100 Best New Movies to Rent

There’s an elephant lurking in the room from the outset of Biosphere, in which two men are the last survivors of an apocalypse: how will humanity live on? Best friends Billy (Mark Duplass) and Ray (Sterling K. Brown) have only survived thanks to the ingenuity of Ray, who built the glass dome in which they live, insulated from whatever it is that’s keeping the sky perpetually black outside. But the dome’s protective glass increasingly needs patching up, and their last female fish (responsible for the continuation of their food supplies) has just died, setting their clocks ticking.

What happens next — to the remaining male fish and humans — is an astonishing evolution that speaks to the strangeness of nature, which will break its most rigid laws in pursuit of its ultimate goal: furthering the species. Biosphere undergoes a similar metamorphosis: while its zany twist (which we won’t spoil) seems to direct it towards gross-out bro-comedy territory, it transforms, surprisingly, into something more profoundly philosophical. Like the dome, Biosphere’s structure isn’t as solid as it could be — it often meanders — but, with its thoughtful meditations on gender, sexuality, and evolution in all its forms, it’s easy to forgive this quirky indie gem that flaw.

This sociologically revealing documentary follows the attempts of the largely “snow-white” staff of Amsterdam’s Stedelijk art museum to refresh the institution’s collection, just 4% of which was by women artists at the time of filming. The museum also featured exactly zero works by artists of color — another embarrassing truth that the Stedelijk’s staff, headed up by (white) museum director Rein Wolfs, work frantically to rectify by acquiring new works and “turning the mirror around” on the canon to contextualize whiteness as a distinct category of its own, rather than “the standard” (as the museum’s own Charl Landvreugd puts it). 

Though it features discussions on such worthy topics as artistic canons (who defines them?), linguistic nuances (should works with problematic titles be renamed?), and how to decide which art will be put into storage to make room for works that better reflect Amsterdam’s diverse population, this documentary is less interested in delving into the dark side of art history itself than the human behavior that arises when confronted with such uncomfortable truths. More than anything, what director Sarah Vos is perceptively spotlighting here is the intense discomfort and self-consciousness of the museum’s white staff when confronted with these historic issues — when, in a sense, the mirror is “turned around” on them.

Bank of Dave is a simple but well-told film that feels utterly satisfying from start to end. Dave is the little guy who only wants to give back to his community, but stopping him from achieving his noble goals are the big guys in suits with vested interests and too narrow a focus to appreciate the good that Dave is after. The film is David versus Goliath, countryside versus cityside, socialist versus capitalist (or, if you like, ethical capitalism versus unethical capitalism). You know who will triumph in the end, but that doesn’t detract from the film’s overall enjoyability. The dialogue is smart and stirring, and you can’t help but root for the film’s small heroes to win big. 

The sooner you accept that Bottoms is not, in fact, rooted in reality in any way, the easier it should become to get on its wavelength for its uniquely absurd brand of comedy. This is ostensibly a satire, though it isn’t totally clear what exactly the film is trying to comment on. And its loosely defined world makes it challenging to get emotionally invested in any of the characters’ failures or victories. But it does—more than any comedy we’ll probably get in a while—capture this feeling of high school being its own heightened, insulated world, where the class system of strict high school stereotypes clashes with the unchecked id and ego of teenagers who think they’re more grown-up than they really are.

Director and co-writer Emma Seligman gives this movie a certain sheen that you rarely find in comedies this lowbrow (care of lush cinematography by Maria Rusche, and a bumping electronic score by Leo Birenberg and pop star Charli XCX). This contrast between polished exteriors and unapologetically raunchy content makes the jokes all the more startling—which are delivered by a cast clearly having great fun. Rachel Sennott and Ayo Edebiri stick to their cringe-comedy skill set to great effect, while Ruby Cruz and Havana Rose Liu shine with deceptively tricky material, and Nicholas Galitzine gets to be a himbo for the ages.

When modern systems like law enforcement and forensics fail to come up with definite answers to a murder, loved ones of the victim usually have no recourse, which is the fear at the heart of Irish horror film Oddity. To lose someone you care about, forever, hurts. So when Darcy takes more strange and esoteric means of investigation, and when writer-director Damian Mc Carthy slowly reveals through personal effects, psychic images, and an excellent pace, the hurt and the pain intensifies the murder mystery and the hope that she would receive justice for her loss. Oddity feels genuinely unsettling, because Mc Carthy understands what’s truly scary about losing a loved one.

For better or for worse, every romantic relationship anyone will ever have will end. This isn’t a bitter statement single or heartbroken people declare, it’s just that we have to keep in mind that time with our loved ones is limited. Romcom drama We Live in Time is titled as such for a reason– mentioning this could be a bit of a spoiler here– but fittingly, the film plays with time, taking a non-linear narrative that jumps back and forth within the timeline Tobias and Almut share together, comparing and contrasting between these moments as if in memory. Certain moments might feel a bit derivative, but We Live in Time ultimately works with the excellent chemistry shared by Florence Pugh and Andrew Garfield.

Given the genre being centered on a child protagonist, many coming-of-age stories sideline parents in the narrative, sometimes to the point they’re not mentioned at all. So when Andrea Arnold returned to fiction filmmaking with coming-of-age story Bird, it was surprising to see how true it delves into parenthood, albeit from the eyes of the teenager being parented. Maybe it shouldn’t have been a surprise, considering Barry Keoghan, fresh off of Saltburn, was casted as the protagonist’s single dad, but Arnold structures the entire story to fit in different stages of parenthood in a rundown town, through the strong way she characterizes the people Bailey gets to know in her journey and through the brilliant incorporation of magic in a not-so-magical place. The parents here may not be perfect, but Bird takes flight precisely because of the film’s empathy and understanding.

Everything about Sugarcane is arresting, whether it’s the epic shots of the sweeping reservation (“Canada is our land,” one native announces), the emotional moments shared by survivors of the abusive residential schools, or the damning discoveries they find in an investigation into the Catholic priests. Every second of it is sure to shock and infuriate. Not everything is tragic though. There are slivers of hope, especially from the independently assembled team leading the investigation. The police are apathetic and the suspects are evasive, but despite the deep trauma, pain, and violence the community of Sugarcane has gone through, they persist.

Bong Joon-ho’s follow-up to Parasite, Mickey17, lacks the precision and sharp wit of its predecessor. The satire felt too obvious, while the narrations went on for too long, often dampening the film’s momentum. The biggest transgressor, however, is the film’s villain, a Trump-incarnate played by Mark Ruffalo, who seemed more ridiculous than scary. But while it may not be Bong’s best, Mickey 17 is still an entertaining and enlightening film, thanks in large part to the rich and scarily believable world Bong built and the crazy performances offered by Pattinson. Pattinson has an uncanny ability to make identically-dressed clones feel like two separate, distinguishable entities. From the gait and posture to the tone and timber, Mickey 17 and 18 could not be any more different. Watching Pattinson achieve this duplicity alone makes the film worthwhile.

This difficult movie is about a seventeen-year-old from the U.S. underclass who has to deal with an unplanned pregnancy. Autumn is creative, reserved, and quiet, but those are not qualities that her environment in rural Pennsylvania seems to value. On the opposite, she is surrounded by threats, including disturbing step-father and boss characters. 

Dangers escalate as Autumn decides to travel to New York to have an abortion. Never Rarely Sometimes Always is about unplanned pregnancies as much as it is about just how dangerous it is to be a teenage girl living in America.

Frank Zappa’s creative scope could barely be defined –  a mix of rock, composition, design, and in his early days even filmmaking.  This documentary does its best to summarize the un-summarizable, starting with Zappa’s last time playing guitar and going back to early details like an infatuation with explosives as a kid. 

Zappa’s overwhelmingly full life is focused on the documentary in the study of his incredible work ethic and unique creative philosophy. Far from the drugged hippie perception he was often met with, Zappa was hard-working, business-aware, and didn’t take drugs.

The manifestations of his exceptional intellect and unique character are abundant in a film that will please his fans and send anyone new to him into a deep Wikipedia rabbit hole.

