100 Best Foreign Movies on Kanopy Right Now

A man returns to a town chasing the memory of a woman he loved years ago.

Poet turned filmmaker Bi Gan coats his idiosyncratic filmmaking with a thick layer of neo-noir in this sumptuous follow up to his remarkable debut Kaili Blues. This time around, Kaili City is a neon-drenched dreamscape dripping in style and calling to mind the work of Tarkovsky and Wong Kar-wai.

He may wear his influences on his sleeve, but Bi Gan keeps his trademark moves like the bravado long takes and a poetic disregard for past and present, reality and dreams. This leads to an explosive and unforgettable sequence in the second half that while originally intended for 3D loses little of its mind-bending power when watched at home.

Directed by Japanese filmmaker Hirokazu Koreeda, the Korean film Broker is a simple but tender story about chosen family. It follows Moon So-young (IU), a young mother who decides to drop her baby off at a church, seemingly for good. But when So-young decides to return for the child, she discovers that he’s been stolen by two brokers who’ve put the baby up for adoption on the black market. She joins them in the hopes of meeting her child’s prospective new parents (and staking a claim at the payment) but the more they spend time with each other, acting like a real family on the road as they do, the more it becomes real for her, and the more she feels conflicted about the decision she’s about to make.

As with any Hirokazu Koreeda film, Broker is an affecting, empathetic story that succeeds at humanizing its misunderstood cast of characters. Admittedly, it’s not the best Koreeda movie out there, even when the category is narrowed down to stories about found families (the best in that regard would be his 2018 film Shoplifters). And Koreeda fans will find Broker somewhat scrubbed and Disney-fied for a larger crowd, lacking the edge that his previous Japanese films had. But it is undeniably heartwarming and beautiful. The road trip setup allows the characters to build their rapport naturally, and the warm crisp tones capture the seabreeze ease of the film. Regardless of your view on Koreeda, Broker is well worth a watch.

Midnight Runners is a hilarious and action-packed buddy comedy that delivers both laughs and thrills in equal measure. The film follows two police cadets who find themselves embroiled in a dangerous conspiracy after witnessing a kidnapping. The chemistry between the two leads is electric, and their banter and antics provide some of the film’s funniest moments. However, it also has its share of intense and suspenseful scenes, as the cadets race against time to save the victim and uncover the truth. Midnight Runners is a highly entertaining and enjoyable film that will keep you on the edge of your seat.

More than a decade before she made Toni Erdmann, German filmmaker Maren Ade turned her eye on a small-town school, a socially awkward teacher, and the inarticulate in between. Even with her debut, Ade showcased a talent for spotting the hidden comic potential of situations that can be wounding, turning vulnerabilities into power through comedy. The Forest For the Trees is a dilemma-film, in the ways in which it both invites and rejects identification with Melanie. A frighteningly optimistic person, she misreads most if not all social cues and finds herself in embarrassing situations. Even more, her devotion to making it all work, after moving away from the big city for said teaching job, is something a lot of viewers can recognize and support, but her borderline unlikeability is sometimes too hard to ignore. However, a majestic finale crowns the film with a scene that is worth rewatching again and again, like a dream you wish to appropriate for yourself.

With a script that seems to have been written for a medieval fantasy, but set in a present-day Ivorian jail, Night of the Kings immediately situates itself between the realms of reality and imagination. Whether or not one thinks that certain details about the prison’s strange rituals have been lost in translation, the mysticism surrounding the events of the movie remains impossible to shake. The idea of improvising one’s way out of trouble should make sense in any cultural context after all, and this is what keeps the film on edge—and what helps Night of the Kings work as such a singular vision from an often underrepresented region of world cinema.

If it’s true that to cook is to love, then Dodin and Eugenie must be enraptured by one another. They use the exquisite language of food to express their feelings for one another, and watching their exchange, you can’t help but feel honored, if not embarrassed, to witness such an intimate and love-filled act. Food is everywhere here, delicately prepared and sumptuously consumed, but the film is more than just a glorified Food Network program. It’s a painting come to life, a love letter to craft, and a beautiful example of a life fully lived.

For better or worse, death strikes us all, fast and unexpectedly. It’s tough enough if the death is caused by ill health or accidents, but when premeditated by another person– it can be easy to lose faith in a higher power. Secret Sunshine depicts a grieving mother trying to start a new life in the countryside, though certain events make it tough to fit in. There’s a well-meaning, long-term bachelor who’s interested in her, though she’s not ready to reciprocate, and there’s townsfolk that would like to invite her to their church, though she’s reluctant to join. There’s curious, gossipy neighbors ready to comment on her every action. Secret Sunshine reveals a darker layer to the countryside towns we retreat to to cope, but it also examines the ways we grieve, cope, and deal with forgiveness, in a community that would prioritize itself at the expense of what’s morally right.

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.

Despite how the title sounds like, the horror of Bedevilled isn’t a devil, a demon, or a spirit. It isn’t even the way childhood friend Bok-nam snaps, taking up a scythe and going on a murderous rampage to kill all the people that wronged her. No, the actual horror of Bedevilled is that everyday people like bank employee Hae-won would hesitate to do what’s right. Reading that sentence can sound cheesy, but writer-director Jang Cheol-soo structures the film, and her visit to Modo, in a gradually escalating manner. When Hae-won first lands, the mean gossip seems ordinary, but the film takes these ordinary, if overcritical, words, and delves into the subtext, especially the darker implications that makes the film difficult to watch. The film does understand Hae-won’s hesitancy– the scenes do acknowledge that reporting could mean retaliation, and the score consistently meets that very fear. But Bedevilled also understands that, if hesitancy allows abuse to be left unchecked, the very same violence that Hae-won was (and many people are) avoiding will inevitably escalate.

Somehow an art house film, horror, and romance all in one, Let the Right One In explores the boundaries of its genres with unprecedented finesse, and offers a stunning alternative for those disappointed with recent vampire love stories. From its haunting minimalist imagery to its incredible score, it is persistently beautiful. The film follows twelve-year-old Oskar and Eli, drawing on numerous aspects of traditional undead lore, and still manages an impressive feat in feeling entirely fresh and devoid of cliche. Those in search of a terrifying movie might need to look elsewhere, but if what you’re looking for is simply a great watch, don’t pass this one up.

