Best Premiere Viewings of April 2025

FEATURES

1. Myth of Man (Jamin Winans, 2025)

“Let me take you by the hand,

Away from here, to another land...”

(The Cranberries / Put Me Down)

Another land – an incredible and mystical one at that – is exactly where Jamin Winans (Ink, The Frame) takes the viewer with his third fiction feature, reviving your sense of childlike wonder, and excelling in the world building department. A passion project years in the making, Myth of Man is the director’s finest offering to date – aesthetically compelling, whimsically playful, and emotionally resonant, it washes over you like a soft wave of the purest dreams that don’t need to be analyzed to be cherished. Told or rather shown from the perspective of its deaf-mute heroine credited as Ella (Laura Rauch, gently creating one of the most adorable and humane characters to hit the screen recently), it completely eschews words in favor of images and music, coming across as a modern silent film. Exploring the timeless themes of love, loss, death, and firm belief in what you do (especially if it’s art), this delightfully quirky steampunk fantasy transcends the genre confines in its becoming of sublime audio-visual experience. More marvelous than anything Marvel and other big studios have been hyper-producing, Myth of Man blends live-action, SFX, and animation on a less-than-1-million budget, in a way that you can almost sense the pulsing of its authors’ souls.

Recommended as a companion piece to Amélie (2001), MirrorMask (2005) and/or La Antena (2007).

2. Bushidō muzan / The Tragedy of Bushido (Eitarō Morikawa, 1960)

An impressive showcase of formidable formal talents, The Tragedy of Bushido is sadly the only feature helmed by writer/director Eitarō Morikawa. Drawing parallels between the draconian ‘way of the warrior’ and the unforgiving corporate system of post-WWII Japan (or capitalism, in general), it thematizes loyalty, honor, and sacrifice through a provocative melodrama giving off some Greek tragedy vibes. A tale of a teen boy (played with stoic intensity by then 21-yo Junichiro Yamashita) forced to commit ‘seppuku’ for his late lord is expressively lensed by another debutant, cinematographer Takao Kawarazaki, its B&W gorgeousness masterfully complemented by a dreamlike, mystery-evoking score from Riichirō Manabe. Morikawa elicits remarkable performances from his entire cast, demonstrating a deep understanding of cinematic language, as well as a keen sense of suspense.

3. Io la conoscevo bene / I Knew Her Well (Antonio Pietrangeli, 1965)

“Trouble is, she likes everything. She’s always happy. She desires nothing, envies no one, is curious about nothing. You can’t surprise her. She doesn’t notice the humiliations, though they happen to her every day. It all rolls off her back like off some waterproof material. Zero ambition. No moral code. Not even a whore’s love of money. Yesterday and tomorrow don’t exist for her. Even living for today would mean too much planning, so she lives for the moment. Sunbathing, listening to records, and dancing are her sole activities. The rest of the time she’s mercurial and capricious, always needing brief new encounters with anyone at all... just never with herself.”

This elaborate, if unflattering description of the film’s protagonist – a naive country girl, Adriana – comes from the lips of a moody writer (krimi-regular Joachim Fuchsberger), one of many men she gets involved with on her way to the stars, and the only one who takes away from the irony of the title. A magnificent starring vehicle for Stefania Sandrelli supported by the likes of Mario Adorf, Jean-Claude Brialy and Franco Nero, I Knew Her Well feels much like a spiritual successor to Fellini’s La Dolce Vita, exposing (and condemning) the superficiality of showbiz, and its effects on unsuspecting victims, all the while addressing the evils of a capitalist machinery. Its fragmented structure is tailor-made for depicting of Adriana’s carefree life, each episode working like a charm that turns this young woman strangely and increasingly captivating, in spite of her flaws. She is adored by Armando Nannuzzi’s camera that captures all the subtleties of her freewheeling nature, and elevates her beyond an object that she is in the eyes of various ‘predators’, into a vulnerable human being desperately searching for a meaningful connection. A diversified soundtrack that acts like a time capsule of the 60’s popular music, beautifully complementing the stark B&W imagery, adds more nuances to her not fully graspable character.

4. Kyūba no koibito / Cuban Lover (Kazuo Kuroki, 1969)

Released between Silence Has No Wings and Evil Spirits of Japan, both highly recommended, Cuban Lover commemorates the 10th anniversary of the Cuban Revolution, combining a romance and travelogue with archive footage of Castro’s and Guevara’s speeches. The film’s deliberately meandering tale chronicles the road trip of a young, aimless Japanese sailor, Akira (Masahiko Tsugawa, charmingly assertive), making advances to chiquitas (when ome exquisite use of POV shots comes into play) until he encounters Marcia (Obdulia Plasencia, superb in her only screen appearance) and falls head over hills for her. Following her around the country, he learns of its turbulent recent past, but is oft-left to his own devices, as the girl doesn’t seem too keen to abandon her post-revolutionary ideals for love. Their awkward relationship operates as a guerrilla-counterpart of the one from Resnais’s 1959 masterpiece Hiroshima, Mon Amour, leaving plenty of room for the reflection on the struggle for freedom and equality. The camerawork by the great Tatsuo Suzuki who would later frequently collaborate with Shūji Terayama, also working on feature offerings from Toshio Matsumoto (Funeral Parade of Roses, Dogura Magura), captures a specific time in history with such an inviting flair that one gets the impression of being there. Adding to the authenticity of the experience is the selection of popular songs intertwined with Teizō Matsumura’s euphonious, harp-heavy score.

5. Die Sünderin / The Sinner (Willi Forst, 1951)

Controversial or rather, scandalous for its time (and place), The Sinner is a tautly directed melodrama told in retrospective by (luminous!) Hildegard Knef who portrays a former party girl/street walker involved with an unsuccessful painter (Gustav Fröhlich, superb) diagnosed with a brain tumor. Described as ‘a masochistic romantic fantasy’ by Jeff Stafford (Cinema Soujourns), it features incestuous prostitution, a lesbian kiss, brief (and tastefully done) nudity, as well as a mercy kill, inter alia, which is why it caused such an uproar in moralistic circles, and had screenings interrupted by clergical stink bombs. Beautifully shot in velvety B&W married to an ellegiac score that amps up emotions, the film brings a feverishly poetic, if overwrought tale of idealized, death-defying love, exploring the themes of self-sacrifice, perseverance, and (ennobling) suffering, with both the director’s and the viewer’s sympathies lying with its ‘sinful’ heroine. 

