1. Szabad lélegzet / Riddance (Márta Mészáros, 1973)
Cementing my love for the work of Márta Mészáros is a compassionate exploration of class, gender and generational conflict through a story of an independent factory girl fresh out of an abusive relationship who falls for a university student with snobbish parents. Also posing as a (feminist) portrait of youthful idealism, Riddance (or translated from Hungarian, To Breathe Freely) grabs the viewer’s attention by virtue of Lajos Koltai’s stunning cinematography, particularly when it comes to the framing of faces (Mészáros’ trademark), often telling more than any words would. Also praiseworthy are natural performances from the entire cast led by Erzsébet Kútvölgyi, sparking strong chemistry with her partner Gábor Nagy (also excellent!) in her confident big screen debut.
2. Szindbád / Sinbad (Zoltán Huszárik, 1971)
‘He was a strange, curious person, he wanted the life and he didn’t want it, finally committing suicide.’ This peculiar (and to this writer, somewhat relatable) detail from the bio of the leading actor Zoltán Latinovits (1931-1976) delineates – in a certain way – his stellar, melancholy-imbued portrayal of Sinbad, a Don Juan-like character reminiscing his ‘romantic escapades’. A sinuous stream of the protagonist’s memories tears the boundaries between the past and the present, forming and simultaneously de-forming a hazy, dreamlike narrative in which the wistfully lyrical, subtly sensual and painterly seductive images defy spoken words and weave the verses of sparkling sublimity. And though Thanatos incessantly breathes down Sinbad’s neck, the film appears to be gravitating towards the (purely cinematic) elimination of not only death, but time as well, with Huszárik, his cinematographer Sándor Sára, and co-editor Mihály Morell operating as a single entity, one whose presence is felt throughout eternity...
3. Moetsukita chizu / The Man Without a Map (Hiroshi Teshigahara, 1968)
Beginning as an investigation of a missing person case, The Man Without a Map gradually transforms into a profound reflection on one’s own identity and place in an increasingly alienating universe, with the urban jungle posing as the labyrinth of existential crisis. The central puzzle goes nowhere near its solution, leaving both our unnamed detective hero (a superb performance from Shintarō Katsu) and ourselves wandering from one dead end to another, as red herrings incessantly multiply. In his final collaboration with (screen)writer Kōbō Abe, multi-hyphenate director Hiroshi Teshigahara (Pitfall, Woman in the Dunes, Face of Another) skillfully employs (distorted) reflections, frames-within-frames, solarized dream sequences, jarring details in primary colors and whatnot to amplify the viewer’s bewilderment, often reaching for the farthest recesses of the subconscious mind. Bleak and inscrutable, his metaphysical mystery is also a thing of beauty, dignified in its portrayal of pathetic human condition.
4. Shéhérazade / Scorching Sands (Pierre Gaspard-Huit, 1963)
Anna Karina embodies truth, wisdom, courage, forgiveness, persistence, defiance and hope as the titular heroine in Pierre Gaspard-Huit’s heightened period melodrama that exoticizes Oriental culture to the point of sheer fetishization. Adorned in gorgeous costumes matched by a stunning production design, she IS the film, her strong, magnetic presence felt even when she’s not gracing the screen. Partnered by Gérard Barray and Antonio Vilar as knight Renaud de Villecroix and Caliph Haroun-al-Rashid, respectively, who are vying for Scheherazade’s love, she also epitomizes the idealized pulchritude we often encounter in fairy tales. The romantic adventure she’s the very heart of is sweeping and rapturous, its mythologized reality wonderfully captured by the camera of Christian Matras (Lola Montès, Thérèse Desqueyroux) and André Domage. 
5. Clash (Raphaël Delpard, 1984)
“Why not live behind the shadows?”
A simple if risky job of money smuggling turns into a living and breathing nightmare for Martine (Catherine Alric) doing favor for her thief (boy)friend, Bé. Even before she arrives at the hiding place – an abandoned factory inhabited only by mannequins, she begins seeing visions, the first one being of her younger self with leech-shaped blood clots over eyelids. Once an eerie, tight-lipped stranger (Pierre Clémenti) appears out of nowhere, things go from bad to worse, or more precisely, from pretty weird to deliriously bonkers. Quite possibly inspired by the rampant irrationality of Italian horror cinema, and at times channeling some proto-Lynchian-woman-in-trouble vibes, actor turned director Raphaël Delpard abandons every bit of logic in the barrel-infested backyard of the said factory, because throwing it out of the windows seems impossible, as they prove unbreakable. Thus leaving the viewers to solve the puzzle(s) as they please (or not!), he paints an absurd portrait of fear and guilt (and broken childhood?); a surrealistic fever dream beautifully framed by versed cinematographer Sacha Vierny (Last Year in Marienbad, Belle de Jour, L'hypothèse du tableau volé).
For a double dose of utter WTF-ery, I recommend Jean-Pierre Mocky’s 1982 feature Litan as a companion piece.
6. 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.