Nicole is 22, just out of college, and adrift during her first summer as an “adult.” Tu Dors Nicole (“You’re Sleeping Nicole”) is a French-Canadian take on the late coming-of-age story. Nicole spends most of the summer is her small, sleepy Quebec town lounging around her parents house (they are gone for the summer), occasionally working at the local thrift store, trying to sleep (she’s developed insomnia), and wandering aimlessly around town and the Quebec countryside with her best friend Veronique. The two are joined at the hip (as evidenced by how their bikes are always locked-up together) but the arrival of Nicole’s brother and his bandmates threatens to upend the lifelong relationship between the two; because of this waning friendship Tu Dors has earned comparisons to films like Ghost World and Frances Ha which examine the complexities of young female friendships, particularly when one’s identity is in flux. The film was shot on gorgeous Black & White 35mm film , adding to it’s floating dream-like quality, and boasts a sweet and droll sense of humor. There are occasional touches of the surreal as well — my favorite running gag being the presence of the pre-pubescent Martin, a small boy whose voice has prematurely developed (the voice that comes out of his mouth sounds like that of a world weary 45-year-old) who attempts to woo Nicole with poetic insights such as, “the heart has no age.” This film is a true hidden gem.

Warm, enchanting, poetic and delicate, this is an almost silent film about a poor Vietnamese girl who goes to work for a well-off family in Saigon. The film follows her experiences as she grows but is also very focused on the nature around her, and the beautiful little details of this nature, which the young girl seems attuned to and curious about. The feelings in the film come more from the excellent visuals rather than the plot itself.

In rural Korea a policeman starts to investigate peculiar and violent events that most of the people in his village attribute to the arrival of a new Japanese resident. As the occurrences keep multiplying, and different perspectives in the film are shown, you start to lose touch with reality in the face of what can only be described as genius film-making. As critic Jada Yuan puts it, the film operates on a level “that makes most American cinema seem clunky and unimaginative”. For this reason, and while The Wailing is a true horror flick with a great premise, it’s also more than just that: it boosts a mind-boggling, interesting plot that will have you thinking about it long after the credits roll. Protip: grab the person next to you and make them watch this movie with you so you can have someone to discuss it with after!

I always seek out Icelandic films; something about the quality of light and quirky sensibility that appeal to me. Having developed a fondness for sheep on a recent Welsh trek, “Rams” had a double attraction. A tale of brothers divided by life but ultimately united in and by their deep, tender, inspiring love of their rams. Close to perfection. Sigurdur Sigurdurjonsson is luminous in the lead role.

Polytechnique directed by Denis Villeneuve, is a dramatization of the 1989 Montreal massacre of multiple female engineering students. This film focuses on a male student navigating the massacre for the majority of the film’s run time. The performances and minimal dialogue in this film certainly make this an unnerving film to watch. Littered with the screams of the actors portraying the engineering students, this could be mistaken as a gaudy horror film. However, this is far from a fictionalized horror.

This Villeneuve classic is undoubtedly one of the most emotionally brutal films of the 2000s, yet I appreciate the honesty of the storytelling. Polytechnique encourages its audience to ask itself if it truly understands the truth of misogyny. 

Despite being remade, parodied, and absorbed into pop culture over the years, the original Ring defiantly marches to the beat of its own drum. Focused entirely on building a slow-burn mystery instead of dispensing scares, the film provides ample space for a number of interpretations: on the spread of technology, the erasure of traditional beliefs, or even motherhood. It’s all relentlessly quiet and extremely creepy, the tension building with the same energy as ghost stories told around a campfire. And while famous for its eerie images and the rules surrounding its cursed videotape, Ringu also serves as a reminder that great horror should compel the audience to keep on watching, even if they already know exactly what awaits them if they do.

Meditative, slow, and peppered with mysticism and subtle humour, Syndromes and a Century is a truly unique Thai drama. With a male and female doctor as the central protagonists, the story is split into two settings, in different hospitals and 40 years apart. This is not a plot-driven movie by any means. Patiently paced scenes weave together the protagonists’ memories with their current lives, in a hypnotic thread that touches on Buddhist themes as it explores the timeless human experiences of love, relationships, illness, and death.

The movie was originally intended to be a tribute to the parents of writer and director Apichatpong Weerasethakul, himself the son of physicians who worked in a hospital. Though he went on to claim that the movie took a different path eventually, it does recall the enigmatic spirit and ethereal quality of childhood memories. Despite—or maybe thanks to—the absence of narrative, Syndromes and a Century remains a beguiling watch from start to finish.

Don’t let the title and poster fool you—Riders of Justice isn’t the testosterone-filled action flick you’d expect going in (though it does get ridiculous at some points). It centers on deployed military man Markus, played by the appropriately masculine Mads Mikkelsen, who has to return home to his teenage daughter Mathilde after his wife dies in an accident. Instead of coping normally and sticking with his daughter to get through the tragedy, he goes down a rabbit hole discovering how the accident that killed his wife is more than just bad luck and may have been collateral damage from a gang orchestrating an assassination.

Surprisingly, director Anders Thomas Jensen injects this violent film with a lot of gentle moments about trauma and togetherness. Mikkelsen and the rest of the cast play off of each other very well, using dark humor to bring together a bunch of characters who are, in oversimplified terms, “fucked up but trying their best.”

It may seem like the guns, blood, and badass moments are a front for this film that, at its core, shows men who badly need therapy banding together to cope with the harshness of life. Extremely funny and deeply moving, it qualifies as a heartwarming Christmas movie, believe it or not.

Before anything else, Utama will knock you off your feet with its breathtaking beauty. Set in the Bolivian highlands, it captures the arid landscape both in gorgeous wide shots and in unique detail. Then, after you take it all in and remember the vastness of the world and the smallness of humanity, the film ushers you into the lives of Virginio and Sisa, an elderly couple who get by with llama grazing. 

Theirs is a small but peaceful life, but it is endangered when a drought in the area makes it harder for everyone—especially a sickly Virginio—to live. Underlying conflicts start to emerge, such as old vs. new and country vs. city, when everyone but Virginio considers leaving the mountains. It’s a simple story told at a purposefully slow pace, but it’s one worth viewing for the tender performances, the urgent themes, and of course, the stunning cinematography.

In Between is a beautiful and poignant film that offers a sensitive and nuanced exploration of the lives and experiences of three Palestinian women living in Tel Aviv. The film follows their struggles to reconcile their traditional and cultural identities with their desire for independence, freedom, and self-expression. The stunning visuals, evocative and emotional score, and brilliant performances of the cast combine to create a powerful and moving portrait of resilience, sisterhood, and hope. Profoundly human and deeply affecting, In Between offers a fresh and important perspective on the complex realities of life in Israel and Palestine.

The Way He Looks revolves around Leonardo, a blind teenager, as he navigates the complexities of high school life and explores his budding feelings for Gabriel, a new classmate. The chemistry between the characters feels genuine, and the slow-burning romance between Leonardo and Gabriel unfolds with a sense of tenderness and vulnerability. Director Daniel Ribeiro crafted a comfortable watching experience and a true slice-of-life story that doesn’t divulge more than this sliver of time in these teens’ lives. Director Daniel Ribeiro’s debut is a hopeful take on a queer, disabled romance that feels natural, sensitive, and refreshing.

