The Best Romantic Dramas Movies to Watch (Page 2)

Oh, the pains of first love. Many a film has been created in memory of it, so the struggles of the protagonist of Lie With Me would likely be familiar. But what Lie With Me does so well is the way it depicts Stéphane Belcourt’s perspective, alternating between his late return and the memories that only he alone holds of his first love, the memories that still continue to make a mark in his life and writing. Leading man Guillaume de Tonquédec is able to subtly capture the anguish in his performance, and Victor Belmondo capture the hope to learn another side of his dad, but it is newcomers Jérémy Gillet and Julien De Saint Jean that capture the chemistry that makes the Lie With Me so compelling to watch.

Vivid, seductive, and highly romantic, Rouge starts as an enchanting tale of a ghost courtesan that haunts a modern-day couple to look for her lost lover. It’s easy to be swayed by the ghostly lovers – the courtesan Fleur (Anita Mui) and wealthy pharmacy chain heir Chan Chen-Pang (Leslie Cheung) start off the film courting each other (and the audience) through lush visuals, dramatic declarations, and Cantonese song. They agree to a suicide pact and promise to find each other in the next life. However, as Fleur haunts newspaper journalists Yuen and Chor, it’s clear how different Hong Kong has become. From its culture to its attitudes towards romance, Rouge suggests that while modern day Hong Kong may be more cold and standardized, the past as we know it is only a gorgeous dream. And that dream hides a tragic, sordid reality.

The sunniest installment of Éric Rohmer’s Tales of the Four Seasons series is a sly, slow burn of a character study. Everything looks sensuously beautiful in the honey-toned French sunshine, except for the ugly egotism of Gaspard (Melvil Poupaud), the full extent of which is gradually revealed over the film’s runtime to amusing — if maddening — effect.

A brooding twenty-something, Gaspard has the traumatic task of having to decide between three beautiful and brilliant young women while vacationing alone on the French coast one summer. He dithers and delays his choice, each woman appealing to a different insecurity of his — but, as frustrating and plainly calculating as he is, you can’t help but be charmed by Gaspard. That’s partly because of Poupaud’s natural charisma, but also because Rohmer grants Gaspard as many searingly honest moments as he does deceitful ones. These come through Rohmer’s hallmark naturalistic walking and talking scenes (a big influence on the films of Richard Linklater), coastal rambles that produce conversations of startling, timeless candor. That inimitable blend of breeziness and frankness is never better matched in the director’s films than by the summer setting of this one, the sharp truths going down a lot smoother in the gorgeous sunlight.

There’s plenty of things happening in folk horror film November. With devils snatching livestock, magical automatons called kratts, and trying to trick the Plague while in the form of a pig, love surely can’t bloom strong in these circumstances. And this would be correct, but the way this tragic romance unfolds is through eerie, yet captivating, black-and-white dream sequences made up bits and pieces of Estonian folklore, and the film shines best when focused on these sequences. The love triangle will be familiar, but the approach, the offbeat humor, and the raw practical effects would be bewitching until the end.

Unlike plenty of time torn films, Maboroshi is the kind of film that doesn’t have a straightforward explanation for the town of Mifuse standing still in time. But even when it doesn’t have a logical reason, the way the film unfolds has a distinct feeling as it explores the illusions the town either could cling to, or release to grow. This kind of storytelling would be familiar to fans of the prolific screenwriter Mari Okada, who just started directing in 2018 with Maquia: When the Promised Flower Blooms, but even those new to her work would appreciate the pure emotion driving Maboroshi, if they can let go of reality and enjoy MAPPA’s exquisite art for a moment.

While more people are familiar with its US adaptation, Il Mare is far more striking and emotionally resonant. The Korean romance, separated by timelines, depicts two lonely people who lived in the same seaside residence. They form a bond through the titular house’s mailbox, by sharing letters, voice recorders, and suggestions to deal with loneliness. As they receive each other’s messages, the film slowly reveals the reason for their loneliness– that they’ve been left behind. Matched with shots of creeping urbanization, migration, and the Y2K scare, Il Mare understands modern isolation, but it also underscores how solitude helps us connect with other people.

