FEATURES
“Love’s finest hours occur not in declarations and lovemaking, but in absence and sacrificial discretion. The greatest love is never aggrandized, but exists unseen to all, even the beloved.”
Once again, I find myself utterly impressed by a film from Daniel Nearing whose 2014 feature Hogtown marked my first encounter with his work exactly five years ago. His keen eye for highly expressive visuals is evident on virtually every step of his currently latest offering – in chiaroscuro close-ups, distorted angles, dreamlike filters, fisheye perspective, intrusion of color, bleeding of light, and loving homages to Flaming June by Sir Frederic Leighton, New York Movie by Edward Hopper, Imagen de Yagul by Ana Mendieta, and other pieces.
A loose adaptation of Theodore Dreiser’s eponymous novel, Sister Carrie operates like an experimental melodrama in a dialogue with the history of cinema (and fine art too, as already disclosed); a sort of a tone poem that elicits sentiment through its very imagery, reaching its highest point in a dance act as a substitute for mourning over deceased lover. Eve Rydberg and (ballet dancer) Fabrice Calmels often break the fourth wall as they navigate us through this meditation on love, obsession, identity, yearning, ambition, and death, both giving solid, ‘Frenchified’ performances, not to mention they’re as pleasing to the eye as Nearing’s handsome framing. Calmels is also credited as composer, alongside Paul Bhasin, providing a befittingly elegiac score – an aural equivalent of rain drops flowing down the (photographic) glass.
A young Romani painter, Gera (Sándor Oszter), burns his paintings, and seeks to implement social reforms in a poor, marginalized Roma community, only to be rejected as a stranger, along with his best friend (who may be his lover as well). Seen through the ethnographer’s eyes, and captured by the camera of ever-reliable János Kende, a simple, yet highly poeticized story unfolds in a vicious cycle of misery, prejudice, alienation, exploitation, senseless brutality, and radical sacrifice. Co-written by director Imre Gyöngyössy and his colleagues Barna Kabay and Gábor Bódy, best known for his epic drama Narcissus and Psyche, it is subtly romanticized, brimming with raw emotion, as well as with authentic flavors, given that the cast is largely comprised of non-professionals. Flirting with magical realism, and exuding the air of profound melancholy, The Legend... is the epitome of ‘beauty in the rough’; a missing link between Aleksandar Petrović’s I Even Met Happy Gypsies (1967) and Emil Loteanu’s Gypsies Are Found Near Heaven (1976).
Part socialist satire, and part surrealist (sci-fi) heist movie, the sophomore feature from musician (and self-proclaimed communist) turned filmmaker Boots Riley is a vivid, mood-boosting WTF-ery that gives Mika Ninagawa a good run for her money with its kaleidoscopic color palette, unapologetically amping up absurd humor to eleven. Set against the backdrop of fashion industry as a microcosm of capitalist exploitation, with Demi Moore shining through as an evil (and not to mention eccentric) designer genius, the story follows the Robin Hood-esque exploits of the Velvet Gang – a group of socially conscious shoplifters whose motto is Fashion Forward Filanthropy. Portrayed by Keke Palmer, Naomi Ackie and Taylour Paige in deadpan to camp turns, these ladies wear clothes as statements, their inner states, or simply as disguises, depending on the context, with DoP Natasha Braier (The Neon Demon) beautifully capturing not only their borderline-cartoonish ‘rags’, but also the equally inspired production design by Christopher Glass. (The diagonal studio in a leaning skyscraper is a blast!) Also praiseworthy are Eiza González and LaKeith Stanfield in supporting roles, the latter providing some... outworldly fun, so to say without spoilers. Oh, and that delightfully weird soundtrack by Tune-Yards!
In her visually arresting feature debut, Julie (the daughter of Al) Pacino blurs (or completely erases) the line between reality and fever dream, the moment her heroine, Rose (a grounded portrayal by Lucy Fry), checks in a bizarre, seemingly inescapable hotel, Crown Inn. Carrying the heavy baggage of a childhood trauma, anxiety, depression, self-harm, dwindling actress career, and miraculous pregnancy, our heroine must face the facets of her own psyche, coming to campy life as childlike receptionist Sid, intoxicated owner Ada, and intrusive guest Lillian, with Sarah Rich, Lara Clear and Madeline Brewer, respectively, boldly jumping into the abstract roles. Not to mention that on her heavy tail she has her unreliable boyfriend’s despotic mother, Martha, with Twin Peaks darling Sheryl Lee giving an imposing supporting performance, while serving as a medium for the channeling of Lynchian energy. (Oh, that hand gesture through which she is introduced...)