While produced by Wong Kar Wai, Chinese Odyssey 2002 isn’t a moody, melancholy drama that we’re used to. Instead, the Ming Dynasty-set adventure directed by Jeffrey Lau comically spoofs plenty of the beloved genres that captivated Chinese audiences– wuxia epics, musical dramas, and historical romances. The ludicrous crossdressing plot is played in such an over-the-top way, with Lau visually delivering his jabs, with a narrator providing droll commentary on the events, and with intercuts of faux interviews and excerpts from everyone, even including the disgruntled innkeeper spying on the crossdressing princess and the confused restaurant owner. It’s actually quite impressive how the ridiculous plot leads to such a wholesome, moving conclusion.

With many iterations of Faust, Jan Švankmajer’s own take on the deal with the devil isn’t absolutely terrifying, and can feel bizarre, sometimes even goofy, to those unfamiliar with the animation director. However, Lekce Faust is quite creepy, as he brings the legend to modern day Prague with a mysterious map and visually disturbing puppets that brilliantly mixes live action with stop-motion and claymation into folklorish cinematic magic. It’s not the most faithful rendition of the classic tale, but it’s one of the most inventive, proving that while the deals like this pop up only in past folklore, the devil still lingers in fairly absurd ways.

When vampires choose not to kill a human, it’s usually played up with so much drama, angst, and maybe a bit of romance. Humanist Vampire Seeking Consenting Suicidal Person on the other hand takes this choice as a comedic one. It may be a tad ludicrous for a vampire to refuse to drink blood on ethical grounds and trauma, but writer-director Ariane Louis-Seize takes this silly situation with a compelling sweetness, depicting Sasha with a familiar teen uncertainty made much more captivating with Sara Montpetit’s gothic ingénue charisma. Humanist Vampire does take a more quirky YA romance approach than expected from the title, but it’s funny, charming, and totally something new.

When depicting war and faith, it seems like men are the only ones that have to undertake these challenges, at least it seems, in the stories made available about these topics. But that simply isn’t true. The Innocents is one of the few reminders that, while women might have been kept from the front lines, war has spared no one. Through stark and wintry shots, and a solemn direction, writer-director Anne Fontaine crafts tense conversations between an atheist doctor and her nun patients, making all of them reckon with the ways trauma has shifted their present principles and future actions, in a sensitive way that has rarely been seen before. While the resolution can come across as a bit too sudden, The Innocents nonetheless is a compelling study of faith.

The first in famed Korean director Park Chan-wook’s Vengeance trilogy (after cult films Oldboy and Lady Vengeance), Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance follows a Ryu (Shin Ha-kyun), a deaf-mute man who resorts to crime when his ailing sister is in need of a kidney transplant. He decides to kidnap the daughter of a wealthy man named Park Dong-jin (Parasite’s Song Kang-ho) for ransom, but he underestimates how, like him, Dong-jin will stop at nothing to save a loved one. Thanks to its rich characterization, dazzling editing, and fearless experimentation, Sympathy for Mr Vengeance makes for a thrilling (if violent) watch, one that will hit you hard and leave your mouth agape by the end. Here, you’ll see traces of the head-turning twists that will come to define Park’s stunning filmography, which apart from Oldboy includes the much-celebrated The Handmaiden and Decision to Leave.

In About Lily Chou-Chou, two school teens, Yūichi (Hayato Ichihara) and Shūsuke (Shugo Oshinari), start out as friends who are obsessed with the music of Lily Chou-Chou. But when tragedy strikes, Shūsuke unexpectedly joins a gang and harasses his classmates, including Yūichi and their female friends. It’s a dark and challenging film, one that isn’t afraid to explore the graphic depths of things like gang violence, sexual abuse, prostitution, and suicide among young people. But if you can sit through it, it’s a rewarding watch. It has rough and bitter aftertaste, but you’ll remember it for long regardless. The film won awards at the Berlin International Film festivals and various other festivals in Asia.

Of course, there are plenty of great films from the Italian Master of the Thrill, but one of the best from Dario Argento is Deep Red (1975), released just before his Three Mothers trilogy. The film follows a musician and a journalist, linked together by the body they found of a psychic medium, and the ensuing rush to investigate the murder before they become the next victims. Released at the peak of the giallo genre, Deep Red heightens the tension and terror through Argento’s trademark kaleidoscopic shots, eerie score, and excellent performances. While the lizard scene was genuine, Profondo Rosso nonetheless is considered to be one of the director’s best.

It’s not so easy to get rid of an evil ruler. Sometimes, you have to resort to not one, not two, not even three assassins– you have to get thirteen of them. Remaking the 1963 jidaigeki film, which in turn is based on a real life feudal lord, Takashi Miike’s take brings his signature style to the samurai genre, wielding the sword slashing without any restraint, letting loose after building up the indignation garnered from the daimyo’s injustices and the careful planning the group had to make in response. Undoubtedly inspired by Akira Kurosawa’s Seven Samurai, 13 Assassins reintroduces the samurai genre to spectacular heights.

For viewers who aren’t familiar, the Stations of the Cross is a series of prayers that contemplates Jesus’ crucifixion. It’s also the title and the basis of this German coming-of-age drama. It can seem controversial to create such a work, given how extreme Maria gets in proving her devotion. But given the raw, naturalistic approach of its fourteen static long shots, Stations of the Cross observes something quite unsettling. While the movie does poke fun at Christian fundamentalism, the film seriously contemplates the way this extreme religious devotion feels out of place in today’s society, as modern day beliefs and conveniences have eased suffering and lessened the need for martyrdom. Stations of the Cross is a daring, thought-provoking work feature that cleverly points out the growing pains of religion today.

You’ll probably never find a film like The Blind Man Who Did Not Want to See Titanic. The camera is blurry, with lead Petri Poikolainen’s face the only image we see clearly. The audio sometimes goes in and out. There’s even a section that turns completely dark. While this would usually mean that something is wrong with the tech screening the film, it’s actually a brilliant way to immerse the viewers in Jaako’s experience, heightening the stakes of what should be a simple commute into a unique thriller comedy-drama. The Blind Man Who Did Not Want to See Titanic is truly an original film.

As a popular fairytale, Snow White has been depicted many, many times, but never quite like the 2012 Spanish film Blancanieves. For starters, it’s the only version where the titular lady is a bullfighter. It was also made as a black-and-white silent drama at a time when color and sound are the norm. But beyond these immediate differences, Blancanieves transforms the original fairytale into a mortifying body horror, where love can’t overcome the body’s destruction, and where death isn’t the only terror that awaits. Blancanieves won’t be the Snow White you remember, but she will be a version you won’t forget.

After the sudden death of a teacher, 55-year-old Algerian immigrant Bachir Lazhar is hired at an elementary school in Montreal. Struggling with a cultural gap between himself and his students at first, he helps them to deal with the situation, revealing his own tragic past. A strong portrait without any weird sentimentality. 11-year-old actress Sophie Nélisse makes her brilliant debut.

