Alex Saveliev

Under the guise of a straightforward love story, Sethi’s film reveals itself to be an incisive look into the long-running Indian tradition of arranged marriages and its implications, set against the backdrop of a rapidly spreading COVID-19. If that sounds heavy, it’s anything but, the writer-director ensuring that things don’t get bogged down in ponderous polemic or pretentiousness.

Shinkai’s animated feature may sometimes seem like it was dreamt up by a 15-year-old teenager. It may move at a leisurely, awkward pace that threatens to come to a dead halt at points. Yet when it takes flight, it soars.

A bit more pragmatic, rambling, less lyrical, and not as laser-focused as Herzog's previous documentaries.

The Mad Women’s Ball avoids caricature or stereotype, though the grounds it walks may seem somewhat familiar. Laurent treads them with skill and passion, immersing us into a period wildly different and dishearteningly similar to ours.

It’s Plemons, who’s always stellar, that proves to be the real revelation.

A low-key, warm-hearted-but-razor-sharp study of ambition, friendship, and humanity’s inherent differences – be it between two friends or two cultures – The Saint Bernard Syndicate leaves a lasting impression and is eminently rewatchable.

Syms’ debut is anything but desperate; au contraire, this is the mark of a relaxed, confident filmmaker with a long, bright future.

When it comes to survival tales, Society of the Snow sets a standard that will be difficult to top.

The narrative may prove a bit indeterminate and slow-moving to jaded audiences. Yet it remains an incisive and unusual little tale, which we could certainly use more of these days. That is something I personally think about all the time.

At 90 or so minutes, Prey is a lean, mean machine without an ounce of fat on its muscular body. It’s a reminder that this land was populated long before we, the original predators, overtook it, a subtle treatise of “man as predator,” but mostly, a vicious, wildly entertaining flick that’s bound to become the new classic in the series.

As it stands, Lorelei is perfectly imperfect. It demonstrates a filmmaker willing to go for broke, examine the dark recesses of our minds that others are too timid to touch.

The Flood nearly sinks under the weight of its contrivances, but is barely kept afloat by its two central performances.

Disco Boy is not your average war drama, or sociopolitical study, or character dissection, or psychedelic trip. It’s all of those things, and Giacomo Abbruzzese wouldn’t have it any other way.

Uproarious. Disturbing. Melancholic. Shrewd. All adjectives that the marketing teams behind Andrew Gaynord’s terrific dark comedy All My Friends Hate Me are welcome to use for promotional purposes.

Those individual, deeply felt, beautiful moments sadly fail to add up to a deeply felt, beautiful whole. As such, Revoir Paris gets a B- for effort.

The filmmaker confidently guides us to a conclusion that really isn’t a conclusion at all but a new beginning. These men may not be all that wild, but Daneskov’s film is just loopy and daring enough to qualify as such in the best way possible.

Nichols carefully avoids either demonizing or overly romanticizing his protagonists’ lifestyles. He portrays events just the way he imagines they would unfold.

Basir doesn’t shy away from glaring into the gaping maw of despair. But he skillfully counterbalances it with an energy that propels the film forward; how refreshing: this filmmaker has something to say.

It is, first and foremost, a blistering character study, raw in its power and realism, its beats as unpredictable as its protagonist. I’d say buckle up, but dirt bikes don’t have seat belts.

The Fam sensitively deals with a tough subject and serves as a striking introduction to a roster of formidable talent. It certainly feels like the cast and crew have become a true family during the shoot.

You may think you know what to expect from Nebbou’s gem, but as it unfolds, the tragic, hilarious, deeply cynical, and oddly uplifting film proves to be as multidimensional and expectations-defying as its formidable protagonist.

It’s a reminder of human resilience that manages to be both powerful and deeply flawed.

Garland is a master at ratcheting tension to an almost unbearable degree, and he flexes that muscle hard in Men. The way he gradually presses the acceleration pedal, allowing the narrative to gather momentum until it almost implodes in its final third, is really quite remarkable.

