1. Herostratus (Don Levy, 1967)
“Because it’s all so empty... It’s all so futile. It’s all so meaningless, and yet everybody sweats. Everybody stands on their head, making such a fuss about being here and getting the best moments out of it. And yet, all the time, there aren’t any best moments...”
Part psychological drama that cuts deeply into the artist’s despair (and human condition, generally speaking), and part anti-capitalist tirade drenched in utmost resentment and disenchantment, Herostratus is one of the most sincere, understanding and achingly beautiful debuts ever conceived. Nothing short of an underrated masterpiece of experimental cinema, it plunges the viewer into the bottomless abyss of a creative soul and makes you feel not only every step of the fall, but also the very soul’s displacement in a society indifferent to its own whoring. Deliberately paced, with artfully employed jump cuts, Kuleshov montages and Bacon-inspired, motion blurred freeze frames injecting it with offbeat energy, it provides you with a strong sense of the leading protagonist, Max (Michael Gothard’s impressive, fully invested performance!), his surroundings (from highly detailed to void-like), emotional and mental states, archive footage intrusions, dark and cynical humor, as well as of the supporting characters, such as symbolically named Clio (Gabriella Licudi, saving her histrionically best for last). On top of all that, the film marks the first credited role for the legendary Helen Miren in a short yet memorable (and meaningful) sequence mocking the advertising industry.
2. Libera me (Alain Cavalier, 1993)
Not a single word is spoken, nor is any tune played in Alain Cavalier’s formally reductive experiment which makes Lars von Trier’s Dogville appear like an easy piece of mainstream cinema. The complete absence of dialogue and music, whether you label it gimmicky or not, proves to be perfectly sensible in conveying the overwhelmingly oppressive atmosphere of a totalitarian state where the story is set. Silence – interrupted only by an intoxicating cocktail of diegetic sounds – simultaneously encapsulates the cruelty of the military regime, and the secrecy of the resistance movement whose members identify themselves through the pieces of torn photos. So, in that regard, it can be viewed as both rotten and golden / terrifying and encouraging / political and poetic, but first and foremost, it operates as an amplifier of the imagery’s power. Speaking of which, cinematographer Patrick Blossier frames action or rather gestures (of the fully non-professional cast) in close-ups and medium shots, emphasizing the claustrophobic, dehumanizing inescapability established by the men in uniforms and their leader. The austere, ascetic beauty of his gray-dominated compositions adds to the harrowing yet immersive (and unique!) viewing experience, fueled by an antifascist sentiment.
3. I pugni in tasca / Fists in the Pocket (Marco Bellocchio, 1965)
A biting subversion of familial and Catholic values, and an incisive character study, Fists in the Pocket marks a superb feature debut for writer/director Marco Bellocchio, cinematographer Alberto Marrama, and leading man Lou Castel whose bold, disturbingly convincing performance makes for a fascinating if jarring viewing experience. His take on Alessandro – a strong contender for Norman Bates’s runner-up – is on point from the tiniest of micro-expressions to the weirdest of mannerisms, inspiring the following re-phrasing of Tolstoy: “Happy families are all alike; every dysfunctional family may have a homicidal psychopath who believes in the idea of altruistic murder, and one day may be reincarnated as the president of some Balkan country.” Add to that an exploration of alienation, narcissism and bourgeois decay, underscored by strong incestuous undertones, and you got yourself a film that is not easy to recommend, yet awe-inspiring in its devious mastery. And I could swear that in maestro Ennio Morricone’s eerie, hauntingly beautiful score, I heard the ‘anticipation’ of Yoshihiro Kanno’s gothic symphony for Mamoru Oshii’s 1985 anime Angel’s Egg, which is why I fell for Bellocchio’s twisted drama right from the opening theme.