After finishing his contract with Shochiku, Yasujirō Ozu shifted gears with Floating Weeds, an adaptation of one of his previous black-and-white silent films. There are a few differences. It has sound and color, it’s set after World War II, and Ozu works with a new team, including actual kabuki actor Nakamura Ganjirō II. With these changes, Ozu sharpens his parallel romances for a generational conflict split by the war. The classic melodrama had taken on a new meaning. As Komajuro meets his son, and his kabuki theatre fails to sell, Ozu observes a world that has changed for the better, but has left some unable to do the same. Floating Weeds still holds the story’s original themes, but it thoughtfully reimagines the family of its time through Ozu’s appreciation for the everyday.

While initially commissioned to be an atomic bomb documentary, Hiroshima Mon Amour became something entirely different. For starters, it’s not a documentary, with director Alain Resnais recruiting author Marguerite Duras to write the screenplay, but it was pretty unusual for a narrative film at the time. It’s a love story, yes, but with such a poetic introduction of the two lovers going back and forth about what they know and don’t know about the bomb, pairing their discussion with archival footage and captivating scoring, Resnais created a new, non-linear cryptic style to capture how memory, grief, and loss irrevocably shaped a generation. Hiroshima Mon Amour was an unexpected shift, eventually becoming one of the most influential films of the French New Wave movement.

Hollywood, 1950s. A list of filmmakers were denied work due to suspected Communist Party membership or sympathies. Some folded under pressure and started naming names. Some moved to Europe. But stars like Humphrey Bogart tried to protest against the blacklist, until they were pressured to stop. So while In A Lonely Place can simply be seen as a decent novel adaptation, a great murder mystery, or an even greater romance, there’s something sublime about how the lovers, and Hollywood, coulda had a good thing goin’, if it ain’t for the suspicion within. In A Lonely Place captured that palpable disappointment and heightened tension through classic noir storytelling.

Forgoing the typical catastrophic approach to the apocalypse, writer, star, and director Don McKellar opts for a grounded tone in Last Night, a film about the end of the world. In it, various Torontonians figure out how best to celebrate and mourn their final hours on Earth. While McKellar’s character Patrick originally planned to spend the day alone, he finds himself gravitating to Sandra (Sandra Oh), a stranger who he gets to know in a series of conversations.

Last Night is more like Before Sunrise than The Day After Tomorrow in that way, filled as it is with thought-provoking dialogue and interesting insights into everyday characters. Whether it was intentional or due to the obviously limited budget, the decision to leave out details like why the world is ending and how is a clever one since it allows us to hyperfocus on everyone’s psyche and inner workings. There is desperation, longing, and anxiety, but also relief, gratitude, and joy. 

If you’re watching it for the first time, you’ll be delighted to find surprise stars populate this lo-fi production—apart from McKellar and Oh, well-regarded auteurs Sarah Polley (Stories We Tell) and David Cronenberg (Crimes of the Future) also make welcome appearances. 

Renowned choreographer Benjamin Millepied brings an 1875 opera leaping into the 21st century with this modern retelling — through dance and drama — of Carmen. The plot is reimagined along the US border and recenters the titular character (Melissa Barrera), a newly orphaned refugee from Mexico making her way to her godmother (a fabulous Rossy de Palma) in LA. In places, Carmen recalls Baz Luhrmann’s Romeo + Juliet: aided by Nicholas Britell’s operatic score, it embraces its grand origins to evoke a star-crossed sense of looming tragedy over the romance that blossoms when reluctant border patrol guard Aidan (Paul Mescal) saves Carmen’s life and flees with her to California. 

Where Carmen really soars is in its translation of drama into dance. It’s an inspired move, pairing this almost mythical story with such a primal medium — but, while the movie achieves visceral emotion that words would struggle to produce in its choreographed scenes, there’s something lacking in the moments where dialogue is crucial. The conversations never move as fluidly as the dancing bodies do, and the passion and the fury falter as a result. That being said, this is largely still a boldly inventive filmmaking experiment, one that spotlights the thrilling potency of pure movement as a storytelling medium.

It’s difficult not to compare Of an Age to other beautifully shot and tenderly told queer love stories like Call Me By Your Name and Weekend. Like them, Of an Age gives its young lovers ample time and space for their relationship to blossom over a short while. And like them still, it’s made of intimate moments that will haunt the lovers long after their first meet, crystallized as they are with affection, longing, and the knowledge that they might not feel as deeply about anyone ever again.

