FEATURES
1. Na wylot / Through and Through (Grzegorz Królikiewicz, 1973)
A symphony of soul-eroding despair, Through and Through is one of those films that instantly and without excuses plunge you into their unwelcoming worlds, then refuse to let go. Setting its unsparing yet strangely captivating tone in the opening scene – a drunken, proto-Tarr-meets-Bartas after-party of raw close-ups and perturbing medium shots – Królikiewicz builds a harrowing story of life under a constant strain or rather, a meditation on existential dread, upon grim lyricism. Unflinching and prone to bursts of Żuławskian hysteria in the depiction of misery, humiliation and marginalization his two protagonists are helplessly sinking in, he orchestrates a magnificent cacophony of ominous silences, fragmented noises, feverish melodies, and stark, deliberate images brimming with dense, abyss-like shadows. The harsh and unforgiving reality he portrays is at once nightmarish and recognized as eerily true in its timelessness; a dirty mirror to the absurdity of human condition, as well as to the screaming embodiments of words unsaid. Aesthetically triumphant and stripped of moralizing rhetoric, Through and Through achieves more in only 70 minutes than many features fail to provide during twice longer running time.
2. Pandora and the Flying Dutchman (Albert Lewin, 1951)
A sumptuous melodrama of dreamlike properties, Pandora and the Flying Dutchman sees its leading star, Ava Gardner, basked in an aura of divinity, her character – as the name suggests – existing between myth and reality, love and death, blessing and curse. Initially hampered by her arrogance, Pandora’s beauty and seductive power are the threads that legends are weaved from, and all men are willing to kill and die for, so Lewin and his cinematographer Jack Cardiff (Black Narcissus, Red Shoes) keep them emphasized by way of cinematic means. In a highly memorable shot during the first thirty minutes, her profile is framed in a way that suggests a landscape, with one of her suitors reduced to a lost figure sinking in it, and later on, a similar composition is employed to convey her (innermost) sublimity, once again dwarfing her partner (for a good reason). As awe-inspiring as Pandora and blocking is John Bryan’s art direction, as well as the Catalonian municipality of Tossa de Mar posing as the fictitious seaport of Esperanza where the hyper-romantic tale takes place.
3. 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. 
4. 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.
5. 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.
6. Jigureul jikyeora! / Save the Green Planet! (Jang Joon-hwan, 2003)
One way to view Save the Green Planet! is as a love letter to the multifaceted nature and impact of cinema, written as a ransom note, in letters cut out from various magazines, then dipped in honey and absinthe, only to be partially destroyed in sulfuric acid. It blends and bends various genres in the most unexpected fashion, demonstrating its creator’s keen sense of twisted humor, biting satire, edge-of-the-seat suspense, but also of sensitive drama (not to mention crowd-pleasing action and speculative fiction), covering the themes of abuse, paranoia, alienation, mental health, human worth(lessness), and corporate corruption. As heady as it sounds, the feature is directed with unflinching verve, boasting intense performances from Shin Ha-kyun and Baek Yoon-shik in central roles, and delivering some sensory knock outs, notwithstanding the aged special effects.
7. The Thief (Russell Rouse, 1952)
In one of the earliest and classiest examples of ‘anti-talkie’, a highly decorated (and very likely blackmailed) nuclear physicist, Dr. Allan Fields (a bravura performance from Ray Milland!), is selling top secret material to the Soviets, until a chance accident puts him under a wakeful eye of the FBI. Completely void of dialogue, The Thief is a formally challenging noir which sees ‘silence’ in many shades of gray, rather than golden, transforming it from a gimmick into an epitome of the universe’s indifference to one’s existential despair. The brooding absence of spoken words is also employed to emphasize mystery, intensify suspense, thicken the suffocating air of paranoia, and test the micro-acting skills of the entire cast, with everyone proving to be up to the task. Further adding to the strained atmosphere is the sound of phone ringing – an aural leitmotif that poses as the anxious voice of the protagonist’s guilty conscience, growing along with the shadows of Sam Leavitt’s starkly beautiful cinematography. 
