23. Lola Montès (Max Ophüls, 1955)

24. I dolci inganni / Sweet Deceptions (Alberto Lattuada, 1960)

25. Il nido del ragno / The Spider Labyrinth (Gianfranco Giagni, 1988)

26. El lado oscuro del corazón / The Dark Side of the Heart (Eliseo Subiela, 1992)

27. Juliette ou La clef des songes / Juliette, or Key of Dreams (Marcel Carné, 1951)

28. Faraon / Pharaoh (Jerzy Kawalerowicz, 1966)

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

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

31. Rekopis znaleziony w Saragossie / The Saragossa Manuscript (Wojciech Has, 1965)

32. Singapore Sling: Ο άνθρωπος που αγάπησε ένα πτώμα / Singapore Sling: The Man Who Loved a Corpse (Nikos Nikolaidis, 1990)

33. Glitterbug (Derek Jarman, 1994)

34. Les feluettes / Lilies (John Greyson, 1996)

35. The Mystical Rose (Michael Lee, 1976)

36. Dust (Marion Hänsel, 1985)

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

38. Victim (Basil Dearden, 1961)

39. Морето (Петър Донев, 1967) / The Sea (Peter Donev, 1967)

40. Последно лято (Христо Христов, 1974) / The Last Summer (Christo Christov, 1974)