But if Call Me By Your Name is awash with Italy’s grandeur and Weekend is snugged in Britain’s cold embrace, then Of an Age is distinctly Australian, all humid suburbia and sunbaked roads. The film hones in on emotional and cultural specifics alike, and by doing so, it successfully captures the immaculate and unforgettable heartache of first love.

Heart Attack is a romantic comedy, but instead of the hijinks being caused by the usual dating, miscommunication, and wooing, Yoon’s struggle here is to finally get a hold of his overbearing schedule and figure out how to relax and recover from burnout, and it’s all inspired by wanting to impress his doctor Imm. It’s funny, but it’s also all too real. Writer-director Nawapol Thamrongrattanarit recreates the overwhelming frenzy to complete a job through a magnificent jazz soundscape and Sunny Suwanmethanon’s internalized monologue, and it’s such an effective cinematic translation that the moments of rest, the moments where Yoon and Imm finally take a break feels like a relief. Heart Attack works precisely because it empathizes and understands the experience of workers in today’s gig economy.

2005 was a banner year for British period dramas, apparently: first, there was Joe Wright’s Pride & Prejudice (still arguably the genre’s crowning achievement), and then came Under the Greenwood Tree, a delightful made-for-Christmas-TV romance loosely based on the eponymous Thomas Hardy novel. Anyone familiar with the author’s typically tragedy-tinged stories — think Tess of the D’Urbervilles and Far From the Madding Crowd — will find themselves surprised by the light, pleasant tone of this one, in which the closest anyone gets to violent revenge is sabotaging a church organ by pouring a flagon of cider into it.

The romance here is threefold: when Keeley Hawes’ spinster schoolteacher Fancy Day (genuinely her name) arrives in an English village, she ignites a rivalry between wealthy farmer Shiner (Steve Pemberton), haughty clergyman Parson Maybold (Ben Miles), and James Murray’s die-hard romantic Dick Dewy (again: the names in this are a choice). The trio’s simultaneous attempted courting of Fancy doubles as both the entertaining will-she-won’t-she stuff of romantic dramas and a conduit through which the movie explores the class dynamics in England during the 19th century. It’s this deft intertwining of satisfying romantic period drama tropes with genuine reflection on the historical period itself — all while remaining lighthearted — that makes this underseen adaptation worth watching.

In The Magic of Ordinary Days, a Hallmark movie set in the heartland during World War II, Keri Russell plays Livvy Dunne-Singleton, a college-educated young woman who is forced to marry a simple farmer after her father finds out she got pregnant out of wedlock. If you watch enough Hallmark movies, you can probably guess how this unfolds: Livvy is humbled by her kind-hearted husband Ray Singleton (Skeet Ulrich) and learns to appreciate the simplicity and open generosity of life outside the city. It may seem forumulaic on paper, but Russell and Singleton are lovely as they carve depths to their characters and chemistry. The film also offers sweeping shots of the beautiful Colorado countryside and an important historical take on war. It’s also proof that you don’t need a whole lot of sensational scenes to move audiences.

Set in the small town of Åmål, western Sweden, the debut feature by Lukas Moodysson (We Are the Best), is itself a metonymy for the bigger questions of life. It’s playful and dead serious at the same time, in the way it portrays teenager Agnes, who, after two years of living in Åmål, still hasn’t made any friends that would attend her birthday party. Instead, she spends her time typing away on her computer, poetic diaries and love confessions to a girl from school named Elin. She’s the popular one and therefore, out of reach. The amount of tension and escalating ambivalence the film conjures with just a simple narrative decision—a bet, a kiss, an apology—is palpable throughout the 86 minutes of its runtime. A perfect capsule of lesbian desire and first love, Show Me Love is a gem of a movie; one that would make you think Close was a tad overrated. Oh, and don’t forget to add the titular song by Swedish pop star Robyn to your Spotify favorites.