6. Siraa Fil-Wadi / The Blazing Sun (Youssef Chahine, 1954)

A film that launched Omar Sharif into stardom on the native Egyptian soil, The Blazing Sun is a soaring melodrama skillfully blended with the crime genre, and outspoken in its criticism of the authorities. Social realist at heart, it portrays a ‘forbidden’ romance against the backdrop of unfortunate events caused by greed, powerblindness, and disregard of progress. Its tale of (in)justice is as timeless and universal as it gets, with Chahine’s sympathies drawn toward the working folks idealized through Sharif’s character, Ahmed, a young engineer who introduces new methods for improving the production of sugar cane to the fellow villagers. Emphasizing his hero’s virtuous nature, the director pits him against an unscrupulous land owner, Taher Pasha, and his even more malicious nephew, Riad Bay, whose archetypal villainy is rooted in reality much deeper than it may initially appear. Zaki Rostom and Farid Shawqi, respectively, effortlessly slide into the roles of sleazeballs that one loves to hate. Embodying advance and modernity is Ahmed’s sweetheart and Pasha’s own daughter, Amal (Sharif’s future wife Faten Hamama, stellar), who’s given an emotional load as heavy as that of her lover, and she admirably endures. Further elevating the feature is the excellent choice of locations, particularly in the suspenseful finale, and Ahmed Khorshed’s arresting, noir-like cinematography, its high contrasts mirroring the class struggle at display. 

7. Az ötödik pecsét / The Fifth Seal (Zoltán Fábri, 1976)

A watchmaker, a carpenter, and a book seller sit in a bar, and chat with its owner, when a stranger walks in. It may sound like the beginning of a bad joke, but the time and place – 1944, Budapest – suggest something much more sinister. One topic leads to another, and then, the watchmaker (Lajos Öze, brilliant!) tells a story of a tyrant and a slave, asking his buddies a hypothetical question which will haunt not only them, but the viewer as well, long after the film has ended. Dubbed ‘a spiky political cabaret of cruelty and fear’ by Peter Bradshaw for Guardian, The Fifth Seal occupies a morally ambiguous zone, exposing hypocrisy as innate to human nature, and providing an intoxicating concoction of religious, political and philosophical musings that put you into a state of disquietude... or heighten your awareness of already being there. It often feels as if it could work as a stage play, but there are certain camera movements, and sequences, such as the Bosch-inspired surrealistic hallucination, and not to mention the epilogue, that reassure us the cinema is where this bleak, anti-fascist narrative belongs.

8. Orfeu Negro / Black Orpheus (Marcel Camus, 1959)

Largely set in the heightened reality of Afro-Brazilian favela during the Carnival in Rio de Janeiro, the bossa nova adaptation of the Orpheus myth bursts with colors, oozes with passion, and overflows with energy, making for one of the most kinetic pieces of the 50’s cinema. Borderline delirious, and deliciously campy in its naivety, it utilizes dance as the primary means of expression, hypnotizing you with its infectious rhythms, as it reaches for the primordial essence of your being. Call me crazy, but I recommend it double billed with Emil Loteanu’s musical melodrama Queen of the Gypsies.

9. Les salauds vont en enfer / The Wicked Go to Hell (Robert Hossein, 1955)

In Robert Hossein’s directorial debut which marks my third encounter with his oeuvre, a prison break drama gradually transforms into a revenge flick, with the destruction of earthly paradise marking the turning point. Ravishingly enigmatic Marina Vlady – then the author’s wife – jumps into the role of a (righteously!) fatal young woman, Eva, her name highly symbolic, as she faces the threat in the form of two escaped convicts played by Henri Vidal (Pierre) and Serge Reggiani (Lucien). Hossein’s father André – French composer of Iranian Azerbaijani origin – provides a propulsive score for what can be labeled as a dissection of men’s evil captured in attention-grabbing B&W by DoP Michel Kelber.

10. Art College 1994 (Jian Liu, 2023)

Let me begin by saying that I’m not a big fan of dialogue-heavy films, and yet the third (and arguably finest) feature from Jian Liu (Piercing I, Have a Nice Day) had me immersed in its endless, philosophically-tinged talks on art, life, love and the possibilities of the future, all permeated by tension between traditionalism and modernity / the East and the West / conformism and self-expression. Its four protagonists – a group of art students at the unnamed academy in mid-90’s / reforming China – may often bite more than they can chew with their choices, yet they all feel relatable or at least sympathetic in one way or another, evoking the early days of adulthood with de-sentimentalized nostalgia. Rendered in retro-style rotoscoped visuals of gloomy, de-saturated colors that reflect their (confused) inner states, with some of the supporting characters voiced by acclaimed filmmakers such as Bi Gan and Jia Zhang-ke, Art College 1994 ranks among the grungiest pieces of Chinese cinema, and not only because its ruminative, long-haired hero Zhang Xiaojun keeps his walkman charged with Nirvana cassettes. Simultaneously anachronistic and timeless, thought-provoking and slackerish, this film is one bitter cup of tea, quite pleasing if you sip it as deliberately as it is paced.

11. The Intruder (David Bailey, 1999)

A silky, sax-heavy jazz score (by Haim Frank Ilfman) appears to be in command of not only the dreamy or rather, drowsy atmosphere which this slightly trippy neo-noir / urban gothic / psychological drama is soaked in, but also of the smooth, leisurely pace, as well as performances that often have an ASMR effect to them. The entire cast, especially Nastassja Kinski, is well-attuned to Charlotte Gainsbourg, brilliantly low-key in the leading role of a woman, Catherine, who experiences strange phenomena after marrying and moving in with a widower, Nick (Charles Edwin Powell). Is she imagining things or is she being gaslighted? Could it be the ghost of the dead wife that haunts her, or is the past parallel to the present, as hinted at in the opening, causing frequent power outages in the building, and materializing the mysterious intruder? Finding answers in the claustrophobic environment of modern, austerely and coldly elegant apartments is made more difficult by dense, foreboding shadows of Jean Lépine’s meticulous cinematography, elevating the film even in its wacky, tonally questionable conclusion. 

