50 Best 2024 Foreign-language Movies So Far

Mystery films and whodunits have placed the rich and powerful in their crosshairs for generations now, and Murder Mubarak proudly follows in that tradition through a tried and tested formula. So while there isn’t anything particularly surprising here, the film nails the tone it needs, smartly placing the focus away from the central crime and poking fun at the entire ecosystem of privilege and ego that gets revealed in its wake. Unfortunately, the movie also doesn’t sustain this momentum till the end, as it abruptly stumbles toward its inevitable revelations without giving itself time to let the consequences breathe. When it’s all over, it actually feels like we don’t know many of these individual characters any better than the overall situation they’re in.

When it wants to be, City Hunter is a fun neon-lit buddy cop comedy that giddily and at times gorily takes us through the seedy underbelly of Tokyo. Leading man Ryo is charismatic, the perfect blend of cool and comedic, while leading woman Kaori is just as adept and charming. The film is also as fast-paced and seamless as you’d want any action-packed movie to be. The only problem City Hunter has is that, despite being a modern adaptation of the iconic ‘80s manga, it’s still stuck in a different century. The very first scene we get is that of Ryo ogling a woman’s breasts, which pretty much dictates the tone of the rest of the film. It’s all horniness and objectification—endless jokes at the expense of its female characters—which is a shame since Kaori is a badass lead. I’m not suggesting Ryo should magically transform into a woke and respectable man, scrubbed of all personality, just that the filmmakers should retain a smidge of control and refrain from fully surrendering to the character’s POV.

Two people with different thoughts on love discover a common ground: they’re both anti-romantics. Realizing they got off on the wrong foot, they spend more time with each other and bond over realistic ideas of modern love. At one point, Maria (Rosalie Thomass) and Karl (Laurence Rupp) even diss romantic comedies for their cheesy music and naive understanding of fate and destiny. Their conversations are engaging and thoughtful, even and especially when they oppose one another. But just when you think you’re watching something smart and novel, Maria and Karl fall into the same implausible trappings they claim to hate. Suddenly, the film turns soft and transforms into the romantic comedy it once criticized. If only it had pushed into anti-romance territory even further and allowed Maria and Karl to truly hash out their differences, thorns and tension and all, then this could have been a truly interesting romantic film. Instead, it’s a standard romantic comedy that’s worse off for pretending to be above the genre, even though it’s really not.

They did it. They took advantage of Pinoy movies’ penchant for sappy writing and used it to deliver on its premise. Coming into it blind more-so, you see the violent shift in writing and energy, with everything feeling more relaxed, organic, and truthful after the premise sets in. But they take that subversion a step further by unironically sticking with the sappy elements and not drowning in them; using dramatic backstories, catchphrases, and the staple recurring ’80s theme song to tease and anchor the drama throughout. By Filipino drama standards, it might be an unconventional family film, but with how well they used the tropes, it might also be the quintessential Filipino family film.

With an urgent subject and plenty of that trademark Netflix polish, Bhakshak is nothing if not watchable and consistently engaging. However, for all of its motivated performances and high production values, there actually doesn’t seem to be much that happens in the film by way of investigation or character development. Much of the plot seems to progress solely on inertia, or through conversations that only ever repeat the film’s themes. And with every new, intense scene of young girls being threatened or hurt at the hands of abusive men, it becomes harder to understand what these scenes are trying to tell us, especially when they keep the victims as voiceless as they are from the beginning.

If Red Ollero’s first special on Netflix doesn’t have the most consistent laughs or the most original punchlines to make, it still serves as a good introduction for users of the platform to crass, everyday Filipino humor. Whether due to editing or Ollero’s writing itself, there are a number of times during his set when he stays on a topic for far too long without adding much insight to it or building on things he’s already said. But as the special goes on, there’s still something to be taken from how Ollero treats the mundane with an almost hyperfixation. Intentionally or not, he sketches out an absurd view of ordinary life in the Philippines with the self-assurance of someone who doesn’t care whether you’re grossed out or not.

With expired film stock, seemingly random shots, not much dialogue, and virtually no plot, there is little to recommend It is Night in America for casual viewing. It is definitely experimental, and as director, editor, and sound designer Ana Vaz presents these shots of animals and urban landscapes, it doesn’t feel like it’s meant for entertainment. But there’s a curiously poignant tone, with the blue tint darkening the cityscape, in their eyes. Night falls for these creatures, who once had a home in this city, and all they can do is survive. É Noite na América isn’t quite the eco-horror it proclaims to be, but its moody and trancelike direction is an interesting approach to the nature documentary genre.

This is a nostalgic, ethereal memory like a childhood yearning, which can be credited to the soundtrack and friendly characters. Its got a lovely message about unspoken or repressed feelings, but the journey there unravels quickly. The second act enters filler side quest territory and loses the energetic pace and tight direction of the exposition. In the end, the premise and pretty visuals feel almost wasted on an ill-paced bloated story, one that tries to capture a wistfulness or magic but ends up feeling forced and manufactured. This is one of those movies you wish was the first movie you ever watched as a child. You won’t have a clue what it was about, but you’ll remember it was nice.

This film lays its foundation nicely: it’s got slapstick romance and an absurdly wholesome motivation, and juxtaposes it with a murder plot, telling you right away the kind of movie you’re going to get. Its mystery aspect is intertwined with comedy, and its comedy stems from an avoidance of direct confrontation, while being so casual with death. The combinations give the movie an exciting and comforting feeling, even with the awkward wrinkles and vaguely ominous pop of red and warm colors throughout. Still, it suffers from a lot of uneventful fluff and underwhelming payoffs. It’s a good thing it’s funny, then.

The beginning instantly captures Kodama’s essence, and quickly sets lofty expectations with the regal intro sequence and the clean narration and reenactments. But it’s basically a feature length interview of the subject, who shares her screen time with the supporting cast to her action drama life (assistants, love interests, the usual), tackling the big scandals that brought trouble to Kodama. It’s a worthy watch, if only for the deep Nelma Kodama and laundering iceberg; however, it does get very long and redundant in feel, which may be necessary to paint the whole picture, but at some point it’s a bunch of branches that lead to other branches and the tree is big.