An underrated title from one of South Asia’s greatest directors, The Coward might have a simpler plot than Satyajit Ray’s other dramas, but it’s no less deep in exploring human behavior. As you would expect from the title, the film is about cowardice in relationships. The way it’s explored is interesting. It feels like a detective film without a crime, slowly dropping clues through shared glances, snippets of the past, and the recognition between the former lovers that they mostly leave unmentioned. And as each clue is revealed, the film matches its investigative direction to the judgmental way many of us examine the end of a relationship. It’s an interesting approach, one that has been replicated later on, but what makes The Coward still a standout today is how it’s willing to confront its own lead’s lack of courage. Kapurush might be one of Ray’s lesser known works, but it nonetheless still highlights the emotional honesty Ray is best known for.

Has there ever been a romance film more iconic than Love Affair? Modern moviegoers might find the plot a tad simple, the scenes too reliant on dialogue, and the pace a bit slow, but this film is a classic for a reason. Love Affair works through good ol’ fashioned chemistry. It’s easy to credit this dynamic through the performances, which, yes, Irene Dunne and Charles Boyer deliver. But this dynamic was helped by the writing, with its natural slow build, great structure, and a relaxed demeanor that could only come about on vacation. It’s what makes the initial spark believable, and it’s so satisfying to prove that spark to be worth it when they continue to think the best of each other even when they have reason to believe otherwise. While its remake An Affair to Remember surpassed it in popularity, Love Affair still stands the test of time, setting the standard for all romance films to follow.

When a man ends up in a house full of girls, the question in many stories is: who will that man fall for? Where Little Women provides everyone with a suitor and The Beguiled does the opposite, Belle Époque takes a much more comedic route for Fernando to pick his wife. Far from being a Casanova, Fernando is much more naive. He stumbles from girl to girl in a series of hilarious sequences, never truly understanding what each of them wants. It’s pretty silly stuff. But it’s also the kind of lighthearted romp that remembers the joys and pleasures available to Spain before the fascist Franco regime took over.

Little England is one of those rare cases in small-nation cinemas, where a film was equally appealing to mainstream and arthouse audiences. Upon its release, it was box office success and 2013’s Oscar submission for Best International Feature. Festival darling Pantelis Voulgaris equipped this interwar romantic drama with the attributes of an epic: it’s two hours and a half long, spans across decades, and is based on a novel of a notable size. Written by renowned author Ioanna Karystiani, who is also Voulgaris’s wife, “Little England” the novel was adapted in a riveting screenplay where love, jealousy, passion, and betrayal sizzle in a dangerous mix. As any good period drama, the emotional range is high, and the beauty in the premise—forbidden love—is a gift that keeps on giving. The film features two stellar lead performances, as Pinelopi Tsilika and Sofia Kokkali make their acting debuts as the two sisters, the latter being the face of a new, even more daring phase of Greek cinema today. 

The death of a loved one is always a tragedy, but it’s always different when things have been left unresolved, and so that love lingers, not moving on, perpetually haunting the lover left alive. Undertow takes this ghost story with a gentle, magic realism that doesn’t just bring the tears, but also frees Miguel to experience the hold of Santiago’s hand in public, to experience the moments other lovers share without prejudice. And as Santiago lingers, Miguel is left to reckon with the love that he never was allowed to have, as it’s outside the straight, monogamous dynamic expected of everyone in the small town. Contracorriente beautifully transforms the ghost story with its thoughtful juxtaposition of the latino queer experience.

New York, especially in older movies, seems to be an enchanting place with endless possibilities, as long as you’re willing to put in the work. With Hong Kong’s handover to China, it’s no wonder plenty of Hong Kong natives decided to emigrate to the Big Apple. That being said, this experience isn’t always smooth. Mabel Cheung’s An Autumn’s Tale is a fairly simple romance, but it also captures the rough times of the assimilation process of Hong Kongers, the way they have to toughen up to eke out a living, and the joy they manage to hold, even just for a while. And as the young Chow Yun-fat softens his edge to guide the blindsided, sweet Cherie Chung, we can’t help but root for them.

Finding a date to a wedding is a familiar romcom premise, so it seemed like A Date for Mad Mary would go the same route. That is, Mary would try to find a date, to no avail, because the one who’s truly meant to be with her was in front of her the whole time. At first, the film does follow the same beats, except that Mary just got released from prison. However, when she realizes who she truly has feelings for, the film moves into a refreshingly unexpected path. The movie doesn’t offer the usual reasons romcom leads can’t get a date, instead, it pushes Mary to re-examine the friendships that outgrew her and the anger that she hasn’t learned to move past from. A Date for Mad Mary doesn’t have a definite conclusion, but it beautifully challenges Mary (and the romcom genre) to grow up and do better.