Mélanie Laurent both directed and wrote this, her fifth movie.

She offers an impressive display of deft film-making and honest, insightful storytelling. Charlie is a teenage high school student, there’s seemingly nothing unusual about her. When Sarah, a Nigerian girl, joins her school, they quickly form a transformative friendship.

Breathe sometimes veers to darkness, which helps to make its portrayal of the bond between two teenagers genuine, and unexpectedly fun.

C.R.A.Z.Y. is crazy good, so to speak. A portrait of a French-Canadian family in 70’s Quebec that will knock your socks right off, it’s the story of a boy struggling with his identity and his relationship with his father. Featuring a killer soundtrack (including but not limited to Bowie, Pink Floyd, Rolling Stones), it received Best Canadian Film in 2005 at Toronto International Film Festival. There are many things I would like to say about C.R.A.Z.Y. but I fear it’s one of those films you enjoy best when you go into them not knowing much.

If you like: weird movies and / or Scandinavian mythology, this movie is for you. It’s about unusual looking border agent with super-human abilities (such as smelling fear and shame) who meets someone like her for the first time There is a big revelation in Border that I can’t share but while this movie was directed by an Iranian (Ali Abbasi), it’s deeply rooted in Swedish folklore. Themes of identity, gender, and otherness intersect through a thrilling script and beautifully-shot nature scenes.

This coming-of-age drama is set in a remote fishing village in Iceland. It follows a group of boys during a summer who catch a break from the harsh Icelandic nature. They spend a lot of time outdoors bonding together and discovering themselves.

One of the boys develops feelings for his best friend, Kristian, while Kristian chases a girl.

Watching the boys wrestle with their growth in this wasteland playground is amazing, but the shots of fjords, beautiful coastline, and living so in touch with nature, all of that almost steals the show.

Two best friends chase the ultimate high in this Italian movie set in the 90s. Vittorio and Cesare are inseparable, they get in trouble together, fight together, and party together. Suddenly, they start moving at different speeds and one of them wants out, effectively abandoning the other. 

Don’t be Bad is director Claudio Caligari’s last movie before his death, the last installment in his catalog of well-crafted drug-centered stories.

This heartbreaking Russian drama takes place in Leningrad six months after the end of the war. A boy is asked to do an impression of an animal, any animal, but the boy stands still. “Just do a dog then”, one person says, to which another remarks “he’s never seen one, they’ve all been eaten.”

In this bleak context, two friends meet again and try to restart their lives. Masha is a soldier who has just come back from the war in Berlin, and Iya, a tall woman nicknamed “Beanpole”, is a nurse who suffers from PTSD episodes that freeze her body. Both characters, so brilliantly acted, personify the thin line between desperation and hopefulness in this difficult but incredibly well-made drama.

When German forces occupy Paris in 1942, a close-knit Jewish family tearfully sends their two youngest sons, Jo and Maurice, to escape the city on foot, with promises that they will all eventually be reunited in the Free Zone in the South. Told from the perspective of Jo – and based on the 1973 memoir of Joseph Joffo – what follows is a story of adventure, discovery, loss, love and the resilience of family bonds. A tapestry of cherished memories woven together with traumatic ones, the tone shifts again and again as Jo and his brother reach the bright shores of Nice––before they are driven to hiding again. Above all else, this is a story about the power of a family’s love, and of children who rise against the odds by their own courage and tenacity.

Miso may be living day to day on her meager earnings as a cleaner, but she is decidedly content. She insists that all she needs to get by are cigarettes, whiskey, and time with her boyfriend, so when a spike in rent and prices invites her to reassess her priorities, she doesn’t budge. Instead of forgoing these luxuries, she gives up her tiny place and couch surfs with her old bandmates. What follows is a reunion of sorts, where darkly humorous epiphanies are had on both ends about adulthood, responsibilities, and what it really means to be happy in an increasingly indifferent, profit-oriented world.  

Microhabitat treads on very grave themes, and the images it conjures can be unsettling. But it is also surprisingly light on its feet, displaying sharp satire and sweet empathy for its unyielding protagonist. Miso is portrayed with a smartness and softness that evades rational judgment, and this endearment makes the story, especially the ending, all the more painfulul, poignant, and impactful.

The poetic title of this debut feature from Chilean filmmaker Francisca Alegría does not tell a lie: a cow does indeed sing. More than one, in fact, because the film uses an entire herd — plus a flock of birds and a school of fish — as a kind of Greek chorus to comment on human mistreatment of animals and the wider environment. The Cow Who Sang never approaches sanctimonious territory, gently weaving from these ideas an expansive and evenly empathetic worldview. The magical realism that allows the animals to speak is the same device that brings the long-dead Magdalena (Mia Maestro) back to life — and, as her family’s fraught history is gradually revealed, it’s movingly suggested that the objectification that the cows and the local polluted river are subjected to is part of the same culture of devaluation that marred the lives of Magdalena and her female descendants. If there’s one complaint to be had, it’s that the relatively short runtime limits the film’s ability to really expound on its many threads — the bond Magdalena instinctively forges with her trans granddaughter, for example. Ultimately, though, its symbolic storytelling and emotionally articulate cast allow The Cow Who Sang to communicate much of its sweeping philosophy to profound effect.

It’s an incredible story, but it’s one that only really deserves to be told a certain way, which director Arthur Harari gets right. Onoda’s one-man crusade to continue World War II is nothing short of delusional, and Harari spends most of the film following the soldier as his companions die one by one, worsening his delusions even further. Unfortunately, even with how impressively strange this story is, 10,000 Nights in the Jungle still misses the opportunity to look through the lens of Onoda’s victims. He is, after all, a literal embodiment of colonization’s lingering effects, so it’s sad that the Philippines here is just window dressing more than anything.

No one likes to be replaced. Even when it gets difficult, hardwork and years put in effort to take and keep these roles makes it feel precious, and that’s exactly how househelp Raquel feels in The Maid. It’s a funny domestic comedy, with a scowling Catalina Saavedra ready to protect the role she’s held onto for years, but Saavedra and writer-director Sebastián Silva crafts an empathetic, realistic character study of a woman so worn down from poverty, power imbalance, and having had no breaks that the rare instance of compassion feels like a threat. La Nana doesn’t quite critique the entire system that keeps Raquel in her role, but it’s a rare film that acknowledges the importance of rest and empathy in order to feel human.

Given the controversial subject matter, there’s something remarkably placid about the way About Dry Grasses proceeds. Amidst the snowy white steppes of Eastern Anatolia, writer-director Nuri Bilge Ceylan slowly lets the plot unfold through multiple conversations, where an accusation of inappropriate contact leads to a he-said, she-said investigation, all centered around a misanthropic protagonist Samet. By focusing the entire film on Samet, Ceylan takes the time to understand this difficult, exhausting character in a detached manner, with the camera oftentimes taking in the whole lived-in, rundown places where Samet lives and works in. It’s an interesting perspective, depicting the ways everyone’s fumbling around, trying to create boxes to understand one’s place in the world, but it’s not an easy one to explore. About Dry Grasses dares to do so, anyway.

