Jared Mobarak

Moonlight is a quietly introspective depiction steeped in unparalleled honesty of the ways in which we’re saved and damned throughout our lives.

Jenkins glimpses at the human soul and the hellish experiences endured despite it. We’re shown humankind’s capacity to change and the notion it’s never too late.

With its vibrant colors muted for a NYC noir aesthetic and every 2D field shaded by roughly textured shadows in constant motion, the frames literally flicker off the screen to leave a lasting impression.

Shinkai’s film opens up from cute stranger-in-a-strange-body antics and expands into a philosophical and metaphysical parable about fate.

The entirety of Good Joe Bell is an awakening not for those who actively harm at-risk youth like Jadin, but those who don’t realize the implicit harm they’re supplying by centering allyship on themselves rather than those they’re supporting.

Director Jeanne Leblanc and co-writer Judith Baribeau pull no punches in portraying the malicious underbelly of the town at the center of Les nôtres.

The intensity is too much to bear in the best possible way. Legrand knows exactly where to position his characters and what’s necessary to break them. It’s a steady crescendo of suspense despite his source of danger never shifting.

Schaad really ensures that we’re seeing beyond the surface. We’re experiencing the characters, their respective journeys, and their somber realizations that some incongruities can’t be fixed with a Band-Aid.

Unconcerned with happy or sad endings (or endings at all beyond the desire for one to be shared and enjoyed to its fullest), [Sødahl] focuses instead on the unbridled emotions that swirl within us on the difficult journeys through tragedy. Nothing is out of bounds.

Kågerman and Lilja bring Martinson’s poem to cinemas with a stark beauty both in its sci-fi production design and emotionally wrought performances.

It’s not often delays, financial dissolutions, and waning interest make a film better, but I don’t want to know what Mad Max: Fury Road might have been without them. In its current form the film embodies a logical escalation of what director George Miller began over three decades ago by embracing the insanity eating away at his titular road warrior’s resolve.

This is a very personal story to Marder and it shows in the intricate ways he uses sound to place us within Ruben’s plight.

The whole therefore hinges upon Fishback’s performance and she assuredly carries it upon her shoulders.

With superb performances (Fiennes, Mulligan, James, and Flynn shine), gorgeous cinematography, lyrical editing, and a complementary score, the film proves a melancholic wonder that isn’t easily forgotten.

The result might not be unique in its narrative about a misunderstood man devoid of the means to get out of his own way, but Calm with Horses is stunning in its execution nonetheless.

These four actors provide their roles with a bold presence both in their ability to impersonate physically and embody spiritually.

Zbanic expertly wades through the scenario so that we aren’t taken for granted. Rather than show us what we know is happening, she includes foreshadowing, rumors, and expressions to put a chill in our spine instead. What’s more is her ability to weave in the reality that this fight concerns divisions on the lines of religion and race rather than pure geography.

The Standoff at Sparrow Creek isn’t about finding hope in a hopeless situation through a broken man willing to be the hero rather than villain. No, it wants to show the monstrousness of complicity and the helplessness of a conflict too far-gone to solve.

Get ready for a tense ride because writers/directors Christine Molloy and Joe Lawlor’s Rose Plays Julie never relinquishes its sense of brooding until the very last frame’s welcome exhale of relief.

Toy Story 4 was somehow baked to perfection.

Angels Wear White becomes a bottomless pit of despair consuming complex characters with nowhere to go.

While there’s the underlying notion of it telling us a captivating story from the annals of American history, it’s his depiction of the adversarial relationship between those making decisions and those affected by them that hits home.

Green and Fonacier are both fantastic within this evolving dynamic, their inevitable end a mutually brutal sacrifice meant to close a broken loop rather than continue some damaging cycle. Their characters are so complex that their best moments are those subtle shimmers revealing true natures beneath old façades.

Aboubakr Bensaïhi and Martha Canga Antonio deliver unforgettable performances as these two teenagers in way over their head.