While homosexuality has gotten more acceptance now, exclusion still happens, more so if said queer person isn’t white. Carmen and Lola depicts two women who fall in love, and it takes on a familiar secret relationship storyline we’ve seen in other queer films, but rather than just take the familiar plot, make the leads Romani, and call it a day, the film instead focuses on how the things that keeps them apart are the very same mechanisms that the community created for their people to survive. It’s fitting that director Arantxa Echevarría depicts this through naturalistic shots and casting non-professional actors, because it makes Carmen y Lola a much more honest depiction of what it means to love in an intolerant community.

Something about falling in love in an exotic place makes it feel much more romantic, leading to plenty of classic black and white films centered on the idea, with a visual language and a set of aesthetics meticulously enacted in 2012’s Tabu. These classic films, however, rarely contemplate the actual reality behind these films– the reason that made these romantic trips possible in the first place. Tabu subtly critiques this indulgent imagination, with the silent memory melodramatically portrayed and narrated by the white lovers, but with the African natives and their homes and landscapes depicted naturally. Writer-director Miguel Gomes remixes classic cinema techniques to paint and reframe the lovers’ myopic memory, in such a striking fashion.

Where The Umbrellas of Cherbourg lamented the tragedy of one missed connection, Jacques Demy follows it up with a much more upbeat love story in The Young Girls of Rochefort. It’s more hopeful. Even before you watch the end, it’s clear that there’s not one, but two chances at a happy ending, since there are two couples. But on top of that, it’s the girls’ conviction in love that makes everything brighter. Despite the logistics of their act, or the coincidences that had to align, or even the serial killer mentioned, The Young Girls of Rochefort remains bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, celebrating the bubbly optimism that musicals would have us believe in.

Oh, forbidden love. There are many a film centered around that intense, passionate experience, but that’s because there’s something so beautiful about love thriving despite anything that could come between the two lovers. It’s gorgeously captured in A Moment of Romance. While the melodramatic plot would be familiar, the remarkable images are not, styled with Hong Kong’s neon lights, cinematic pin drops, and the powerful performances that captures the burning desires of these two teenagers. It’s Romeo and Juliet in Hong Kong, sure. But there was never a Romeo quite like Andy Lau on a motorcycle, asking his Juliet, Jo-Jo, to ride away with him. A Moment of Romance was certainly a striking one.

At first glance, Dogfight seems to be just a standard love story: a Marine falling in love with a woman just before he’s sent overseas. But underneath, there’s a rebuke at American masculinity that needs to be acknowledged. As Eddie and his friends make bets at the expense of their dates, Dogfight rightfully portrays this treatment as casual, unthinking cruelty, and it’s the exact cruelty that they inflict on themselves, the same obedient mindset that continues to push them to various wars around the world at that time. River Phoenix evokes that startling realization with the gentle way Eddie starts to treat Rose, and as the night alternates between his date and the shenanigans his buddies go through without him, Dogfight questions the way boys come of age, this mindset, and what it means to grow up.

If there’s one thing to say about this Canadian comedy-drama, it’s that your mileage will definitely vary depending on its twee arthouse style. That’s because Heartbeats embodies a lot of the elements associated with the early 2010s indie– the mopheads, the neon, the mumbling close-ups, and of course, the fourth-wall feel of its characters’ discussions. Still, it’s rather fitting for its story. Through Francis and Marie both pursuing Nicholas, the love triangle echoes the very obsessions this generation was concerned over. Of course, this includes sexuality, which the decades prior shied away from. But the strength of Les Amours Imaginaires comes from its timeless thoughts about love’s illusions.

Once banned by Chinese censors, Suzhou River depicts love and obsession amidst the gritty, urban underbelly of Shanghai. As the film is portrayed through an anonymous videographer, seen only by his hands, it’s easy to fall in love as he does, with the mesmerizing Meimei (Zhou Xun), performing as a mermaid in a dive bar. However, he can’t seem to trust her, as she flits in and out of his life, with no clear notice. Likewise, the tragic romance told by motorcycle courier Mardar can’t be trusted, given that the river’s inhabitants warped it into folklore. Faces can’t even be trusted, especially with the double casting of actress Zhou Xun as Meimei and as innocent rich daughter Moudan. Because of these contrasts and its ambiguity, Suzhou River sweeps us into an alluring, mysterious tale, but reminds us not to get caught by the current.