When striving towards your life goal, some concessions have to be made in order to get there, e.g. you would forgo some wants in order to fulfill that higher purpose. But how much are you willing to sacrifice? Mario is a sports drama about an aspiring football player that wants to make it higher up in the league, but it’s also a queer drama, since to be that professional means to stick to a rigid notion of masculinity for the fans, for the sponsors, and sometimes for fellow homophobic teammates competing against them. At two hours, the naturalistic depiction of Mario’s experience might be a tad too long for some viewers, but the film understands the fear, the pressure, and the compromises gay athletes are forced to go through.

When a regime falls, what follows isn’t a clean slate– it lingers, and it haunts those that were able to survive, part due to what was done to them and part to what they have done. Marshland ostensibly is a police procedural investigating a series of women murdered in rural Spain, but it’s also a clash of ideologies between New Spain, that wants to unearth the injustices that haven’t been acknowledged, and Old Spain, that wants to let sleeping dogs lie. The two plot threads don’t weave together as neatly as it could be, but La Isla Minima still works on both fronts, recreating that feeling of betrayal within that key transition period of Spain.

At first glance, Drug War is basically just what it says on the tin– cops crack down on kingpins, lords, and lackeys to save regular people from illegal addictive substances. Even the drug lord-cop dynamic would be a familiar plotline for crime thriller fans. But through this familiar plotline, Hong Kong director Johnnie To takes his first mainland China production to subtly comment on the dynamics between his native region and the larger country, taking the contrast to craft simmering tension each time Choi Tin-ming lies to his allies to save his skin. It’s less action-packed than To’s usual, but the subtext and the shift in style makes Drug War a surprisingly dynamic take on the crime thriller scene.

War Witch is depressing to watch. Having to choose between killing your parents yourself versus having them killed in a worse fashion by someone else is a cruel selection no child deserves to make, and War Witch poses that selection literally within the first five minutes, inspired by the real life recruitment mechanisms of child soldiers in Africa. But what makes the film still worth watching is the way writer-director Kim Nguyen focuses on how, despite everything, Komona clings to her humanity, albeit through the supernatural vision manifesting from a mix of hallucinogens and grief. War Witch won’t be an easy watch for most viewers, but it’s a unique story that has to be told, and we’re glad Nguyen rose up to the task.

21 wins & 24 nominations total

21 wins & 24 nominations total

When it comes to fantasy anime between two races, usually there would be some sort of romance between the leads. But Maquia: When the Promised Flower Blooms does it differently. Instead, between the humans and the immortal humanoid lorph race that weaves a chronicle of their history is a mother-son relationship, with the human son set to out-age his mom. It’s a surprising heartbreak to contemplate love, mortality, memory, and greed, and it happens to be paired with downright beautiful animation that easily brings tears to the eye. While it didn’t garner similar popularity as Your Name or A Silent Voice, Maquia: When the Promised Flower Blooms nonetheless is an ambitious directorial debut with an equally bittersweet ending.

Given the time period, it’s easy to see The Teacher as a satirical critique of the communist regime. Through the parent-teacher conference in a small high school, director Jan Hřebejk depicts a community shaken by the placement of a new teacher aligned with the Party. The new hire in question is nasty. While outwardly amiable, the subtle way she tries to extract favors, from simple repairs to hard-to-get medicine, feels terribly slimy as the kid’s grades are held in the balance. Zuzana Mauréry balances that two-faced dynamic with excellent skill, making her character someone we’d love to hate. And it all culminates into an intriguing ending that proves that while corruption has flourished under the regime, the following administration hasn’t done much to address it. The Teacher is a hilarious black comedy that isn’t afraid to bite.

Anthology films aren’t for everyone, but it’s a fitting choice for 4 Moons. With each moon phase representing the stage in the couples’ respective relationships, the film gets to explore gay relationships in such a comprehensive way, creating a bird’s eye view of how lovers like the couples in the film live and love. It’s a great way to normalize these relationships across generations. That being said, some viewers, like myself, find the intercuts between each couple a bit distracting due to the tone shifts and the way some stories are better developed than others. Still, 4 Moons is worth watching for its thoughtful portrayal.

We Are the Best! is one movie that may be overlooked largely by viewers, though it perfectly captures counterculture, and relates to the misfit young and old. The movie is an adaptation of Moodysson’s wife Coco’s graphic novel “Never Goodnight”. Set in Stockholm, Sweden in 1982, Klara (Mira Grosin) and her best friend Bobo (Mira Barkhammar) are junior high teenage girls who believe in their heart that punk rock is alive and well. With both of their home lives not so pleasant, the girls spend their time at the local youth center while taking up the time slot in the band room to get revenge on the local metal band. That’s when they find themselves starting a punk band without even knowing how to play an instrument. We Are the Best! is a fun and deeply sincere exploration of adventure, friendship, love, and betrayal in adolescence.

Vivid, sweeping landscapes surround the simple beauty of a Mongolian family navigating the pressures of globalization while still practicing their traditional nomadic lifestyle. Ostensibly it’s about the charming, captivating relationship that forms between a young girl, Nansal, and a dog that she finds. However, the magic of this slow, enthralling film is that it captures the brilliance of familial relationships and power of culture and stories through this simple backdrop. And it is a simple film; everything you can learn from this film comes through its gentle storytelling that invites you to recognize the beauty and profundity that exists in everyday lives.

Jia Zhangke (who NPR critic John Powers once called “perhaps the most important filmmaker working in the world today”), directed this movie based on the story of a gangster he knew while growing up.

And he is far from being the only noticeable talent here. Actress Tao Zhao shines as a character called Qiao, a dancer who infiltrates the crime scene in Northern China by way of her boyfriend (the gangster). When a boss leader is assassinated, Qiao finds herself in jail after she refuses to incriminate her boyfriend. 

This is a gangster movie but it’s also about how Qiao processes her time in jail and what she does once she gets out. It serves more as a character study and a picture of modern-day China.

When it comes to darker subjects such as suicide, an emotionally resonant, minimalistic film like this leaves an impression. The film follows Mr. Badii, a middle-aged man contemplating suicide, as he drives around Tehran searching for someone willing to bury him. Abbas Kiarostami’s meticulous framing creates a sense of intimacy and introspection, allowing the audience to delve into the profound existential questions raised. The sparse dialogue, breathtaking landscapes of Tehran, and the use of natural warm lighting enhance the visual beauty and contemplation of the film. Poignant and hopeful in just twenty-four hours and one car.