Influenced not only by the late great surrealist, but also drawing inspiration from baroque sets of Argento’s Suspiria, feminist kaleidoscope of Anna Biller (of The Love Witch fame), rabbit holes of Lewis Carroll’s worlds, as well as from Kubrick’s ways of mapping the architecture of one’s mind, Pacino could certainly not be accused of lacking ambition, and although her screenplay may be overwrought at certain points, and some of the symbolism may veer into on-the-nose territory, I Live Here Now rarely ceases to impress. By virtue of Aron Meinhardt’s exquisite lensing on 35mm and 16mm film, the skillfully weaponized colors of Hannah Rawson & Lucie Brooks Butler’s gorgeous production design are transformed into vivid characters in their own right, enhancing the head-scratching experience. Composers Pam Autuori & Jackson Greenberg bring a pulsing mixture of ominous droning, uneasy percussion, and eerily ethereal vocalizations to the table, constantly reminding us that we’re watching a twisted fairy tale of body and soul in distress.
Once again, I find myself utterly impressed by a film from Daniel Nearing whose 2014 feature Hogtown marked my first encounter with his work exactly five years ago. His keen eye for highly expressive visuals is evident on virtually every step of his currently latest offering – in chiaroscuro close-ups, distorted angles, dreamlike filters, fisheye perspective, intrusion of color, bleeding of light, and loving homages to Flaming June by Sir Frederic Leighton, New York Movie by Edward Hopper, Imagen de Yagul by Ana Mendieta, and other pieces.
A loose adaptation of Theodore Dreiser’s eponymous novel, Sister Carrie operates like an experimental melodrama in a dialogue with the history of cinema (and fine art too, as already disclosed); a sort of a tone poem that elicits sentiment through its very imagery, reaching its highest point in a dance act as a substitute for mourning over deceased lover. Eve Rydberg and (ballet dancer) Fabrice Calmels often break the fourth wall as they navigate us through this meditation on love, obsession, identity, yearning, ambition, and death, both giving solid, ‘Frenchified’ performances, not to mention they’re as pleasing to the eye as Nearing’s handsome framing. Calmels is also credited as composer, alongside Paul Bhasin, providing a befittingly elegiac score – an aural equivalent of rain drops flowing down the (photographic) glass.
2. Leviticus (Adrian Chiarella, 2026)
It Follows gets a younger and bolder queer brother with Adrian Chiarella’s highly commendable feature debut in which a homophobic entity of ambiguous (but likely dogmatic) origin takes the form of the most desired one. Penned with loathing for fundamentalist evil and directed with an assured hand, Leviticus is firmly anchored in devoted central performances by Joe Bird and Stacy Clausen. Their palpable chemistry makes the drama at the heart of this indie horror hit as hard as (at times, even harder than) the fear-fueled bits, whether they’re implied, as in the attention-grabbing opening, or ‘shoveled down the throat’, so to say, as a reference to a certain bathroom scene. Further elevated by Tyson Perkins’s moody cinematography, and Jed Kurzel’s haunting score, the (evenly paced) film marks another superb contribution to the Aussie genre cinema that seems to grow more vital than the (much larger) American one.
3. Meztelen vagy / The Legend About the Death and Resurrection of Two Young Men (Imre Gyöngyössy, 1972)
“I am the final limit of being, where words end, and actions begin. It is the most critical point in a man’s life... Brother, consider me dead by suicide. I want to be changed to the last nucleus. I grew tired of myself and of you. I’m tired of being a ‘famous gypsy painter’, I am tired of the debates, and the salons that identify with the intellectual poverty of the hovels.”
A young Romani painter, Gera (Sándor Oszter), burns his paintings, and seeks to implement social reforms in a poor, marginalized Roma community, only to be rejected as a stranger, along with his best friend (who may be his lover as well). Seen through the ethnographer’s eyes, and captured by the camera of ever-reliable János Kende, a simple, yet highly poeticized story unfolds in a vicious cycle of misery, prejudice, alienation, exploitation, senseless brutality, and radical sacrifice. Co-written by director Imre Gyöngyössy and his colleagues Barna Kabay and Gábor Bódy, best known for his epic drama Narcissus and Psyche, it is subtly romanticized, brimming with raw emotion, as well as with authentic flavors, given that the cast is largely comprised of non-professionals. Flirting with magical realism, and exuding the air of profound melancholy, The Legend... is the epitome of ‘beauty in the rough’; a missing link between Aleksandar Petrović’s I Even Met Happy Gypsies (1967) and Emil Loteanu’s Gypsies Are Found Near Heaven (1976).