8. Krakatit (Otakar Vávra, 1948)
‘The action takes place in the fancy of a feverish dream’, as we’re informed in the opening card, and indeed, there’s a proto-Jacob Ladder-esque vibe attached to the narrative. An unidentified man suffering meningitis and pneumonia is brought to a hospital, and as a doctor and a nurse try to save him, the viewer is plunged into his hallucinations and/or recollections of past events that reveal he’s a scientist named Prokop who has invented a titular, extremely dangerous explosive. Permeating the subtly delirious proceedings is the fear of yet another atom bomb intervention predicted by Karel Čapek whose 1920 novel of the same title Vávra adapts here, and delivers a potent piece of cinema (minor pacing issues aside), on par with the Hollywood offerings of the time. Anchored in the highly expressive B&W cinematography by Václav Hanus, Krakatit weaves the elements of multiple genres into a cautionary tale of poetic, surreal proportions, proposing that every idea can lead to an explosion, and tackling the subjects of guilty conscience and redemption, as well as of the abuse of science and power. Kudos must also be extended to art director Jan Zázvorka whose creative solutions – the most memorable being a university amphitheater with photo cut outs posing as students – often emphasize the feature’s oneiric quality. 
9. 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.
10. 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.
11. Amateur (Hal Hartley, 1994)
The great Isabelle Huppert playing her ex-nun turned smut writer namesake qualifies as a pretty good reason to spend 100 minutes with this off-kilter genre-bender which also stars inimitable Elina Löwensohn at the top of her game, Martin Donovan low-keying as an amnesiac man, and Damian Young bringing some loony energy to the second half. Their characters and virtually everything else about Amateur, from Hartley’s odd sense of humor to his blurring of the boundaries between art and pulp, comes marinated in quirkiness and/or awkwardness, so you’re never quite sure how it manages to operate so smoothly most of the time, yet you agree to go along with its charming offness. One way to describe this weird romp is to dub it cinematic equivalent of Isabelle’s bathroom with piles of books lying around. 
12. L’astragale / Ankle Bone (Guy Casaril, 1968)
Looking as if she mothered Téa Leoni, Mylène Farmer or – from certain angles – Dolores O’Riordan, rather than her real daughter Eva Green, Marlène Jobert exudes peculiar, or rather inimitable charm as the flawed protagonist of Guy Casaril’s little known romantic drama. Convincing and uninhibited, she portrays a thief, Anne, who breaks her ankle bone during the prison escape, only to be saved by a handsome criminal, Julien (Horst Buchholz), for whom she falls so madly and deeply that her lesbian feelings for a fellow inmate, Rolande, begin to fade. The injury doesn’t make life on the run any easier, so Anne’s newly acquired freedom comes across as just another form of captivity which we’re occasionally reminded of through her inner monologues lending some diaristic vibes to the self-consciously sentimental story based on Albertine Sarrazin’s semi-autobiographical novel. The sultry chemistry between Jobert and Buchholz imbues the bittersweet goings-on with palpable eroticism, as the camera of Edmond Richard turns the lovers’ touches into poetry, and adds nuances to a character study of the intriguing (anti)heroine.
13. Attihannu Mattu Kanaja / Fig Fruit and the Wasps (M S Brakash Babu, 2014)
In M S Prakash Babu’s feature debut, many are the sequences dominated by silence (or rather, wordlessness) – fraught with tension, imbued with foreboding, or laced with ostensible calm, but always amplyfing off-kilter vibes of the dense atmosphere, deliberate rhythm, and borderline-Beckettian narrative. The arrival of a young filmmaker and her assistant at a remote village takes a Waiting for Godot turn, with a famed musician who is supposed to be the subject of their documentary being unavailable for days. Making their stay awkward is the unspoken, yet deeply felt rural/urban divide embodied in a local poet who ‘roams around like a ghost’, and recites his verses during the bizarre soirées that leave the gathered in a state between trance and apathy. Adding to a growing sense of unease – of the kind that haunts you after an unpleasant dream you’re inexplicably holding on to – are the subtle surrealistic touches (such as the red stool rolling across the field), as well as the steely greenish patina that shrouds the lingering images. Beautifully framed, and directed with a clear vision aided by a number of non-professional performers lending it authenticity, Fig Fruit and the Wasps is an auspicious calling card for its author.
14. Ręce do góry / Hands Up! (Jerzy Skolimowski, 1981)
Part anti-Stalinist (or rather, anti-authoritarian) tirade, part meditation on identity, Hands Up! is a formally challenging piece of cinema, to say the least, questioning the role of art during the times in desperate need of upheaval. Its major part – filmed in 1967 – was banned for 14 years, with its author forced into exile, only to be complemented by the diaristic prologue giving off strong apocalyptic vibes, and finally released in 1981. Heavily fragmented and extremely claustrophobic, it revolves around five friends reunited after completing their medical studies, throwing a wild, flour-covered party in a candlelit freight train, and reminiscing about ‘good’ ol’ days through the frenetic rituals and increasingly disorienting colloquies. The viewing experience is not pleasant, nor it is meant to be, yet the delirious vision which Skolimowski ruthlessly plunges you in is utterly hypnotizing (and radical), hard to categorize and harder to forget.