Cody has constructed an elaborate composition hidden by its countless complementary pieces that each packs a deceivingly potent punch. And even though Reitman is the one bringing her words to life, their partnership has always been solidly attuned.

This is a contemporary slice of life drama that provides its central characters the agency with which to choose the existence they desire regardless of what cultural, societal, or familial traditions demand. These women aren’t merely bucking against the religious norms of gendered relationships, but the patriarchy at-large. They are here to be more than wives and mothers.

Akl provides the scenario a keen insight that only someone going through the same push and pull as the characters could.

Rather than pass judgment, Little Woods merely allows life to occur in its oft-depressive state of seeming futility. Thompson and James commendably imbue each character with a palpable fear that ensures their actions are beyond reproach.

The documentary proves an inspiring tale of the perseverance of those who refuse to cater to corruption and exploitation while also rejecting the alternative of quitting.

Amulet in effect lulls us into a false sense of familiarity by positioning genre conventions and gender norms as an artificial façade waiting to be torn down.

Despite Ali & Ava proving a heartwarmingly funny and rich love story, its strength truly lies in the characters’ melancholic confrontation with their underlying pain.

The events onscreen are semi-autobiographical for Sama and thus a document of the turmoil those his age at the time faced when external expectations and internal hopes clashed. At its center: love. The power it has to bring us together opposite its potential to tear us apart.

Its style is audacious, its plot minimalist, and its future full of potential.

Demon becomes a siren to never forget the past or the many bodies left on battlefields of horrific wars. No matter how civilized or at peace we are now, history will always haunt us.

No one can be trusted. No one is assured of their survival. We don’t even know who we should be rooting for––beyond the filmmakers themselves, in hopes they stick the landing.

It’s a familiar tale pitting selfish desire against the greater good, but it’s like nothing you’ve ever seen thanks to the wondrous South Pacific landscapes.

It’s nothing short of heroic and heartbreaking and important—both because of how laws in her name are still being planned to go before the US legislature and because audiences need to remember that victims of domestic abuse deserve to be given as much benefit of the doubt as their abusers. Being an addict shouldn’t disqualify you from receiving life-saving protection.

López’s fairy tale is one seeking to remind us of an innocence not yet stripped clean.

We learn everything there is to know about an entire country through the Heise family’s words. Some passages prove better than others, but none are inconsequential to the whole.

Sarnet orchestrates authentic horror through a supernatural filter wherein beautiful black and white cinematography can immortalize abject despair.

It’s a self-propelled therapy session laid bare to the world. And it’s 100 percent raw and real, whether natural or not.

Their newfound friendship strips them down to their raw humanity in a way that allows them to see each other like no one has ever seen them. They grow together, acknowledging self-destructive natures without passing judgment until inevitably unearthing the undeniable truths even they refused to see within themselves.

Neulinger dives in headfirst to break down every single aspect of his journey towards the truth.

The Oak Room is playing games with us as well.

Coldwater lives or dies by the dynamic between Boudousqué and Burns ebbing and flowing from nemeses to partners and back again as the latter begins to lose control.

The humor is infectious, the pop-culture nerd affinity relatable, and the familial struggles resonant. And it’s messy because so is life. Its happy ending is about learning to listen. That’s how everyone wins.

Writer/director Alexandra-Therese Keining‘s adaptation of Jessica Schiefuer‘s 2011 August Prize-winning (Sweden) young adult novel Pojkarna (translated as The Boys but changed to Girls Lost for international release) is deliciously dark and profoundly vital.

The Dry reveals itself as an engaging thriller in the vein of fellow Australian production Top of the Lake with duplicitous figures sharing a contentious enough history to confuse facts with emotions thanks to having a familiar face heading up the investigation.

We’re witnessing a nuanced reorganization of priorities within both Dong-Hyun and So-Young at different speeds.

Hamoud’s message concerns having the courage to be who you are no matter what society or heritage demands. Compromise is important in any relationship, but it shouldn’t be one-sided and especially not favor the man simply because the culture is steeped in patriarchal infrastructure.