4. L’Engloutie / The Girl in the Snow (Louise Hémon, 2025)
Louise Hémon’s leisurely paced, visually impressive and highly atmospheric feature debut evokes Breughel and Rembrandt through the beautiful framing (and lighting!) by DoP Marine Atlan, whereby Emile Sornin’s eerily mesmerizing score deepens the mystery and accentuates the multi-layered tensions in a snow-covered mountain hamlet where an inconclusive folk tale is about to be born. A young woman’s emancipatory zeal clashes with the locals’ frosty superstition; her sensuality triggering avalanches of mistrust; her language turning into an instrument of colonialism. The gap between the newcomer and the natives keeps widening, and someone is bound to be swallowed by it, as the audience is left with a number of unanswered questions, and the lingering effect of the spell Hémon casts upon them.
5. Kota / Hen (György Pálfi, 2025)
If you ever wondered how it feels to be a black chicken lost in Greece after a narrow escape from a trucker taking you to his wife’s kitchen, then the latest offering from György Pálfi of Taxidermia fame is the film you’ve been looking for. He directs ‘eight separate Hungarian chickens named Eszti, Szandi, Feri, Enci, Eti, Eniko, Nora, and Anett’, as noted in IMDb trivia, and does it with wit, sobriety and compassion, assisted by superb editing of Réka Lemhényi, crisp cinematography from Giorgos Karvelas, and compelling score by Szabolcs Szõke. Starting on a light note, with the feathered heroine embarking on a humorous adventure, he eventually takes a darker turn into the crime territory, and provides a fresh perspective on human condition, exploring the themes of survival and perseverance. This certainly isn’t the first feature to employ the animal POV gimmick, but it is one of the finest... and most playfully irreverent.
6. I Love Boosters (Boots Riley, 2026)
“We’re on one side of the same contradiction.”
Part socialist satire, and part surrealist (sci-fi) heist movie, the sophomore feature from musician (and self-proclaimed communist) turned filmmaker Boots Riley is a vivid, mood-boosting WTF-ery that gives Mika Ninagawa a good run for her money with its kaleidoscopic color palette, unapologetically amping up absurd humor to eleven. Set against the backdrop of fashion industry as a microcosm of capitalist exploitation, with Demi Moore shining through as an evil (and not to mention eccentric) designer genius, the story follows the Robin Hood-esque exploits of the Velvet Gang – a group of socially conscious shoplifters whose motto is Fashion Forward Filanthropy. Portrayed by Keke Palmer, Naomi Ackie and Taylour Paige in deadpan to camp turns, these ladies wear clothes as statements, their inner states, or simply as disguises, depending on the context, with DoP Natasha Braier (The Neon Demon) beautifully capturing not only their borderline-cartoonish ‘rags’, but also the equally inspired production design by Christopher Glass. (The diagonal studio in a leaning skyscraper is a blast!) Also praiseworthy are Eiza González and LaKeith Stanfield in supporting roles, the latter providing some... outworldly fun, so to say without spoilers. Oh, and that delightfully weird soundtrack by Tune-Yards!
7. I Live Here Now (Julie Pacino, 2025)
“Our sadness will never go away. But it can’t hurt us anymore...”
In her visually arresting feature debut, Julie (the daughter of Al) Pacino blurs (or completely erases) the line between reality and fever dream, the moment her heroine, Rose (a grounded portrayal by Lucy Fry), checks in a bizarre, seemingly inescapable hotel, Crown Inn. Carrying the heavy baggage of a childhood trauma, anxiety, depression, self-harm, dwindling actress career, and miraculous pregnancy, our heroine must face the facets of her own psyche, coming to campy life as childlike receptionist Sid, intoxicated owner Ada, and intrusive guest Lillian, with Sarah Rich, Lara Clear and Madeline Brewer, respectively, boldly jumping into the abstract roles. Not to mention that on her heavy tail she has her unreliable boyfriend’s despotic mother, Martha, with Twin Peaks darling Sheryl Lee giving an imposing supporting performance, while serving as a medium for the channeling of Lynchian energy. (Oh, that hand gesture through which she is introduced...)