41. Household Saints (Nancy Savoca, 1993)

42. Verführung am Meer / Seduction by the Sea (Jovan Živanović, 1963)

43. Naked Tango (Leonard Schrader, 1990)

44. Innocent Blood (John Landis, 1992)

45. To teleftaio psemma / A Matter of Dignity (Michael Cacoyannis, 1958)

46. Door (Banmei Takahashi, 1988)

47. Meet Joe Black (Martin Brest, 1998)

48. Natural Born Killers (Oliver Stone, 1994)

49. Ai no Bōrei / Empire of Passion (Nagisa Ōshima, 1978)

50. The Prize (Mark Robson, 1963)

51. Die Halbstarken / Teenage Wolfpack (Georg Tressler, 1956)

52. Heart of Midnight (Matthew Chapman, 1988)

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

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

55. Invasion of the Body Snatchers (Don Siegel, 1956)

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

57. Slightly Scarlet (Allan Dwan, 1956)

58. Kaidan otoshiana / The Pit of Death (Kōji Shima, 1968)

59. No abras nunca esa puerta / Never Open That Door (Carlos Hugo Christensen, 1952)

60. Beatrice Cenci / Castle of the Banned Lovers (Riccardo Freda, 1956)

61. Le Cœur battant  / The French Game (Jacques Doniol-Valcroze, 1960)

62. Kalde spor / Cold Tracks (Arne Skouen, 1962)

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

64. O Bobo / The Jester (José Álvaro Morais, 1987)

65. Nemesis (Albert Pyun, 1992)

66. Death Machine (Stephen Norrington, 1994)

67. Lone Star (John Sayles, 1996)

68. I visionari / The Visionaries (Maurizio Ponzi, 1968)

69. Mystère / Dagger Eyes (Carlo Vanzina, 1983)

70. Darling (John Schlesinger, 1965)

71. Harem Suare / Last Harem (Ferzan Özpetek, 1999)

72. You Never Can Tell (Lou Breslow, 1951)

73. Le monache di Sant’Arcangelo / The Nun and the Devil (Domenico Paolella, 1973)

74. Ai futatabi / To Love Again (Kon Ichikawa, 1971)

75. Barnvagnen / The Baby Carriage (Bo Widerberg, 1963)

76. Nightmare (Maxwell Shane, 1956) 

77. Luminous Procuress (Steven Arnold, 1971)

78. Appointment with a Shadow (Richard Carlson, 1957)

79. The Philadelphia Experiment (Stewart Raffill, 1984)

80. Giornata nera per l'ariete / The Fifth Cord (Luigi Bazzoni, 1971)

81. Tenshi no kōkotsu / Ecstasy of the Angels (Kōji Wakamatsu, 1972)

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

83. Der schweigende Stern / The Silent Star aka First Spaceship on Venus (Kurt Maetzig, 1960)

84. Ukigusa no yado / Inn of the Floating Weeds (Seijun Suzuki, 1957)

85. Score (Radley Matzger, 1973)

86. El Vampiro / The Vampire (Fernando Méndez, 1957)

87. La casa nel tempo / The House of Clocks (Lucio Fulci, 1989)

88. La casa de Bernarda Alba / The House of Bernarda Alba (Mario Camus, 1987)

89. Jonathan (Hans W. Geissendörfer, 1970)

90. Jengi / The Gang (Åke Lindman, 1963)

91. Skatetown U.S.A. (William A. Levey, 1979) 

92. Älskarinnan / The Mistress (Vilgot Sjöman, 1962)

93. Grad / The City (Vojislav ‘Kokan’ Rakonjac, Marko Babac & Živojin Pavlović, 1963)

94. Uccellacci e uccellini / The Hawks and the Sparrows (Pier Paolo Pasolini, 1966)

95. Jennifer (Brice Mack, 1978) 

96. Pathos – Segreta inquietudine / Obsession: A Taste of Fear (Piccio Raffanini, 1988)

97. The Outsiders (Francis Ford Coppola, 1983)

98. Dante no es únicamente severo / Dante Is Not Only Severe (Jacinto Esteva & Joaquim Jordà, 1967)

99. Modern Girls (Jerry Kramer, 1986)

100. The King of the Kickboxers (Lucas Lowe, 1990)

Showdown in Little Tokyo (Mark L. Lester, 1991)

Last night, I re-watched this early 90’s B-actioner, and couldn’t help but notice how easily it qualifies as a piece of queer cinema, given that its homoerotic ‘undertones’ aren’t ‘under’ at all. Right from the get-go, i.e. the opening credits that feature a muscular, tattooed male torso soaked in and caressed by deep shadows, to the finale that sees Dolph Lundgren and Cary-Hiroyuki Tagawa engaged in a sword fight (check the urban dictionary) during a colorful parade, the screenplay slips out of the closet too often to be deemed a series of mere coincidences.

Our beefcake hero – a Japanophile with a grudge against a yakuza boss – wears a leather jacket that, albeit not as tight as those popularized in gay subculture, evokes Kenneth Anger’s Scorpio Rising, not to mention that he has a tendency to tear off the baddies’ shirts... in order to check on their markings. And then, he is partnered by a half-Japanese portrayed by the late Brandon Lee, with their initial bickering growing into a bromance crowned by the following line, quoted word to word: “Just in case we get killed, I wanted to tell you – you have the biggest dick I’ve ever seen on a man.” Prior to this instance of flattery, he’s kind of jealous of Tia Carrere whose body double ends in his colleague’s bed, while he has to sleep next door, and later on, there’s another discussion about a fixation on genitalia. Speaking of Carrere, her chemistry with the Swedish buff is not nearly as sparkling as the one between him and Lee.

At one point, the buddy cop duo pays a visit to a bathhouse where they face a gang of yakuza wearing nothing but ‘fundoshi’, their female escort disappearing before the clash, and out of nowhere, one of the antagonists grabs a hose and sprays a beam of water all over Lundgren’s character, Kenner (another allusion to Anger?), who later uses the very same tool to dispose of a sumo-sized cannon-fodder, by sticking it into his mouth. I don’t think that any explanation is needed here... When captured and exposed to electroshock torture akin to the so-called ‘conversion therapy’, the protagonists look as if they wandered off a Bob Mizer photoshoot session, with Lundgren barely dressed, in black boxers and matching boots, and Lee shirtless in a pair of jeans.

Add to all that a sensual bare buttocks shot (reminiscent of many JCVD exposures), a lot of mandatory gun pointing, neon lights in all the colors of rainbow, and a close-up of a phallic fuel nozzle heavily leaking, and you have yourself one of the queerest action flicks of its time.