While the mixed reception of its near-faithful American remake Vanilla Sky might make some viewers pause, there’s an intuitive brilliance in the Spanish original Open Your Eyes that isn’t easy to translate. Sure, the apparent differences help– it’s shorter and less complicated, and Cesar’s face turns more grotesque than David’s does. But what’s startling about Open Your Eyes is the way writer-director Alejandro Amenábar guides the camera through its various shifts, creating a more subtle and gradual realization that something is wrong, and thus, a more terrifying dream turned nightmare. Amenábar has later deemed the film as his worst, saying it was written when he didn’t know much about life, but, in our opinion, Abre Los Ojos still holds up as a groundbreaking existential sci-fi simulation, one that still puzzles and captivates years after.

Most sports biopics are centered around winners– their drive, their spirit, and their determination to beat the competition, and maybe win some glory for their respective teams, hometowns, or countries. The Happiest Day in the Life of Olli Mäki instead focuses on a Finnish boxer that lost a match. Shot in 16mm black and white film stock, writer-director Juho Kuosmanen captures the man, not the legend, in sequences that feel like decades-old memories that draws you into his story, his humble character, and the motivations that drive him, a yearning for love rather than bragging rights, trophies, and nationalistic pride. It’s such a charming twist to the genre, one that recognizes a different kind of masculinity. While Mäki might not be the world’s best boxer, this film suggests that he might be one of the happiest, forgoing an important match for a marriage that ended up lasting his lifetime.

A Spanish 500 Days of Summer mixed with a more urban and up to date You’ve Got Mail. I liked this film a lot. I connected with both the main characters in the film. Their feelings of loneliness on the inside, yet, still going on with their day to day all while being mixed with their phobias, longings, quarks, and vulnerabilities. This movie works, it works on every level. Beautifully shot and beautifully written. Watching this will not be a waste of your time.

While best known for his music, Elvis Presley occasionally appeared on film, mostly, of course, in roles that got him singing and dancing, regardless of the story. King Creole was one such role, but it’s one of his best. Loosely based on a 1952 novel, King Creole swaps New York for the New Orleans French Quarter, as well as Danny Fisher’s potential crime-free path from boxing to singing, to better match Presley’s music, but director Michael Curtiz makes it work by focusing more on the flipped father-son breadwinner dynamic, with black-and-white noirish shots, a great supporting cast, a great bluesy soundtrack, and a great performance from the King of Rock and Roll himself. King Creole is one of Elvis’ many star vehicles, but it’s one that still works even today.

Grand gestures, over-the-top declarations of love, and elaborate gifts… These normal romcom acts can sometimes make it seem that romance can only be done by the wealthy. But, in reality, love can happen anytime, and the first film of Aki Kaurismäki’s Proletariat Trilogy suggests that love is ultimately necessary in a world where two lovers are disenfranchised. As Nikander tries to woo a slightly disinterested Ilona, and as Ilona decides to depend on him for support, Shadows in Paradise might not have the usual frills of a romcom, but Kaurismäki finds the bare essentials in a depressing Finnish town, and captures the small ways it blooms in spite of it, through the lovers’ humorous blunt dialogue and the color their love adds to their world.

With more and more young people moving to the city for jobs, there’s a certain beauty in the countryside that is being missed out. The Road Home is a simple and straightforward love story, one that is mostly composed of Zhang Ziyi as a country girl stealing glances at the handsome city boy who’s come to teach in the village, but there’s a certain magic in the way director Zhang Yimou depicts the rural traditions of the village, the charming and distinct rhythms of life that continues to this day. While the film glosses over the reasons for Luo’s temporary departure, which some reviewers speculate is due to China’s then Anti-Rightist campaign, The Road Home beautifully depicts the way love can bloom despite these troubles, and how this love can shift the lives of an entire town.

This slow romance is set in a Seoul bakery during the 1990s. A boy fresh out of juvenile detention and a part-time employee fall for each other while working there. For a while, their existence is joyful and quiet as they sell bread and bond.