Influenced not only by the late great surrealist, but also drawing inspiration from baroque sets of Argento’s Suspiria, feminist kaleidoscope of Anna Biller (of The Love Witch fame), rabbit holes of Lewis Carroll’s worlds, as well as from Kubrick’s ways of mapping the architecture of one’s mind, Pacino could certainly not be accused of lacking ambition, and although her screenplay may be overwrought at certain points, and some of the symbolism may veer into on-the-nose territory, I Live Here Now rarely ceases to impress. By virtue of Aron Meinhardt’s exquisite lensing on 35mm and 16mm film, the skillfully weaponized colors of Hannah Rawson & Lucie Brooks Butler’s gorgeous production design are transformed into vivid characters in their own right, enhancing the head-scratching experience. Composers Pam Autuori & Jackson Greenberg bring a pulsing mixture of ominous droning, uneasy percussion, and eerily ethereal vocalizations to the table, constantly reminding us that we’re watching a twisted fairy tale of body and soul in distress.
8. Backrooms (Kane Parsons, 2026)
It is absolutely incredible that Backrooms is directed by a twenty-year-old, and based on a series of creepy (if occasionally tiresome and nauseating) YouTube shorts which he developed as a teenager on a personal computer in his own room. An intriguing mélange of psychological, conspiratorial, found footage and even ontological horror, it is stuff the most irrational nightmares are made of, especially if you experienced them first hand. Simultaneously claustrophobic and agoraphobic, it treats the labyrinthine physical space as the inescapable state of mind, inducing dread by way of both dead ends and multiple (infinite?) choices, with the creatures (of our own making) given secondary importance.
Exploring the disintegration of modern life due to the lingering effects of not only trauma, but decaying memories as well, the film makes the most of the impossible and illogical architecture which becomes the multi-layered character in its own right. Although it falters in the psychologization of human protagonists, and somewhat diminishes the mystery of liminal spaces by introducing the scientific experiment as the cause, it is a beautifully weird piece of (genre) cinema well-worthy of checking out. A remarkable starting point for its up-and-coming author.
In experimental feature from English linguist, writer, painter, filmmaker and performer Anna Thew, a major role is played by textures – first and foremost, of the 16mm film stock, and then, of lace curtain, human skin, brick walls, river surface, street asphalt, polka-dot dress, torn fishnet stockings, etc. They lend palpability to the memories recollected by Thew’s mother, in broken fragments forming a tricky ‘narrative’ or – in the words of the author herself – ‘an intricate web of associations’ weaved through a deliberate discordance of images, voice-over, and music. This way, the deceptiveness of remembering finds its cinematic equivalent – a slippery illusion which strives to convey moods, vibes and feelings, rather than recreating the past events from the familial history, with Thew’s half-aunt Hilda ‘who was never short of a boyfriend’ turned into the central figure.
10. L’aigle à deux têtes / The Eagle with Two Heads (Jean Cocteau, 1948)
“They were only the dreams of a sleeping person, sleeping so profoundly, that he didn't even realize that he was dreaming them.”
An adaptation of Jean Cocteau’s own play from 1946, The Eagle with Two Heads retains the original actors, Edwige Feuillère and Jean Marais, whose performances tend to be so hypnotic that you don’t realize Feuillère’s delivers the longest monologue in the history of dramatic cinema. Part political intrigue, and part tragic romance evocative of Shakespeare, the feature is set in a fictitious mid-European country during the 19th century, its plot triggered by an anarchist poet’s failed attempt to assassinate the queen, spending the night in the castle of Krantz. Bearing a striking resemblance to the king who was killed ten years prior, the young dissident stirs the storm of mixed emotions in the royal heart, and unlikely love begins to bloom against the backdrop of the sleazy ministerial scheming.
What elevates this film from its theatrical origins is Georges Wakhévitch’s sumptuous production design of highly detailed castle interiors, married to Marcel Escoffier’s equally lavish costumes (including traditional lederhosen worn by Marais in his first appearance), all dreamily captured by Christian Matras. The looks of a gothic fairy tale achieved through their combined efforts may not be as enchanting as in its predecessor ‘Beauty and the Beast’, but they do work wonders when all the melodrama and plotting to remove the ruler grow too convoluted, or a tad tiresome. At its highest points of exchanging tenderness between the leading characters, the viewer is given a clear insight into how truly, madly and deeply Cocteau adored his muse, Marais.