The film is buoyed by Charlize Theron’s fierceness and a few shining moments of true inspiration. Roll with the inherent silliness of it all, and you may just have a good time.

Bolstered by two formidable leads, the film is bound to resonate with anyone who has tried to make a fresh start, rediscover themselves, but also maintain a grasp on the past that keeps slipping away.

Kitarô Kôsaka’s light-hearted and contagiously joyful film contains just enough beautiful imagery, positive messages of acceptance and touching moments to warrant a look.

A warm hug of a film, The Outside Story may occasionally stumble and resemble an extended TV pilot, but – largely thanks to its charming protagonist – is bound to (however briefly) reaffirm your faith in humanity.

Morris utilizes psychedelic neon colors, bold titles, and a hallucinatory score to emphasize the craziness of her life. He has devilish fun piecing together Joanna’s fractured past. It just feels like, in his search for Truth, he’s lost his way a little this time.

With a little more filmmaking flair, or drive, or a fresh perspective, East of the Mountains could’ve been a real gem. Instead, it’s a decent little character study about a man facing death, worth a look for the magnificent central performance alone.

We’ve seen it all before: the obsessive cop with emotional baggage, the small-town folk being interrogated, the lovey-dovey subplot, the tonal dreariness. The filmmaker isn’t aiming to avoid tropes, and what the film does, it does splendidly, though an injection of humor would have certainly been welcome.

It’s all deeply unsettling, a glorious massacre you can’t look away from. Kill It and Leave This Town dares you to avert its gaze. You may not be able to describe it, but good luck forgetting it.

Kai Luke Brummer is a revelation in the central role, his introverted performance buoying the plot with nuance and charisma. We navigate through the horrors right alongside him, and we root for him, and in the end, despite a striking and sad realization, we gaze at the ocean and wonder if there’s hope for humanity yet.

Higashide effortlessly switches between the two polar-opposite men, both utterly convincing.

When morals and ethics become muddled, when right becomes indistinguishable from wrong, when there is nowhere to run, and the world closes in on you, what options do you have left? Though Abu-Assad’s equally muddled Huda’s Salon poses more questions than answers, they are compelling enough to warrant a recommendation.

Although Penn is the focal point of Citizen Penn, the real citizens of this story are the Haitians. They are resilient, optimistic, and refuse to be labeled as victims. I do wish that we got to meet some of them a bit more intimately, that Hardy delved a little deeper into Haiti’s sociopolitical history. As it stands, it functions as a perfectly serviceable call to action, an extended, heartfelt PSA that neither glamorizes nor demonizes the actor.

Gerbase studies how loneliness brings out the worst, and sometimes the best, in us. She examines how some of us are more adaptable than others; how we are the products of our environment, creatures of habit. The film can also be viewed as a parable about autocracy, ruthlessly dissecting the abide-or-die mentality. Whatever you take from it, the drama is bound to hover over you for days.

Almost every scene impresses, has something to say. How refreshing is that? It’s been a while since a major studio production entertained and enlightened to such a degree, with nary a wrong step, for over two hours. If you can stomach the violence, you’re in for a hell of a ride. Here’s to the Western revival. I’m all about Jeymes Samuel leading this gang.

It’s a feast for the eye and for the mind, done in a nonchalant way that would make the most seasoned filmmakers jealous.

Papers Spiders is everything you want out of a teen drama, more Lady Bird than The Fault in Our Stars. That’s not to say fans of the latter won’t respond to Shampanier’s genuine gem. Don’t let this one slip under the radar.

Fortune Favors Lady Nikuko explores what it’s like to be in the shadow of your parent, the lessons imparted by our elders, the value of a support system among women, the power of literature, the appreciation of food (frequently referred to as “yummy”), and the importance of staying true to yourself. Eat that, Pixar.