When we think about dog films, we think about overly sentimental, feel-good flicks, with the dogs sometimes voiced by famous actors, that affirm the relationship between man and his best friend. White God is a dog movie, but it’s not that kind of dog movie. The dogs are not voiced, but yet they feel so personable as co-writer and director Kornél Mundruczó turns Hagen’s time in the street into a series of escapades, some exciting and some downright terrifying, where he evades the cruelty of man. And as the film alternates between Hagen and the young Lili, Mundruczó questions the ways we treat our furball best friends, the way we also treat those that are in our care.

In modern day Europe, demonic possession seems to be a thing of the past, something most likely to be attributed to mental illness, and something that can be dealt with through modern medicine, not exorcism. Still, exorcisms are conducted in certain areas in the continent, and some instances don’t go the way they should. Inspired on the real life Tanacu exorcism, Beyond the Hills doesn’t depict the event through a horror or melodramatic lens– instead the film is stoic, naturalistic, with long single takes that linger uncomfortably and repetitively. As Alina pleads to Voichița to help her, to choose her and their bond, Voichița grapples with wanting the modern yet isolating freedom she knows Alina has found elsewhere, while still wanting the refuge religious tradition has granted her, but also has made her dependent on. It does take a while to reach its conclusion, but Beyond the Hills is a deeply unsettling and striking movie to watch.

The bond between parent and child is fundamental to the child’s life, but not necessarily the other way around. Even when the parents chose to have them into their lives, the child will always live within the parent’s context, not the other way around. Based on a book by Christine Angot, An Impossible Love is centered on that relationship, with the daughter reckoning with her parents’ love story through narration, reckoning with the betrayals both of them have done onto her. It’s a risky story for writer-director Catherine Corsini, one she made picturesque and nostalgic with period-accurate production design, but behind the beautiful scenery lies the emotionally touching exploration of this difficult dynamic, made much more heartbreaking with Virginie Efira and Jehnny Beth’s excellent performances.

While Shakespeare has written most of the romantic plays that dominate theater today, there was one play from across the English Channel that also keeps its hold in the public consciousness, namely Cyrano de Bergerac by Edmond Rostand. Cyrano, My Love depicts the process of creating the iconic play a la Shakespeare in Love, that is, by taking the actual play’s history and jumbling it up with the plot of Cyrano, with art reinventing life and vice versa. It’s a bit of a corny approach, but the way writer-director Alexis Michalik adapts his play is entertaining, leaning more on the frenzy of creation and collaboration rather than cramming Rostand’s romance with his wife into a cinematic plot. This makes Edmond a much more dynamic profile of the titular playwright.

Electric Shadows is often deemed something like a Chinese Cinema Paradiso. It has the friendship with an older film projectionist, the small town gathering around outdoor screenings of foreign film, a childhood friendship between a boy and girl that meet again unexpectedly, and of course, it wears its heart for the movies right on its sleeve. It doesn’t quite compare to the Italian classic, and there are some moments when the film slightly drags, but Electric Shadows does capture the feeling of awe that you get when you watch your first movie, whether that be when you’re a kid taking your first steps in the world, or when you’re an adult hoping for something more despite the life allowed to you.

When the country rises in rebellion against your dictatorial rule, we imagine that could be quite difficult. After a series of failures and atrocities committed to keep power, no one in the world would empathize with the dictator in question. Doing exactly this, however, made for a striking movie in The President. Never naming an actual country, but based generally on real world revolutions, the film plucks a dictator and his grandson into the poverty that his regime has inflicted upon its people. It’s quite cathartic to see the two reap the karmic consequences of what the dictator has done, but it’s also thought-provoking, as the film straightforwardly demonstrates the way revolution eventually takes cyclical form, especially for the movements that allowed the very atrocities they sought to end. It’s not a film with an easy-to-match metaphor, though, given the production country and the director Mohsen Makhmalbaf’s home country, one could guess certain influences, but The President nonetheless is a striking portrait of a city violently changing hands.

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.

Given that it is a modern day, colored film remake of a classic, Hara-Kiri: Death of a Samurai was always going to be compared to the 1962 film, especially since it’s considered one of the greatest Japanese films of all time. Admittedly, there’s not a lot added aside from the 3D filming, and for fans of director Takashi Miike, the remake is much more restrained than his other films. However, Nobuyasu Kita’s cinematography is striking, Ryuichi Sakamoto’s score is impeccable, and the performances still deliver on the film’s contemplation of honor, sacrifice, and the self-interest of the elite. Hara-Kiri: Death of a Samurai doesn’t compare to the classic, but it’s nonetheless a decent introduction for the generations that missed the original story.

At first, Little Forest seemed to just be a gentle film extolling the beauty of the countryside. Many a story has been based on that idea, and sure enough, the film does have aesthetic, gorgeous shots of the orchard, the lake, and the garden Hye-won ran back to, albeit with much more delicious food making scenes. But, as we get to learn more about her, the script subtly unfolds to reveal a personal family drama at the center. Moving back home, therefore, isn’t just to take a vacation– it becomes a meditative break for Hye-won to recreate, and thus, understand the choices her mother made, and it becomes a potent reminder of not just the pain, but also the good things that she left behind. Little Forest has plenty of the familiar countryside virtues of self-sufficiency, mindfulness, and community, but it approaches these themes in a more compelling way.

Tuvalu is a pretty weird film. It’s definitely inspired by old silent expressionist films– Barely anyone speaks in it, the scenes play out in a variety of sepia tones, and the expressions everyone takes are hyper-exaggerated– but it’s the plot points that can feel cryptic and loopy for some viewers, considering the wacky ways Anton improvises some quick fixes for the pool. It’s because of this that the film won’t be for everyone. However, cinephiles looking for something outside the mainstream fare might enjoy Tuvalu, because the strange plot is depicted through interesting frames shot in the beautiful sets of the dilapidated pool, in a unique style that most viewers would rarely see today. Tuvalu is eccentric, but it’s not bad, and no one can deny its originality.

While best known for his Western work, including directing the second Mission Impossible, John Woo made his start in China, returning more than a decade later to film this historical war epic. Based on the Battle of the Red Cliffs, the film may not be 100% factual, but Woo is clearly more at home here, taking his signature action choreography on a much larger scale. The production design, the costumes, the score, and the visuals are all dialled up to eleven, and the cast, including the iconic Tony Leung Chiu-wai, matches this intensity with stellar performances. Red Cliff is John Woo’s triumphant return back to his home country, taking his Hollywood experience to push Chinese cinema even further.

Frankly, the characters of In The House are in dire need for some therapy after the events of the film. A high school teacher takes an interest into one of his student’s writings, which turns out to be his fantasies of another student’s perfect family, and they end up to be further linked in even stranger ways, to say the least. But as the plot progresses, the film unfolds into a deep meditation of art, with each character serving as either the creator or the admirer, and representing how both can use it to see reality or to dream about another one. The direction is a surprising way to go about it, but the tension and the cast’s excellent performances drive the story to a much more exciting place.