12. Le foto proibite di una signora per bene / The Forbidden Photos of a Lady Above Suspicion (Luciano Ercoli, 1970)

A pretty stylish giallo that eschews body count in favor of blackmailing and gaslighting, Luciano Ercoli’s directorial debut revolves around Minou (Dagmar Lassander, her pulchritude matched by an above-average performance) – a struggling businessman’s wife coerced into a sadistic relationship with a mysterious man (Simón Andreu, believably threatening) in possession of compromising info on her husband. Lassander is rivaled by Nieves Navarro (credited under the moniker Susan Scott) portraying her scene-stealing bestie Dominique, both ladies often appearing as if they wandered off a photo-session promoting the fashionable costumes by Gloria Cardi. Set designs are equally alluring in their groovy color combinations, quirky decor, and moody lighting, all neatly framed by DoP Alejandro Ulloa who previously collaborated with Fulci on One on Top of the Other (1969), with Ennio Morricone composing an appropriately sultry score. There’s a fine balance between (s)exploitation, melodrama, psychological tension, and subgenre-specific irrationality  achieved here, making for a worthwhile viewing. 

13. Ash (Flying Lotus, 2025)

Musician turned filmmaker Flying Lotus (born Steven Ellison) returns with a sophomore feature that threads the familiar territory of space-set horror, initially operating like a psychological thriller, only to deliver some bonkers Hidden-Alien-Thing goods in the final third. For most of the running time, the narrative rests on the shoulders of Eiza González (solid) as an amnesiac astronaut, Riya, with Aaron Paul as her colleague Brion amplifying her paranoia, and Iko Uwais, Kate Elliott, Beulah Koale, and director himself providing support in the flashbacks. As pulpy as B-movies get, Ash – a nickname for the planet K.O.I.-442 where the small crew of ‘terraformers’ is stationed – seduces the viewer with its colorful, psychedelic, hyper-stylized visuals somewhat reminiscent of Nicolas Winding Refn and Panos Cosmatos, enhancing the primarily sensorial experience with a brooding to throbbing, and at one point, giallo-esque score. There’s also a quirky treat for the Japanophiles in the form of a so-called Medbot – a scan & surgery robot that speaks in a dulcet female voice with a thick Japanese accent.

14. In the Lost Lands (Paul W.S. Anderson, 2025)

“Down with the Overlord! Down with the Church!”

Maybe it’s my soft spot for Milla Jovovich, or a simple fact that I don’t remember ever seeing a witch and a werewolf in a duel, but I really enjoyed the latest flick from Paul W.S. Anderson. Pulpy to the bone marrow, and in a way evocative of something Albert Pyun might’ve conceived in his heyday, ‘In the Lost Lands’ is a flashy, if overly familiar B-movie mélange of a post-apocalyptic western, steampunk-by-way-of-medieval fantasy, and monster-beating action delivered in a glossy, video-gamey package. Ms Jovovich – Anderson’s wife and muse of the last sixteen years – plays a cursed sorceress, Gray Alys, whose abilities are deemed devil-sent by The Patriarch and his sect of faux-crusaders seeking to seize the power from the dying, yet still feared Overlord, and his scheming Queen. The enslaved (miners) see her as a potential leader of a revolution – another reason she is marked as the most painful thorn in the fundamentalists’ side. Tasked by the Queen to find a dangerous shapeshifter, she joins forces with a lonesome gunslinger, Boyce (Dave Bautista), as her guide, and together they set across the titular wastelands where the director deftly applies ‘the rule of cool’ on everything from the slow-motion sequences to the world building of his post-modernist fairy tale. There’s even a certain ‘campy poetry’ and esotericism (!) to be found here, captured in deliberately scorched visuals of dirty sepia tones and grayish blues befitting of the setting, with the (overused) ‘diffraction spikes’ effect creating an almost dreamlike vibe.

SHORTS

1. El-Fallâh el-fasîh / The Eloquent Peasant (Chadi Abdel Salam, 1970)

Primarily an art director, Chadi Abdel Salam (1930-1986) helmed only two films – a brilliant, atmospheric drama Al-mummia (The Mummy), and this short masterpiece, both starring Ahmed Marei. Based on a text from the Middle Kingdom period of ancient Egypt, The Eloquent Peasant – originally, a combination of a poem and morality tale – follows a simple, wrongly accused man whose kind words open even the iron door, anticipating an old Serbian proverb. His well-spoken reaching of justice is gorgeously framed in academy ratio, with historically accurate costume and set designs evoking Jerzy Kawalerowicz’s 1966 epic Pharaoh, and the minimalist, wind-swept score by Gamil Soliman synergizing with earthy tones of Mustafa Imam’s inspired cinematography. 

2. Žena, růže, skřítek, zlost / A Woman, A Rose, A Goblin And Anger (Antonín Horák, 1969)

Various toys and trinkets come to life in one of the most bizarre pieces of stop-motion animation to come from Czech Republic (Czechoslovakia back in the days). A hyper-surrealist (or rather, dadaist?) fantasy, this 10-minute short is a non-stop barrage of puzzling visual weirdness complemented by a mystery-intensifying music into something that probably puts a curse on the viewer who doesn’t appreciate it. The stuff that the most fragmented of feverish dreams are made of.

3. Muse (Paweł Pawlikowski, 2025)

Starring model and actress Małgorzata Bela as Muse, and Marcin Masecki as Pianist, the latest offering from Paweł Pawlikowski (Ida) is a dialogue-free ode to the joy of creation; an expressive, sumptuously shot B&W short in which the titular mythological character is challenged by the artist’s mood swings, evoking the spirit(s) of early, noir and post-modernist cinema through her ‘haute couture’ transformations.

