Alex Saveliev

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.