100 Best Movies on Kanopy Right Now

The people you love have different people, sometimes different worlds, in their lives that we don’t necessarily get to know about, though it depends on your loved ones. While most of the time, we would introduce the love of our lives to our families, sometimes, it’s not possible, especially if you’re not out to them yet. Hong Khaou’s debut feature film is centered on that idea, and he handles this topic with the pace it needs, allowing Ben Whishaw and Cheng Pei-pei to carefully forge a gentle, genuine connection between two very different people bridged through Vann’s translations and their love for Kai.

The Two of Us could have been a sweet romantic drama all about lifelong devotion regardless of the circumstances, but instead, first time director Filippo Meneghetti makes it feel more like an unsettling thriller that captures the paranoia and near insanity it feels to be closeted– with Nina having to beg Mado to tell her family, having to hide in what has become her own home, and having to bargain and manipulate her way to Madeleine’s side. Two of Us is quite a stunning debut with such a unique depiction of a lesbian relationship.

Where The Secret Garden championed the restorative powers of tending to a garden as well as one’s thoughts, Swiss novel Heidi touched on similar themes a few decades before, celebrating instead the natural beauty of the Alps mountainside, and the titular character bringing back joy and hope to her family. The film remains faithful to the novel, playing out the book’s events with a more sleek look and even more stunning landscapes of the Swiss Alps. While previous generations would inevitably compare the version of their time to this latest version, 2015’s Heidi is a decent adaptation, recreating the classic tale for today’s kids.

Films about drug dealing aren’t particularly new, but the way Pusher delves into their lives feels different– more realistic than glamorous, somewhat like a guerrilla documentary, with the handheld camera as a silent, unnamed witness. As the camera follows low-level dealer Frank through the course of a week, Kim Bodnia skillfully garners empathy with the way he holds himself through the pressure, and does the opposite when he does the same wrongs that were done to him. The story itself may be simple, but writer-director Nicolas Winding Refn made his mark through this debut, inadvertently creating a franchise and influencing Danish cinema.

After a long life lived in a home one chose, it can be hard to uproot your entire life, especially in a country that seems diametrically opposed in manners and values. Before his American produced hits like Brokeback Mountain and Life of Pi, Ang Lee made his debut through Pushing Hands, a film entirely shot in America but produced from Taiwan, exploring from the Chinese perspective the generational conflict between Asian immigrants and the mainlander parents that they brought to have a good life. It’s humorous at certain moments, with the steady demeanor of Chu contrasted to everyone around him, but Pushing Hands stems from the understanding of someone who’s directly lived through it, unfolding into a thoughtful, sentimental drama that quickly established Lee’s directorial voice.

As an adaptation of the one-character play, it’s a delight to see Pauline Collins as Shirley Valentine rip into the signature monologue through fourth wall breaks– ranting, bantering, and raving to us about the unique follies of mundane domesticity. Collin maintains the same comedic timing and wittiness of the titular character that has captivated Liverpool, and then London, at the time. However, while critics found it easy to dismiss the script as a series of superficial, stagy ramblings, Valentine genuinely searches for life purpose, for herself, for her soul, confronting her younger aspirations, the box she was essentially crammed into due to marriage expectations, and the life that she sacrificed for family’s sake. Shirley Valentine may not have gotten the acclaim succeeding female mid-life crisis films have gotten, but it’s an underrated classic comedy that many can enjoy.

When plucked out of your cushy, city life to labor on rural farmlands, it’s a tough change. It would have been a terrible one for Luo Min and Ma Jianling, if it wasn’t for Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress. Rather than depict this transfer policy as pure drudgery, the film depicts it as somewhat of a nostalgic summer romance in warm-tone shots and casual slice-of-life moments inspired by the semi-autobiographical novella written by writer-director Dai Sijie himself. It probably felt that way to his generation as well. But make no mistake. Sijie subtly pokes fun at the censorship the ways teenagers would do, that is, by saying what adults would like them to say, but doing exactly what they were told not to, anyway. That being said, there is a bit of a Western bias here– the banned books are Western, after all, and the two boys sharing French embroidery and sewing patterns seemed to be a strange plot point– but Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress warmly depicts his generation without losing sight of the drastic changes they had to go through.

Going deep undercover, integrating one’s self into a group without any suspicion, and passing out information to another party… That’s the job of a mole. While they mostly lurk in various government agencies, laboratories, and other special circles of power, The Mole Agent instead goes deep undercover in a Chilean retirement home, having stakes that may not be world-ending, but take more personal, domestic weight as Sergio befriends the residents, records and reports on their well-being, and tries to figure out what exactly Romulo wants as evidence. It’s a funny situation, one that depicts the resident home with warmth, albeit with the occasional spy cams and an old-fashioned piano score, but it can be difficult to figure out where the line is between truth and fiction, as some scenes can feel a bit staged. Still, The Mole Agent is a charming portrait of old age, made so compelling with director Maite Alberdi’s unusual perspective.

Look, Wolf has a familiar, even cliché, plot. The idea of having a lead wanting to shift their life around through kickboxing is the usual stuff of cheesy sports dramas that want more viewers to watch the matches, or to learn to play the sport. But rather than take this path, Wolf instead delves into the other reasons why people might want to join the sport in its story– the money, the physical venting of frustration, and making use of skills. It’s also why, for Majid, the passion proves to falter in the face of his character. His loyalty to others, his spite, and the unresolved anger he holds paints a literally black-and-white picture of what inevitably pushes him to the film’s end. Wolf is familiar, yes, but it takes this plot to a different place that Dutch cinema doesn’t usually visit.

For better or worse, The Reason I Jump isn’t a documentary made for autistic viewers but for a neurotypical audience that may not be very knowledgeable about autism. This means the film doesn’t really offer anything new to the conversation, and it misses the opportunity to truly let its main characters express themselves in their own unique ways, uninterrupted. That said, The Reason I Jump still structures itself smartly (with stunning filmmaking to boot) by having each of its five characters introduce us to different aspects of the autism experience, from sense and memory to communication and community.