No stranger to eliciting powerful performances from his entire cast, Ozon does it again here, with nary a foot stepped wrong.

At barely over an hour, Deerskin packs quite a punch, and is bound to get under your skin.

This is pure cinematic meditation, requiring a surrender to its languid tempo and hallucinatory vibes.

Few seasoned filmmakers can boast the lightness of touch, the comedic timing, and proficiency with an ensemble cast that the 21-year-old Lindon so nonchalantly possesses. The film would’ve been a treat if it were made by an established auteur; the fact that a complete newcomer concocted the entire thing makes it even more impressive.

Eastwood once again takes a sharp stab at America’s penchant for attacking first, asking questions later.

Fabian: Going to the Dogs is poetic, ugly, romantic, tragic, and side-splitting. Some sequences approach the edge of sanity, take a glimpse into the abyss, then the plot reassembles itself – but the threat of derailing remains, and it’s quite exhilarating.

Scodelario carries the film with an energetic, no-holds-barred performance. She’s in almost every shot, planning out escapes and outwitting the reptiles, and she gives it her all.

The individual sequences, along with the confidence with which the two lead actors navigate the sometimes-turbulent currents, elevate the film into the realm of art. After all, sometimes it’s okay for the whole to be less than the sum of its parts.

If you happen to be in the mindset for a long, leisurely, spiritual cinematic rumination about the fragility of life, the futility of our professional pursuits, the power of femininity, and the sheer bliss of living in the moment, then delve right in. The writer and director’s aim is not to shock or devastate, nor elicit any strong reaction, but to make one ponder the Meaning of It All.

The filmmaker’s careful modulation of tone and rhythm, how gradually he reveals mysteries, and the mere fact that this is a dialogue/character-driven horror tale make it hard to believe that this is O’Brien’s feature-length debut.

It’s stale, a relic from another time that’s strenuously updated and forced into 2024.

There are some odd detours, a few prolonged stretches of Holland losing focus. But you know what? Forget the blemishes. It’s a gift that Holland is still producing thought-provoking fare like this.

The filmmaker goes for broke, deliberately setting sequences against painted backgrounds or giant black-and-white photographs. There’s a moment when Tesla belts out Tears for Fears’ “Everybody Wants to Rule the World” into a mic. Such embellishments could’ve potentially led to a mess, but in Almereyda’s capable hands, they somehow coalesce into a dreamlike whole.

Perhaps Landon could step away from mixing slasher horror with classic comedies and create his own thing. Or maybe this is his thing. In which case, I look forward to The Breakfast Club on Elm Street, especially if it stars Vince Vaughn.

The dream-like, poetic result is an astonishing visual achievement, an example of what an artist lacking a Hollywood budget can conjure with sheer ingenuity. That said, some may find its impenetrable narrative and purposefully distancing nature irritating. There’s only so long one can stare at an abstract painting.

A mostly-smooth, sometimes-uneasy blend of pitch-black drama and absurdist comedy, Sunlight may follow the age-old “road-trip movie” structure, but it fully commits to an offbeat, non-sequitur style/logic that will either compel or repel audiences.

It doesn’t talk down to audiences, instead inviting them to experience something relatable, something that both challenges and provides answers. How refreshing.

In a miserable year filled with grim cinematic fare, this eminently re-watchable science-fiction comedy provides a much-needed spark of lighthearted exultation.

Behrman sidesteps overt sentimentality, captures some heartrending moments and most importantly, doesn’t resolve everything with a neat “happily ever after” conclusion. The lasting impression Giant Little Ones casts may not be “giant” – but it’s certainly not “little” either.

It’s charming in its own modest way (it ain’t Laika), but the simplistic character design is made up for with energy and creativity. Whether all the cadavers, complex inventions, existential musings, themes of progress and censorship, and politics will alienate the wee ones remains to be seen – but, again, at least it’s not pandering. The Inventor is charming and modest but also honest and true – a rarity these days. Hurry up and check it out before Gen Z cancels Leonardo for being a misogynist.

