1. Los días perdidos / The Lost Days (Víctor Erice, 1963)
Shrouded in regret, melancholy permeates virtually every frame of Erice’s (exquisite!) student film shot during 1962-63 academic year. It inhabits the lingering shadows of the past; it extends the negative space beyond the frame; it trembles in the voice of the narrator protagonist, Isabel (Luisa Muñoz); it is reflected in the standing water after heavy rain, and it intensifies every gust of the wind blowing through a graveyard. Turned into its carriers are both diegetic noises and soft, moody jazz tunes, shyly interrupting the echoes of unsentimental silence, and acting as veils for the black and white imagery composed with a keen sense of blocking, and beautifully captured by cinematographer Fernando Arribas. And within these Antonioniesque visions which externalize Isabel’s inner world, words gradually dissolve and – stripped of their meanings – become the codes for deciphering the truths of human condition.
2. L’Étranger / The Stranger (François Ozon, 2025)
Manuel Dacosse – best known for his collaboration with cine-fetishists Hélène Cattet & Bruno Forzani – has to be one of the greatest cinematographers working today, his stunning monochrome lensing evoking the 60’s classics in François Ozon’s adaptation of Camus’s 1942 novella. Virtually every frame keeps you glued to the screen, capturing not only the impressive recreation of the period (kudos to production designer Katia Wyszkop of Nouvelle Vague fame), but also the all-encompassing indifference of the antihero, Meursault.
Portrayed with icy nonchalance by Benjamin Voisin, he is the complete stranger on his mother’s funeral, in a café he frequents, in every single relationship, be it with his lover or neighbors, and even to himself and in his own dreams, but he is also the handsome stranger whom the director is besotted with. This infatuation is – to a certain degree – transmitted to the viewer as well, making him at once charming and alienating, his apathy both fascinating and disquieting it its reflection of the ‘human’ society. And though my memories of the book are too vague and hazy (I read it approximately three decades ago, in high school), deep down I felt this translation to the medium of film to be exquisite, its cinematic qualities in fine balance with questions it raises, and ambiguities it leaves you with...
3. The Serpent’s Path (Kiyoshi Kurosawa, 2024)
They say revenge is best served cold, and Kurosawa’s protagonists add some extra ice in the French remake of the director’s own 1998 feature of the same name (yet to be seen), as they exact it against the secret ring of child and organ traffickers. Even yellow is drained of its warmth to fit the biting, calculated psychological ‘game’ they play, with the (recurring) themes of loneliness, alienation and depression imbuing the morally ambiguous exploration of psychosocial pathology. Kō Shibasaki is particularly transfixing in the role of an expatriate psychiatrist, Sayoko, her ostensible calmness and unwavering determination coming off as more dangerous than the scum of the earth whom she and her partner, Albert (Damien Bonnard, also great), are after. As precise as Kurosawa’s direction – at times, evocative of Haneke – her performance amplifies the ‘essential element’ that is mystery, lingering in the viewer’s mind long after the credits have rolled. Once again, the master of silent dread demonstrates his firm-handed command over the mise en scène, employing the physical space – a fertile ground for the aforementioned modern malaise – to visualize most if not all of the mental nooks and crannies.
4. Anta mujer / Such a Woman (Agustí Villaronga, 1976)
“Lift your fatigued body and submerge yourself in dreams that the immobility of time grants to you.”
Set to Carl Orff’s ‘Carmina Burana’ and narrated by ‘the voice of the sea’ (Núria Espert), the earliest short from Agustí Villaronga (In a Glass Cage, Moon Child) feels like an ascetic version of a Corkidi’s film also comparable to Garrel – an iconoclastic amalgam of pseudo-religious mysticism, and ritualistic performance art that is at once hermetic and immersive, especially if you’re in for an esoteric mythology. Revolving around a young woman who is promised to become a saint after accomplishing ‘Five Portents’, the formally austere ‘fantasy’ is shot with a keen eye for composition on some beautiful Catalonian locations, unfolding at a deliberate pace, as it pulls you into its primordial world...