11. Pee chai dai ka / A Useful Ghost (Ratchapoom Boonbunchachoke, 2025)
Magic realism, Thai style. A highly ambitious feature debut from Ratchapoom Boonbunchachoke, the film starts as a deadpan comedy of a ghost possessing a vacuum cleaner, and seeking to reunite with her husband, only to gradually transform into an allegorical narrative of political repression, told from a queer perspective, and through the exploration of loss, grief, memories, tradition, exploitation, and resistance. Although its tone grows more serious and melancholic as the story unfolds, it succeeds in keeping its quirky sense of humor, eventually exploding in a cathartic, splatterish sequence that comes across as a reward for the patience it previously requires. Helmed with a formal rigor somewhat reminiscent of Julian Radlmaier (though not as dry), and firmly anchored in tautly controlled performances from the entire cast, A Useful Ghost is also a visually arresting piece of (outré) cinema, its imagery in perfect tune with the clear directorial vision.
12. Broadway Melody of 1936 (Roy Del Ruth, 1935)
Oh, boy, this film has everything – Adrian’s dazzling gowns, lessons on snoring onomatopoeia, Katharine Hepburn impersionation, singing and tap dancing in a Micky Mouse sweater (all before breakfast), and storming through the newspaper agency to punch a gossip journalist right in the nose that pokes everywhere. Bad jokes aside, the second installment in the Broadway Melody tetralogy is a charming piece of Golden Age Hollywood, anchored in beautifully choreographed dance sequences, with Eleanor Powell’s electrified footwork stealing your breath away. The rom-com story of big dreams, backstage scheming and the power of media is of secondary importance, and yet Roy Del Ruth handles it admirably, and with subtly campy flair, his cast doing an amazing job, and seem like having a whale of a time. Setting the feature’s ‘fluff’ tone is the very opening song:
“Don’t bring a frown to old Broadway
You gotta clown on Broadway
Your troubles there are out of style
For Broadway always wears a smile...”
13. Les nuits rouges du bourreau de jade / Red Nights (Julien Carbon & Laurent Courtiaud, 2010)
Prolific Hong Kong actress Carrie Ng injects a scented dose of camp into the role a sadistic femme fatale inspired by the legendary jade executioner whose pain-and-pleasure-enhancing poison is sought after by various underworld figures throughout the capriciously convoluted (read: borderline senseless) plot. But, the story is of least importance in Carbon & Courtiaud’s hyper-stylized feature debut which betrays influences of traditional Chinese opera, giallo cinema, Brian De Palma, John Woo, and even New French Extremity, grabbing your attention by the very first scene of latex kink and claw-nailed murder. Oddly enough, nobody is innocent in Red Nights, as all of the leading characters emerge from the shadows, i.e. wrong side of the law, with the police coming across as an afterthought in the wicked game of double-crossing, back-stabbing, and twisted obsession. The ‘form over content’ approach doesn’t always work, but whenever it is at its peak, by virtue of Horace Ma’s superb art direction and Man-Ching Ng’s classy cinematography, it is absolutely fascinating.
SHORTS
1. Nowhere (Dimitris Papaioannou, 2021)
In the prison of existence / the tragedy of human condition.
Arguably the most Beckettian of Papaioannou's performances.
“What’s a bit of rubber between friends?”
Filmed at the peak of AIDS crisis, Cling Film is a bold experiment promoting safe sex, as well as the most punkish and explicit of five Anna Thew’s shorts I’ve seen so far. Starring a cast of performance artists, it suffocates inhibition and censorship in dizzying coital montages, largely eschewing sync sound in favor of associative discordance. Taking cues from a wide range of edgy avant-garde films, including thumb-sucking that evokes Buñuel’s masterpiece L’Age d’Or, and leather fetishism which brings to mind Anger’s queer classic Scorpio Rising, this twenty-minute ‘art pamphlet’ raises an important question, one that transcends the confines of the HIV-related themes: “What if offending public taste saves lives?”
4. … nur noch Gewölk … / ... but the clouds ... (Samuel Beckett, 1977)
Gorgeously framed on 16mm, Humanity Gone comes across as a meeting point between performance art, fashion photography and experimental cinema, its story of an angel betrayed by a human presented through a dialogue between chiaroscuro images and ambient music. Making the most of its tight time frame, author Raphaël Hay creates a ‘micro-myth’ that is at once primordial and modern.
7. That Which Will Become of a Stolen Soul (Amin Shakuri, 2025)
Primordial screams pierce the infernal (and internal?) visions in a raw, abrasive, mind-fucking stop-motion short that, albeit rough around the edges, possesses a dark and morbid kind of beauty, comparable to early works by Jaume Balagueró (of REC fame), as well as to the hyper-grotesquerie of animator Robert Morgan. The unsparing amalgam of its body horror imagery, frenetic montages, and ear-shredding sounds makes for a trippy, relentless attack on the senses.
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