While his previous drama, The Road to Mandalay, showcased his keen eye for social realism, Nina Wu is suffused with visual poetry – all stark-reds and grainy yellows – and a dream-like (or nightmarish, depending on how you view it) atmosphere. It’s a portrait of a country experiencing significant sociopolitical changes. By focusing on its filmmaking industry, Z takes advantage of the opportunity to experiment visually, thematically, and narratively – at times, to the film’s detriment.

A cautionary tale, a story of salvation, sad, lyrical, funny and even brutal at times, Bloody Marie is a shot of adrenaline in a landscape filled with cinematic clones. It may not be perfect, or for everyone, but it sure is spicy as hell, and it gets most of the ingredients just right.

Boasting impressive production values — especially given its budget limitations — it harks back to a more innocent era: a cozy, stylish, and mildly thrilling feature from a promising filmmaker.

A warm heart beats subliminally throughout the narrative, a tinge of hope that may be gasping for air but remains vibrant, especially when juxtaposed against the disheveled, rotten backdrop.

he feature’s laid-back, lo-fi, semi-improvised approach and brevity ensure that it never lags. Although never quite reaching revelatory status, Leonard, a keen observer of the human condition, pieces together scenes that are bound to strike a resonant chord – especially with expecting couples.

Erotic, sensual, and nostalgic, Tommaso showcases the sweetest side of Hollywood’s enfant terrible. As far his collaborations with Dafoe go, this marks the creative peak of their symbiosis.

There’s nothing spectacular about any of this, but it’s heartfelt and well done.

In surer hands, Shadow in the Cloud could have been a demented allegory about female empowerment; instead, it’s just demented, albeit damn entertaining. Here’s hoping Landis gets his head out of the clouds and writes something that casts lingering shadows next time.

Young Ahmed may be described as a coming-of-age story, a searing character study, a visceral tale of redemption, a critique of extremism and the society that seems oblivious to and/or helpless against such evil.

It’s artistic without being pretentious, thoughtful, and elegiac without treading into monotony, beautifully acted without drawing too much attention to its stars.

If you liked Children of Men, chances are you will enjoy this film. It has the same blend of despondency and lyricism, hope and despair, beauty and violence.

Akin to a bus that provides temporary shelter from the cold, Drunk Bus is cozy and familiar, but 100 minutes proves to be just enough. I was ready to pull the cord towards the end of this fun, somewhat bumpy ride.

Ivan Kavanagh has an eye for style and a clear gift for building suspense. That said, the film is sadly less than the sum of its frequently-impressive parts. If nothing else, his messy, violent, dark and sad reflection of our society proves that the Western will never grow old.

It is an intimate, somber, uncompromising cinematic portrait of a desperate soul in the vein of Darren Aronofsky’s The Wrestler, if it were cross-bred with Martin Scorsese’s Taxi Driver. The film will haunt you long after the lights fade.

We Are Living Things unravels gradually, methodically. It could’ve used a bit more tension and slightly higher stakes, for the silences in-between its words aren’t as weighty as the filmmakers seem to have intended. Yet it’s refreshing to see a love story rooted in reality, despite the sci-fi undertones.

Aviva is a palindrome, reflecting the film’s ouroboros-like narrative. It’s also a Hebrew name, which translates as “spring-like” or “fresh”–both adjectives applicable to the sensual and passionate Aviva. Love it or hate it, it’s… well, it’s art. I loved it, warts and all. Perhaps Yakin has finally discovered his style.

With the keen eye of a seasoned documentarian, the filmmaker captures all the depression, anxiety, boredom, love, loathing, and insecurity of seemingly apathetic teens, her gaze never mocking or judging.

It strives as hard for authenticity as its protagonist does to remain relevant; the strain shows.