Romantically pairing up AI with humans is hardly new, and I’m Your Man is aware of that. Instead of spending way too much time explaining the advanced tech that makes the perfect mate possible, the movie zeroes in on its charismatic leads Tom the robot (Dan Stevens) and Alma the indifferent academic (Maren Eggert). Tom is the curious, humanoid automaton who is designed to worship Alma, and Alma is the disillusioned human who is conflicted with the authenticity of her growing feelings for Tom. I’m Your Man is smart and empathetic enough to stay afloat amidst its swirling genres and ethical dilemmas, but it is mostly the chemistry between Tom and Alma that anchors it to the love story that it actually is. 

By all outward appearances, The Villages—a massive and manicured retirement community in Florida—looks like it does offer paradise to its aging residents, as promised. The list of activities is endless, the seniors are all partnered up. “It’s like going back to college,” as one of them puts it, where people from all over the country come together to create a new life with each other. 

But of course, nothing comes that easy, not even death. Some Kind of Heaven follows certain residents (and one committed trespasser) as they grapple with the slipperiness of fulfillment in their later years. It gets very eerie when the film’s bleak messages are contrasted with the home’s vibrant Floridian colors and the residents’ plastered smiles. But the eeriness adds to the overall intrigue and pull of the documentary. Darren Aronofsky (Black Swan) co-produces this fascinating film.

Most computer screen films take the horror film route as a cautionary tale about technology and how we use it. However, when the world was on lockdown, one screenlife film takes a look at its positive side. Simple, straightforward, and comforting, Language Lessons celebrates technology as a means for connection. Through surprise Spanish lessons purchased by his husband, Adam (Mark Duplass) forms a friendship with his instructor Cariño (Natalie Morales). At times, watching the film feels like listening into someone else’s Zoom call, however, their back-and-forth feels engaging because of Morales and Duplass’ chemistry. And when loss hits, on both sides, it’s only natural that their relationship deepens as they console each other. Expressive without being melodramatic and intimate without being too pushy, Language Lessons is a rare optimistic take towards the way we connect to each other through technology.

Chile 76 takes place three years after the dictator Augusto Pinochet took over the country and cracked down on dissenting groups and rebels. There was political strife and unnecessary violence, but almost none of this plays out explicitly in the film. Instead, we mostly follow Carmen, who seems to be going through a crisis of her own, albeit an internal one. She lives a well-to-do life as she decorates a new house and volunteers at the church, but there is a deep-seated melancholia about her, which is maybe why she’s so drawn to Elias (Nicolás Sepúlveda). She exits her comfort zone and aids in his covert exchanges across town, perhaps because she’s genuinely interested in Elias’ cause, but possibly because she sees it as a way out from the humdrum of her privileged life. The beauty of the film is that it melds the personal with the political in subtle and interesting ways, allowing us viewers to draw our own conclusions to the matter.

As a result of the miraculous success of the famed Tham Luang cave rescue, which saw the return of 12 kids trapped in a cave for more than 15 days, you’ll find no shortage of documentaries about the mission. Some take the point of view of the children, even others the locals and loved ones. But National Geographic’s The Rescue largely focuses on the volunteer rescuers, all of whom were foreigners who flew from different parts of the globe to risk their lives for the young victims. The film dives into their personal lives and their psyches, even going so far as their childhood to explain the motivations behind the heroic decisions they made at that moment. In less deft hands, The Rescue might seem like yet another White Savior Complex story, but directors Jimmy Chin and Elizabeth Chai Vasarhelyi (the same creative couple behind the Oscar-winning doc Free Solo) prove that the divers’ expertise, skill, and personal stakes make for a story worth telling.

As far as LGBTQIA+ stories go, 20,000 Species of Bees isn’t the best at talking about its themes of identity and acceptance in a way that doesn’t come off as clunky. But even with its on-the-nose dialogue and inconsequential subplots, director Estibaliz Urresola Solaguren gives everything the warmth and the softness it needs to feel sincere despite everything. And no matter what, the film is always drawn back to the lead performance by Sofía Otero, who provides such a vivid image of this young trans girl’s interior life that the world around her character begins to feel either more suffocating or more beautiful to behold.

If given the outline of this film, it might be easy to just call it poverty porn. But there’s a genuineness to Mambar Pierrette that keeps this film from sliding into melodrama, a certain subtlety that captures the everyday life in Douala, Cameroon. Filmmaker Rosine Mbakam, who made her start through documentary films, brings her naturalistic style here, placing the titular seamstress front and center as she responds to each and every difficulty that comes her way. And as the flood comes, and so too her troubles, Pierrette Aboheu Njeuthat shines with a subtle charisma, a performance full of dignity for the titular single mother that carved out a life through her craft. Mambar Pierrette might have a familiar neo-realist story, but it’s done well due to its excellent balance.

Shot for only 20 days with a budget of a million dollars, The Last Stop in Yuma County is a small film, but it achieves significant feats, thanks in large part to first-time feature director Francis Galluppi’s strong vision. The set is stylish, the characters feel lived in, and the central mystery—will these robbers get away with it?—feels so taut and tense that it’s enough to fuel the entire film’s energy. There’s no need to look for backstories, motivations, or subplots; just waiting to see whether the finger will let go of the gun’s trigger, or if anyone will catch the hostage’s silent plea for help, is absorbing enough.

After years of relatively tame, tearjerking LGBTQ+ dramas, finally comes a sexy, erotic thriller made for and by sapphic women that pushes past convention. Love Lies Bleeding is an unexpected sophomore film from British director Rose Glass, not just because it’s set in New Mexico, but because of the 80s B-movie vibe literally on steroids that seems drastically different from her debut film Saint Maud. But both have the altered, surreal moments that blur the line between real and imagined, this time with a desperate edge of star-crossed lovers and the rage fuelled by familial trauma, jealousy, and overdosing on steroids. Kristen Stewart and new leading lady Katy O’Brian are delightful to watch with their immediate chemistry.

While the YA genre doesn’t have the best track record with regards to mental illness representation, there’s a funny, surprisingly accurate, and, dare I say, relatable approach to Words on Bathroom Walls that makes the topic of schizophrenia feel approachable. It helps that the cast was well-picked, with festival favorites Charlie Plummer and Taylor Russell forming a compelling pair, but what makes the film work is director Thor Freudenthal, whose previous experience in directing classic teen franchises can be seen through the way he portrays Adam with heart, rather than with stereotypes, just like the original novel. Words on Bathroom Walls is an unexpectedly fresh take on an often misrepresented condition.

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.

Irish period drama Monster is downright depressing. Of course, for some viewers, that’s just part and parcel of any period drama– without the scientific advancement, the philosophical debates, and the sheer convenience of the modern world, it can be easy to imagine a bleak past. But, like some of the best depressing period dramas, Monster makes clear just how bad things were and what we should never do again. Through depicting An Gorta Mór, or the Great Famine of Ireland, in the eyes of a small village, through visualizing the story so many people from Ireland have heard from previous generations, and through its strong performances, Arracht is a striking reminder of the trauma deliberately struck upon Ireland, the memory that is still strongly felt today.

Heretic starts slow and talky, veering into philosophical territory as Hugh Grant’s creepy Mr. Reed drills Sisters Barnes (Sophie Thatcher) and Paxton (Chloe East) about faith and religion. But pretty soon, it turns into an utterly gripping escape thriller and supernatural mystery. Some things about the movie will frustrate you, and even more will have you questioning life itself. But there’s no doubt Heretic will keep you on the edge of your seat, maybe even with one of your eyes half closed.

There’s a pervasive myth in movies that struggle (financial, physical, or otherwise) makes you stronger, but the truth is that struggle makes you weaker. Adversity makes you more resilient and resourceful, sure, but it takes a lot more to be stronger. The Fire Inside, a biopic about American Olympic athlete Ressa Shields, understands that truth, so instead of being a romanticized rags-to-riches picture, it’s instead a sympathetic and thoughtful film about how Shields and her trainer, Jason Crutchfield, navigate the many hurdles and biases that they encounter as a Black and poverty-stricken athletic team. The film is a sports drama, but the excellent dialogue (written by award-winning filmmaker Barry Jenkins) hits just as much as the boxing scenes. Unlike most sports movies, The Fire Inside’s story doesn’t stop at the crucial match—we get to see how Shield fares after all the hype and fanfare, which makes it all the more compelling and memorable.