Admittedly, Giovanni’s Island can seem a bit derivative. Not only does it take on a similar vibe to Studio Ghibli’s Grave of the Fireflies, but the film also makes multiple references to Kenji Miyazawa’s Night on the Galactic Railroad. Thankfully, new viewers don’t need to watch either to understand this film. Giovanni’s Island gets all the important stuff right. From the horrors of war to the connections made across sides, the film depicts this heartbreaking story through beautiful animation, lovely music, and a respect to the storytelling that has helped Japan reckon with the war. Giovanni’s Island remembers the nation’s grief, but also the hope of building all over again.

Without a shadow of a doubt, one of the most gripping thrillers in recent years. It starts in a morgue where a corpse of a deceased femme fatale goes missing. Her husband is the first person to be suspected as evidence starts pointing to him for killing his wife and hiding the body. He is called by the police to the crime scene to help with the investigation that is led by a shady detective. The film then takes you on a journey filled with reflections on marriage, deceit and the character’s urge to safeguard whats their own and the territories they are willing to cross to keep it. Drawing you into the atmosphere from the very start, it refuses to let you go out of it. All while maintaining a simple premise.

This Brazilian drama is about a loving mother of four, Irene, who has to deal with the upcoming departure of her eldest son. This news triggers Irene’s anxiety, who is trying to finish her high-school diploma as well as building a home for her kids.

Loveling is about being relentless in one’s pursuit of improving their situation, about empty-nesters syndrome, and the ups and downs of family life in general.

Much like the 1976 horror classic Carrie, Thelma centers on a young telekinetic woman whose religious upbringing and sexual repression give way to unpredictable moments of fury and rage. When she meets the cool, charismatic Anja, she falls in love immediately, but the wave of emotions that overwhelm her threaten to destabilize not just their budding romance, but other relationships and lives as well. 

Thelma recalls Carrie in other ways too, most notably in the way it uses supernatural elements to allude to female fury and lust, but it also stands on its own as a singular piece of work; the mesmerizing transitions, the slow-burn pace, and the undercurrent of melancholia are all known trademarks of director Joachim Trier. This layering of old and new makes Thelma an intriguing watch, at once recognizable and wholly original. 

Prior to being defined by that fateful bombing in 1945, Hiroshima was like any other city outside of Tokyo; small but full, quiet but busy, and in the midst of a slow-but-sure journey to modernization. We experience the rich and intimate details of this life through the kind-hearted Suzu, who herself is stuck between the throes of old and new. She is an ambitious artist but also a dedicated wife; a war-wearied survivor and a hopeful cheerleader.

Set before, during, and after the Second World War, the film starts off charmingly mundane at first, but it quickly gives way to inevitable grief in the second half. One stark tragedy follows another as it becomes increasingly clear how much we lose our humanity in war.

In This Corner of the World is the rare film outside of the Hayao Miyazaki canon that captures the latter’s heart for detail while still being graciously its own.

Soul Mate has a familiar premise, has a standard love triangle, and at times, goes through the same formulaic story beats that any moviegoer would recognize. However, what makes the film unique is that it’s not focused on which character should get the guy, but on the friendship between two women and what’s really driving them apart. In director Derek Tsang’s capable hands, we learn about their dynamic in fragments and through crucial moments. Gorgeous cinematography and editing turn memories golden in nostalgia. But it’s ultimately Zhou Dongyu and Sandra Ma’s performances that solidify the friendship. Theirs is a study of contrasts between the independent yet freeloading Ansheng versus the stable but yearning Qiyue. It’s the actresses who prove that the real soul connection can be found between these two women instead.

There’s something rich at the heart of Afire that, whether intentionally or not, is kept at arm’s length from the viewer. Over the course of Leon’s (Thomas Schubert) quiet summer retreat to work on the manuscript for his second book, we come to understand his generally irritable nature as not just creative but existential. Through his eyes and writer-director Christian Petzold’s expertly restrained sensibilities for drama, every moment becomes tinged with a vague jealousy—insecurity about other people leading satisfied lives, and his inability to let anything be without finding fault in it first. Leon is meant to be difficult to sympathize with, but at his core is an emptiness that comes with the acknowledgement of how limited one’s future really is.

And on the opposite end is Nadja (Paula Beer), a woman who just happens to be staying at the same vacation home due to an overlap in booking, whom Leon sees as a reminder for everything he lacks: romance, thoughtful attentiveness, and a love of life that helps her to stop focusing on what she thinks she lacks. The film stops short of having these characters undergo change that feels truly meaningful, but just seeing them dance around each other with a sharpening tension is well worth the experience.

Many films that deal with the advent of some sort of apocalypse usually hit the ground running, but When Evil Lurks also keeps its sense of panic and paranoia right up to its bitter end. Even during moments of downtime—as this small group of “survivors” tries to keep moving—there is an overwhelming sense that they’re only delaying their inevitable suffering, or that evil has existed long before  any of them. There are passing mentions of this demonic presence having originated in the city, and how it manages to infiltrate the lives of those on the outskirts through modern things like electricity and gunfire. It’s an intriguing angle that gives possession a new texture: these demons aren’t just randomly manifesting, but invading and occupying.

And when the violence kicks in, When Evil Lurks really doesn’t spare its characters, as shown by some pretty gnarly practical effects and vicious sound design. The constant escalation of the demonic threat can feel contrived at times—as the rules of how things operate in this world keep on being added or modified, at a rate that can be hard to process—but the anguish it leaves its characters in is suffocating all the same. There may not appear to be a moral at the end of all this, but it evokes a sense of hopelessness better than many other films.

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.

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

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

When visiting a new town, it’s easy to expect that there will be some differences from the place you’ve come from, but the strange small town of Zerograd is downright bizarre. From naked secretaries to cakes with that look exactly like his face, Zerograd is a boggling trip, with writer-director Karen Shakhnazarov parodying the ways the Soviet Union then clung to their distortions of reality, even as it crumbles, but it also eerily echoes the way governments around the world have manipulated their people’s concept of reality all for the sake of their respective states. Zerograd’s bizarre episodes don’t seem to go anywhere, but that’s sort of expected, especially with the world still having to deal with the loss of truth globally.

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

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

It’s obvious that there’s an inequality between the sexes, but while knowing the problem is helpful, it can be tough to figure out how to solve it. One solution is to withhold something from men that women have control over, and in some cases, that something is sex. Inspired by a real life sex strike in Turkey over the water supply, The Source makes the strange choice to adapt Greek comedy Lysistrata in an unspecified North African town instead. But strange choice aside, the script takes the premise and expands it not just to address the initial war and water issues, but also to expound on many more issues tied to inequality such as women’s literacy, domestic labor, as well as domestic violence. The Source is unsubtle, but the cast’s performances make the film an interesting Lysistrata adaptation.