Best Premiere Viewings of November 2024

1. Il conformista / The Conformist (Bernando Bertolucci, 1970)

Disquietingly resonant with the present moment, Bertolucci’s adaptation of Moravia’s anti-fascist novel is a transfixing piece of (timeless!) cinema, with Vittorio Storaro’s camera – oft-appearing as light as a feather in its movements – stunningly capturing the austere elegance of Ferdinando Scarfiotti’s imposing production design. Nothing short of a masterclass in art direction, this political drama is also memorable as an insightful character study which reflects a strong synergy between then 29-yo auteur epitomizing self-confidence, and Jean-Louis Trintignant’s superb portrayal of an antihero, Marcello Clerici, torn between his own conscience, and loyalty to the hideous regime. On top of that, the film addresses a number of underlying themes, from religion to sex to philosophy, all skillfully woven into the fragmented, flashback-based narrative, its certain chapters, such as the one leading to the forest murders, transformed into state-of-the-art set pieces.

2. Sokout / The Silence (Mohsen Makhmalbaf, 1998)

Telling of the struggle of a blind, 10-yo instrument tuner, Khorshid, Mohsen Makhmalbaf weaves the softest of kilims out of mesmerizing images and evocative sounds, the very same ones that chase the darkness away from the boy’s sightless life. The most banal of episodes from the protagonist’s day-to-day grind are imbued with pure lyricism, and the aural distractions that always make him disoriented on his way to work often slip into surrealism that comes as natural as a bee’s buzzing. There’s a folk tale vibe to the proceedings, though the author doesn’t provide us with a clear resolution or moral, instead elevating his vulnerable hero (angelic Tahmineh Normatova) above his unenviable situation through bazaar artisans’ rendition of Beethoven’s 5th symphony. From the non-professional cast who lace the film with authenticity, Makhmalbaf elicits at once unaffected and roughly stylized performances, their unique charm beautifully captured in Ebrahim Ghafori’s meticulous framing. 

3. He bian de cuo wu / Only the River Flows (Wei Shujun, 2023)

Set in the late autumn of 1995, and appearing – to the tiniest of details – as if Wei Shujun has found a time machine and shot his film three decades ago, Only the River Flows is an exquisitely crafted neo-noir which operates as an elegiac ode to cinema or rather, a lament over its many deaths. In the murky background of a murder investigation conducted by a world-weary, chain-smoking captain Ma Zhe (Yilong Zhu, approaching the role with a restrained commitment), social criticism echoes with existential (or even metaphysical) dread, pulling the protagonist ever closer to the abyss. His point of view proves to be unreliable, as the procedural, at once puzzling and frustrating, begins to affect his grip on reality, already made tenuous by a problematic pregnancy of his wife (a superb support from deglamorized Chloe Maayan), lending the events an aura of a heavy dream. Posing as an extra weight are the specificities of a provincial locale whose secrets thicken the mystery, whether they remain buried or get unearthed. The haunting atmosphere of restrained absurdity and stark melancholy – elevated by Beethoven’s ‘Moonlight Sonata’ used as a leitmotif – is stunningly captured on 16mm by Chengma Zhiyuan, with the imagery’s grainy textures emphasizing the pervasive grittiness.

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

Directed with a formal rigor that evokes Haneke and Glazer, and accumulating mystery by way of Lynch, The Girl with the Fork is a hypnotizing puzzle of a film which leaves the viewer in murky waters of many unanswered questions. Unfolding in a non-linear narrative structure, and at a deliberate pace that will surely test the patience of those with a short attention span, this peculiar psychological drama oozes with uncanny atmosphere emerging from prolonged silences, unseen presence(s), and cryptic dialogue. A study of human fallacy (or rather, guilt), and a reflection on the act of remembering (and trying to forget), it traps you in an intricate web of interconnected lives navigated by unspecified ‘them’ in a retributive, privacy-invading game. As ‘they’ pull the strings of perplexed characters – all portrayed with a marvelous restraint by a small, yet excellent cast, a typical British suburb transforms into an inescapable limbo where no one but protagonists seems to exist. Both exterior and interior spaces are given important roles in amplifying labyrinthine traits of intertwined mindsets through DoP Matthew J. Hicks’s austerely composed shots tightly tucked in a haunting aural veil weaved by composer Fernando Gimeno. If you like the pieces of cinema that stubbornly refuse to spoon feed you (opting for a symbolic fork instead), you shouldn’t miss this one.

