1. Porto das Caixas (Paulo César Saraceni, 1963)
2. Project Hail Mary (Phil Lord & Christopher Miller, 2026)
A spectacle with a big, rock-shaped heart, Project Hail Mary alleviates, acting like a soothing balm for the soul, and injecting the viewer with a healthy dose of hope, as it resists the cynicism of these desperate times. Directed with confidence, kindness and xenophilic perspective, the film sees Ryan Gosling as Ryland Grace, a science teacher reluctantly turned astronaut, and a spider-like alien, nicknamed Rocky (voiced by James Ortiz), working together to save both of their planets’ Suns from a mysterious substance. Brought to life through a seamless blend of traditional puppetry, practical animatronics and special effects, the latter is one of the most endearing creatures in recent memory, and its chemistry with Gosling – in his ‘charming klutz’ element – is brilliantly sparkling. The duo takes us on an emotional roller-coaster, with numerous flashbacks introducing an elegantly understated performance from Sandra Hüller as Eva Stratt – the pragmatic leader of an Earth-preserving project. On top of that, we are treated to some dazzling visuals, worthy of comparison to the finest of sci-fi classics, and harmoniously complemented by an inspired, uplifting score. 
3. Body Heat (Lawrence Kasdan, 1981)
Set during an unbearable heatwave, with the characters’ sweat threatening to start dripping off the screen, Kasdan’s directorial debut is a fascinating (and not to mention incredibly sexy) update of a classic film noir – Double Indemnity for the 80’s, if you will. Its leading stars, Kathleen Turner (bold and confident in her first big screen appearance) and William Hurt (handling one of his earliest roles with natural charm and efficiency), become a fatal ‘Turnon and Hot’ duo, their steamiest scenes framed with exquisite taste. But, it is the very opening theme of John Barry’s sultry and seductive jazz score – followed and complemented by a series of ‘double entendres’ in Kasdan’s witty screenplay – that anticipates a dense atmosphere of incessant titillation, as well as of moral decadence. And even though no new ground is broken in the twisty story of adultery, greed and pathological ambition, ‘Body Heat’ is crafted with such precision that most if not all of its flaws appear insignificant, dissipating in fog and smoke...
4. Kansas, 1989 (Clayton Dean Smith, 2025)
A down-to-earth time capsule to the 1980’s, the latest short from indie filmmaker Clayton Dean Smith is a finely nuanced coming-of-age and on-the-verge-of-coming-out story of an adolescent boy, Aidan. Filtered through the prism of personal experience, as director explains in the article at Seed&Spark, it is told from the perspective of Aidan himself (Joseph Wheeler, demonstrating great understanding of the character) who ends up caught in a short suburban misadventure along with his secret crush, Ryan (Bran Olsen, superb!). The two actors – supported with confidence by Stephen Tafoya as an angst-fueled rebel, Troy – are directed with clarity and precision by Smith whose subtle approach gives off strong 20th century vibes, and not only because of the setting, and (naturalistic) 16mm cinematography. Speaking of which, DoP Giacomo Belletti – with whom the author also collaborated on his previous two shorts, (impressive debut) Off Track Betty (2016) and (amusing) Too Late (2019) – succeeds in capturing the protagonists’ confused emotional states, the awkwardness in their communication, and the tiniest of suggestive bits, effortlessly and unpretentiously. On top of that, A Space Age Love Song by a A Flock of Seagulls proves to be a pitch-perfect choice for a theme song, lending the film a delicate patina of nostalgia.
5. Cristaux (Teo Hernández, 1978)
Experimental cinema at its most alchemical. Film as a performance; film as a ritual – dipped in mysticism, unfolding deliberately until crescendoing in a hectic, dizzying montage. Through the projected imagery that is elevated to a near-divine status, it strips the body of its corporeality, transmuting it into a spirit. And the boundaries between the sensual and transcendental cease to exist. Reflected in a polyhedric crystal, the inner visions are brought forth only to be further internalized, as if aspiring to penetrate the superconscious mind...