There’s no better way to show these power dynamics than via long takes. By letting the events play out, Hania refuses to let her lead off the hook emotionally. Al Ferjani is therefore thrown into the fire, her Mariam an exposed nerve reacting on impulse to everything that occurs.

Surreal comedy turns into surreal horror as hope buckles under futility’s weight.

Adapted by Anita Doron from the award-winning novel by Deborah Ellis, The Breadwinner delivers a heart-wrenching coming-of-age tale within a nation that’s lost its way.

Stefan Forbes has thus found himself at a Holy Grail nexus point with Hold Your Fire—his subject matter exists at a literal crossroads wherein the “us” and “them” are equally to blame, its complexity demanding the realization that “them” is a construct for violence.

Watching Matthew Heineman’s documentary The First Wave isn’t therefore a casualty of diminishing returns due to a false sense of redundancy. If anything, it proves more powerful from accumulation.

Schaefer and Lawler pack their rounded vignette of full-frame 16mm film with contradictions, thematic mirrors, and unexplainable phenomena that confounds in its beauty just as easily as it enlightens through its complexity.

While a lot of Detention is steeped in anguish and anxiety, the terror induced by those emotions becomes the pathway back into the light.

Despite its darkly supernatural package, however, Louis-Seize’s film adheres to its idiosyncratic tone of purposeful excitement for a future that’s hardly assured––death can be a beginning too. Rather than adhere to the status quo by taking people’s lives, maybe Sasha can somehow take their deaths instead.

Writer/director Keith Behrman knows exactly what he’s doing when introducing a variety of people along the sexuality spectrum in his latest film Giant Little Ones. He’s intentionally flooding his canvas so that we have no choice but to accept them all rather than turn our focus onto just one.

Its effective visceral hold on our imagination guarantees its inevitable cult status.

Since each one of these cousins has led such a distinct life from the others despite coming from the same place, everyone watching will be able to see a bit of themselves in one or more of them too. That’s why culturally relevant stories like Cousins are so crucial to understanding our world. They show us how alike we are no matter our religion, history, or skin color. To see their struggle is to sometimes know your role in its creation. To see their courage is to be inspired.

Nélisse and Pniowsky are a big part of the drama unfolding authentically with ample disdain and irritation respectively, but The Rest of Us truly is Graham and Balfour’s show.

Its parts recall many later works as diverse as Trainspotting and The Ring, its depiction of addiction and stasis leading us towards a legitimately brilliant ending that brings the whole thing into meta territory with its film-within-a-film coaxing us to enter the fray ourselves.

It’s Mikkelsen who steals the show playing so far against type that you wonder how it could be him.

Where O’Shea succeeds and Hollywood often fails is acknowledging the pain and sorrow so many feel can’t magically disappear. To be cognizant of your own evil is to accept its cost. Realizing you are the monster might be the worst punishment you could ever endure.

We aren’t given this glorious journey of a genius plucked from obscurity as much as we are the trials and tribulations of success. Brown’s film is all about the hardships thrust upon Ramanujan.

Eaton and co-writer Bryan Delaney have crafted their script with skillful precision.

McHale and Bishé are the ones who carry things because only they (like us) are aware of the sinister goings on beneath their over-the-top lust and the increasingly transparent surrealist nightmare entrapping them. Their dynamic is simultaneously an impossible ideal and an authentic reality to aspire towards. Mankind’s unwitting heroes.

The film zooms in to project humanity’s struggle onto Vesper. With one gust of wind (and some tragic losses), health and prosperity can be hers (and ours) again.

Rehmeier has found a way to traverse different genres while maintaining an authentic, honest mix of comedy and drama. He’s unafraid to go for the big laugh, regardless of subject matter, yet knows when to hit the emotion hard.

It’s a mesmerizing look behind a curtain torn away so Mayfair can reveal an authenticity too often masked by historical precedent and conservative acquiescence. Love is created in rebellion, but ultimately stifled by the need for survival.

Rather than have the plot manipulate his characters, Johnson lets them manipulate it. That’s an extremely rare Hollywood feat.