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

“Do you think it might be illuminating to view this situation allegorically? Given that it is quite a simple matter to consider each of us as personifications of our respective nations?”

At her most Angela Merkel-esque, Cate Blanchett – as reliable as ever – appears to have a whale of a time in the role of German chancellor Hilda Orlmann who at one point offers a tension-relief massage (and a little bit of extra service) to Maxime Laplace, the hunky prime minister of Canada (Roy Dupuis of the Nikita series fame, excellent) subjected to self-deprecating jokes even when turned into a hero. Both of them attend a G7 meeting trying to resolve an unspecified crisis, in the latest offering from veteran experimentalist Guy Maddin reinforced by the Johnson brothers, their highly quotable screenplay bursting with irreverent humor, and sharp darts thrown at the demagogic uselessness of the world leaders. A running gag involves Charles Dance (brilliant in a subtle subversion of his typecasting) lending a perfect Brittish accent to POTUS Edison Walcott who tends to doze off (despite feeling he could run the country for another 100 years, damned be term limits), with Nikki Amuka-Bird, Takehiro Hira and Rolando Ravello as the prime ministers of the UK, Japan, and Italy, respectively, pushing in turns a wheelbarrow containing a corpulent, flaccid-legged French president (Denis Ménochet).

It goes without saying that Rumours is a deliberately silly, yet edgy and super-entertaining satire blown to apocalyptic proportions that see the rise of the prehistoric bog men found in the Dankerode area where the story takes place, as well as a mysterious appearance of a gigantic brain that has something to do with the new world order, as babbled by Alicia Vikander in Swedish mistaken for an ancient language. Although the silent-era-revival aesthetics that one expects from Maddin are abandoned in favor of down-to-earth imagery (particularly during the first act), cinematographer Stefan Ciupek comes up with expressive lighting schemes which portend the inevitable doom. The original score by Kristian Eidnes Andersen (Antichrist, Ida) and the accompanying songs such as Enya’s Exile are wittily contrasted to the viewer’s dramatic involvement, thus eliciting additional chuckles. And the scariest thing about this dark comedy laced with the elements of horror is the fact that its sour absurdity is too reminiscent of our political reality...

6. Verführung am Meer / Seduction by the Sea (Jovan Živanović, 1963)

In this co-production of West Germany and Yugoslavia, the camera of Stevan Mišković (who would end his career with Makavejev’s Innocence Unprotected in 1968) is head over heels for Elke Sommer portraying a poor student hired by an older woman to bring back her son, Peter (Peter van Eyck, as reliable as ever), who lives in self-imposed isolation on a Dalmatian island. A simple premise that, of course, leads to a romantic entanglement of the two central characters is delivered with great confidence and keen pacing by Živanović, and is seasoned with Nouvelle Vague vibes perfectly matched to the stylized dialogue (Jug Grizelj and Rolf Schulz), and jazzy score – composed by Darko Kraljić and performed by RTV Ljubljana orchestra – that oscillates between playful and sultry. The stunning B&W cinematography captures the poetic beauty of the untouched Mediterranean, and is lent irresistible sex appeal by Ms. Sommer whose lovely face is oft-framed in a way that highlights her charisma and elevates her screen presence.

7. Kaidan otoshiana / The Pit of Death (Kōji Shima, 1968)

Part noir and part kaidan, The Pit of Death reaffirms my love for the 60’s cinema. A classic and timeless story of guilty conscience manifesting as an apparition, the film is set in a corporate world of corruption and opportunism, seeing Mikio Narita as a soft-spoken, cold and calculated antagonist, Haruo Kuramoto. His unscrupulous ascent up the social ladder leaves a slimy trail of lies, as well as a corpse of his lover Etsuko (a passionate performance by Mayumi Nagisa), all starkly photographed by Jōji Ohara in his enchanting swan song. Brooding interplay of light and shadows matched to inspired framing, and rigid geometries of modern architecture makes for the attention-grabbing visuals beautifully accompanied by Seitarō Ōmori’s jazzy, and eerily evocative score.