4. The Comfort of Strangers (Paul Schrader, 1990)
What a stunning film, and how could it not be when it stars Rupert Everett and Natasha Richardson having a vacation in Venice, while being stalked by Christopher Walken’s charmingly creepy character married to Helen Mirren, and living in a gorgeous, museum-like apartment, all captured by Dante Spinotti who framed ‘Manhunter’ – one of the most handsome thrillers of the 1980s? On top of that, the austerely elegant visuals are married to Angelo Badalamenti’s euphonious, romantically or rather, seductively mysterious score that blurs the distinction between Eros and Thanatos, elevating the psychosexual drama almost to a spiritual level, thus making the denouement feel like a sudden punch in the stomach. At once cunningly sexy and subtly discomforting, The Comfort of Strangers explores the dangers of (physical) beauty, the raw (destructive?) power of human desire, the lasting effects of childhood trauma, and emotional codependency against the backdrop of the gender struggle, carried by superb performances and unflinching direction. 
5. Королевство кривых зеркал / Kingdom of Crooked Mirrors (Aleksandr Rou, 1963)
Oh... my... f*cking... God! This film is brilliant! Highly enjoyable at its surface value, Kingdom of Crooked Mirrors is an innocent juvenile fantasy that employs a kaleidoscopic wealth of post-expressionist studio sets, gorgeous matte paintings, over-the-top costumes, Bava-esque lighting scheme, and in-camera effects to cast a spell on its target audience, or your inner child. But if you’re a versed cinephile, you won’t have to dig too deep to view it as a gleefully edgy critique of autocratic regimes (even the Soviet one, in spite of a certain line spoken by the young heroine), as well as a foreboding prediction of fascism returning as a deranged circus in what was then the distant future.
A third-grade pupil, Olya, passes through the mirror and, together with her reflection Aylo (portrayed by adorable twins Olga and Tatyana Yukina) embarks on a weird adventure across the titular land, in which the names spelled backwards reveal the truth about the (mostly eccentric) characters. The royalty and the court are subjected to wry, unapologetic mockery giving off some Ubu Roi vibes, with the words coming from the mouth of an evil, crooked-nosed minister Kwah reflecting the (author’s) utmost disgust for oligarchy: “You have to follow our wishes, the wishes of the richest people in the kingdom.” Isn’t that the ugly reality of our times?
6. The Crimson Kimono (Samuel Fuller, 1959)
A great reminder to seek more of Fuller’s work, The Crimson Kimono is a film noir ahead of its time or rather, against the racial prejudices at the root of anti-miscegenation laws in the 1950s, introducing a love triangle between two Caucasians and ‘Nisei’ amidst a police procedural. A couple of detectives and BFFs, Charlie Bancroft and Joe Kojaku (Glenn Corbett and James Shieta, respectively, both credible in their big screen inauguration), fall for the same woman, artist Christine Downs (Victoria Shaw, superb), during the investigation of an exotic dancer murder, shown in a bold, teasing opening. As the brotherhood – borderline bromantic, considering the inclusion of kendo and not some other martial art sans suggestive wooden swords – disintegrates, crime and action give way to romantic (melo)drama, and rising as a central topic is that of cultural identity, with (Joe’s) jumbled feelings externalized as unintended ‘reverse racism’. The case which initially appears to be the main hook is slyly and gradually pushed from the forefront, extending space for the insightful character study, only to make a meaningful comeback and lead us to a bittersweet ‘happy’ end. Not only progressive in terms of thematic resonance, the film is also praiseworthy for Fuller’s bold direction, with his utmost respect for and equal treatment of the protagonists elevating the pulp material to a whole new level. 
7. Дочь рыбака / The Fisherman’s Daughter (Uldus Bakhtiozina, 2020)
Credited as writer, director, editor, cinematographer and costume designer (!), first-timer Uldus Bakhtiozina delivers an eye-catching experimental / postmodernist fairy tale that is both unhinged, and unhindered by its low budget. Best described as Ulrike Ottinger’s rebellious offspring godmothered by Renata Litvinova (or Björk), The Fisherman’s Daughter follows Polina (Alina Korol) through a bizarre, bureaucratic dreamland in which she has to undergo a series of absurd tests to qualify as a princess. Deconstructing Russian folklore and traditional gender roles, all the while mocking the competitiveness and superficiality of the mass culture, this avant-garde fantasy advocates nonconformity, with its quirks and eccentricities sewn into extravagantly campy garments acting as the main driving forces. Although it is (currently) available without any closed captions, I found it a rewarding experience, and even grinned at some of its visual gags.