Best Premiere Viewings of October 2024

FEATURES

1. Someone from Nowhere (Prabda Yoon, 2017)

Puzzling. Opaque. Ouroboric. Mind-bending. Thought-provoking... These are some of the labels that can be attached to the sophomore feature from multidisciplinary Thai artist Prabda Yoon. A chamber psychodrama laced with surreal touches, ‘Someone from Nowhere’ plays out like a rather subtle deconstruction of a home invasion thriller growing into an insightful exploration of identity crisis, or the possibility of parallel realities overlapping in a nightmarish loop. Featuring only a couple of characters stuck in a modern, neatly furnished apartment for most of its running time, the (unsolvable?) mystery is anchored in a slow-burning battle of their wits, with both Chayanit Chansangavej and Peerapol Kijreunpiromsuk giving nuanced performances. Operating as leitmotifs are Henri Rousseau’s 1907 painting ‘La Charmeuse de Serpents’, and an unfinished Brutalist skyscraper introduced in the opening shot that anticipates the alienating, yet attractive austerity of the film’s visuals, and abrasive electronica occasionally piercing the muffled humming in the background...

2. Megalopolis (Francis Ford Coppola, 2024)

“Artists can never lose their control of time.”

Audacious in its childlike naivety, sublime in its hopeless romanticism, and unapologetic in its rapturous ambition, ‘Megalopolis’ is Coppola’s sweet-scented love letter to the history of cinema, one that dares to be optimistic about the future, when hopefulness resembles lunacy. A phantasmagorical smörgåsbord of ideas alternately clashing and harmonizing with each other, it amalgamates, inter alia, the unadulterated spirit of silent cinema, the elegant pomp of the Hollywood’s Golden Age, the outrageous flamboyance of Fellini, and even the camp sensibility of Burton (I could swear I felt some ‘Batman Returns’ vibes!) into a sparkling concoction that tastes like a delightfully chaotic dream. Both deeply personal and explicitly political, old-fashioned yet post-modern, this dazzlingly beautiful experiment reflects on a variety of themes, from art to love to utopianism, in the context of the elusive nature of time, defiantly striving for timelessness.

3. I dolci inganni / Sweet Deceptions (Alberto Lattuada, 1960)

An adolescent girl’s initiation into womanhood takes place over the course of one day marked by conflicted feelings of yearning and hesitation. Her name is Francesca, and she is portrayed boldly and convincingly by then 15-yo Catherine Spaak, absolutely adored by Gábor Pogány’s camera that tastefully captures both her innocence and budding sexuality. Right from the opening single take of subtly sensual beauty, to the fourth wall-breaking gaze in the epilogue, ‘Sweet Deceptions’ seduces you with its strikingly framed B&W images, swinging score, and the carefully chosen locations of Rome and its countryside surroundings. (The balcony shots in the first third are particularly eye-catching!) Playing out like an ode to youthful infatuation, abandon and melancholy, the coming-of-age drama is at once playfully breezy and verily provocative, given that Francesca’s love interest is a 20 years older architect and friend of her family, Enrico (Christian Marquand). Navigating our heroine in the romantic adventure are her classmates, a chatty countess (Milly), a handsome gigolo (Jean Sorel), and her own brother Eddy (Oliviero Prunas), but in the end, she is the one to make the choice between emotional and physical intimacy.

4. Jiu Long cheng zhai - Wei cheng / Twilight of the Warriors: Walled In (Soi Cheang, 2024)

The director of ‘Limbo’ – one of one of the grittiest neo-noirs in recent memory – delivers the most hard-hitting action film of the year! Set in the notorious Kowloon Walled City in the 80s, ‘Twilight of the Warriors: Walled In’ is a brilliant smorgasbord of dazzling martial arts stunts, compassionate crime (melo)drama, and ruthless revenge thriller which essentially brings more bone-cracking wire fu to the table. Brimming with incredible urbex imagery, and cool characters portrayed by a superb cast, it has style to spare, and a story that works well despite its tropey nature.

5. The Shadow Strays (Timo Tjahjanto, 2024)

Hell hath no fury like a woman with a training that must’ve been much stricter than Luc Beson’s Nikita, so that she could dispose of a yakuza clan, crooked cops, a psychopathic, drug-dealing politician’s son, as well as some of her own ‘shadow’ comrades, and dozens of henchmen standing in her way. Her code name is 13 (Aurora Ribero, fighting tooth and nail for her place among the genre heroines!) and everyone who pisses her off is in no luck, because she has the skill to dispose of her opponents in a wide variety of ways, ranging from gun fu to stabby screwdriver combos. And Indonesian filmmaker Timo Tjahjanto (The Night Comes for Us) once again demonstrates a penchant for turning hyper-violence into a pulpy, blood-soaked poetry, with Batara Goempar’s camera dancing rapturously along with the participants of most intense action scenes. The masterly choreographed sword-playing, gun-toting, and ass-kicking extravaganza is the main course, but it is the side dishes, such as 13’s inner drama or her instant, yet poignant connection with a motherless boy, that make the meal so delicious. ‘The Shadow Strays’ may not be as stylish as Soi Cheang’s ‘Twilight of the Warriors: Walled In’, but it is another strong contender for this year’s finest actioner.

6. Lonesome (Craig Boreham, 2022)

Prior to writing the initial chorus line of their 1995 hit single, the members of Garbage must’ve foreseen the (voluptuous) future of queer arthouse cinema in which ‘Lonesome’ undeniably holds a prominent position. Opening with a stunningly picturesque shot of an Australian wind farm, followed by a dusky introduction of a cowboy protagonist, the film doesn’t take long to reveal its horny side (code: truck stop toilet). However, the lone, uninhibited, and highly vulnerable hero, Casey (Josh Lavery in his bold feature debut), isn’t guided solely by lust. During his escape from a western countryside to Sidney, he leaves a long trail of melancholy which urges him to connect with someone on an emotional level. And that someone is a self-proclaimed ‘legit bastard’, Tib (Daniel Gabriel), whose sex adventures come across as a disguise for his desperate longing after a soulmate. It is in their electrified relationship that writer/director Boreham anchors his simple yet effective story that blends dreamy poetry, day-to-day struggle, and homoerotic carnality with disarming directness translated into the film’s graphic nature, involving frequent and unabashed display of full-frontal nudity. Homophobia or rather, its embodiment is kept off-screen, in Casey’s ‘cunt dad’, as he puts it, and what is captured by the keen eye of Dean Francis’ camera is a clear reflection of unconstrained sexual liberty, unhampered by the moments of music video-like stylization.