Alternatively known as The Chinese Connection due to a translation error, Fist of Fury was the second of Bruce Lee’s leading roles in Hong Kong, this time taking his fists to 1900s Shanghai. As Chen Zhen, fictional apprentice of the real life Jingwu School, Lee fights against the rival Japanese dojo after the death of his master, asserting the honor of his Chinese kung fu school in the face of the foreign occupation. It’s this foundation that sets the stage for Bruce Lee’s fight choreography, delivering spectacular action sequences that are impossible to duplicate in the service of vengeance and justice. It was through this film, and his other Hong Kong features, that Bruce Lee bridged east and west, setting the new standard for martial arts cinema all over the world.

At times of political strife, how can one seek justice? Song Without a Name could have presented its case in a straightforward biopic. Inspired by her journalist father’s story, writer-director Melina León  could have presented a hard-hitting docudrama that celebrated the smart journalists who brought the traffickers to justice. However, León doesn’t do that. She focuses instead on Georgina, the indigenous mother who lost her child. Her journey is beautifully shot in vignetted black-and-white, but the images and the lullabies she sings are striking, haunting reminders of what was lost, even as the traffickers get imprisoned. Song Without a Name remembers how this injustice was only half resolved.

Let’s get this out of the way: Those Who Remained isn’t Lolita. Aldo and Klára connect only because of shared trauma. It’s a pseudo-familial dynamic that proves to be good for both of them, as Klára finds guidance from an adult she doesn’t look down upon due to their possible complicity in the war, and Aldo gets to show some fatherly care that was only limited to his missing family. It thankfully remains above board. That being said, it gets a bit uncomfortable to see the film use the audience’s understandable suspicion to strengthen the feeling of Soviet surveillance. However, Those Who Remained clearly does this to demonstrate how, instead of receiving trauma-informed care and support, the community was instead viewed with suspicion.

A best friendship break-up can be the most devastating thing that can happen to you in high school, especially when it’s because you’re leaving for separate colleges. Liz and the Blue Bird depicts one dynamic through two girls preparing for an orchestral concert. By pairing the two girls with the faux fairy tale that they’re playing, director Naoko Yamada subtly reveals their conflicting feelings in naturalistic, fleeting moments and watercolor fantasy. This subtle expression is helped immensely by the impeccable wind band score by composer Kensuke Ushio. While it doesn’t quite compare to A Silent Voice, Yamada’s previous work, Liz and the Blue Bird nonetheless shares that delicate symphony of art and music that genuinely capture these adolescent feelings.

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.

An electrifying portrayal of a girl growing up in a poor Paris suburb. This coming-of-age story follows Marieme, a girl struggling in high-school who learns that she will be rerouted out of academia and onto a track where she will learn a trade. Frustrated by the news and fearful of an abusive elder brother, she finds solace in a gang of girls from her neighborhood. Initially she decides against joining them but does so at the prospect of pursuing a crush. Her new friends take her into the center of Paris and to a more violent and crime-driven lifestyle. An undeniably grim movie, Girlhood compensates with an amazing character study – themes of identity and adolescent need for belonging are at the center of a type of a story that rarely ever gets any attention.

This Danish film which was the country’s submission to the Oscars is about a delicate subject. A lawyer who specializes in defending children, and who is used to developing closeness with her clients including meeting with them in her home, starts having an affair with her teenage step-son.

There is inherent tension to this obviously very explicit plotline: how would a serious, non-erotic (or not-only-erotic) movie like this one portray such attraction. And of course, afterwards, what are the implications?

This Swedish movie is the story of Astrid Lindgren, one of the most translated children book writers of all time. Her work of over 100 books includes Pippi Longstocking and The Brothers Lionheart.

Away from the quiet existence of the characters she would later create, Astrid had a turbulent life. Her troubles start when she falls for the editor of the paper she worked at when she was young, a man 30 years her senior. This results in an unwanted pregnancy and Astrid is pushed to immigrate.

It won’t be a surprise that a movie titled Violent Cop would have a police officer smacking people left and right. But upon its release, Violent Cop surprised viewers when comedian Beat Takeshi took it upon himself to direct a moody, serious neo-noir where blood splatters come sparingly, knives are drawn on occasion, and the camera is much more interested in lingering between the men inflicting violence rather than flashy choreography– and somehow end up with a pretty solid effort. The film does have a somewhat familiar plot, but its bleak, depressing portrayal of how mundane violence has become makes Violent Cop such a brutal debut to watch.

When a woman that looks like the love of your life randomly shows up at an empty train station, but strangely has no memory of you, maybe you should try to confirm their identity first– doppelgangers do exist, after all. But aside from this detail, there’s a certain charm in the way Be With You unfolds, as the family gets a second chance to cherish a loved one, and as Woo-jin indulges in sharing their love story, a story that Woo-jin understandably doesn’t want to forget. Be With You doesn’t reinvent the entire genre, and it would inevitably be compared to the 2004 Japanese original, but this Korean remake does it so well, celebrating the way love transcends lifetimes.

Life can get tough if you move to another country. You have to adjust to the language, to the culture, and to the community you choose to move to, and that’s just if you decided to make the move intentionally. But some of these difficulties can be made much easier to bear with a good friend. Shun Li and the Poet is centered on a friendship between two immigrants in a Venetian island town, and although they come from other sides of the world, the kindnesses they share as strangers, and the intimacy they keep when they share more of their life stories, prove to be lovely. It might be a tad slow for some viewers, but the contemplation and celebration of their shared humanity makes for a lovely watch.

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.

Given the topic, there’s no surprise that Beauty and the Dogs is a harrowing watch. The gang rape itself is thankfully not depicted, but the journey to getting help– trying to get medical attention, going from station to station, and finally getting a report done in the very station the police perpetrators are parked in– is absolutely horrifying. Through nine long shots, writer-director Kaouther Ben Hania shows each step in real time. It’s a brilliant way to hone into the subtle details, such as the way the police protected each other, or when some took the accusation seriously, there were no measures to ensure Mariam’s safety. Beauty and the Dogs is not an easy watch, but it’s a necessary one to highlight the system’s deficiencies in addressing this crime.

Given the mix of real life and faux interviews, 24 City isn’t quite a documentary, but it’s not a totally fictional narrative either. Director Jia Zhangke adeptly mixes both forms to beautifully capture the multigenerational impact of the sweeping changes China made within the last few decades, encapsulated through the experiences with regards to an actual location. Some viewers might find the film a bit slow, as Zhangke doesn’t rely on narration, instead hearing out the stories of each of his interviewees (real or scripted). Still, the way 24 City depicts them feels genuine because it’s more observant than prescriptive, and has a lot more to say about ordinary people in the face of history.