The real life case that inspired this movie is quite chilling. It’s probably the reason why, instead of depicting the crime in the usual manner, The Sparring Partner is mostly centered around the court proceedings instead. This approach structures the film in a novel way. Like plenty of other films, the legal drama delves into the killer and his background, but only when it’s relevant to the witness stand, or when he’s talking to his lawyers. The approach also ensures some focus on the killer’s hapless accomplice. What’s interesting is that the film also allots some focus on the jury itself, showing them literally in the scene of the crime as they try to visualize what could have happened. By doing so, The Sparring Partner presents the facts of the case, but it also brilliantly captures the varying mindsets in Hong Kong towards familial duties and accountability through its stand-in jury. As the film judges over the case, it also judges over these mindsets in the face of justice.

There are plenty of versions of the Cinderella story, but none as brutal and nauseating as The Ugly Stepsister. For one, it’s not a lovely fairytale that rewards the perseverance of good people through a royal romance. Instead, this European folklore inspired body horror takes the perspective of its titular character, a stepsister who is forced to undergo invasive procedures for the sake of her family. It’s absolutely gruesome. Every single terrible thing Elvira goes through eerily recalls today’s plastic surgery and diet culture except without modern-day tools and anaesthesia. Those new to horror, or those who would be triggered by these topics, would find the film hard to watch. Still, The Ugly Stepsister deeply understands the dark side of this oft-told fairytale, especially at how marriage used to be the only means to upward mobility for women.

Logan Lerman (The Perks of Being a Wallflower) and John Hawkes (The Sessions) star in this easy road drama about a father who tries to rekindle with his son. After the mother passes away, they try to execute her dying wishes of spreading her ashes in her home country of Ireland. The son, Lerman’s character, is freshly released from jail and accepts to take the trip on the one condition that he never sees his father again. This premise makes for a fun mix between a family drama and an adventure movie. Both characters have a lot to discover in Ireland: about the country, each other, and themselves.

A woman loses her phone on her way back to her countryside childhood home. Once there, she connects an old landline in hopes of finding her lost mobile, only to start receiving weird calls that seem to be from 20 years ago.

On the other side of the receiver is a girl who seems to be in danger. The Call is thrilling, sometimes scary, but also brilliantly shot, and its plot is so expertly woven. It’s a proper movie-night movie.

Survivors are often painted in a brave light; they’re applauded for their resilience and toughness, and in the case of school shootings, many of them are also expected to take up arms and fight the good fight. While this is of course laudable, many survivors are simply trying to get by. Unable to process trauma and inexplicable loss, they become withdrawn, depressed, and reckless—not exactly noteworthy traits, but understandable and equally deserving of empathy.

The Fallout shifts the focus on this side of survival by following Vada in the aftermath of a school shooting. Unlike her peers, she fails to cope positively and becomes increasingly self-destructive. But it’s through this unsentimental portrayal that The Fallout achieves a frankness and rawness that few films like it have. 

Best friends Val (Jerrod Carmichael) and Kevin (Christopher Abbott) have had enough of living; desperate and depressed, they make an agreement to kill each other. On the last day of their lives, they set out on an unlikely journey tying up loose ends and meeting up with the people who’ve impacted them the most.

Depicting suicide onscreen is already a scary gamble in itself, but to try to add some good-willed humor to it is an impossible task. Still, director and star Jerrod Carmichael pulls it off, thanks in large part to his empathetic know-how of the subject matter. Carmichael explores the nuances of his topic with impressive deft, touching on oft-overlooked factors such as mental health, class, and abuse in plain and realistic terms. What he captures most effectively is the anger that comes with this strong and sometimes irrepressible urge. Abbot is explosive and Carmichael is subtle; both turn in rich performances and, together, concoct a delicate two-hander oozing with chemistry, empathy, and thrill.

Is this the most thrilling head-scratcher we’ve seen in a while? No. Is it a rousing take on the feminist cause? Not really. But what Wicked Little Letters lacks in intrigue and relevance, it more than makes up for in entertainment value. Not that anyone needs convincing, but here Colman and Buckley further prove why they’re some of the most in-demand actors right now. They’re raw and fiery and hilarious, energizing every scene with their limitless energy. They make the film a breeze to watch, so if you’re looking to pass the time with enjoyable performances, Wicked Little Letters makes for a solidly entertaining watch.

Reminiscent of classic gang films, The Bikeriders comes as a familiar but still enjoyable piece of Americana. It’s properly nostalgic and structured much like Goodfellas, with someone narrating the entire thing and smartly teasing the surprising end. In this case, the brooding leading man’s wife, Kathy (Comer), softens the film’s rough macho edges. But as fascinating as this slice of American life is, it’s the stacked cast who take the film one step further. Tom Hardy is commanding as the club’s leader, while Comer grounds the film’s darker moments with charm and reason. Mike Shannon and the rest of the gang are realistically gritty and interesting, but surprisingly, Austin Butler and Faist are given little to do. There’s an unevenness to The Bikeriders that makes you wonder if it would be better or worse under a different director, but as it stands, the film is a welcome entry in the crime and ride genre.

Many films have been made about that uniquely taut mother-daughter bond, but maybe none is as delicate as Janet Planet. The film, written and directed by playwright and first-time filmmaker Annie Baker, explores that relationship in a way that may jar viewers, initially. The pauses are heavy and long as Baker lingers on mood, expressions, and the tiniest of details, like a flicker of light or a sudden movement. There are more scenes without dialogue than with it. The plot is also nonexistent as it simply follows Lacy and Janet for the whole summer, and a little during the fall. But that’s not the point. The point is that we can feel that palpable love-hate tension between mother and daughter, and relate to it too. You only need to know where to look.

There are many ways through which a friendship can form, but sometimes, it’s due to compassion for someone who needs help. Despite the somewhat fantastical clairvoyant premise, Beautiful Beings is mostly about this simple friendship formed with a bullied kid, which turns out not to be so simple at all. From a bummed cigarette, the friendship grows into a protective support system, filling up parental neglect with teaching each other how to live, but while some of these moments are totally wholesome, other moments lean into mischief, and sometimes violent danger. It may be a fairly familiar coming-of-age premise about male friendship, but Berdreymi executes it well, has a compelling cast, and isn’t afraid to go dark when necessary.

Whether because of absent family or nefarious criminals, there are children around the world that have to work, sometimes in risky, dangerous jobs. Sun Children follows one such group of children. It’s a sadly familiar tale, taking notes from neorealism in depicting this important issue, but what makes Sun Children stand out is the way it shows how child labor can easily erode a kid’s soul, having to prioritize survival over being taken care of. It’s tragic to see how its ensemble has trouble simply accepting regular schooling, because they had to keep up defenses to live. Sun Children is one of many social issue dramas about child labor, but it’s unfortunately necessary in a world that has failed many kids this way.

Possessor announces a visionary new voice in Brandon Cronenberg, and is one to watch for the concept alone, brilliantly melding science fiction and horror into one. Cronenberg’s direction is reminiscent of a cross between Christopher Nolan’s Inception and Jonathan Glazer’s Under The Skin, but has more than enough originality to stand well on its own. However, unfortunately, it is surprisingly slow at times, and is far from the mind-blowing gore fest that was promised, resulting in a well made but underwhelming experience. BUT, if you were in the mood for a trippy introspective sci-fi thriller and are able to keep your expectations tempered, this is well worth a watch

When Émilie finds a new roommate in Camille, she also gains a friend and a lover. Still, the parameters of their relationship are never quite sure, causing a complicated chasm that both divides and arouses them. Eventually, they meet Nora, who brings her own desires and insecurities into the mix. Experimentation ensues as the film follows the trio coming into their own as sexual and human beings.

Shot in rich black and white against the backdrop of Paris’ urban Les Olympiades neighborhood, Paris, 13th District is a finely balanced film that never overstays its welcome in the contrasting ideas it takes on. Classic love stories offset modern setups of romance, while fast-paced city life levels out the uncertainty of its inhabitants. Paris, 13th District is an engaging watch, not despite but because of its bold attempt to be many things at once.

Sincere and direct, Ana Rocha de Sousa’s debut feature is a tragic portrayal of an immigrant family in the United Kingdom. Known best abroad for her role in Love Actually, Lúcia Moniz shines as devoted mother Bela, who, along with Jota (Ruben Garcia) struggles to keep their family together. The couple and their three children, including the deaf middle child Lu (Sophia Myles), come under the scrutiny of social services, especially after the unexplained bruises. While at times heavy-handed, the film raises important questions on family separation and social services, especially with their limitations with children with disabilities.