However, the Asian financial crisis of 1997 forces the bakery to close. This makes them seek different jobs away from each other.

As a romance, Tune in for Love is not original but it doesn’t need to. It’s just easy and enjoyable.

When falling in love with another, or when another person falls in love with you, the relationship is formed by the ideas in your and their heads, specifically about your dynamic, your respective personalities, and the potential outcome of this love. Law of Desire is centered on this idea, unfolding through a chaotic gay love triangle that demonstrates the ways the ideas and fantasies can differ. And as the characters inevitably go through fairly melodramatic reactions when they realize the desires of another person, in the most colorful fashion (literally and figuratively), Pedro Almodóvar creates an amusing and daring examination of the genre it’s inspired by.

What exactly are The Consequences of Love? At first glance, this seemingly mundane drama offers its audience an Italian loner having long resided in a hotel in the Swiss Alps. The combination of the title and the introduction seems like it could lead to a vacation romance with a local barmaid, but there’s more that the film offers. On top of all this, director Paolo Sorrentino transforms their relationship into a mystery of its own, complete with unexpected thrills, dramatic backstory, and the past returning at the worst time possible. And it’s all made compelling with the foundations of Sorrentino’s signature style.

Amour is about Anne and Georges, an elderly couple who face challenges in their relationship after Anne suffers a debilitating stroke. They’re portrayed by Emmanuelle Riva and Jean-Louis Trintignant in what can only be described as a masterclass in acting. It’s a challenging story but it’s a realistic portrayal of love later in life and in the face of time.

Directed by Michael Haneke, the movie was met with widespread acclaim from critics when it came out in 2012, winning the Palme d’Or as well as the Oscar for Best Foreign Language Film.

Forlorn longing envelops Days of Being Wild, where the act of dreaming is as valuable as its actual fulfillment. “You’ll see me tonight in your dreams,” Yuddy tells Su Li-zhen on their first meeting, and indeed, this line of dialogue sets the film’s main contradiction: would you rather trap yourself in the trance-like beauty of dreams or face the unpleasant possibilities of reality? Wong Kar-wai’s characters each have their own answers, with varying subplots intersecting through the consequences of their decisions. In the end, happiness comes in unexpected ways, granted only to those brave enough to wake up and dream again.

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.

Before Games of Thrones delivered court intrigues, shocking murders, and adulterous affairs, Queen Margot delivered all these nearly two decades earlier, depicting the dramatized, real life events of the French Wars of Religion. While it doesn’t have dragons, it has style, with some of the most stunning scenes intercut with some of the most gruesome, pushing the envelope with a freedom only possible due to none of their descendants still holding the French throne. It’s also one of the most expensive French films ever made, but every franc was put to good use, with luxurious sound, sets, costumes, and camerawork excellently supporting the cast’s performances. Initially released to mixed reception in America with 20 minutes cut from the runtime, La Reine Margot has thankfully been restored and re-released in full for its 20th anniversary in 2014.

Crushes seem much more important when you’re young, and when you and your sibling share one, it easily alters your dynamic, with the jealousy, comparison, and the insecurity it can foster. The Man in the Moon tackles this childhood crush with care. Writer Jenny Wingfield and director Robert Mulligan characterize each kid with consideration befitting their ages, with an understanding of the different priorities they would have with a three year age gap, the feelings they would have, and the misunderstandings they would have with each other. And this all works because of Reese Witherspoon, who even then held a screen presence that made her into a star.

Given that hookups are inherently quick and casual and impersonal, they are rarely portrayed in a romantic light. But Weekend flips the script on one-night stands by giving its two lovers enough time and space to explore how far their feelings can take them. While both Russell (Tom Cullen) and Glenn (Chris New) are gay, they have more differences than similarities with each other. Russell is reserved, awkward, and not entirely open, while Glenn is the exact opposite.

This makes for intriguing conversations, which then makes for a smart, thought-proving watch. It’s talky but meaningful, and slow but assured. But most of all it’s romantic, and it’s sure to pull at your heartstrings the whole time.