5. Venusberg (Rolf Thiele, 1963)
“How difficult it is for girls nowadays...”
Seven young women gather in a mountain resort owned by a philandering gynecologist and their mutual friend/lover, Alphonse, sharing their perspective on relationships, and trying to figure out their way out of wasting their lives just to please their man (in certain cases, men). Although the naughty doctor is frequently mentioned, he is never to be seen, and the only male character who does appear remains in deep shadows, for Venusberg is exclusively femme-centric if not feminist feature.
As if directed by a woman, it does not slip into exploitation – the nudity, its dose higher than expected from a 1963 offering, is not gratuitous but subtle, and the frequent closeups of actresses’ glamorously beautiful faces, albeit as eye-pleasing as it gets, serve as insights into the protagonists’ mental and emotional states. One of the guests, Florentine (portrayed by fatally attractive Marisa Mell) lends the film an aura of mystery, her unexplained arrivals and departures – complemented by a bizarre anecdote and reverse psychologizing – giving off strong ‘empowerment embodied’ vibes. Thiele’s stylish direction evokes the modernist tendencies of the time, and finds a great match in both Wolf Wirth’s stunning B&W lensing and Rolf A. Wilhelm’s odd, jazzily probing score.
6. All You Need Is Kill (Ken’ichirō Akimoto & Yukinori Nakamura, 2025)
Ever since the cult omnibus Memories from 1995, Studio 4°C has been synonymous with stylish animation, and the latest addition to their impressive catalog is no exception. Based on Hiroshi Sakurazaka’s novel of the same name – previously adapted into live-action feature Edge of Tomorrow in 2014 – All You Need Is Kill can be described as Groundhog Day with a Lovecraftian twist by way of a video game set on the frustratingly high difficulty.
Stuck in a time loop during an alien invasion is a young United Defense Force soldier, Rita Vrataski, whose perspective on life is challenged by both the monsters, and an encounter with a fellow sufferer, Keiji Kiriya, with whom she joins forces to break free from the time trap. Her and later, their efforts against a mysterious tree, Darol, that sprouts murderous creatures (a metaphor for today’s governments and their subordinates?) are presented as an exploration of loneliness, blending science fiction, action and mystery to exciting effect. The noticeable tonal shifts in the feature’s second half may be viewed as slightly hampering, but the artists make sure that the levels of visual goodness – unusual angular artwork beautifully matched by psychedelic color palette – never drop. Their snappily edited and aesthetically refined imagery more than compensates for the narrative foibles, complementing first-timers Akimoto and Nakamura’s slick, fast-paced direction.
7. Господин оформитель / Mister Designer (Oleg Teptsov, 1987)
One of the most visually arresting pieces of late Soviet cinema, Mister Designer can be dubbed a gothic, psychosexual melodrama dipped in a potent concoction of the Pygmalion myth, Baudelairean decadence, and oneiric symbolism of Odilon Redon whose work is explicitly referenced in the artwork attributed to the leading character, Platon Andreyevich. Portrayed by Viktor Avilov, his roughly chiseled face appearing like an unholy blend of Vlad the Impaler, David Carradine and (art historian/filmmaker) Đorđe Kadijević, with hints of Donald Sutherland, he is a tortured, morphine-abusing artist striving to unveil the secret of eternal life through the creation of realistic mannequins in pre-WWI Russia. Light (and puzzling) on plot, but heavy on atmosphere or rather, dreamlike irrationality akin to giallo, this feature marks Oleg Teptsov’s stylistically daring debut, its extraordinary art direction married to a bizarre anachronistic score, ranging from playfully dissonant to ethereally sinister aural ‘ambushes’. A meditation on artistic obsession and metaphysical decay, the film may also be read as a quest for beauty, and though it leaves its horror potential largely unrealized, it is one of those obscure and bizarre curios that the arthouse crowd must check out.