Those seeking more adventurous, cerebral, inspired stuff will get a helluva kick.

There’s a great story buried somewhere deep within the desert that is Head Count – about a brotherly bond, about jealousies that assume anthropomorphic shapes, about a demon that literally reflects our insecurities. Ellen Callahan hints at those stories but ends up telling the most basic version.

The entirety of Give Me Pity! is more of an artistic treatise, a museum piece, a series of single-woman monologues, than a coherent, you know, film, and that’s clearly the intention. One can do a lot worse than take a look inside Kramer’s head, and this one makes her other explorations of humanity, Please Baby Please and Ladyworld, seem positively conventional. Quite the feat.

While not as insightful as his previous work, Halston doesn’t blemish Tcheng’s resume either, providing a perfectly enjoyable – if inconsequential – portrait of a larger-than-life public figure. Fashionistas will surely gulp this up, while the rest of us may ultimately dismiss it as yet another glamorized, facile look into a glamorized, facile industry.

The Creator marks the first time, it seems, that the filmmaker stepped out from the shadows of franchises and dipped back into what made him stand out in the first place. He's proven to have a flair for mesmerizing visuals, a tongue-in-cheek sense of humor, and plenty of pathos.

Rather unexpectedly, the result is gripping and immersive, bolstered by a committed cast and some remarkable visuals.

Freaks subtly subverts the superhero formula under the guise of a hallucinatory, cautionary tale of paranoia, delusion and extreme parenthood.

A Haunting in Venice marks the best, most succinct, and humorous adaptation of an Agatha Christie story by Kenneth Branagh yet.

Fans of Roth will gobble, gobble this up.

Dermer maintains a bittersweet tone, a gentle mix of levity and pathos. He studies the complexities of friendships, dealing with loss, looking at life as if for the first time, living each day as if it were your last, letting go, and trusting people more. He poses some intriguing questions.

Mehta skillfully navigates both the tender sequences and the more devastating ones. Aided by Howard Shore's rousing musical score, she portrays a beautiful country ripped apart by social violence. Her film serves as an ode to those who either died or were forced into exile for having the courage to express their true identities.

Perhaps most compellingly, it’s a reminder to open our eyes, to notice the bigger world around us for what it is, to see who we really are. Toussi never preaches, gently luring you into an utterly tranquil state, wherein you may just find yourself booking a ticket to Colombia.

At 90 minutes or so, with the needless pseudo-artistic embellishments and tautology tossed out, Armand would have been an intense and cerebral little psychological nail-biter.

I’ve Got Issues brings to mind the zaniness of Quentin Dupieux, with a dash of Todd Solondz’s existentialism and the off-kilter freestyle nature of David Cross and Bob Odenkirk’s stuff. If you find one of the bits redundant, its brevity ensures another one is coming right up.

Loving Highsmith is about loving Highsmith and all that implies. As such, it gets the job done perfectly.

The filmmaker, doing a lot with an extremely limited cast and location, has a concrete vision and sticks with it, and whether you get it or not is up to you. A character in the film, when confronted, states: “Big question. Too long to answer.” That pretty much summarizes this cinematic endeavor.

Go with the somewhat far-fetched concept, get past the overt sentimentality, and you’ll find a true crowd-pleaser.

Bolstered by Mark Bradshaw and Marcus Whale’s electronic drone soundtrack and Bonnie Elliott’s atmospheric cinematography, Run Rabbit Run could’ve used some more forward momentum. It lacks outright scares and novelty but makes up for it in some psychological depth. Reid’s film may not reach the profundity it strives for, but how many horror titles even strive for anything these days?

Barron was the only light in my life,” a character yells at one point. “What am I now – just another dog in your army?” Barron’s Cove could have been a light in the current cinematic landscape, but instead, it’s just another dog in an army of duplicates.

Woo and Benson don’t underestimate their young audience’s intelligence, subtly layering in complexity, which comes off as a mini-miracle.