8. Rose of Nevada (Mark Jenkin, 2025)
They say third time’s a charm, and that certainly rings true when it comes to my encounters with the work of Mark Jenkin (Enys Men). His latest offering is a richly textured, delicately ambiguous mood piece in which the ghosts of the past – arriving on the titular ship – resurrect through the identity theft, turning time thirty years back. Nick (George MacKay) and Liam (Callum Turner) find themselves in a Twilight Zone, with the former refusing to adapt to it, and the latter nonchalantly playing along. However, the director eschews the conventional narrative in favor of the picturesque 16mm imagery that transforms a small fishing village into the most beautiful place on Earth, and creates an aura of mystery around every single object. His ‘still life’ montages betray an intrinsically fetishist relation to analog film, and though they may be accused of serving no purpose but to stretch the running time (particularly in the first half), it’s hard to deny their grainy beauty of radiant colors. An acquired taste for sure, Rose of Nevada is a curious cinematic delight that the patient viewers are likely to appreciate.
9. Yön lapsi / Nightborn (Hanna Bergholm, 2026)
“The forest takes its own.”
Not the first, and probably not the last horror about parenting, the sophomore feature from Hanna Bergholm of Hatching fame doesn’t disappoint, unless you expect it to revolutionize the (sub)genre, which it doesn’t, nor it strives to. Enter a newlywed couple, Saga (Seidi Haarla, playing her role with feral intensity) and Jon (Rupert Grint, finding a fine balance between gullible optimism and gaslighting), whose short-lived joy in a house straight out of a (dark) fairy tale is interrupted with the arrival of their firstborn. Unusually hairy, light-sensitive and too eager for mother’s blood (not to mention its obnoxious, borderline animalistic crying), the baby seems to have something in common with the (folk) tales grandmothers used to tell by the fire. However, everyone but Saga appears to be blissfully unaware that the child isn’t exactly a perfectly healthy boy, which has a rather disorienting effect on the viewer.
Trapped inside the increasingly agonizing nightmare of a troubled mum, we experience the proceedings largely from her own perspective, distorted by this new ‘reality’ or rather, the stubborn, oft-eerily persuasive refusal by all of her relatives to accept the obvious truth. Occasionally, this conflict turns somewhat bleakly comical, but most of the time it causes as much annoyance as the real-life situations in which many fingers are pointed at you, instead of the true culprit (the system or the lack of it, legalized corruption, capitalism, etc). And bit by bit, you begin to feel Saga’s (externalizing) pain, which is heightened by Kari Kankaanpää’s superb production design that – as noticed by Catherine Bray in her Variety review – also emphasizes the out-of-the-ordinariness, particularly in the nursery room with its velvety dark-green wallpapers and curtains of the matching color. Beautifully capturing both the psychological and gnarly aspects of the twisted ‘little’ motherhood saga is Pietari Peltola (Dogs Don’t Wear Pants), his photography attuned to the autumnal and winter moods.
10. Ghost in the Cell (Joko Anwar, 2026)
Not to be taken too seriously, nor to be undervalued, Joko Anwar’s latest feature is the finest of four of his offerings I’ve seen so far – a highly entertaining blend of splatter horror, dark/buddy comedy, and overt socio-political commentary that reveals Indonesia and Serbia are very close corruption-wise, also confirmed by the CPI list. The titular ghost arrives into a notorious prison – presumably, a microcosm of the state – and wreaks some serious havoc that is both sadistic and artistic, with all victims ending up turned into sculptures (which made me think of 1999 film Resurrection, and the Hannibal series). Without revealing too much, I’ll just say that Anwar handles tonal shifts with gleeful efficiency, his sense of humor ranging from silly to wry, and hitting home most of the time, as his cast do (and in some cases, overdo) a superb job in portraying colorful if archetypal characters, equal in mustard uniforms and eventually united by a common cause.
