Jason Gorber

Ambitious and yet quietly confident, Hamaguchi’s film feels an absolute treat. Drive My Car is a hell of a ride, the red Saab riding through the landscape like a beating heart, taking viewers along a journey that they won’t soon forget.

This heroic journey is Ani’s story through and through. It’s a brilliant role, written with such range that it takes Madison’s strong performance to bring her to life without succumbing to archness. She makes us believe every second.

On the one hand, Seeds provides a unique glimpse into one family’s joys and struggles, while on the other it delves delicately yet effectively into larger questions of policy, politics, the scars of the past, and the challenges of the present.

Souvenir Part II is an easy recommendation on every level, a film that stands comfortably alone and allows Hogg’s journey to filmmaking, and Honor Swinton Byrne’s capabilities as a performer, to finally shine in a light that almost every cinema lover will be drawn towards.

It’s a boldly uncompromising work that strips some of the more cheerful elements to the bone. Yet despite this, there’s still a sense of warmth, of optimism, of quiet humor that shows how this deft storyteller can still surprise and enthrall, incorporating another exceptional ensemble willing and able to do the work to bring his lines to life.

This bleak and profound meditation on diminishing faculties results in a shattering work of cinema. I was left shaking with the results, drawn in completely to the film’s shifts in tone and character, anchored throughout by Hopkin’s impeccable performance.

Thanks to some fantastic performances and a patient, well-crafted script, this is a film that should find international audiences interested in some truly adult storytelling. There’s enough originality and sophistication here that an English language redux wouldn’t be unheard of, making one hope that any translation maintains the craft and elegance of Sødahl’s presentation.

Resurrection is a puzzlebox to be probed, a dream not simply to be decoded to provide a singular interpretation, but one to be enraptured as you are caught up in its fragmented logic, soothed by its smoke-filled spaces, and stunned by the myriad connections shared between its two central characters.

Certain to energize longtime fans and generate new ones for generations to come, EPiC: Elvis Presley in Concert is a masterwork of montage. It’s a definitive doc that gives the sense of how the artist changed popular music, but also about how at his core he was a man with a powerful voice and a zealous need to entertain.

No Other Choice ends up a laudable mixed bag, a lot of morbid fun with committed performances and beautiful composition that meanders long enough that its rage peters out.

It manages in a concise and remarkable way to illustrate not only the ravages of this new virus but how its effects continue to resonate no matter the political forces looking to downplay its risks.

The story navigates the fine line between community pride and nationalistic zeal, providing lessons for a future while admitting to the existential futility of it all. We can shift our perspective, but every time we do, things stay pretty much the same.

Thanks to Itō’s tenacity and focus, Black Box Diaries boldly tells her provocative and haunting story, resulting in a richly drawn portrait of one woman’s fight for justice that’s sure to inspire change in Japan and beyond.

Berger’s latest is a blast of brilliance, with a supremely compelling story driven by some astonishing performances.

Sullen, sarcastic, silly and seductive at various times, the film manages to walk a high-wire act of tone, making the act of mourning the least miserable part of the family gathering.

In a land where truth is habitually stripped away in favor of political and religious control, Bread & Roses serves as a reminder of the bravery of those who sacrificed all for the love of their country and community.

Kogonada’s precision, akin to the blend we witness the master tea maker assembling, prodding gently with a wooden utensil to craft a perfect mix of ingredients, results in a heady brew that’s both intoxicating and delicious.

Making dumb seem clever, and clever seem silly, Matt Johnson and company take their mockumentary shtick to new and dizzying heights, literally.

While Carax’s cinema may not be to everyone’s taste, this primer on both his philosophy and his aesthetic is as effective as anything he’s ever directed. Brilliant in its concision, even the most jarring of elements never overstay their welcome, making this perhaps the purest and most honest chapter in his entire filmography.

Ultimately, Mile End Kicks is a messy, heartfelt portrait of youth and creative ambition.

For those drawn to the bent, who crave some "Cheepnis" in a cinematic landscape of overproduced and overpriced madness, they just might fall in love with Dead Lover for all of its foul, fecund, and farcical facets.

The end result is a real pleasure, taking us along for a wild ride. Yes, it’s slightly too long, and Baker and his team could probably trim a bit to make things even tighter. Yet there’s so much charm at play, so much joy in watching even the moments of pain and embarrassment that it’s difficult to criticize.

Like a beautifully constructed puzzle box, The Wild Goose Lake various layers unfold in satisfying ways. With elegant violence, emotional richness and a complex yet coherent storyline, this is a rare bit of crime thriller treat that truly pays off.

There’s so much joy in this telling, so much sophistication of craft on display, and such a delightful ode to this exemplary era of creativity, that it seems downright churlish to hold back for the sake of performative reticence.

With fun production elements, a goofy storyline, discordant yet effective sound design, and enough oddness to keep things captivating, traversing through the world of OBEX makes for quite an entertaining journey.

The French Dispatch is a rocket ship ride to your cinematic soul, meshing word, action and vision in one glorious bon-bon that’s both sweet and savory.

This is a tonally rich, libidinously powerful, and psychologically complex tale told by a master filmmaker equally at ease with European art-film conventions and B-movie hijinks. It’s this exceptional balance between the profane and the profound that sets Benedetta apart, truly proving to be penetrating in its effect in more ways than one.

It’s a film that’s at its best when things matter and you’re empathizing even during moments of total butchery. It’s never easy to inject humanity into inhumane acts, yet Titane, like the metal, manages to do something remarkably strong in a compact form.