7. La donna del lago / The Possessed (Luigi Bazzoni & Franco Rossellini, 1965)
Falling somewhere between post-noir and proto-giallo, and eschewing violence in favor of its psychological aftermath, The Possessed marks an impressive feature debut for the directorial duo of Bazzoni, who would direct another underseen gem, Footsteps on the Moon, ten years later, and Rossellini, who would embark on a producer career, and collaborate with Pasolini on several occasions. Told from the perspective of an unreliable narrator – a disenchanted mystery novelist, Bernard (Peter Baldwin), the film relies heavily on its dense, borderline oppressive mood, so artfully conveyed through a potent concoction of stark, high-contrast B&W visuals, dramatic score intertwined with incessant wind howling, and the protagonist’s distressed mental state reflected in both the lakeside setting and cold weather. All the characters seem to be haunted by the same ghost from the past, and what a strong presence that specter has, in spite of the limited screen time – Virna Lisi as a former hotel maid, Tilde, whose death looms over the small town to which Bernard returns, anticipates Sheryl Lee as Laura Palmer. However, this fever dream of an affair is not surreal in a way that would become known as Lynchian in decades to come, its study of alienation, despair, guilt and obsession feeling closer to the likes of Antonioni, Bergman and Resnais, as some reviewers have already noticed.
6. The Heiress (William Wyler, 1949)
The transformation of Olivia de Havilland’s (socially awkward and deglamorized) heroine, Catherine, which wouldn’t have been believable, hadn’t her performance been so exceptional, makes for a reason enough to give this film a go. The nuanced change in the range of her voice, as naive, hopelessly romantic Catherine becomes an emotionally cold ‘woman scorned’, is wonderfully matched by Wyler’s expert direction which elevates the fluffiest and stagiest bits of the Goetz duo’s melodramatic screenplay adapted from their play. On top of that, the viewer is treated to John Meehan’s elaborate art direction, Aaron Copland’s rapturous score and Leo Tover’s elegant cinematography, particularly attractive in the closing scene.
8. Suspense (Frank Tuttle, 1946)
Figure skating and film noir go hand in hand, as Belita (nicknamed The Ice Maiden) comfortably slides into the role of Roberta Elva – the main star of The Ice Parade event set in the Pan-Pacific Auditorium in LA. Married to the revue owner, Frank (Albert Dekker, superb as a cold businessman), she gradually falls for a peanut vendor turned manager, Joe (Barry Sullivan, bringing his rugged charm to the role), whose ambitions muddy the waters of their personal and professional lives. Graceful, glamorous, and gorgeous in every single costume by Robert Kalloch (who would pass away only a year after the film’s release), Belita steals virtually every scene she is in, particularly in the ice rink, with Sullivan complementing her through his ‘embodiment of bad news’ appearance and attitude. Her talents are only matched by the expressive cinematography from Karl Struss, then already a veteran, as well as by Frank Paul Sylos’s superlative art direction, with a loop of knives designed for a risky performance serving as a visual leitmotif, its shadow in the backstage looming over the characters’ fates.
9. I Confess (Alfred Hitchcock, 1953)
The stunning black and white cinematography by Hitchcock’s regular DP Robert Burks, and the innocence that radiates from the crystal eyes of Montgomery Clift in the lead make for a potent mix in a psychological drama which explores moral and religious dilemmas, centering around a man burdened by a secret he cannot disclose. Although the man in question is a young priest who had an affair with a married woman before he was ordained, one can’t help viewing the feature from the perspective of the star’s closeted private life. The homosexual subtext may not be as strong as that of the director’s 1948 thriller Rope, yet it’s arguably there, shrouded in the curtain of a confessional booth. It is true that I Confess does not rank amongst the most suspenseful of the director’s offerings, but it does come across as a finely nuanced character study, rarely if ever betraying the issues its production was plagued with. 
10. Mortal Kombat II (Simon McQuoid, 2026)
A direct sequel to 2021 live-action reboot, Mortal Kombat II provides a whole lot of mood-boosting fun with its smorgasbord of breakneck pacing, outlandish fantasy, stylized violence, physics-defying action and healthy dose of humor channeled through the newcomer Johnny Cage (Karl Urban, having a whale of a time as a cynical and disgruntled Hollywood has-been) and returning Kano (Aussie actor Josh Lawson, extremely comfortable in the role a bad boy with a keen sense of comic timing). Now, the fighting takes place in the realm of Edenia under the occupation of ruthless emperor Shao Kahn and his Outworld forces, the focus being pulled on Kitana – a rebellious princess who holds a personal grudge against the tyrant, with Adeline Rudolph proving to be an excellent casting choice. The exposition is largely eschewed in favor of pleasing the fans of the game series by translating the kombatants’ special moves, gruesome fatalities, deadly arenas and whatnot from the three-decade-old franchise to the screen, which all works admirably well in its pulpy (and gory) glory. Special kudos to the CG effects team, production designer Yōhei Taneda (Kill Bill: Vol. 1) and costume designer Cappi Ireland for their efforts in bringing the strong contender for the most polished video game adaptation ever.
