Alex Saveliev

One of the many things that makes Ritu Sarin and Tenzing Sonam’s drama The Sweet Requiem so special and refreshing is that it doesn’t resort to easy political speechifying. The filmmakers deliver a taut, lyrical story that leaves a shadow, that of sadness in which a tiny spark of hope determinedly lingers.

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

Like the inferno it depicts, Laxe’s film casts an entrancing spell.

By simply witnessing the grandeur of the sea, by allowing us to glimpse that symbiosis between ocean and universe, the film ends up resonating powerfully, a feast that will stimulate both the eye and the cerebral cortex.

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

It’s refreshing to see romance looked at in such an authentic, yet still entertaining manner. As such, it brings to mind films by the great Nicole Holofcener.

Supremely entertaining and hilarious, First Love will melt your brains, punch you in the gut and leave your hearts a-flutter.

Marona’s Fantastic Tale gently and poetically deals with heavy themes like mortality, solitude, and loss, but manages to be suitable viewing for the entire family. It reiterates that the love our dogs have for us is unconditional and that we shouldn’t regard them as accessories or temporary means of respite. It’s also a phantasmagoric feast for the eyes. Seek it out.

No wonder that cinematic auteurs like Martin Scorsese and Oren Moverman produced Diane. It brings to mind films like Kenneth Lonergan’s You Can Count On Me, produced by Scorsese, or Moverman’s Time Out of Mind (which also dealt with memories, identity and the limits of human compassion). Jones may lack a little of the former’s humor or the latter’s visual artistry, but perhaps it’ll come later. The hard skills are all here.

For a low-budget, contained flick, Day’s film does a remarkable job of keeping audiences riveted with a minimum of pyrotechnics. It doesn’t aspire to greatness, knowing perfectly well what it is: a lean, mean, bloody little machine with a few subliminal – and not-so-subliminal – messages thrown in. Dive right into this tub.

While Castle in the Ground may not quite hold together from a narrative perspective, it’s so atmospheric, so acute in the small, tender moments it captures and is propelled by performances of such power, that it hardly matters.

Perhaps the fact that the film is so inspired has something to do with the established camaraderie between fellow Marvel veterans. The franchise’s influence – the ebb and flow of the film, the swooping camera shots, the scope – is evident; only in this case, instead of the System’s victim becoming a superhero, a potential hero falls victim to the System. In the Russo brother’s capable hands, Cherry will speak to both millennials and older generations alike.

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.

Polsky packs a lot into the film’s slim 80-minute running time. It’s dense but never overwhelming, presenting facts and anecdotes in a coherent, intuitive, supremely entertaining fashion.

It may tread familiar territory, but Skin does so with relentless energy, confidence, and passion. I can’t wait to see what Nattiv has in store for us next – and for Bell to get under another character’s skin.

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.

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.

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.

With A Taste of Hunger, it is clear that Boe loves food. The film celebrates the culinary arts, as the cinematography lovingly displays exquisite dishes that please the eye as much as the taste buds. He studies how light and sound may affect taste. His approach to gastronomy is as meticulous as the dishes his protagonist prepares.

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

An acute reflection of the current refugee crisis, minimalist and poetic in its approach, Transit, unlike its protagonists, seamlessly reaches its destination: a conclusion so heartbreaking, it will resonate for weeks after.

Cruz effortlessly holds the screen in a tricky performance: phlegmatic and ambivalent, radiating charisma and sophistication, making you feel for her despite some morally dubious acts.

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.

In a parallel dimension, perhaps, most movies are this well-made. Watch Parallel, and then watch it again to untangle all of its little nuances.

He and Côté write an ode to human resilience; they compose a soliloquy about lost identities; they paint a portrait of people seeking meaning, guidance, warmth. The result is a soulful cinematic treatise on the gradual, painful loss of a city’s soul.

Whether you like blues or not, you’ll appreciate the musicianship on display here. Inspired and inspiring, Satan & Adam will make you thank the heavens for this legendary duo.

Mendes finishes things on a graceful, open-ended note. He adeptly handles unabashed romanticism and raw grief, optimism and hopelessness, significantly aided by Atticus Ross and Trent Reznor’s soft piano score. The music peaks during the film’s most fervent moments, both violent (a protest during the climax) and tender (our heroes climaxing in each other’s embrace).

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.