11. Spider-Man: Brand New Day (Destin Daniel Cretton, 2026)
I haven’t seen many offerings of the so-called Marvel Cinematic Universe, partly because it spreads faster than a virus, and partly because I haven’t been much into superhero movies since they’ve become ‘the thing’, but among the features that I’m familiar with, the latest Spider-Man entry ranks pretty high. D.D. Cretton is very at home here, similarly to James Gunn in the first two installments of the Guardians of the Galaxy trilogy, finding a fine balance between a breakneck spectacle (including the elements of the wuxia subgenre), poignant drama, effective humor and critical social commentary, with Tom Holland giving a sympathetic performance. Standing out in supporting roles, largely in the comic relief department, are Florence Pugh as Black Widow and Jon Bernthal as Punisher, though the rest of the cast does a pretty good job as well. On the additional note, I can’t remember the last time local cinema was so crowded by a well-mannered audience. All in all, Brand New Day is a highly enjoyable summer refreshment.
12. Rock Bottom (María Trénor, 2024)
“Nothing makes any sense. I don’t know how to carry on. I don’t know if it’s worth trying anymore.”
Created on the occasion of the 50th anniversary of Robert Wyatt’s sophomore solo album of the same name, ‘Rock Bottom’ is, hands down, one of the trippiest pieces of adult animation in recent years. Marking debut feature for María Trénor, it poses as a fictionalized, defiantly unconventional biopic of the aforementioned musician, depicting his passionate love affair with filmmaker Alif (in real life, lyricist and illustrator Alfreda ‘Alfie’ Benge). Told in flashbacks, all the while drifting between two locations – countercultural New York, and Eden-like Mallorca of the early 1970s – the film feels like a fever dream of ungovernable creativity, its psychedelic visuals combining Bakshi-esque rotoscopy with punkish overlays, painterly vignettes and digital collages to maximize the surreal effect. And it absolutely works, especially in the context of the period that is known for bold experimentation, extending to various (and here, very present) substances – everyone is often high if not wasted (and in addition, naked), their experiences beautifully captured through Trénor’s freewheeling assault on the senses...
13. Domenica d’agosto / Sunday in August (Luciano Emmer, 1950)
A perfect film for a hot August evening (and it doesn’t have to be Sunday), Luciano Emmer’s lighthearted dramedy skillfully intertwines a number of episodes from the lives of a cyclist gang, Roman families, young lovers, and some shady characters, with the beach of Ostia acting as a microcosm of post-war Italy. A LOT happens over the course of a single (titular) day – classes intermingle, a heist goes wrong, relationships bud or are broken, cousins are tricked, and fiancées look for an affordable accommodation, one of them being 26-yo Marcello Mastrioanni as a traffic policeman of mythological name (Ercole). The sweetest of ‘stories’ in this pleasantly noisy, highly spirited, skillfully directed and beautifully photographed feature is the one of teenagers Marcella (Anna Baldini in her first and only role) and Enrico (Franco Interlenghi) who fall for each other while both pretending to be patricians, sneaking through a barbwire onto the beach for the rich.
14. Undertow (William Castle, 1949)
In her first big screen appearance that would be followed by a brief acting career, Peggy Dow (still with us, approaching her centennial birthday!) radiates an aura of a borderline-saintly girl next door, sparking instant chemistry with the leading man, Scott Brady, and counterbalancing Dorothy Hart’s femme fatale who looks as if she (grand)mothered Garla Gugino. They are greatly supported by John Russell, in a queer-coded role (oh, that scene of wedding rings comparison!), and Bruce Bennett, as one of those cops that get suspended for doing the right thing. The story of a veteran, Tony Reagan, starting afresh but being framed with murder unfolds at a brisk pace under Castle’s assured direction and ‘wholesome subversion’ of the noir subgenre, eschewing fatalism in favor of hope, which actually works like a charm. His team behind the camera does a commendable job of beautifully capturing every step of Tony’s evasion of law enforcement paralleled by the struggle against the shadows of the underworld, with Orry-Kelly of Casablanca fame providing costumes.