11. Das Haus an der Küste / The House on the Coast (Boško Kosanović, 1954)
A co-production between Austria, West Germany and Yugoslavia, The House on the Coast marks a feature debut for Boško Kosanović, as well as my first encounter with this filmmaker of shady (secret police) past, and it is quite a remarkable blend of classic melodrama and crime genres. It is also the final film of German actress Sybille Schmitz who would commit suicide, aged forty six, a year after the film’s release. Beautifully shot in expressive, noir-like black and white on authentic locations of Dubrovnik – for decades, one of the most prominent tourist destinations in Croatia – it portends the tragic turn of events through its dark, dense shadows, and sticky tension strongly felt in the main characters’ relations.
Revolving around a single mother, Anna (Schmitz), and her grown-up daughter, Marina (Nadja Regin), the story of blackmail and (anti)romantic scheming also involves a sleazy smuggler, Beppo (René Deltgen), and a new (and handsome) town doctor, Branko (Bert Sotlar), both vying for Marina’s attention, each in his own way (disregard the synopsis on both IMDb and Letterboxd, because it is all wrong). Early on, we can easily assume that someone will get burned, or even be seriously hurt, it is only a question of ‘who’ and ‘how’, and though the proceedings have a ‘been there, done that’ vibe to them, out attention rarely loosens, thanks to an assured direction, excellent performances, some bits of humor, and already mentioned (sunlit) setting, with Walter Partsch’s arresting cinematography finding a worthy accompaniment in Bojan Adamič’s emoting score, evocative of the 1940’s Hollywood.
12. Agosto / August (Jorge Silva Melo, 1988)
What an oddly charming film – fragmented yet flowing; flirtatious yet formal; set against the August heat, yet refreshing as a breeze; brimming with emotional ambiguities, yet psychologically insightful. In the three leading roles, it stars dubbed French actors one of whom had a very brief big screen career, with the support, among the others, from Pedro Hestnes who would star in Pedro Costa’s masterful drama O Sangue in the following year, and go on to work alongside F.J. Ossang (Treasure of the Bitch Islands, Doctor Chance) and Raúl Ruiz (Love Torn in a Dream).
Depicting a summer holiday of 1964 that is suspended in a bubble of time, it focuses on internal conflicts of its bourgeois characters, with the Colonial War reality simmering under the ostensibly peaceful surface. It operates as a somewhat admonishing look at ‘first world problems’, and yet it renders its protagonists – a violin professor Carlos, his engineer friend Dário and Dário’s mysterious wife Alda – as sympathetic figures lost in the existential labyrinth. At times, it echoes the modernist Italian cinema, evoking Giuseppe Patroni Griffi’s 1962 debut Il mare through the homoerotic (under)tones, but it never slips into a mere pastiche, coming across as almost philosophical in its aspirations to grasp the Portuguese ‘soul’. Elevating it are both the composer José Mário Branco who provides a distinct, acoustic guitar-heavy score, and cinematographer Acácio de Almeida – later, a regular collaborator of Rita Azevedo Gomes (Fragile as the World) – whose framing is the feature’s greatest forte.
13. Solitudine / Solitude (Romano Scavolini, 1966)
“Between me and the hours there existed an exact agreement. I could even disappear and forget myself.”
This early short from Romano Scavolini (whose name I encounter for the first time) appears like a modernist Italian film distilled into a tone poem, with glimpses of a city (and the narrator’s private life) acting as verses, and camera movements defining their rhythm. Its stream-of-consciousness nature is further emphasized by a brooding, discordantly experimental score, and occasional, introspective voice-over reflections by a man wandering the streets, his solitude evocative of the human condition.