15. Laulu tulipunaisesta kukasta / The Song of the Scarlet Flower (Teuvo Tulio, 1938)
Teuvo Tulio’s oldest film to survive in entirety is a lush melodrama based on Johannes Linnankoski’s novel of the same name, revolving around a womanizing daredevil of a lumberjack and log driver, Olavi (Kaarlo Oksanen, who would be killed in WWII). The son of a wealthy farmer, this young and handsome man leaves his home after a dispute with old parents, sweet-talking his way into beds of numerous fair maidens, blind to the consequences of his faux-romantic conquests. And then comes along the daughter of the wealthy Moisio house, Kyllikki (angelic Rakel Linnanheimo) – the first woman not to fall easily for his charms, veering him towards the road of redemption. With emotions amped up to eleven, a soaring score that amplifies them, and beautiful B&W images that make them virtually palpable, Tulio explores the themes of class, morality, guilt and atonement, freedom vs. responsibility, and adventurous vs. conventional life, yet he appears to be more interested in bringing erotic energies to the fore. His unapologetically sensual direction – complemented by the thespians’ penetrating gazes and juicy histrionics – may not be a prime example of consistency, but one can’t help admiring its audacity, especially during the skinny dipping scene halfway through the feature... 
16. Saadia (Albert Lewin, 1953)
Following her first (and utterly magnetic) big screen appearance as a mysterious girl in Russell Rouse’s experimental noir The Thief, Rita Gam jumps into the role of the titular heroine in Albert (of The Picture of Dorian Gray fame) Lewin’s Saadia. This time around, her strong presence is all the more impressive by virtue of her velvety alto, and penetrating gaze of crystal green in glorious Technicolor imagery captured by Christoper Challis (The Tales of Hoffmann) on Moroccan locations. She plays an Arab peasant girl, initially under the influence of an ostracized ‘witch’, Fatima (Wanda Rotha), who appears to have some serious hots for her, gradually turning into a love interest of two best pals – French doctor Henrik (Mel Ferrer) and local prince Si Lahssen (Cornel Wilde) – whose relationship leans towards bromance. So, there’s a plethora of ‘subtextual’ queer sparks flying around the romantic triangle (or is it a quadrangle?) central to the pulpy melodrama based on the novel by French writer Francis D’Autheville, with the themes of cultural clash and conflict between science and superstition lending some gravitas to the proceedings.
17. Proklisis / Provocation (Omiros Efstratiadis, 1971)
Filmmaker Angelos Frantzis was only one when the legendary Udo Kier shared both his first and last name in the (arguably) finer of two collaborations with Greek filmmaker Omiros Efstratiadis, best known for his exploitation flicks of the 70’s. In Provocation aka Love Above All, Kier portrays a young sailor from the Hydra island who prepares to leave for Australia, but instead, gets involved with a wealthy heiress, Isabella (actress and activist Anna Fonsou), whom he meets on a ship to Athens. Haunted by memories of his old lover Eirini (magnetic Elena Nathanail of ‘The Fear’ fame) who was forced into a marriage with an impotent pharmacist, Angelos hesitates to bid farewell to his homeland, and leave loose threads from the past hanging. Schmaltz, camp and erotica blend surprisingly well into a romantic melodrama including a murder subplot and bits of social commentary, all handsomely captured by cinematographer Stamatis Tripos (Face to Face), with stylistic flourishes, such as a kaleidoscope effect, distorted angles and hyperkinetic montages, elevating the pulpy material. And by virtue of Efstratiadis’s penchant for traditional music, a few sequences see Udo Kier Hellenized into a hasapiko trance.