8. Johnny 316 aka Hollywood Salome (Erick Ifergan, 1998)
High on ethereal vulnerability in her first and only big screen appearance, model Nina Brosh plays or rather, channels through a sort of a haze, a jobless hairdresser, Sally, who wanders around Hollywood Boulevard, and desperately falls for a handsome preacher, Johnny (Vincent Gallo, bringing a subversion-wrapped blend of emotional detachment and self-professed piousness to the role) in the feature debut from Morocco-born French director Erick Ifergan. Loosely based on Oscar Wilde’s one-act play ‘Salome’, the film feels like a no wave revival by way of the 90’s MTV (no surprise, given the author’s background in music videos), with mockumentary bits thrown in for good measure, exploring the erosion of spirituality, the impossibility of (true) love, and a futile quest for human connection.
Both of the leading characters are portrayed as lost, tortured souls who do not belong to the ‘wildlife’ of Los Angeles, simultaneously attracted to and repelled from each other, as their wounds keep growing, with a plethora of (beautiful!) close-ups striving to capture the nuances of their innermost workings. The intimizing intrusiveness of the camera, with another firsttimer, Toby Irwin, behind it, significantly contributes to the establishing of a dense, claustrophobic mood which marks the main forte of Johnny 316, complemented by a dissonant, broodingly trippy soundtrack. Lending it some extra gravitas are two veterans, Louise Fletcher and Seymour Cassel, in supporting parts as Sally’s mother, and good-natured store vendor, respectively.
9. They Will Kill You (Kirill Sokolov, 2026)
Kirill Sokolov demonstrated a great sense of black humor in his 2018 debut Why Don’y You Just Die? made in his native Russia, and it translates pretty well to his third – or first English-spoken – feature that doesn’t revolutionize neither of the neatly blended (sub)genres, but it is one hell of a crowdpleaser! Playing a familiar, yet immensely entertaining riff on a class struggle, it pits a young woman with the turbulent past, Asia Reaves (portrayed by charismatic Zazie Beetz), against a mysterious community of the rich attended by Patricia Arquette’s sinister character, Lily Woodhouse, and living in a luxurious NYC apartment building of the telling name, Virgil. But, the less you know about the film, the better, so I won’t reveal any more details of the plot, and just add that production designer Jeremy Reed (Gretel & Hansel) and the trio of art directors must’ve had a brilliant chemistry on the set, with DoP Isaac Bauman beautifully capturing the splatter action – likely inspired by anime – with his dynamic camerawork. Also commendable is the propulsive soundtrack and this comes from someone who is not a big fan of rap music, but still enjoys the rock-punkish brand by Nova Twins whose single Cleopatra accompanies one of the decisive battles. This is pulpy cinema at its most mood-lifting!
10. La città proibita / The Forbidden City (Gabriele Mainetti, 2025)
After debuting with a down-to-earth / anti-spectacle deconstruction of a superhero subgenre, then playing a ‘freaky’ anti-fascist riff on The Wizard of Oz in his WWII-set sophomore feature, Mainetti returns with a bold if uneven blend of martial arts actioner, gangster flick and romance imbued with social commentary. A simple tale of revenge is in equal measures pulpy and stylish, following an unlikely couple of a Chinese girl, Mei (Yaxi Liu), looking for her sister, and a restaurant cook, Marcello (Enrico Borello), whose indebted father has eloped with his much younger lover (guess who), fighting their way through the underbelly of Rome.
Add a triad – running a restaurant that shares its name with the film’s title and acts as a cover for human trafficking – to the mix, as well as an immigrant-exploiting mafioso with hots for our hero’s mother, and you have a modern B-movie that lacks no charm even when outstaying its welcome. (The film’s 2+ hour running time may repel some viewers.) Its main attraction are hard-hitting, well-choreographed fighting sequences in which Liu proves to be a superb choice for a ‘one woman army’ type of heroine, and Mainetti demonstrates his familiarity with the Eastern counterparts, i.e. sources of inspiration, delivering some memorable set pieces. (And the same goes for the melodramatic bits.) Although his genre-juggling is not exactly a prime example of virtuosity, the director does it with gusto, earning extra points, and solidifying his position of an adventurous filmmaker.
Also, The Forbidden City absolutely beats Weapons when it comes to the grater utilization!