15. Сатана / Satan (Viktor Aristov, 1991)
“The devil's got your face on
Look at your reflection...”
(Nova Twins / Devil’s Face)
In Viktor Aristov’s penultimate feature (of only five he authored during his half-century-long lifetime), the incarnation of evil sports no horns nor pointed tail, but a handsome face of a young, innocent-looking man. So, in that regard, his drama/thriller evokes the horror films and perspective on beauty by recently deceased Yugoslav filmmaker Đorđe Kadijević, although Aristov’s ‘demon’ is not of the supernatural but of the very (inherently) human kind. Embodying ‘intelligent wickedness’, Sergei Kupriianov portrays twentysomething Vitaliy whose criminal behavior is most probably intended to be viewed through the prism of post-Soviet transition. Speaking of which, its bleakness is felt right from the get-go, i.e. the opening scene shot during a foggy night, soon followed by a cold-blooded murder of a 10-yo girl, with the perpetrator’s deviousness reflecting the societal decline. As the story unfolds – in what appears to be a somewhat twisted version of reality (or not?!) – and other characters are introduced, such as Vitaly’s accomplice grandfather (the director’s brother Anatoly), one often gets the impression that it is not the protagonist/antagonist to be labeled as ‘satan’, but rather the state (of things). And the circumstances are portrayed without a hint of glamorization, as the keen eye of cinematographer Yuri Vorontsov captures the disorientation, melancholy and disillusionment through both dingy and kitschy living spaces, as well as through the crowded public places. Amplifying the pervading sense of doom is Arkadi Gagulashvili’s ominous theme, and a certain detail from the coda that anticipates Haneke’s Funny Games.
16. Yiu sau dou si / The Wicked City (Tai-Kit Mak, 1992)
“Thinking differently doesn’t mean betrayal.”
Just when you think you’ve seen everything, this film comes along. A live-action re-imagination of Yoshiaki Kawajiri’s eponymous anime based on Hideyuki Kikuchi’s novel, Wicked City is easily one of the most bonkers genre-b(l)enders emerging from Hong Kong. A wild animal in its own right, it presents a somewhat messy story in a package oozing with hyperbolic style that gives ‘camp’ and ‘pulp’ whole new meanings. Employing distorted angles, colored lighting, and fog machine like there’s no tomorrow, with outdated yet ridiculously cool special effects on top, Mak delivers an outré piece of dark fantasy – alternately energizing, melodramatic, and unintentionally funny, with the latter turned into its strength. Although he tones down the (tentacle) perversity of the preceding feature, he introduces sex with a pinball machine which is actually a shapeshifting demon-lady screaming ‘Tilt me, daddy! Tilt me hard!’ in ecstasy. With a penchant for heavy downpour that soaks his heroes with queer undertones, as well as for interior wind (!) every time gorgeous Michelle Reis is in the frame, he amps up eroticism even without undressing the actors. And the finale – it has to be seen to be believed!
17. The Garden of Allah (Richard Boleslawski, 1936)
If I had to describe The Garden of Allah – whose title refers to the vast North African desert – in only one word, it would be ‘elegance’. Sheer, sublime, overwhelming, it marks everything from Marlene Dietrich’s poise, melancholy in Charles Boyer’s eyes, and scene-stealing dance act by Tilly Losch, to Ernest Dryden’s veily costumes, Max Steiner’s rapturous score, and the dreamlike, early Technicolor cinematography (by W. Howard Greene, Virgil Miller & Harold Rosson). Hell, even when the film gets lost in awkward dialogue, and favorizing of (divine) devotion over (earthly) passion, veering towards über-romantic kitsch, it does ever so gracefully, its atmosphere bordering surreal. And though I strongly wish the ending were different, I find myself enchanted by its intense cinematicity.