More shooting and spectacle than story, Sisu is a stunningly shot and unapologetically gory action film set at the tail end of World War II in Finland. It follows former commando turned prospector Aatami (nicknamed “Koschei” or immortal by the Russians) as he retrieves his stolen gold from the Nazis who’ve occupied and pillaged the nearby town.  

Not much happens in the way of plot, but what it lacks in that department it more than makes up for in action, which easily matches the likes of John Wick. In fact, Aatami is a kind of John Wick with his undefeatable killer moves and trusty dog pal—a reprieve of cute in a sea of endless carnage. But in the long list of grindhouse movies, Sisu distinguishes itself as astutely patriotic. Of course, it’s hard not to root for anyone going against Nazis, but Sisu compels you to its side in subtle but powerful ways. 

You’ll be reminded of John Wick, Mad Max, and many a Tarantino film watching Sisu, but you’ll be struck by the film’s singular hero, a stand-in for a nation unwilling to give up in the face of oppression. 

After directing George Harrison: Living in the Material World and No Direction Home, Martin Scorsese brings to the fore yet another singular musician, this time New York Dolls frontman David Johansen (aka Buster Poindexter). More of a concert film than anything, this feature takes place during a live performance Johansen gives during his birthday; his raspy voice and poetic punk songs already tell a story in themselves, but Scorsese intercuts them with the occasional archival footage and interview, careful not to disrupt a glorious musical moment with cheesy throwback scenes. 

A Dolls or punk fan will be moved by the resulting film, a fittingly jagged but meaningful oeuvre of a tenacious artist. But if you’re coming to this documentary without much prior knowledge about Johansen, his band, and the era from which he came, you might find it somewhat niche, but overall impressive, informative, and musically thrilling.

Shooting Stars may be based on LeBron James’ account of his teenage years, but this adaption by Chris Robinson is more than just a vanity project. In fact, James is hardly the lead here—every one of his friends gets a chance to shine in this coming-of-age story about brotherhood and friendship. It’s closer to films like Boyz N the Hood and Stand By Me in that way, but that’s not to say it’s a letdown in the sports department. The games are choreographed beautifully; the actors display wonderful athleticism and the filmmakers employ various camera techniques that never fail to surprise. There are times, though, that these techniques distract more than excite, and there is a sense that the film could’ve benefited from a more pared-down style. But this ultimately doesn’t take away from the film’s tender and thrilling story.

The Syrian refugee crisis is still ongoing, so it can understandably be difficult to create a nuanced and accurate depiction. Jacir is an earnest attempt at this. Keeping it on the more personal side, the film focuses on the journey of one Syrian refugee as he gets to know members of his neighborhood, like his black co-worker Jerome and his opioid-addicted neighbor Meryl. Though occasionally bogged down by clunky dialogue, their struggles genuinely outline the same struggles faced by communities failed by their institutions. It’s only through banding together as a community that Jacir and his friends can survive.

Visual artist Ann Oren’s first foray into feature-length filmmaking is a sensual delight and a gift that keeps on giving. Oren approaches her film with sincere dedication to every single building block: Piaffe looks, sounds, and feels sensational while being a fairly modest production. A true indie film, Piaffe verges on experimentation as a young woman named Eva (Simone Bucio) takes over the job of a foley artist from her sister. Even though she’s under-qualified, she tries her best t0 come up with the sounds for a horse-themed commercial to no avail. However, in the process, she notices a bump on her lower back that grows into a horse’s tail. Piaffe is a tale of metamorphosis, not only of the flesh, but also of the heart, as the themes it explores are also directly related to sexuality, submission, and, of course, love as a manifestation of all those things.

It’s easy to classify Destroy All Neighbors as B-movie schlock; it unabashedly pays tribute to the low-budget comedy horror movies that pervaded the ‘80s. But it also feels too good for that. Elevated by funny bits, easy chemistry, solid production design, and a lightweight but easygoing script, Destroy All Neighbors never really wastes your time. It may confuse and drag at times, but there’s always an element that delights. As the straight man anchoring all the absurdity and gore surrounding him, Ray is also surprisingly likable. He connects easily to the colorful ensemble of characters in the film. 

Destroy All Neighbors is stylish, trippy, nonsensical, and quite commendable in its creativity (the practical effects and prosthetics are the highlight). In all, it’s harmless good fun, just beware of the overflowing blood and guts! 

While adoption doesn’t have the same stigma as it did back in the day, it doesn’t mean that the process is worry-free. There’s still a host of issues surrounding the process, plenty of which have been depicted in film. So, it’s no surprise that True Mothers holds more or less the same themes we’ve seen before, but where some films focus on mining the melodrama, filmmaker Naomi Kawase’s writing is much more restrained, keeping its take as naturalistic and detail-oriented as possible, and thus, demystifying the process. The slow pace may not be to everyone’s taste, but True Mothers is a thoughtful, sensitive portrayal of Japan’s adoption system today.

Sometimes, especially when you’ve gone without it for so long, you would do anything for a shred of respect. LaRoy, Texas depicts exactly that, with a store owner Ray being so unwilling to stand up for himself that his wife cheats on him with his brother, who steals from the family business. It’s a terrible situation to be in, of course, but it’s played out in a dry, comedic way, as detective-wannabe Skip pokes on the wound when trying his best to solve the case, and as each surprise reveals how terribly incompetent the small town deals with things. While it doesn’t quite compare to the neo-Westerns of Coen brothers it’s inspired by, LaRoy, Texas is both fun and tragic, and a promising debut for writer-director Shane Atkinson.

College seems to be teeming with possibility, in a more substantial way than adulthood or high school feels, since for many people, it’s the only time where one lives alone and makes decisions for their lives selfishly. Shithouse captures that moment with a candid sentimentality, all marked by a shared late night that changes the way the whole college life feels. Cooper Raiff captures this time of a freshman uncertainty with actual palpable emotions, acting, writing, and directing with a freshness that filmmakers aspire to but never seem to get on screen, and it’s this mumblecore-inspired feature debut that made him a filmmaker to look out for. Shithouse is pure college nostalgia.

When travelling to another place, another city, another town, there’s a certain anonymity that frees one’s self. No one knows who you are, so you’re not expected to maintain a certain personality, and that can be necessary for young people trying to find their way. The Breaking Ice shows this in a fairly sentimental way, juxtaposing the wintry, snowy landscape with the warm but fleeting connection forming between three lonely adults, but there’s just something honest in the way the three try to hide but still share the same youthful ennui, even if they come from vastly different backgrounds. The Breaking Ice might not be daring enough to delve into the queer aspect of this trio, but it’s still a lovely, well-crafted drama contemplating the youth’s melancholy.

Dogleg is quite an unusual debut. For starters, the film doesn’t take one straightforward narrative– it shifts into various side stories, from a search for a fiancée’s dog conducted via hoverboard, to a period blood spell casted on a Colorado farm, to a crew member being approached rather strangely by two women, to Al’s disastrous shoot, with each section led by a different lead. It is also certainly strange to insert commentary about the film within the film itself, with the lead, and writer-director Al Warren doing the commenting. But this metanarrative is certainly interesting, and funny, and takes unexpected, remarkable turns for a debut feature.

Admittedly, being released in theaters a month after Immaculate, The First Omen can almost be accused of being derivative, with similar protagonists, plots, and themes. However, unlike Immaculate, this film captures a bit of the 1970s horror style that was best seen in the original 1976 Omen film, with the paranoia, the investigations, the Eastman Kodak-inspired color grading, and the number of the devil now depicted in striking modern images and clearer digital definition. And, considering that the Roe decision was overturned two years ago, the idea of a forced virgin conception is a great way to reintroduce Gen Z to the horror franchise, as the prequel, and today’s women, now have to deal with religion and authority reducing women only into vessels. The First Omen is a timely adaptation that takes familiar horror tropes and executes them well.

Ballet has always captivated with its grace and poise, so of course it captivated cinema as well, with classics such as The Red Shoes and Black Swan centered on the dance, the culture, and of course, the drama. The juxtaposition of the ideal feminine form and the ugliness of competition, the sabotage, and the objectification are regular topics, but The American adds the national identity into its themes, tackling the anxieties of a young American in an academy that isn’t friendly to outsiders. It’s stunning. It gives justice to the journey of the real ballerina Joy Womack, portrayed excellently by Talia Ryder with breathtaking ease, and given dramatic flourish through the direction of James Napier Robertson. While it doesn’t quite surpass classic ballet films, Joika proves that real life ballet can be more emotional, more traumatic than any drama made about the dance.

