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...
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.
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.
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.