18. Onda Nova / New Wave (José Antonio Garcia & Ícaro Martins, 1983)
A forefather of Brazilian queer cinema, the sophomore feature from Garcia & Martins duo revolves around a women’s rookie soccer team, blending a light-hearted sport drama with quirky humor and brash eroticism, and adding a bit of musical flavor for good measure. Driven by desire ‘as an affirmation of identity and life’, New Wave boldly confronts or rather, negates the military dictatorship of the time, its charming campiness emphasizing the resistance, and anarchic spirit evoking Derek Jarman’s Jubilee. True to its inclusive vision, it sees the cast of both professional and non-professional actors, as well as cameos of real-life soccer players Pita, Wladimir and Walter Casagrande (all involved in the struggle for democracy), freewheelingly directed, yet strangely compatible. On their way to liberation, virtually every leading and some supporting characters get their own ‘skin screen time’, with nudity weaponized against the oppression which is literally pissed on after the scene of gay sex between one of the girls’ bi-boyfriend, and his inseparable friend. An extra dose of camp (and provocation) is injected by Patricio Bisso’s drag persona Olga del Volga in a maternal role.
19. The Last House (Louis Leterrier, 2026)
“How inappropriate to call this planet Earth, when it is quite clearly Ocean.”
- Arthur C. Clarke
A smorgasbord of chamber drama, survival/disaster/apocalyptic flick, and pseudo-Lovecraftian sci-fi/horror, The Last House is deeply flawed, yet pretty entertaining, if you’re willing to inject yourself with a heavy dose of suspension of disbelief, and turn a blind eye to some gaping plot holes. Carried on the shoulders of its minimal cast of four, the story of perseverance and undying hope amidst all the ‘nature finding her way’ chaos (or maybe, that’s the order?) feels like a perfect fit for a lazy summer afternoon (or evening), and to a certain degree redeems Leterrier for his bland (not to mention unnecessary) remake of Clash of the Titans.
20. As Núpcias de Drácula / Nuptials of Dracula (Matheus Marchetti, 2018)
Pretty rough around the edges, Matheus Marchetti’s sophomore feature is nonetheless a labor of love; a love so grand that the team squeeze every single penny out of an obviously tight budget. A loose adaptation of Stoker’s seminal novel, Nuptials of Dracula brings queer undertones to the forefront, portraying a bisexual romantic quadrangle between the (young) Count, Jonathan, Mina and Lucy. Narratively unconventional, it relocates the story from Victorian England to modern-day Brazil, with some anachronistic liberties taken by Marchetti emphasizing the fever dream-like proceedings. Possessed by the spirit of Jean Rollin and shadows of Dario Argento, the film gives off strong Eurotrash vibes through its use of colored lighting and propulsive blend of classical music and psychedelic rock, appropriating Tchaikovsky’s Swan Theme as its leitmotif.
Honorable (Short) Mention:
Saint (Bravo Defurne, 1996)
The most refined of the 90’s shorts by Belgian filmmaker Bavo Defurne, Saint is a concise portrayal of the St. Sebastian myth, eschewing dialogue in favor of dreamlike, high-contrast B&W imagery that presumably draws inspiration from Wilhelm von Gloeden, George Platt Lynes and Bruce Weber, also evoking Kishin Shinoyama’s iconic photo of Yukio Mishima. Unabashedly homoerotic due to its heightened tactility and youthful cast, although much subtler than its spiritual predecessor Sebastiane by Derek Jarman and Paul Humfress, it reframes the violent act through the prism of queer desire, largely relying on exquisite editing of ropes (and later, tears and blood) slithering across the skin, and of arrows piercing the flesh.
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