18. Un escargot dans la tête / Snails in the Head (Jean-Étienne Siry, 1980)
Jean-Étienne Siry’s swan song is also the only feature in his brief directorial career out of the gay porn zone – it is an outré psychological drama of the molluscophobic kind. At its core is a doomed romance between a novelist, Hélène (Florence Giorgetti), abandoned by both her husband and lover, and a painter, Edouard (Renaud Verlay), responsible for deaths of his wife and son in a car accident. The two meet in a psychiatric hospital, and after ‘just a single glance’, they ‘click’, but as soon as their love starts to bloom, the bleak past comes knockin’... and turns her fear into his obsession. Their tale – just like snails – could only be a figment of Hélène’s tortured mind, with its distorted reflection duly captured in nightmare sequences that wouldn’t feel out of place in the Italian horror cinema. As the narrative unfolds, irrational forces grow stronger, along with Siry’s obvious hots for Verley, so first we see him naked, and then in a wet fling with a guy named – not by coincidence, that’s for sure – Etienne. Eventually, it all comes full circle, leaving you intrigued, even though the film isn’t without its share of (charming?) shortcomings.
19. Pathosformel (Vasco Araújo, 2020)
A one-hour-long film created as a part of Vasco Araújo’s exhibition / installation at the Rialto6 gallery in Lisbon. It is spoken in English, Italian and Latin (with Portuguese subtitles), so I couldn’t understand all of its parts, but I found most of its ‘tableaux vivants’ to be neatly composed. The imagery features figures from the Greco-Roman mythology reflecting on human condition, with its title inspired by the concept developed by German art historian and cultural theorist Aby Warburg (1866–1929). 
Detailed info can be found HERE.
20. Winter Kept Us Warm (David Secter, 1965)
The first English-language Canadian film to deal with the queer subject matter, as well as to be shown at the Cannes Film Festival also marks the feature debut for David Secter, then a 4th-year student at the University of Toronto. Made on a minuscule budget, with the non-professional cast acting for free (and unaware of the subtext), Winter Kept Us Warm is a bold curiosity, considering that it addresses what was considered ‘triple taboo’ at the time. Borrowing its title from T.S. Elliot’s poem The Wasteland, the romantic drama portrays an ‘intense friendship’ between ‘a charismatic senior and a timid freshman’ in a somewhat relaxed manner, its greatest strength lying in dialogue-free montages of sheer jazzy coolness.
SHORTS
1. Roseblood (Sharon Couzin, 1974)
In the mesmerizing 7-minute-long debut from Chicago-based filmmaker Sharon Couzin, a young woman (Carolyn Chave Kaplan) dances against / behind / inside incessantly changing backdrop (flora, eyes, crystal, city, sea, etc), as the hectically edited images – at once propelling and obstructing her movements – lull the viewer into a state of subliminal euphoria; sensory bliss of the highest order.
2. Christmas U.S.A. (Gregory J. Markopoulos, 1949)
“An artist always paints his own portrait.”
(Jean Cocteau)
And what Markopoulos depicts in Christmas U.S.A. is the acceptance of his own homosexuality paralleled by a strong feeling of alienation in a disapproving environment, whether it be familial or public. Intuitively editing the scenes from everyday life, with occasional slides into ritualized action, and pulling focus on the intense physical presence of his alter egos, particularly in sensual closeups, he renders the film as both real and fanciful, liberating and constricted.
3. Fragment of Seeking (Curtis Harrington, 1946)
Four years before Markopoulos’ Swain, Curtis Harrington – then, a student – creates a coming-out short, boldly metaphorizing the death of heteronormativity, and anticipating Psycho through a subtle flirtation with horror. Playing an androgynous ‘seeker’ himself (and initially appearing like a secret, proto-Alphaville agent), he’s partnered by a couple of (uncredited) actors – a blonde woman and a young man, in dreamlike ‘fragments’ shot and edited with an expert eye. His images are permeated by a great sense of mystery which remains almost intact even after the realization of the author’s intention.
4. La révolution n'est qu'un début. Continuons le combat. /
The Revolution Is Only a Beginning. Let’s Continue Fighting. (Pierre Clémenti, 1968)
Pierre Clémenti’s poetic and politically charged directorial debut feels eerily relevant at the present moment in Serbia, especially when the on-screen slogans such as ‘POWER TO IMAGINATION!’ and ‘POETRY IN THE STREETS!’ are replaced with the ominous truth – ‘STATE POLICE KILLS, RAPES, CASTRATES FREEDOM!’ Filmed partly in Paris during May of 1968, and partly in Rome where Clémenti was working on Bertolucci’s Partner, this 20-minute cinétract is a sensory overload of liquefying soft-focuses, dreamy superimpositions, and shaky footage of protests, all of which are often soaked in reds signifying the author’s leftist views. It is a powerful, uncompromising experiment that ends on a witty, self-deprecatory note.
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