Relationships mostly come and go, but to some lucky people, they find love early, hold onto it, and never let it go. Holding the Man is a drama based on a memoir on a fifteen year love affair between John Caleo and writer Tim Conigrave, who first met in high school, and chose to stay with each other despite parental disapproval, diagnoses, and same-sex activity being illegal. While Ryan Corr and Craig Stott do seem unconvincing as high school students, they share a realistic, endearing chemistry that makes you hope for a happy ending for the two, despite the knowledge of what they would have to face that decade. The film captures the nostalgia of the times in such a relaxed way, while also sticking to the frank tone of the book. Holding the Man reminds us to cling to the people we love, because there might be a time where we cannot.

The Cuban bolero, not to be confused with the Spanish dance, is a Latin ballad form that spread all throughout the Americas, and even the whole world, that mixed and mingled with and influenced jazz in the 1940s and 50s. Chico & Rita celebrates this music, as well as the nightlife that made these sounds possible, through a stirring star-crossed romance that recalls the typical inspiration behind these songs. There are moments that do falter– like the way Chico tries to woo Rita back– but the familiar, if slightly cliché, beats work in this animation through a unique, thick-lined art style, and of course, excellent music. It’s no wonder it was the first Spanish full-length animated film nominated for an Oscar.

The title of Days of Heaven perfectly captures the idyllic life on the farm. It’s truly beautiful. Director Terrence Malick and cinematographer Néstor Almendros shot in natural light, letting dawn and dusk outline their characters in gold, as they work, laugh, and have some semblance of stability for the first time in ages. Despite their dubious past, it’s so easy to understand why the love triangle falls for each other, in this light. But simultaneously, it’s the perfect style to depict life from a child’s memory, the very same dream Americans once had before the wars they were pulled into.

At first glance, Dil Chahta Hai is an ordinary ensemble romcom. There’s some guys, there’s some girls, and they fall in love in their own special way as befitting the general archetype of protagonists we’ve seen in other romcoms. But to the film’s credit, it’s made pretty well. Many viewers can appreciate the catchy songs, the charismatic leads, and the spectacular way writer-director Farhan Akhtar stages each number, but what makes his debut work is how in tune it was with modern Indian youth, and the way it grounds all three love stories through the friendship of three young men fresh out of college. Dil Chahta Hai balances its romantic drama with the support of friends, similar to how relationships work in real life.

Ask yourself how many Palestinian movies you have seen before. You will want to give this smart and twisty Academy Award nominee by Golden Globe winning director Hany Abu-Assad a chance to change your answer. Omar, a Palestinian baker, climbs the West Bank Wall to see his lover, Nadia, whom he wants to marry. When Israeli soldiers catch and humiliate him, he gets implicated in the shooting of an Israeli soldier, and eventually gets arrested and faces an extremely lengthy sentence. Later, his captors’ motives and his own get tangled up in politics, friendship, trust, and love. Omar is a highly realistic, compelling crime drama you don’t want to miss.

When reading the synopsis, A Very Long Engagement doesn’t seem like the kind of film that would work with director Jean-Pierre Jeunet’s style. It is, after all, a drama about World War I atrocities. In theory, the subject feels like it would clash with the signature whimsical comedy Jeunet used in Amélie. Thankfully, in reality, it executes its themes well. The quiet insistence Mathilde has in chasing down the truth captures that human need for hope in the face of devastation, with the dreamy style warmly affirming that desire for closure. There are some moments that could have been a bit serious, but nonetheless A Very Long Engagement proves to be a moving romance precisely because of its direction.

The Dangerous Liaisons ensemble is impressively stacked, but you’d be forgiven for thinking it was a two-hander helmed by Glenn Close, who plays the manipulative Marquise de Merteuil, and John Malkovich, who plays the ravenous playboy Vicomte de Valmont. The two are arresting on screen, especially when they’re together concocting plans to desecrate other lovers, but the same cannot be said about their co-stars. Uma Thurman and Keanu Reeves, both painfully green, are hard to take seriously because of their missteps and accents, while Michelle Piefer gives a decent if unmemorable performance. What really makes the film worth the watch, however, is its thorny, unapologetic take on love, sex, power, and gender. The verbal spars are just as thrilling as the racy scenes, even though one in particular (which was cut from theatrical release) might not be so well-received now. The film is a visual treat too, as frilly and indulgent as its pre-revolution Parisian setting.