It’s immediately apparent that there are more carefully made documentaries out there than Remembering Gene Wilder. The film is riddled with pixelated photos for one, and the overall tone is fawning for another. But Wilder is too great of a man to be affected by mediocre filmmaking, and so Remembering Gene Wilder still makes for an entertaining and insightful watch despite its small faults. The film is less about his life and more about his work—a chronological account of his career with nuggets of wisdom for performers, comedians, and writers tucked neatly in between. It still dives into his personal life, to be sure, but as Wilder will readily admit, his creative decisions spell out all you need to know about him.

Aspiring writer-director Vita of My First Film is insufferable. When she starts out making her first feature, she’s pleasantly surprised by the people who came to help her, but the repetition of the shoot, the scene not matching the idea in her head, which she tries to put into image and word, but can’t quite make the vision clear, the anxiety and pressure to be a professional filmmaker blinding her from the concerns of her cast and crew all combine to an inevitable failure of her first feature, which also happens to inspired by Vita’s actual life. Vita is insufferable, but writer-director Zia Anger manages to make her real in an eclectic meta multimedia patchwork that won’t work for everyone, but uniquely depicts an experience filmmakers, aspiring or otherwise, haven’t wanted to talk about.

Many movies try to be nostalgic, but few have come as close as Between the Temples. Directed by Nathan Silver, it channels classics like The Graduate, Harold and Maude, and early Woody Allen dramedies without trying too hard. It has the grain, patina, and camera movements of 60s and 70s movies, and its central love story–though not quite shocking now–might’ve been subversive then. But more than just a pleasant trip to the past, Between the Temples is a reassuring film about the deep and healing bond two people can forge amidst grief and loneliness. It also tackles faith and tradition without being preachy or stifling. Many scenes can feel overwhelming, but the moments after feel cathartic, even if—as in religion and as in life—they rarely give you a sure answer.

With time-bending natural phenomena linking two teenagers into a romance, there’s no denying that The Tunnel to Summer, the Exit of Goodbyes can feel a tad too similar to the internationally acclaimed Your Name (2016). Right off the bat, it doesn’t compare. Nonetheless, the film still works because of the key difference between them. Unlike the earlier film, the time travel is triggered not because of being magically bound to save a whole town from natural disaster, but due to the regret, sorrow, and personal trauma that shifted the course of their lives. It makes for an intriguing sci-fi metaphor about co-dependency and healing through one’s first relationship. The Tunnel to Summer, the Exit of Goodbyes may not compare to other anime time travel adventures, but it’s animated beautifully and it effectively captures that wistful feeling one gets with their first love.

War doesn’t take place in just one battle– it takes multiple battles in certain strategic places across a country or even a continent. It’s because of this that when one group claims victory, it’s not immediately obvious across all territories. This is what happened in The Forgotten Battle. The film’s title refers to the Battle of the Scheldt, where Allied forces won over an important supply route between Belgium and the Netherlands, in the final year before both countries were totally liberated. In line with this, the film creates tension by ratcheting up the uncertainty the people felt through three different perspectives. By focusing on a disillusioned Dutch volunteer, a privileged British glider pilot, and a reluctant Dutch resistance fighter, The movie highlights the conflict between their personal hopes with the dreadful circumstances war forced them into and the moral dilemmas they had to face to survive. It’s not a totally original idea– many war films are based on this theme– but The Forgotten Battle adeptly balances these perspectives with a decent script and great production value.

Real life serial killers are interesting to see on screen because the very crime they committed is so unusual, that you can’t help but wonder what the heck pushed them to do such a thing. However, doing so can be tricky because a bad depiction can seem to glorify their drama at the expense of the real life victims. Thankfully, Nitram doesn’t do that. Based on the 1996 Port Arthur massacre, it does depict the killer’s perspective, but director Justin Kurzel just depicts it as is, never dramatizing or sympathizing or blaming anyone else for the killer’s actions, keeping the camera solely on Nitram himself. And it works because Caleb Landry Jones captures the killer’s off-putting intensity, and resulting loneliness, through his excellent performance. It’s not an easy watch, but Nitram is an intriguing character study that doesn’t mine drama from tragedy.

When it comes to depicting human rights violations, sometimes it’s more important to depict them as fast as you can, than it is to add some cinematic flair to the documentary, because people’s lives are at stake. Perhaps that’s why Sabaya feels as meandering as it does. It’s a dangerous story to tell. The filming itself is risky, but leaving too much information after editing can risk the next efforts of the rescuers– so it’s probably the reason why more of the mundane efforts are included, and some of the shots are shadowy, pointed to protect the people’s faces. Sabaya won’t be the most exciting way to depict its issue, but it achieves what it sets out to do: which is to remind the world of the suffering, as well as the volunteer efforts, still happening in the refugee camp.

Taking a page from ghost movies past, My Dead Friend Zoe follows Merit as she struggles to move on from the death of her closest friend in the army. We’re given hints, but the true cause of Zoe’s death isn’t revealed till the end. In the meantime, we see Merit struggle with guilt, grief, and the inevitable trauma that comes with being a soldier. Many films have trodden this path, but My Dead Friend Zoe navigates it with an empathy and delicacy that feels rare in films about PTSD. The film’s heart is its biggest strength, followed by an effortlessly gripping Ed Harris, who plays Merit’s grandfather. Unfortunately, it tends to deflate when it tries to convince us that Merit and Zoe are as close as they are; they are missing the essential chemistry that friends share. Whether that’s due to the acting or to director Kyle Hausmann-Stokes’ failure to comprehend the intricacies of female friendship is beyond me. What I do know is that their bond could’ve been more convincing, which in turn could’ve made the film gel better. As it stands, My Dead Friend Zoe is still a worthwhile watch, primarily thanks to select great performances and the heartwarming kindness it shows to veterans.

One of the worst aspects of war in general is that it always interferes with the hopes and dreams of the people that are living through it. The Road Dance depicts a small Scottish village in World War I, and a woman whose plan had been interfered with. It’s a bleak story, one that’s been inspired from an anecdote passed down through generations, but while the film doesn’t claim to be accurate, it does depict a tragedy that is difficult to talk about with sensitivity and the rare compassion that was granted sporadically to real life survivors. Writer-director Richie Adams softens some of the dark parts from John MacKay’s original novel, and while some of the plot veers a tad too much to melodrama, the three leading women– Hermione Corfield, Morven Christie, and Ali Fumiko Whitney– depict the central family with grace amidst the stunning landscape of the Outer Hebrides. The Road Dance can be triggering, but it’s worth watching for people that love period dramas.

If you’re craving for the fast-paced fights, hand-to-hand combat, and insane stunts of Hong Kong action cinema, you might enjoy Twilight of the Warriors: Walled In. This novel adaptation has a gangster storyline we’ve seen before, but the action? Impeccable. The action sequences are unrelenting with its underground fighter protagonist stumbling into a convoluted web of alliances and enemies, so every moment feels thrilling, even during the quieter moments. The choreography is flashy, the stunts are great, and it’s all performed by some of the best action stars across generations. Admittedly, the occasional CGI can be a bit distracting. Still, Twilight of the Warriors: Walled In is a welcome throwback to Hong Kong action flicks.

After drawing controversy for the embellished, modern day-set Sound of Freedom, director Alejandro Monteverde and writer Rod Barr pivoted to the past to tell the story of Cabrini. It’s a straightforward biopic. It seemed like a safer story to tell, with the protagonist being a literal Catholic saint, who also happened to have an undisputed historical record of uplifting deeds. Francesca Cabrini is the sort of main character whose story writes itself. That being said, choosing to tell her particular story of helping immigrant orphans through her women-led order is an interesting choice at a time when immigration has become a point of contention. While rough in some scenes, Cabrini’s story proves to hold relevance in modern day America.

Through its main couple, Private Desert depicts two sides dealing with masculine repression. The first side shown is Daniel’s, who was born and raised in a military family, but who doesn’t meet the same standards his father met because of this dishonorable dismissal. But what’s interesting about Private Desert is its second side, that of Sara’s. Her ghosting Daniel becomes the impetus for him to finally embrace his vulnerability, but the film’s reveal to Sara’s perspective delivers serious stakes that thankfully opens up Daniel to the desires he didn’t know he had. Admittedly, the script is rather uneven, focusing more on Daniel’s development, but it’s rather refreshing to see someone like Sara so sure with her wants despite the societal pressures. Private Desert captures how healing this love can be through breathtaking, simmering emotion.