11. Party Girl (Daisy von Scherler Mayer, 1995)
Oddly charming in its pronounced quirkiness and easygoing queerness, the feature debut from Daisy von Scherler Mayer is unafraid to be wacky, messy, absurd, awkward, and oh-so-deliciously campy, in a certain way reflecting the character of its heroine Mary (Parker Posey, seemingly having some serious fun in her role). Partying her way to a librarian position in a groovy coming-of-age farce set against the NYC nightclub scene, she effortlessly earns her (and the film’s) title, and wins the heart of both the viewer and a handsome Lebanese teacher who works as a falafel vendor, Mustafa (Omar Townsend, coolly charismatic in his only screen appearance). Her energy – often channeled into different directions at once – parallels the very vibes of Party Girl that now operates as a whimsical, lighthearted time capsule to the 90’s, perfectly aware of its funky looseness, and fashionable abandon.
12. How to Live (Njoroge Muthoni, 2025)
“I think that is the joy that I seek, to not be afraid of the world, nor myself... When I think about my joy, I think about the freedom to change, actually. To be everything all at once. To be multiple, to be excess, to be a flood, to always overflow, to be too much, too dramatic, flowery...” (multidisciplinary artist Kuln’zu)
My first contact with Kenyan visual artist Njoroge Muthoni was his inspiring photographic work which led to a 2019 collaboration on Minus Zodiac, a twelve-piece series of ‘astrological’ collages based around his nude models. In the meantime, he has created a few shorts, and directed his first feature How to Live – a bold if flawed documentary on Nairobi’s burgeoning queer scene.
Brimming with energy – at times, posing a real challenge in channeling and sustaining within the decidedly loose, even punkish structure – the film is a vivid exploration of body, identity, solidarity and resistance through ‘joie de vivre’ shared by the members of a tight-knit community. Young and, above all, determined people who express themselves through art and/or (ballroom) performance proudly and gleefully defy the societal constraints, writing the extravagant history of gender fluidity. Their intertwining experiences and the accompanying statements are captured with utmost sincerity and transparency by Muthoni’s frequently moving camera, making sure that the segments with ‘talking heads’ never feel dull. As a connective tissue, the director utilizes minimalist ‘vogue’ vignettes depicting some of the participants, and acting as additional invitations to acceptance and tolerance. Although rough around the edges (and belonging to the genre this writer is not a big fan of), How to Live is a solid calling card for its author.
Honorable mention: Search for Beauty (Erle C. Kenton, 1934)
A missing precursor-link between Leni Riefenstahl’s Olympia and the Youth Day spectacle in Yugoslavia, Symphony of Health marks the most impressive portion of Search for Beauty – a goofy, not to mention horny pre-code comedy. Featuring dozens of Beauty Contest winners from English-speaking countries, this ‘symphony’ is an elaborately staged parade of men and women in swimwear promoting physical prowess for the fictional ‘Health and Exercise’ magazine – likely a parody of Bernarr Macfadden’s publications of the early 20th century.
Snappily directed by Erle C. Kenton, best known for H. G. Wells’ adaptation Island of Lost Souls, it stars 16-yo Ida Lupino in her American debut (thankfully, pretty innocent), and Olympic champion turned actor Buster Crabbe as a couple of athletes tricked by a trio of con artists into selling ‘sex’ under the guise of a health periodical. The feature marks one of the earliest examples of exploitation flicks, its raciness becoming overt at the very beginning, with Gertrude Michael as Jean Strange checking out Crabbe’s bulging crotch through her binoculars, while dropping: “Ooh, baby, you can come to Mama!” Adding up to the naughty (and predominantly homoerotic) antics is some unabashed rear nudity in a male locker-room, and lines such as “as far as I’m concerned, outdoors, indoors and behind doors” spouted during the exchange of beefcake photos in a hair salon. It’s a curious little romp that may lift one’s mood, though its boldness, suggestiveness, and the humorous chemistry of James Gleason and Robert Armstrong duo are rarely matched by its artistic quality.