7. Motel Destino (Karim Aïnouz, 2024)

If saturated colors could kill, ‘Motel Destino’ would be one of the most lethal films. Gorgeously captured on 16mm by Alice Rohrwacher’s regular cinematographer Hélène Louvart, it bursts with fiery reds, sultry blues, juicy yellows, and lascivious purples emphasizing its central theme – desire. Desire to fuck, desire to escape, desire to confront (the oppressive force), and desire to grab life by its balls and never let go are all embodied by Iago Xavier in his uninhibited big screen inauguration. With boyish charm and robust determination, he portrays a young electrician/mechanic, Heraldo, whose plans for the brighter future are thwarted by his own libido in what can be described as a raw, cheeky, sexed-up, neo(n)-noir variation of Visconti’s fascinating debut ‘Obsession’.

Lusted for by a co-owner of the titular place, Dayana (Nataly Rocha, unaffected in her immediacy), as well as by her abusive husband Elias (an imposingly physical performance from Fábio Assunção), Heraldo finds himself in a sweaty passion triangle, all the while hiding from a local loan shark, drug dealer and naïve artist, Bambina. The shamanic-like visions which haunt him add a subtle surrealistic touch to the proceedings that unfold in a relaxed, yet exciting pace, defined by the heat of the Ceará cost, and virtually incessant moaning and groaning heard from the garishly furnished suites. Throbbing with electrified eroticism – heightened by Amin Bouhafa’s sultry score, and Marcos Pedroso’s exquisite production design, ‘Motel Destino’ delivers an exuberant sensory experience, and sometimes, that alone is enough to quench one’s thirst for cinema.

8. Beatrice Cenci / Castle of the Banned Lovers (Riccardo Freda, 1956)

Based on the legends surrounding lurid events at the dusk of the 16th century, ‘Castle of the Banned Lovers’ is a romanticized tale of a Roman noblewoman, Beatrice Cenci (a melancholy-infused portrayal by Mireille Granelli), who was accused of and decapitated for murdering her abusive father, Count Francesco, his evil channeled with overpowering energy by Gino Cervi. In a proto-Tarantinoesque twist, Riccardo Freda opts for historical revisionism, absolving his heroine of all guilt, and shifting blame towards her weakling brother (Anthony Steffen, suitably craven in his role) and haughty stepmother (the great Micheline Presle). His film plays out like an operatic melodrama turned thriller, with the pure, yet forbidden love between Beatrice and a steward, Olimpio (Fausto Tozzi, a fine embodiment of archetypal heroism), occupying a prominent place in the tragic story fraught with incestuous (under)tones. Boasting gorgeous set and costume designs captured in breathtaking widescreen by Gábor Pogány, and accentuated by the sweeping classical score, ‘Castle of the Banned Lovers’ is also noteworthy for its clarity in blocking that amplifies its picturesque qualities, as well as its heightened theatricality.

9. Slightly Scarlet (Allan Dwan, 1956)

A vivid combination of pulp, glamour and Technicolor, ‘Slightly Scarlet’ is a fizzy noir that pulls the viewer into a world of organized crime and corrupt politics, chronicling the machinations of a crooked ex-cop, Ben Grace (John Payne, bringing a snakish charm to the role), and his involvement with a couple of red-headed sisters, June and Dorothy (ravishing Rhonda Fleming and Arlene Dahl, respectively). Playful and sassy, the film marks a fascinating swan song for art director Van Nest Polglase (Citizen Kane), seducing you with the passion-infused elegance of its complementary palette.

10. Le coeur du masturbateur / The Masturbator’s Heart (Michael Salerno, 2023)

Films on depression are hard to recommend, even when its ugly face is portrayed in strokes as gentle as that of Michael Salerno’s sophomore feature – a despondent drama unfolding in foreboding silences, interrupted by soft piano murmurs. Framed claustrophobically in a boxy ratio, and playing out like a cold, worrisome dream you’d rather forget, it focuses on an unnamed adolescent whose hate for life compels him to accept a ‘chronicle of leaving the world’ challenge from some dark corner of the web. The void growing inside this young man (Ange Dargent, disturbingly believable) externalizes in his reticent demeanor, languid posture, but mostly in the way he stares into both objects and people, as if seeing only the abyss inviting him into its dark embrace. And that aura of absolute, incurable despair is exquisitely captured by Paul-Anthony Mille’s steady camera, and Salerno’s deliberate direction that outlines the protagonist’s alienation not only from the others, but from his own self as well. 

11. Kalde spor / Cold Tracks (Arne Skouen, 1962)

“The mountains outside
Dressed in white like brides
Heart and head of stone
Heart and head of stone...”
(Star of Ash / Panther in the Glove)

The snowiest film I’ve seen this year, ‘Cold Tracks’ is a stark, harrowing psychological drama focused on a trio of characters haunted by the (12) ghosts of their shared past. Coming across as a moody, Bergmanesque portrait of guilt and search for redemption, it uses the harsh, yet stunning setting to externalize the innermost recesses of the protagonists’ troubled minds, primarily the one of a mountain guide and former Resistance leader, Oddmund (a stellar performance from Toralv Maurstad). As its narrative switches back-and-forth between 1944 and the present in a series of smooth cross-cut transitions, we are slowly introduced to the reason(s) that led Oddmund from Australia back to Norway where his ex-girlfriend Ragnhild (Henny Moan) and her husband Tormod (Alf Malland) have kept his secret. The film’s deliberate pace may be a turn off to some, but the inspired B&W cinematography (Ragnar Sørensen) matched to the chilling sounds of howling storms and phantasmal hooting will surely haunt you long after the end.

12. Terrifier 3 (Damien Leone, 2024)

Is it just me, or the cinematography in this series keeps getting more attractive? The analog-like grain and ‘warmth’ – achieved through post-production, and looking amazing on the big screen – imbue ‘Terrifier 3’ with strong retro vibes that are further amplified by Paul Wiley’s foreboding synth-heavy score. Also adding to the peculiar feeling of nostalgia is the cheesy familiarity of drama between the gruesome (and then some!) slashing performed by already iconic figure that is Art the Clown (another superb display of David Howard Thornton’s mime skills!). The vile, sickening, hyper-sadistic nastiness of this seemingly invincible demonic force is the main course here, and it is served with a spicy gravy of demented, pitch-black humor that makes the dryness of side dishes excusable, and the whole meal so succulently unforgettable. 