Beasts Clawing at Straws is so fun to watch. Most crime thriller fans would find the MacGuffin money, the dubious characters, and the nonlinear timeline familiar, but the way Kim Yong-hoon depicts the 2011 Japanese novel is pretty stylish and engaging. It takes a while to set up, though. As the film steadily introduces new plot threads, the first half can feel a bit confusing. However, by the midpoint, these threads all weave into a series of comedic pay-offs, bringing those who yearn for the cash to unexpectedly satisfying ends. While a bit uneven, Beasts Clawing at Straws is entertaining from start to finish.

Weird: The Al Yankovic Story is a parody of a parody, a multilayered confection of silliness that befits the musician it celebrates. It’s the origin story of Weird Al Yankovic (Daniel Radcliffe) but with the surreal and satirical levels cranked up to a hundred. It’s easy to get lost then, in the movie’s freewheeling giddiness, but Radcliffe has a way of grounding the ultra-heightened comedy with his conviction and charm. The movie also doubles as a who’s who in the 1980s music and comedy scene, and the unlikely pairings it brings together keep you entertained and nostalgic for a simpler, weirder time.

Beautifully staged, vibrantly colored, and powerfully acted, Brother is an instant classic of a film. It tracks three timelines: Francis and Michael’s childhood, their coming of age in high school, and the present day, where we learn that Francis has long been dead, although we don’t find out how till much later in the movie. The suspense hangs in the air, but the build-up to the reveal is just as tense and filled with moments that are alternately lovely and heartbreaking. Largely, the film is about the immigrant experience and Blackhood, about how those unique experiences intertwine to define a person’s life, and so there is anger, resistance, and meaningful commentary to be found here. But Brother is also deeply intimate. As Francis and Michael come of age, they long for role models and true love, and through those ups and downs, they always come back to one another, each one the other’s best friend. Brother tackles heavy themes, but it never veers into melodramatic territory. Instead, it’s a strong, self-assured piece of work that will only find more love and acclaim in the future. 

This Hits Home has an important mission: make the connection between traumatic brain injury and domestic abuse victims more well-known to the public. Every day, wives, girlfriends, and children get their skulls knocked, slammed, and smashed by their abusers, their heads targeted because the injuries are easier to hide and the symptoms of trauma don’t manifest until much later. But despite this prevalent violence, concussions and brain disorders are less associated with domestic abuse than they are in contact sports like wrestling and football. This Hits Home gathers experts and victims alike to change that conversation. It’s a noble effort, but it’s unfortunately masked by weird editing choices that ultimately weaken a strong premise. The film interviews multiple experts in the same field, so it often feels like it’s going in circles instead of propelling forward with new points. In an effort to be comprehensive, it includes commentaries from incidental subjects, which creates a lull that detracts from the main focus. And maybe the biggest fault here is that it relies too much on the survivors’ (admittedly powerful) anecdotes, so much so that it fails to bring any of its own flourishes to the documentary. I appreciate the filmmakers opting to be more straightforward than sensationalist, especially with such a sensitive topic. Still, without its own clear voice and cinematic style, it fails to set itself apart from the many informational videos that are already out there. 

One wouldn’t expect to see Count Dracula’s youthful-looking helper at your local 12-step self-help group for people in codependent relationships, but Renfield holds more than one surprise up its sleeve. By translating the working relationship (or master-slave, since the latter doesn’t get any pay) into the vocabulary of common relationship counselling parlance, the film actually elevates its symbolic status. Even more, I’d dare call it a hoot. Not that many vampire films have managed to make a proper comedy out of the figure in question, and Renfield with its simplistic appeal puts to shame even the artsy Netflix production El Conde, which also came out earlier this year. With Awkwafina in the mix and iconic lines such as “I don’t want your murder cookies”, how can you resist?

Miranda’s Victim often feels like two different movies smushed into one. On the one hand, it tells the story of how Trish finds the courage to speak up against her abuser, who happens to be a person of color. On the other hand, it shows us the legal intricacies that led to the founding of what we now know as Miranda Rights. In better hands, these two stories (one emotional and one technical) could’ve worked well together, and they would’ve spoken to the intersectionality at the heart of this complicated case. But instead of going for nuance, instead of exploring the complex racial and gender politics that inform this case, Director Michelle Danner goes in all sorts of odd directions as if herself confused about what the focus should be. 

Breslin is heartbreaking and powerful as Trish, but she’s only given so much to act with. Despite being based on a real person, her character is reduced to trauma and tears—a caricature of abuse—and nothing more. The movie is at its strongest when it converts into pure courtroom drama by the third act. Suddenly, it’s brisk and intelligent, bolstered by the compelling one-two punches of the judge (a commanding Donald Sutherland) and the two lawyers (Ryan Philippe, a revelation, and Luke Wilson, only slightly better here than in his earlier turn in Legally Blonde). As a story about violation and abuse, there’s surprisingly little compassion to be found, despite the title. But as a legal drama, it’s as informative as it can be. 

Besides the futuristic tech that pops in and out, there’s not a lot about The Kitchen that signals it as a sci-fi film. Neglected housing projects and violent raids have become too common to count as dystopian, so it often feels like The Kitchen could’ve gone without labeling itself as part of the genre (the real world is bad enough). But underneath those layers is a subtle but sublimely tender story about father and son finding each other amid the rubble of real life. First-time directors Daniel Kaluuya (Get Out, The Black Panther) and Kibwe Tavares delicately balance the personal and the political, never undermining the former as many socially aware films do. If Kaluuya and Tavares had fleshed the world it built a little more and removed the parts, such as the sci-fi elements, that did not work out, then Izi and Benji’s story would have been memorably devastating, instead of just affecting.

For a romantic comedy with a fairy tale premise (a star falls in love with a regular person, and a much older one at that), The Idea of You is surprisingly relevant. It interweaves its romance with discussions of ageism and sexism, making it more self-aware than other movies in the same genre. But with that relevance comes a certain dryness; The Idea of You, for all its steamy scenes, lacks the sensuality and charm of a legitimate romcom. Solene is overly cautious, which doesn’t give much way to mystery and mistakes. She makes for a wise role model sure, but not necessarily a rootable heroine. If you like your romcoms to be more on the smart and predictable side, then you’ll enjoy The Idea of You. But if you prefer more hearty laughs and big gestures, then you’re better off looking for another title to stream.

There’s a certain magic in childhood that makes you see the world with bright eyes– every small task is an exciting quest, not weighed down by budgeting, lack of control, and worry. Riddle of Fire captures that magic on 16 mm film, transforming buying a blueberry pie into a whimsical, chaotic adventure involving covens, witches, and huntsmen in modern day forms, echoing a fairytale with vintage 20th century trappings. It’s certainly nostalgic, but it’s created through stylistic choices instead of constant references on older media franchises. While it does lose some momentum in certain moments, Riddle of Fire is such a charming feature debut.

While gay acceptance has been improving in most of the world, unfortunately, this acceptance isn’t universal to all sexualities and queer gender identities, especially for people of color. Femme depicts this difference through the relationship of Jules, a black gay drag queen, and Preston, a white masculine closeted gay drug dealer. As Jules deepens their relationship for revenge, and Preston opens up and allows himself to become more vulnerable, the film explores the way toxic masculinity and violence still dictates most of their dynamic, through an unsettling, sexually charged, stylish approach from the debut co-writers and directors Sam H. Freeman and Ng Choon Ping. However, Femme is particularly uneven, more focused on humanizing the aggressor rather than prioritizing the survivor.

Big George Foreman ticks all the boxes of what a biopic should be. It shows us his troubled childhood, his bumpy rise to the top, and his eventual reconciliation with fame and boxing. It’s also nicely shot and polished, an accurately dressed period piece that looks and feels the part. But nothing about the film hits you as particularly new or exciting. Prickly topics like faith and infidelity aren’t so much explored as they are simply covered, and the dialogue sounds like something you’ve heard a thousand times. There’s also a sense that the filmmakers noticed this problem because halfway through, the movie switches into a more lighthearted tone, as if it were suddenly bored of itself. Sure, Big George Foreman is easy to follow and nice to look at, but its formulaic structure fails to distinguish itself from a long and ever-growing line of sports biopics.