7. Gekijōban Mononoke Dai-Ni-Shō: Hinezumi /
Mononoke the Movie Chapter II: The Ashes of Rage (Kenji Nakamura & Kiyotaka Suzuki, 2025)
Returning to the Ōoku quarters of the Edo castle, Kenji Nakamura – this time assisted by Kiyotaka Suzuki – delivers another visually arresting phantasmagoria which appears as if it absorbed all the colors, shapes and patterns of the world, alchemically transmuting them into an overwhelming, über-psychedelic smörgåsbord for the senses. As jaw-droppingly gorgeous as its predecessor (and as its successor will certainly be!), with the traditional and electronic music in a time-bending fusion, Chapter II of the planned Mononoke trilogy explores jealousy and familial conflicts, as the characters climb the social ladder, elbowing whomever they deem a threat (thus awakening demonic forces). However, the story is of secondary importance here, not to mention that it’s quite a challenge to follow it with your eyes glued to the screen, and mind blown by what they witness. Did I mention how astonishing the artwork is?Mononoke the Movie Chapter II: The Ashes of Rage (Kenji Nakamura & Kiyotaka Suzuki, 2025)
8. Maléfices / Where the Truth Lies (Henri Decoin, 1962)
If the English version of the title were a question, we would all know the answer – not in the mouths of our leaders. Politics aside, Where the Truth Lies could be described as an atmospheric blend of dysfunctional marriage (melo)drama and adultery thriller, with hints of black magic thickening the air of mystery which envelopes the proceedings. An affair between a village vet (Jean-Marc Bory) and an enigmatic, African-born woman (Juliette Gréco) who keeps a pet cheetah (!) dissolves the image of the guy’s seemingly harmonious relationship with his wife (Liselotte Pulver), as Decoin tosses a whole school of red herrings that point at the possibility of ‘evil spells’ which is the literal translation of Maléfices. Where his film shines brightest is the striking use of Marcel Grignon’s highly expressive B&W cinematography that wouldn’t feel out of place in a gothic horror, as well as the visuals’ strong synergy with Pierre Henry’s discordantly foreboding score that underlines the dark side of love.
9. Souvenir (Michael H. Shamberg, 1996)
In the only feature offering from Michael H. Shamberg (1952-2014) – best known for producing New Order music videos, singer turned actress Miranda Stanton plays Orlando, a reticent, expatriate American sports journalist who lives and works in (deglamorized) Paris. Haunted by the memories of her abusive childhood, she is the benevolent heart of a dreamy, stream-of-consciousness narrative that brings together ghosts of the past and prospects of the future into the sullen present dissolving under the weight of the trauma. Fragments of her everyday life are often intertwined with the imagined conversations of teenage Orlando with her late brother, Charles (voiced by Christina Ricci and Adam Hann-Byrd, respectively), that hint at their incestuous relationship, and further blur the boundaries between the real and imagined. Add to that bizarre computer sessions featuring graphics created by the acclaimed experimentalist Chris Marker, and you have yourself a lyrically outré portrait of an emotionally scarred woman, and simultaneously, a formal challenge that sees every technique, from soft focuses to slow motion to tracking shots to handheld montages, employed as an asset for externalizing the heroine’s innermost workings. Supporting Stanton in what feels very much like a deeply personal project are Kristin Scott Thomas as Orlando’s superior, and Melvil Poupaud as Charles.
11. La fuga / The Escape (Paolo Spinola, 1965)
“The day on which man manages to control his subconscious as he controls his conscience will be the dawn of a great era...”
There’s a thick air of mystery surrounding Giovanna Ralli and Anouk Aimée in their bravura portrayals of two women, Piera and Luisa, who get involved in a lesbian relationship, once the former realizes she’s stuck in an unhappy marriage (with a nuclear physicist), all the while weighed by a childhood trauma triggered by her parents’ separation. Both of them have long been searching for meaningful affection, and Spinola – in his psychosexual or rather, psychoanalytical debut – strives to understand his heroines, primarily focusing on Piera, and telling a story in a non-linear fashion, though flashbacks, dreams, diary-like and psychotherapy sequences. Subtle in achieving palpable erotic tension, he elicits eloquent looks and gestures from the leads, their beautiful faces magnetically captured in stark B&W by Marcello Gatti, with Piero Piccioni’s smooth, atmospheric score accentuating the mesmerizing and all-pervading elegance.
12. Redenção / Redemption (Roberto Pires, 1959)
The abrasive textures of both image and sound – due to the original stock heavily deterioration, and despite the restoration – lend a certain charm to Roberto Pires’ feature debut. Directed with a penchant for pulpy fiction, and – no doubt – influenced by Hollywood noirs, Redemption almost effortlessly sucks you into its shadow-infested world, and elicits sympathy for the deeply flawed characters (played by firsttimers and non-professionals) coping with unsparing reality. A pioneering example of ‘Igluscope’, the film is shot through the lenses which the author himself developed in his father’s optics shop, providing each frame with slight distortions at the edges, and thus reinforcing the notion of cinema as a dream. It may not be a groundbreaker, but it is a commendable effort nonetheless.
13. 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.
14. Almost Blue (Alex Infascelli, 2000)
Married to an atmospheric rock score, with Elvis Costello’s song Almost Blue posing as an aural leitmotif, a stylish, closeup-fetishizing cinematography by Arnaldo Catinari helps create a strong sense of discomfort in Alex Infascelli’s giallo-esque feature debut revolving around a self-mutilating, identity-shifting psycho who terrorizes Bologna. In a slight subversion of the said subgenre, victims are largely male students, and a profiler in charge of the case is a woman, Grazia Negro (Lorenza Indovina), who will be assisted by a blind hacker, Simone Martini (Claudio Santamaria), unwittingly becoming one of the next targets. Inexperienced yet ambitious, our heroine faces not only a difficult assignment, but also the prejudice of her colleagues, and the mental strain she’s under throughout the investigation is often reflected in Catinari’s framing, as well as in the use of soft focus, and visual barriers. Infascelli elicits solid performances from his cast, with Rolando Ravello making the most of the limited screen time to instill some dread as the killer. 
Honorable mention: La sorcière / The Witch (Andrzej Żuławski, 1958)
Andrzej Żuławski’s exquisitely framed (and surprisingly reserved) 7-minute debut created at IDHEC (Institut des Hautes Études Cinématographiques).