13. Mystère / Dagger Eyes (Carlo Vanzina, 1983)

Carole Bouquet brings sparkling sass and diva-like elegance to the titular role of a high-profile prostitute, Mystère, who gets reluctantly mixed up in some dirty, post-assassination biz, joining forces with a naughty homicide cop, Colt (Phil Coccioletti) in order to stay alive, with her idealized beauty kept intact. In a series of events that couldn’t be any pulpier nor campier, her magnetic heroine demonstrates more resourcefulness and proficiency than the bad guys, wriggling herself free from the tightest of situations, in style. Appearing as a ‘flesh and bones’ counterpart of a Patrick Nagel’s illustration, she is glorified by Giuseppe Maccari’s camera, whereby Marina Straziota’s costumes – the semi-transparent black gown in particular – add nuances to her character. It goes without saying that ‘Dagger Eyes’ (the English title must be referring to Bouquet’s piercing gaze) is a (decidedly?) tongue-in-cheek affair, and shouldn’t be taken seriously at all, particularly towards the end when the film’s playfulness acts like a parody of double-crossing tropes of spy thrillers.

14. Ai futatabi / To Love Again (Kon Ichikawa, 1971)

A pretty French-like piece of Japanese cinema, ‘To Love Again’ sees late autumn / early winter as the most romantic season of the year, imbuing its grayish gloominess with the vibrancy of bittersweet feelings. As it chronicles the numerous meetings and partings of a Japanese girl and an Occidental boy (Ruriko Asaoka and Renaud Verley, both adorable in their weird chemistry), the film crosscuts between the past in Paris and the present in Tokyo with an aspiration to shorten the distance, and tear all of the barriers – cultural, familial, linguistic, and professional. However, there always seem to be some unseen, mysterious boundary that keeps the protagonists from fully expressing their love for each other, yet that very force operates like a propellant of the story, subduing if not fully overcoming its sentimental nature. Shuntarô Tanikawa’s ostensibly breezy writing finds a suitable match in Kon Ichikawa’s humanistic direction, as the natural lighting of Kiyoshi Hasegawa’s matter-of-fact cinematography harmonizes with some catchy pop-ballads on the soundtrack.

15. La casa nel tempo / The House of Clocks (Lucio Fulci, 1989)

A trio of petty thieves get more than what they bargained for after murdering a wealthy elderly couple and their gardener during the robbery of a luxurious villa. Adorned with a wide variety of (magical?) clocks, the place doesn’t abide to the rules of time, and soon becomes the backdrop of a surreal nightmare. Although the bulk of the story is limited to the mansion interior, there’s a lot to savour there – from the thick atmosphere accomplished through the superb use of lighting, to some spicy gore effects the director is well-known for. Tackling the themes of old age and transience, crime and punishment, ‘The House of Clocks’ plays out like a cautionary tale, with zero sympathetic characters, and unfolds in a measured pace which allows the viewer to fully appreciate the details of excellent production design, and the grainy beauty of Nino Celeste’s 16mm imagery.

16. Ukigusa no yado / Inn of the Floating Weeds (Seijun Suzuki, 1957)

Even before he started ‘making movies that make no sense and make no money’, in his own words, Seijun Suzuki demonstrated his flair for powerful visuals. ‘Inn of the Floating Weeds’ is, more or less, a standard yakuza flick, completely devoid of surrealistic touches that would characterize the director’s later offerings, but the stylish camerawork elevate the simple story to a whole new level.

17. Score (Radley Matzger, 1973)

Art meets smut in what is quite possibly the sauciest and cheekiest co-production between the USA and Yugoslavia. Filmed in the coastal town of Bakar (Croatia) that poses as ‘the peaceful City of Leisure’, the adult dramedy revolves around two married couples about to get some action. Sexually liberated, Elvira and Jack (Claire Wilbur and Gerald Grant) like to swing both ways, whereas their friends Betsy and Eddie (Lynn Lowry and Casey Donovan) appear to be staid and straight. The seduction game – central to the fairy tale ‘nestled deep within the Erogenous Zone’ – gradually reveals the latter spouses to be confused and stuck in a passionless matrimony, but all that changes towards a happy ending... that also involves a Big Bad Wolf in the body of a telephone repair man, Mike (Carl Parker).

Titillating the viewer by way of wittily suggestive dialogues, skimpy costumes, and nudity which remains strictly within the softcore domain during most of the running time, Matzger saves the hardcore bits for the climactic conclusion, but treats coitus through the prism of exploration, utmost sensuality, and performance. In other words, he delivers a sort of an elevated, even cerebral porn, demonstrating his penchant for unusual camera angles, playful cross-cutting, and distorted reflections that amplify the psychedelic vibes of the cool soundtrack. The handsome cinematography matched by the tasteful production design positions ‘Score’ closer to the provocative pieces of Eurotrash cinema, rather than the X-rated flicks.

18. Pathos – Segreta inquietudine / Obsession: A Taste of Fear (Piccio Raffanini, 1988)

If you like your gialli with some extra cheese and sleaze, you’ll find a fine specimen in Piccio Raffanini’s only directorial effort which adds some futuristic touches to the subgenre, for the coolness sake. Set in the world of softcore  photography and bondage video art, ‘Obsession: A Taste of Fear’ bursts with eroticism, as DoP Romano Albani (Inferno, Phenomena) beautifully captures the abundance of naked or skimpily-clothed bodies under the moody lighting married to soft, sultry jazz and pop tunes, including ‘Private Life’ by Grace Jones. The identity of a murderer isn’t hard to guess, but then again predictability isn’t much of an obstacle here... 

SHORTS

1. A Place Without Fear (Susanne Deeken, 2024)

A young woman faces emotional challenges in an abandoned house that simultaneously works as a physical space – the setting of an abstract story, and a metaphor for her troubled mind. Through the decaying rooms, she embarks on a labyrinthine journey that transmutes hear fear(s) into a surrealistic nightmare. Presented in a technically demanding and aesthetically refined combination of analog (stop-motion) and digital animation, with wall murals coming to bizarre and unsettling life, ‘A Place Without Fear’ mirrors the very intricacies of one’s innermost workings, plunging you into the deepest recesses of the subconscious. Think ‘La casa lobo’ (2018) by way of Švankmajer and Barta, with hints of Bosch in the finale, and you might get the impression of what to expect from this dark fantasy. Virtually a one-woman show, it is written, directed, animated and photographed by artist, designer and filmmaker Susanne Deeken who also collaborates with jazz musicians from Detroit to shroud her haunting visions into an appropriately eerie, phantasmal aural veil. Credited as executive producers are Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross of Nine Inch Nails fame.