In the same festival where she showcased her screenwriting chops, Rachel Sennott also showcased her dramatic side in I Used to Be Funny, a difficult drama that garnered less acclaim than Bottoms (2023). It’s understandable– while both films have a witty, gen-Z slant in its comedy, this drama is much harder to balance and heavy to watch, dealing with mental health and PTSD. The non-linear narrative occasionally does make the film feel a tad disjointed as well. However, there’s a care and a warmth from Ally Pankiw’s direction that makes this exploration of Sam’s complex trauma feel heartfelt, and Sennott holds each scene with compelling charisma.

 As glad as I am to see a film celebrating the complex joys of interracial love and debunking the stigma of arranged marriages, I can’t help but wonder how and why a film about love got to be so dry and passionless. Is dating really this painfully awkward? Is marriage really this burdensome? Realistically, yes, but when you’re trying to make a point about true love supposedly trumping it all, including cultural differences and age-old traditions, then you should at least make it seem like the winner. The movie tries to have its cake and eat it too by serving us heaps of realism and fantasy on one plate, failing to understand that you only have to pick one to be palatable. “Love Contractually” is the title of Zoe’s documentary, but it’s also the name this movie should’ve gone with, seeing as how everyone acts like they’re obligated to be here. 

Loss can be straightforwardly heartwrenching, but it could also be bewildering, cryptic, and too sudden to even process. New Religion depicts a grieving mother, whose loss of her daughter, and her meet up with an eccentric photographer, causes her to behave strangely. The film goes through the events in a surreal, existential haze, with a skin-crawling scene that reveals the photographer’s nefarious reasons, but the sequences remain inscrutable and the themes and certain characters don’t mesh as well as they could have. New Religion might befuddle viewers just looking for a casual watch, but it’s definitely a thought provoking and promising debut from Keishi Kondo.

Written by Diablo Cody (Jennifer’s Body) and directed by Zelda Williams (daughter of the late Robin Williams), Lisa Frankenstein is a playful, funny, and stylish take on ‘80s horror and coming-of-age romcoms. Unfortunately, those traits alone are not enough to give the film the weight it needs to stand the test of time. There’s a clumsiness to the direction that, ironically enough, makes the film seem like parts lousily stitched together, instead of a coherent whole. There are pauses that are too long, transitions that feel off, and questions left unanswered. Why does it feel natural for Lisa to kill people? Was she close to her mom? What does her relationship with The Creature indicate, apart from the trite and obvious “outcasts must stick together”? Lisa Frankenstein doesn’t have to answer all these to be a good film, but when things are shallowly rendered, they become hard to ignore. It prioritizes pulpy gimmicks and visual gags that are admittedly fun to watch, but leaves behind equally important matters that flesh out Lisa as a person.

“There is no ethical consumption under capitalism,” a famous socialist belief goes, but like many activists, Jo is trying to curb that. She marries her two conflicting passions, coffee and the environment, by establishing a vegan cafe that only serves plant-based drinks. If a customer so much as mentions dairy, they’re humiliated before being kicked out of the place. It’s both impressively assertive and gratingly obnoxious, which is something you could also say about the tone the entire film strikes. It’s well-meaning in its attempt to shed light on the ongoing climate crisis, but rather tone-deaf in trying to place the blame on everyday consumers rather than large-scale corporations. The editing choices, while meant to be cheeky, also go overboard with the cuts and colors, making it more annoying than anything else. Which is a shame, because apart from a noble cause, Coffee Wars also has a funny script and engaging performances going for it. It also gives us an insightful look into the highly competitive coffee tournaments being staged around the world. If only Coffee Wars let things brew for longer, maybe removed some elements and expanded others—specifically, dwell more on the contradiction of wanting to change a system while participating in it—then it would’ve been even more enjoyable and educational than it is. 

Hipgnosis’s body of work is so rich, brilliant, and recognizable, that it’s hard not to at least sit in awe as they flash by you in this documentary. The accompanying stories behind their creation, sometimes told by Thorgerson and Powell, other times by their musician clients like Jimmy Page and Paul McCartney, are also pleasant and informative enough to paint, in whole, an interesting picture. But apart from the covers themselves, Squaring the Circle doesn’t have much else going for it. The co-founders’ history is too brief and plain to render drama, and their upbringing too upper-class and male to be relatable. A more broad, ambitious goal would’ve been to parallel the history of these artworks with the history of rock music itself, but this niche documentary seems uninterested in explaining itself to outsiders and newcomers. That said, it still serves as a precious account for those familiar with Hipgnosis’ pieces. 

While best known for his American action thrillers in the early 2000s, writer-director Lee Tamahori returned to his roots in 2016 with the critically acclaimed Māori-centric 1950s historical drama Mahana. Tamahori continues to explore his people’s stories with The Convert. Set right before Britain colonized New Zealand, the film explores the dynamics between the white settlers and the differing Māori tribes, with much more accuracy and sympathy than older films towards the indigenous community, culture, and characters. It’s shot quite beautifully, with stunning landscapes and decent fight scenes, and the performances, especially that of Guy Pearce, make the film watchable. That being said, the film still mostly stems from the white Thomas Munro, whose perspective mostly comes about by passive observation rather than active participation in the story.

This a small-town, true-crime thriller that has John Hamm (Mad Men) as the detective, Nick Mohammed (Ted Lasso) as the trusty sidekick, and Tina Fey (30 Rock) as the love interest. They’re a charismatic cast helming a bizarro story whose real-life details are already teeming with juicy details, and yet, the resulting film, directed by John Slattery, is as lackluster and forgettable as can be. There is no sense of mystery, the jokes fall flat, and every scene looks like it’s shot from a studio lot. There is plenty of better fare out there for anyone looking for comedy capers, and I bet the true crime documentary of the real-life Maggie Moore case is infinitely more engaging than its filmic counterpart. 

Eye of the Storm may not directly address COVID-19, but the film clearly draws similarities to the latest pandemic with the 2003 outbreak of the SARS virus. Panic, confusion, and miscommunication over the latest news are shared experiences between the two. These experiences are seen between the interlocking stories of the people quarantined in the hospital, and it’s easy to feel the fear and frustration surrounding them all. The film presents the issues of the overwhelmed healthcare system quite well, but its last moments leave a lot unresolved. While the film figures out the virus’ origin in its universe, the film leaves the healthcare workers’ stories hanging. It understandably reflects the uncertainty present with COVID-19, but it makes the film’s ending feel unsatisfying.

Dropping on DVD and digital download in America at the end of summer 2023, Mavka: the Forest Song made its Hulu debut this November. Taking the plot of the 1912 poetic play and rewriting the tragic deaths into lighthearted, fantastical adventures, the film is precisely the sort of generic, child-friendly fairy tale that we’ve come to expect from Disney, albeit with a Ukrainian twist. The plot is predictable, and the humor is rife with cliche, but it’s still a fairly entertaining watch for young audiences.

While most people were aware about the devastating atomic bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, less people knew about the continued nuclear testing during the Cold War that occurred on American soil. Downwind shines a light on this in the usual documentary fashion, but it’s an important discussion to have, as the state government deemed nuclear testing in a cheaper place more urgent than the lives of the native Americans living near the plantation, and as the death of one of Hollywood’s leading men unable to even change this. While it was interesting to hear from Hollywood stars, Downwind works best in discussion with the Shoshone Nation, who bore the brunt of the consequences of nuclear fallout.

The act of creation is difficult. It’s hard enough to bring to life one’s own ideas, but when one was taught, inherited, and directly molded by their parents, it can be hard to break free and figure out one’s own style. Stopmotion uses the type of animation to directly visualize the dynamic– a literal puppet being controlled by a child, a metaphorical puppet, controlled by a parent puppet master, in two different ways– and it’s a unique, brilliant premise made so unsettling with writer-director Robert Morgan’s signature animated style. While the film doesn’t neatly stitch its multiple layers together, Stopmotion is an eerie, chilling debut with original style.

As a supernatural horror, The Pope’s Exorcist doesn’t bring anything new to the table. It employs more or less the usual elements you’d expect from the genre, and to be fair, it does occasionally fright you with its bloody jumpscares and demonic screeches. But as a drama, the film is surprisingly watchable thanks to a committed and compelling performance from Crowe. The movie works best when it removes itself from its horror trappings and follows Crowe’s Gabriele as he moves through the ins and outs of the Vatican. When he challenges the church’s authority, when he defends his practice, when he inserts jokes in serious conversations because “the devil hates jokes,” these are when The Pope’s Exorcist shines and entertains. They’re also proof the film shouldn’t take itself too seriously when its star is having this much fun. 