8. Die Halbstarken / Teenage Wolfpack (Georg Tressler, 1956)

At his youthful prime, Horst Buchholz gleams or rather, sizzles with a bad boy charm in the leading role of an adolescent delinquent, Freddy, that earned him comparisons with James Dean. However, his antihero’s rebelliousness has a number of causes, and one of them may have something to do with post-war traumas. His gang is a wild one (even without Brando and motorcycles), and their recklessness – albeit tame for the standards of the psychotic reality we live today – poses as a harbinger of tragedy, if not doom. Under Georg Tressler’s dynamic direction, Buchholz dominates the screen, so it is no surprise that Freddy is passionately followed by both his girlfriend Sissy (stellar debut for Karin Baal), and his homies, with Christian Doermer who portrays his younger yet more reasonable brother Jan acting as a counterbalance to his (self)destructive persona. The ‘mischief’ at display is beautifully captured in noirish B&W by Heinz Pehlke who would, along with Buchholz, collaborate with Tressler on masterful Die Tottenschiff in 1959, as the groovy score by Martin Böttcher amps up the film’s energy, particularly during the restaurant dance scene.

9. The Prize (Mark Robson, 1963)

Set against the backdrop of the Nobel Prize awards, Robson’s flick plays out like a Hitchcockian thriller that gives off some Donen vibes, and thus makes for a great companion piece to Charade released in the same year. A highly entertaining and somewhat farcical caper story has a slow start, but builds to a suspenseful climax, as it sees an American writer, Andrew Craig (Paul Newman in his prime), embarking on a series of spy-ventures across Stockholm, including a forced dive into a canal and a narrow escape visit to a nudist convention. Partnered by ‘Teutonic temptress’ Elke Sommer as Inger Lisa Andersson of the Swedish foreign ministry assigned to keep Mr. Craig’s booze and womanizing issues under control, Newman seems to have a whale of a time playing the role, his charm spilling out from pretty much anything he does. The remaining cast also shines through, with veteran Edward G. Robinson in a dual role, Diane Baker as his ambivalent cousin Emily Stratman, Micheline Presle as a jealous chemistry laureate, Leo G. Carroll taken along with the cues from Hitchcock, and the list doesn’t end here. Cinematographer William H. Daniels, and composer Jerry Goldsmith form a power duo responsible for the film’s superlative visual and aural textures.

10. You Never Can Tell (Lou Breslow, 1951)

“These are humans we’re dealing with. You can’t tell ‘em the truth and expect them to believe it.”

If you are a dog people, you’ll probably have a blast with Lou Breslow’s first and only feature-length flick – a fluffy blend of crime, fantasy and comedy. Its wacky premise involves a poisoned German shepard, King – a sole inheritor of a cracker magnate fortune – returning from Beastitory (that is, a purgatory for animals) to Earth as a ‘humanimal’ private detective Rex Shepard (Dick Powell, growling, howling, munching on kibble treats and checking out the fire hydrants) determined to apprehend his own killer. The movie’s tone couldn’t be any lighter (though it could’ve been weirder), and the entire cast appears to enjoy the script’s whims and quirks, with delightful Joyce Holden partnering Powell as a former racing mare Golden Harvest turned Southerner sprinter secretary Goldie Harvie, and charming Peggy Dow as Ellen Hathaway – King’s lovable trustee and No. 1 suspect in the public eyes. (A damn shame Ms. Dow’s career lasted less then a dozen roles, the color of her voice alone is enchanting enough!) Exploring the possibility of a romantic love between a woman and a dog reincarnated as a man, You Never Can Tell doesn’t take itself too seriously, despite its straight-faced bits, its celebration of canine faithfulness, and criticism of animal abuse justifying the antics and high jinks at display.

11. El Vampiro / The Vampire (Fernando Méndez, 1957)

Somewhat quaint even for its time, The Vampire is a fine piece of vintage gothic cinema, marking the big screen debut for Spanish actor Germán Robles, today best remembered for his vampiric roles in Mexican cult films. With a suave demeanor, he portrays Count Karol de Lavud intent to resurrect his brother, all the while turning the ladies of the neighboring hacienda into new members of his bloodsucking family. Joining him in the ‘penetrating stare’ contest is Carmen Montejo, elegantly menacing as Eloisa, her long black dress and veil designed and worn as shadow extensions. Solid performances are also delivered by Ariadne Welter as a damsel in distress, Marta, and Abel Salazar as an unlikely hero, Dr. Enrique, but it is Rosalío Solano’s starkly expressive lensing of muddy roads shrouded in fog, spiderweb-infested chambers, and torch-lit secret passageways that steals the show.