2. Autumn Fire (Herman G. Weinberg, 1931)

‘A film poem by Herman G. Weinberg’, as noted in the title card, ‘Autumn Fire’ could also be described as an impressionistic portrait of longing, one that demonstrates the magic of editing, and the emotive power of visual storytelling. Filmed as a love letter to the author’s then girlfriend (and afterwards wife) Erna Bergman, this romantic mood piece marks the only directorial credit for Weinberg whose lack of experience is rarely, if ever noticeable, with a plethora of beautifully composed shots capturing the loneliness of two characters – a country girl and a city boy. The version I watched is 19 minutes long, and is set to a mellifluous dialogue of piano and accordion. 

3. Something for your Halloween party? (Johnny Clyde, 2024)

Johnny Clyde’s Halloween special is an intoxicating concoction of a loving Bettie Boop homage, animated found footage gothic, witty body swap mystery, spooky commercials, surrealistic deconstruction of an educational documentary, and talk show whose host summons the ghost of the legendary Jean Kelly. A milestone of low-budget avant-garde.

4. Reality+ (Coralie Fargeat, 2014)

In an appearance-obsessed ‘dystopia’, a brain chip allows you and other users to see the perfected version of yourself, but the illusion lasts for only 12 hours. The remaining half of the day you have to spend as your (pathetic) true self. If this description sounds somewhat familiar, that is because ‘Reality+’ carries the seeds from which Coralie Fargeat's body horror ‘The Substance’ sprang. The sci-fi short is less visceral (though the nightmare sequence anticipates backbone stitches), yet almost as biting as its feature successor in flirting with (and subverting) the aesthetics of ads which promote unrealistic beauty standards. Directed smoothly and edited snappily, the film is also notable for high production values and solid performances.

5. Testament (James Broughton, 1974)

“Poetry, like love and religion, is a glorious conjunction of sense and nonsense.”

Best Premiere Viewings of September 2024

FEATURES

1. In Cold Blood (Richard Brooks, 1967)

Directed with a great sense of gritty, ahead-of-its-time style, and edited with such a precision that virtually every cut and transition serve both the narrative flow and the aesthetics, ‘In Cold Blood’ is a powerful blend of a gripping character study and detailed true crime reconstruction adapted from the book of the same name by Truman Capote. The handsome lensing by Conrad Hall (who shot Esperanto-spoken horror ‘Incubus’ in 1966), and Quincy Jones’s odd jazzy score that must’ve influenced Badalementi’s contribution to Lynch’s finest works grab the viewer’s attention within the very first seconds, and hold it firmly until the unsettling conclusion. On top of that, the sparkling dynamics between Robert Blake – thirty years before turning into iconic Mystery Man of ‘Lost Highway’ – as mentally unstable Perry Smith and Scott Wilson as a charismatic bad boy, Richard ‘Dick’ Hickock, make the film all the more compelling.

2. Chime (Kiyoshi Kurosawa, 2024)

Complemented by the dreariest of grays, blue is the coldest color in Kiyoshi Kurosawa’s unnerving mood piece that amplifies the fear of the Unknown, as it raises a number of questions and provides not a single answer. During the brief running time of 45 minutes, the line between existential and metaphysical dread is blurred, with the nightmare of mundanity seeping from the film’s odd reality into our despondent own, to remain ever-present at the back of one’s mind, and under the skin, long after the credits have rolled. A puzzle of no and infinite solutions, ‘Chime’ is also a masterclass in austere formalism, its acutely haunting sound design and (f)rigidly taut cinematography emphasizing the combined terror of day-to-day coping and a mysterious force behind the (unheard) chime. On top of that, Mutsuo Yoshioka gives an eerily transfixing performance in the role of a chef turned instructor whose life takes a phantasmal turn only to leave both him and the viewer hanging halfway towards nowhere.

3. Kurak Günler / Burning Days (Emin Alper, 2022)

Creating tension in the most banal of situations, such as a dinner party, Emin Alper directs his (superb!) neo-noir thriller with an assured hand, assisted by powerful performances from the entire cast, particularly the leading man Selahattin Pasali, beautiful widescreen framing by Greek cinematographer Christos Karamanis, tight editing by Eytan Ipeker and Özcan Vardar, and unobtrusively foreboding music from Petzold’s regular collaborator Stefan Will. Psychologically intricate, politically provocative and cinematically commanding, ‘Burning Days’ touches upon a variety of issues, including populist scheming and corruption, as well as deeply rooted misogyny and homophobia in a toxic patriarchal environment, with the setting – an imaginary small town and the surrounding desert ‘speckled with’ sinkholes – mirroring the characters’ inner states, and barely containing the conflict about to erupt. The film’s cryptic coda is like a cherry on top.

4. Meet Joe Black (Martin Brest, 1998)

It’s been awhile since I watched a three-hour-long film that felt twice as shorter, leaving me with a luminous impression of being a part of a genuinely heartwarming moment. A romantic in me was utterly smitten by the breezy, even saccharine illusion, wishing there were more features in which Claire Forlani and Brad Pitt at their stunning prime caressed each other with virtually every penetrating, blue-eyed look exchanged... 

5. Sanctuary (Zachary Wigon, 2022)

‘Good Luck to You, Leo Grande’ meets ‘Venus in Fur’ in Zachary Wigon’s sophomore feature that has enough idiosyncrasies to feel like neither of the two films I’m comparing it with. (Besides, it was released just three months after the former.) A romantic comedy disguised as a psychological drama/thriller (or is it vice versa?), ‘Sanctuary’ subtly subverts the viewer’s expectations, boldly blurring the boundaries between the role play (of domination and submission) and true identities of its only two characters, and bending the genres at its own whim without ever feeling contrived. Unfolding in a large hotel apartment and the hallway leading to the elevator, it easily overcomes its stagy setting through some carefully chosen camera angles (kudos to DoP Ludovica Isidori!) that correspond with the protagonists’ inner workings, as Ariel Marx’s mood-swinging score does a fine job at heightening the tension in their battle of wits, as well as evoking a wide range of emotions. But, it is the leading duo of Margaret Qualley as Rebecca and Christopher Abbott as Hal that anchors the story, their remarkably nuanced performances pulling you ever deeper into the tricky game of shifting power dynamics...