For a film with virtually no plot, there’s a lot of fuss going on in Oregon. The characters are constantly yelling and complaining, but the noise—like the plot, the set, and everything else about the film—is empty. The beauty of a Turkish summer is reduced to indoor sets, where much of the film takes place, and there here’s barely any movement, leaving us stuck with dialogue and half-baked backstories that don’t seem to serve any real purpose other than to fill in the film’s overlong runtime. The problems are superficial and solved almost immediately, purely by talking it seems, and there’s no attempt to connect the many disparate stories it shows. A farce like this could’ve worked if it got sillier and more ridiculous by the minute, but Oregon just goes in repetitive, unfunny circles. 

There are plenty of things that The Thicket does well. For starters, the performances are great, with Game of Thrones’ Peter Dinklage taking his charisma to a wintry Western, and Juliette Lewis matching this intensity as his raspy, iron-willed rival. The style is certainly great too, with excellent costumes, dynamic violins, and lingering, meticulously framed shots. But there’s just something off about the way everything comes together. This tale of misfits certainly takes familiar Western tropes, and brings them together in fairly interesting ways as it gets going, but it starts off with a disappointing start, without a compelling dynamic between Jack and his sister Lula, and without a compelling dynamic between everyone on the ride. The Thicket isn’t terrible, but it’s a tad uneven at times.

As a sluggishly paced, three-hour spiritual drama with little dialogue and even less plot, Inside the Yellow Cocoon Shell certainly won’t convert anybody who isn’t already interested in slow cinema. Even those who don’t mind these types of films in which “nothing happens” might feel that it doesn’t weave its themes of faith and suffering tightly enough. But there’s more than enough beauty to contemplate here, courtesy of Dinh Duy Hung’s stunning cinematography, which invites us to simply inhabit the world and to stop looking for answers. This may sound like a copout, but it’s quite the experience to have a film force you to rethink how you’re viewing it, as you’re viewing it.

For the longest time, when a woman loses their husband, they lose everything, as the name, assets, and estate used to be held by and passed on by men exclusively. It was outstanding when Barbe-Nicole Clicquot Ponsardin was able to keep the estate due to the brilliance of her innovative champagne making techniques, and more so when the champagne house she built lasts past two centuries, so it was a bit of a letdown to see the Widow Clicquot falter in telling this incredible story. The costumes, sets, and score worked well to craft the emotional turbulence Clicquot goes through, and Madame herself is excellently portrayed by Haley Bennett, but her invention and the actual history is mostly brushed aside by the awkward, stilted romances Clicquot supposedly shares with her husband when alive, and her wine merchant when he died. Widow Clicquot deserves better.

When your parent decides to marry another person with kids, it can feel like you’re not really part of the family, more so, if you’re forced to move to a completely different country altogether. This is the unsettling feeling that drives Cuckoo, directly inspired by the way some cuckoo species engage in brood parasitism, or rely on other birds to raise their young. It’s an interesting concept, and the feeling of exclusion and being out of place is evoked expertly by Hunter Schafer of Euphoria fame, but why Gretchen’s antagonists would bother to do all of this is over-explained yet still feels quite nonsensical. For horror fans willing to go on this bizarre ride, Cuckoo is visually inventive, unnervingly scored, and decently performed, and would be enjoyable, as long as you don’t really think about the logistics of this strange parenting situation.

When you know that you’re dying, it’s quite lucky to be stuck in a time loop, which is what happens to Zoya Lowe in the science fiction drama Omni Loop. It plays out in a familiar way, where going through the loop means having multiple tries to figure out how to end the loop, and learning the lesson the loop has to offer, but unlike other time loop stories, the lead purposely triggers the time loop, in order to stave off death. It’s an interesting addition, one that makes a well-worn, but understandable conclusion to let go and move on, but Omni Loop struggles to balance the comedy and the drama, muddling the film’s tone and being tame for a film primarily concerned about mortality.

Sweetwater has a precious story in its hands, along with a sparkling cast of tried-and-true actors and a generous budget that allows them to go all in with the movie’s 1950s setting. But the parts are far greater than the sum here, because all together, Sweetwater is a mess. It promises to be a biopic about Clifton but fractures into many other things. During its duller parts, it’s a white savior story about basketball owners, and during its more vibrant parts, it’s a snapshot of the Harlem Globetrotters during their humble beginnings. The basketball matches themselves are playful and exciting to watch, but for every game, there is an overdramatic scene that cranks up the notch on sappy music and predictable dialogues. Often, it also feels like director Martin Guigui went to the Green Book School of Anti-prejudice, given his extremely elementary portrayal of racism and his preference for the white characters over the Black characters. Sweetwater isn’t watchable, but it’s a shame that the star of the film had to share the spotlight with less interesting personalities. 

With the success of Killers of the Flower Moon, there’s a renewed interest in authentic and respectful depictions of Native American stories. Low budget supernatural horror might not be the best approach, considering its history of stereotyping, but The Windigo is a fairly sincere stab at reframing the genre. The wicked looking, titular creature pulls together plenty of the issues Native Americans currently face, such as forgotten culture, violence, and institutional negligence, but the film also surprisingly delves into past collective trauma some of these communities have experienced. The Windigo plays out the way you would expect a creature feature to be, but the film could have been so much more with better execution.

Horror doesn’t have the best track record with homosexuality, as anything considered as the other are often alluded to in making its monsters, but in Ganymede, the script is flipped– Lee’s love for Kyle is portrayed in the most peaceful and calming of ways, while the harshly spat homophobic beliefs Lee’s dad beats into his family manifests into grotesque demons. It’s a novel idea, one that smartly suggests that forcing yourself in the closet forms a hell of one’s own making, but the way the film is executed gives Ganymede an uneven tone, especially since co-directors Colby Holt and Sam Probst don’t seem to know what to do with the film’s horror elements.

Surrounded has the bones of a revenge-style Western. It turns the table on the white cowboy hero and gives us (on paper, at least) complex leads in Mo and Tommy. Mo is a young Black woman whose experience as a Buffalo Solider lends her not only the skills of an expert gunslinger but also the anger and motivation to push through any obstacle, while Tommy is the enigmatic thief who Mo reluctantly relies on in her quest for freedom. With all this pent-up tension, the film should work, and it does occasionally thanks to Wright and Bell’s deft performances (Bell is especially exceptional), the stunning mountainous terrains, and the worthy attempts at race and class commentary. But for the most part, the film’s ambitions fall flat. The monologues are overlong and too evocative of modern speech to be historically believable. The action scenes, while exciting, only sputter here and there and never gain the momentum the film needs to genuinely thrill. And the thin backstories of Mo and Tommy raise more questions than answers. More often than not, Surrounded looks like a couple of good scenes strewn together on a lousy string; the foundations are off but there’s some enjoyment to be found.

Love at its infancy can be pure and sweet, but sometimes, when it’s forced down, locked up inside without calm acceptance, this yearning can fester into something toxic, something too passionate to control. Ride or Die is based on the Gunjō manga, which portrays a relationship between two high school girl best friends made toxic when Nanae recruits Rei to seduce and murder Nanae’s abusive husband. Gunjō wasn’t a perfect representation of a lesbian relationship, but in the hands of a mostly male crew, the resulting lesbian road film adaptation is gorgeous, but feels a tad too long, and a tad too gratuitous with its sex and violence. Ride or Die has an intriguing, boundary-pushing premise about the dark side of devotion, but its execution makes the film an uneasy watch.

Sometimes, there are events so absurd that it must be put into cinematic form. This is because these unusual experiences can be necessary warnings or hopeful reminders about what life can offer. The Penguin Lessons seemed to be the latter, at first. It’s a cute story about a depressed teacher who saves and then continues to be followed by a Magellanic penguin, which becomes an instant conversation starter that opens him up to new people. It’s fun to see the penguin, but also, we’re not sure the protagonist learned anything about responsibility, considering the ending doesn’t come about because of his direct actions. In fact, there’s a certain lack of initiative that led them there. At least Tom starts to admit that to himself, but The Penguin Lessons could have had more to teach before ending so abruptly.