12. Älskarinnan / The Mistress (Vilgot Sjöman, 1962)

Worth seeing for Bibi Andersson’s nuanced performance alone, Vilgot Sjöman’s feature debut is a simple, yet neatly told, and beautifully photographed story of adultery or rather, the mysterious ways of woman’s heart, in this case torn between Per Myrberg and Max von Sydow. None of their characters is named, which underscores the film’s universality, its abrupt coda leaving the viewer with a feeling of ambiguity. 

13. La casa de Bernarda Alba / The House of Bernarda Alba (Mario Camus, 1987)

Based on Federico García Lorca’s play of the same name – finished only two months prior to his death at the hands of fascists, The House of Bernarda Alba is a harrowing, claustrophobic exploration of repression, (unrestrainable) passion and (non)conformity, with the household of a despotic mater familias standing for a microcosm of the autocratic state. The limitations of the setting amplify the stifling aspect of the atmosphere, with director Mario Camus and DoP Fernando Arribas responding to the (stagy) challenge with a keen sense of blocking and composition. Dominated by earthy tones and mourning black ‘relieved’ by shades of blue in nocturnal scenes, the arresting cinematography is only matched by stellar performances, particularly from Irene Gutiérrez Caba as the tyrannical mother of five daughters.

14. La casa con la scala nel buio / A Blade in the Dark (Lamberto Bava, 1983)

With an atmosphere so dense that you can cut it with a knife, and slow build-up often heightening tension, who cares that Michele Soavi is a lousy actor? Lamberto Bava’s sophomore flick may not be as stylized as the finest of gialli (originally, it was made for TV), but it does possess a certain charm, largely due to a villa – owned by producer Luciano Martino – where the great deal of the story is set, lending palpability to both dread and the most illogical of scenarios. Elevating suspense are the De Angelo brothers who cleverly play the meta-game of blending the actual score with a ‘fictitious one’ composed by a protagonist, Bruno (neatly played by Andrea Occhipinti).

15. Jennifer (Brice Mack, 1978)

Brice Mack is no Brian De Palma, and Lisa Pelikan is no Sissy Spacek, yet she gives a memorable central performance in the role of a bullied heroine in this Carrie knockoff that adds a viper twist to ESP powers. Also praiseworthy is Amy Johnston as a psychopathic antagonist, Sandra.

16. The King of the Kickboxers (Lucas Lowe, 1990)

Well, what do you know, even B movies get ripped off! Taking a number of cues from JCVD vehicles such as Bloodsport and Kickboxer, Lucas Lowe delivers a highly entertaining actioner that plunges the viewer in the (under)world of Thai Boxing snuff. The role of a hero – a cocksure, hotheaded cop, Jake, with a tragic past and a reason for vengeance – is played by Loren Avedon who chews the scenery and spits it all around, when not trying to steal the ‘split master’ title from the abovementioned Muscles from Brussels. His cheesy charm is contrasted by Billy Blanks who literally sweats it all out as a ‘final boss’ Khan, also serving as a role model for the Dee Jay character in the Street Fighter game series. Eventually, the two of them clash in a climactic, Hanuman myth-inspired battle set in a dome-shaped bamboo cage, with all the usual narrative checkboxes, including a heavy training montage, previously ticked. The dialogues tend to be ridiculous, but the fights – being the main attraction – are nicely choreographed by Chinese actor, stuntman and director Siu-Hung Leung, with all the thumps and wooshes reminiscent of Hong Kong cinema. The most pleasantly surprising aspect of The King of the Kickboxers is a solid camerawork by first-time cinematographer Viking Chiu who demonstrates a penchant for low angles, and provides some inviting shots of Bangkok night life, jungle hideout, and ancient temples.