6. The Firebird (Barbara Willis Sweete, 2003)

Despite its low, TV-special budget, ‘The Firebird’ is a lovely adaptation of ancient Russian fairy tale set to the mesmerizing ballet score by Igor Stravinsky, and most elegantly choreographed by James Kudelka. Its minimalist set design which is employed in all scenes is a minor setback, considering the energy and beauty emitted by the dancers of National Ballet of Canada, including sublimely graceful Greta Hodgkinson in the titular role, charming Aleksandar Antonijević as Prince Ivan, ethereal Rebekah Rimsay as Princess Vasilisa, and imposing Rex Harrington as Kastchei the Demon.

7. Harem Suare / Last Harem (Ferzan Özpetek, 1999)

Four are the main reasons why ‘Last Harem’ deserves wider recognition: the lavish art direction by Bruno Cesari and Mustafa Ziya Ülkenciler, the intricate costume design by Alfonsina Lettieri, the warm lighting of Pasquale Mari’s beautifully composed frames, and the utterly magnetic presence of Marie Gillain in the role of the sultan’s multilingual concubine, Safiye. Laced with subtle eroticism, and directed with an unhurried pace and solemn care that require the viewer’s patience, the drama takes place at the turn of the 20th century, and focuses on the background of events that would lead to the abolition of the Ottoman sultanate. A gentle meditation on love, storytelling, and the elusive nature of freedom, the film seduces you with its poise, and melancholic soul.

8. Giornata nera per l'ariete / The Fifth Cord (Luigi Bazzoni, 1971)

Hands down, one of the most elegantly shot pieces of giallo cinema – cinematographer Vittorio Storaro (who would frequently collaborate with Bertolucci) is a show-stealer.

9. Blink Twice (Zoë Kravitz, 2024)

Thematically sensitive, and visually inspired, directorial debut from Zoë Kravitz sees her fiancé Channing Tatum stripped off his usual good-guy image, and jumping into the murky or rather, slimy waters of villainy, along with Simon Rex, Christian Slater, Haley Joel Osment, and Kyle MacLachlan in a ‘triple cameo’ role. The ensemble cast of familiar faces also includes Geena Davis, yet the story is carried by Naomi Ackie as a nail artist and waitress, Frida, whose party-of-a-lifetime dream comes true at a nightmarish price. The film is largely set on a too-good-to-be-true paradise island, and Kravitz throws in hints that something is terribly off, not only through the character of an ostensibly creepy maid (code: Red Rabbit), but also through a bunch of foreboding details and alerting montage sequences. As her thriller passes from a psychological to a revenge territory, the suspense is ratcheted up, and the garish color palette makes way for the cold nocturnal hues and candle-lit filth that intensify the sinister aura surrounding Tatum’s antagonist. Although the ingredients are all pretty much familiar, ‘Blink Twice’ is a tasty, if not entirely intoxicating cocktail that marks a promising start for its creator.

10. Kinds of Kidness (Yorgos Lanthimos, 2024)

Teetering on the verge of a mannerist self-parody, the latest offering from Yorgos Lanthimos takes the most ardent of fans to be fully appreciated. Super-awkward, unapologetically deadpan and excessively long in its probing of human condition, and challenges of contemporary existence, ‘Kinds of Kidness’ often trades its soul for the overemphasized rigidity of form, challenging not only one’s patience, but ‘absurd-o-meter’ as well. Its cynically humorous nature that knowingly provokes frustration finds both its anchor and alleviators in Robbie Ryan’s austerely beautiful framing, and Jerskin Fendrix’s masterly discordant score.

SHORTS

1. Ubrzanje / Acceleration (Ivan Martinac, 1969)

‘A film about the dominance of time and space over a human being’, in the words of the author himself, ‘Acceleration’ is a seven-minute meditation on loneliness, alienation and transience, framed with engineer’s precision (Martinac was an architect by profession), yet sublimely poetic in its depiction of Mediterranean ambiance. A quote by T.S. Eliot – ‘in my beginning is my end’ – perfectly sets the tone of this melancholic bravura.

2. A Legend for Fountains (Joseph Cornell, 1957)

Coming across like a fragmented tone poem of solitude, ennui and transience, this (unfinished?) short by Joseph Cornell reveals the beauty of urban decay as seen through the eyes of a young woman (the directors’s alter ego?) wandering around the city, as well as from the perspective of children playing in the streets. The grainy texture of 16mm cinematography – shrouded in complete silence – intensifies the feeling of dreamy melancholy which pervades the portrait of New York’s unglamorous, yet mysterious face.

3. Alien: Monday (Paul Johnson & Claudia Montealegre, 2024)

A most impressive piece of fan fiction, ‘Alien: Monday’ is the true labor of love by a creative duo of Paul Johnson and Claudia Montealegre who did all the heavy lifting, from character, mechanical and background design to 3D modeling, inking, coloring and shading to scriptwriting, animating and directing, with Scary Good Studio (Randy Greer) providing sound effects and minimalist score, and Gabriel Rosauro credited as tech support. Six years in production, this 15-minute short (+ four minutes largely dedicated to whom I presume to be Patreon supporters or crowdfunders) looks and feels like a golden era (80s / 90s) anime set in the ‘Alien’ universe, as it chronicles a close encounter of Monday-hating technician Ashlin with Xenomorph on mining hauler Thanatos. In accordance with the iconic tagline of Ridley Scott’s 1979 film – ‘In space, no one can hear you scream’, silence is often employed to heighten the tension or convey the cosmic vacuum, and breaking it along with Greer’s haunting interventions are the voices of Sara Secora as Ashlin and Phillip Sacramento as ship computer Conrad. And if you watch closely, you may notice some non-Alien Easter eggs hanging on the walls of the Thanatos interior...