I have to give the filmmakers a ton of credit here because they walk themselves to a point of no return as far as where things are heading and they do not blink. They lift the curtain to briefly show us the horrors beneath the sterile walls of this prison and let them exist as inevitability rather than something that can be altered.

This film thankfully isn’t a dramatic piece gunning for awards glory, but rather a heartwarming adventure through the emotional landscape of a child unsure how to live. It is very sentimental, but that’s kind of the point.

A surefire cult classic in the making, its unhinged carnage proves a memorable delight. It may not be original, but it’s an adrenaline shot I sorely craved.

These young actors are superb in their roles, each embodying the complexities of early teen life and the adult struggles they face without the maturity to appropriately handle.

It’s a well-made directorial debut that shows a love for cinematic history and unique sensibility to build upon it rather than simply homage.

The purpose of Nelson and Curry’s film is to therefore turn the focus of what happened back onto the real perpetrators rather than the victims who have been vilified as such instead.

Buckley and Flynn keep us on our toes, their darkened malice turning to teary-eyed contrition until we’re left hopeless as far as figuring out which is more real.

It doesn’t take much to write or perform an explosive scene of unmitigated furor. It does to balance it with the empathy to know it comes from a place of fear. The acting is a huge piece to that puzzle because none of this works without believing Almut and Tobias are soulmates.

She’s normalizing disability, spearheading awareness, and fighting for self-acceptance.

So many scenes unfold with static frames to give actors our undivided attention, letting them evolve emotionally without unnecessary cuts undermining authenticity.

These fractured pieces aren’t operating with individual wants. They merely don’t have the others to mask and/or mitigate their singular desire’s pure form. This is a crucial distinction that allows Schultz to deliver on the promise of his film’s potential despite budgetary constraints and limited locations because it leaves the true intrigue to this central performance’s distillation of a single complex identity.

All mood, atmosphere, and mystery with our own confusion about the action mirrored in those onscreen.

Alice is truly independent like never before and she’s confronted with the unfair fact that she probably won’t be able to maintain it if she also hopes to keep Jules. To watch Piponnier weigh that abhorrent truth is to witness the internal struggle every woman who’s experienced this type of coerced acquiescence faces.

[Lane] proves yet again that nobody can tonally marry edification and entertainment onscreen so effortlessly. It’s masterful.

While a romance on its surface, Catherine Corsini‘s Summertime is really about freedom.

It’s a stylish debut from an artist with a keen sense of visuals, music, and feeling — a finger firmly on the pulse of now.

It may use broad strokes at times, but it never loses its purpose to illuminate our double standards or naiveté towards them. Change really does start with something as simple as Tunde’s request to be heard.

Its authentic depiction of unprepared young love is delicately innocent.

Capernaum is a poignant character study of a boy being punished for the crimes of a system that never gave him a chance.

With potent performances and a gorgeous, textured aesthetic, The King Tide proves a mesmerizing experience above and below its surface.

Landfall is thus a depiction of hypocrisy, passionate rebellion, and promise for the future. Aldarondo isn’t naïve to the progress made, though. She doesn’t simply put all this information on-screen and declare things solved. They’re not.

By far the best Part Two in the universe (not necessarily hard to achieve) it also rests at the franchise’s peak alongside Iron Man, Avengers, and its predecessor to show the viability of cinematic serials.

Jesús proves a gripping cautionary tale unafraid to let its characters suffer for justice. A son’s mistake becomes a father’s failure and no matter what happens, no one’s soul is left whole.

You’ll find yourselves laughing and hating yourself for doing so because Sigurðsson doesn’t play scenes for comedy despite very obviously writing for it. This is a testament to his direction and the actors’ heightened states of borderline farce played with complete sincerity.

While Robinson’s film does fall into the usual trappings of biopic beats, its subject can’t help but transcend them.

Husson leads us through tiny moments building up an origin story of sorts for who Jane will become. These experiences and these observations become the basis of a book about life’s beauty and tragedy binding us in ways that transcend economic and social standing.