The Best NR Movies to Watch (Page 2)

You know how many films depict the magic and wonder of cinema in such gorgeous, magnificent scenes? Peeping Tom does the opposite. Sure, it has director Michael Powell’s signature flair, with excellently framed and colored shots, but he takes a much more violent route here, swapping spectacular fantasy with the psychological terror of how the act of filming and watching can be. Given the title, it won’t be a surprise that the film involves voyeurism, but rather than of the sexual kind, Powell hones into the morbidity of the camera gaze, the twisted pleasure that’s felt when the audience sees someone terrified, despite the violence done upon them. It’s because of this that the film was so controversial, but eventually, Peeping Tom garnered critical acclaim for breaking ground as the first slasher film ever made.

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.

What would you do if your parents were Nazis? Based on the second novella of Rachel Seiffert’s The Dark Room, Lore tells the story of a Nazi officer’s children travelling together after the Allied victory. It’s a harrowing journey, of course, given the end of the war. But writer-director Cate Shortland takes that journey even further, as she pushes the children through terrible situations in such stunning naturalistic shots. The contrast makes it seem that while everything has gone right for the world, it’s only inevitable to dish out societal shunning towards them, but Shortland still manages a tightrope balance between empathizing with the kids, while still acknowledging the natural weight of the guilt, the shame of having benefitted, even if not complicit, in one of the world’s worst atrocities ever committed. It’s because of this that Lore is such an intriguing, complex, but necessary movie to watch.

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.

With its detailed portraits of seven of Istanbul’s most adored felines, Kedi affirms what anyone who’s spent some time with a cat will know: they really do all have fully-fledged, complex personalities of their own. More than just a celebration of some supremely cute kitties, though, this documentary about the city’s teeming street cat population also presents a moving example of a way of living that embraces — rather than tramples over — our animal neighbors.

Immersive cinematography from the cats’ eye levels is weaved with interviews with the people who care for them, whether voluntarily or because the cats simply demand it. That independence emerges as a much-admired characteristic in the documentary; as one interviewee puts it, “Dogs think people are God, but cats don’t. They’re not ungrateful, they just know better.” It’s impossible not to read a wistful note in the interviewees’ odes — indeed, for many of the people featured here, cats are a point of spiritual and personal reconnection, a reminder of what life is really about underneath all the mind-numbing dross we’ve made up. The magic of Kedi is that it not only perceptively recognizes the healing effect that cats have on humans, but recreates it so that these 70-something minutes feel like therapy.

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.

Most people aspire to have families, deciding to form their own by marrying, bearing children, and if fertility makes that impossible, adopting one. The Official Story is centered on upper middle class Alicia, who’s already made the idyllic family life, with the last piece completed with her adoption of Gaby, but there are secrets held from her, or rather, there are realities that she chose not to listen to because of the painful implications. Writer-director Luis Puenzo juxtaposes the family secret to the violent ones the Argentine junta government kept from its citizens. It’s not a subtle comparison– Puenzo makes it obvious– but it’s an effective one, as Alicia has to reckon with the fact that she lies in bed with a stranger, as Argentina has to reckon with the remaining junta members and enablers.

The Children’s Hour was one of the few sympathetic depictions of a lesbian character at a time when same-sex relationships were illegal. That being said, the film doesn’t really focus on forming a couple. It’s also about how destructive the rumor mill can be, but really, the film is  mostly an indictment of how terrible society treated queerness back then, ending people’s livelihoods, reputations, safety, and yes, even their lives all in the name of propriety. Director William Wyler adapts this play with the gravity it deserves, through shots that frame the dynamics between every performance and a camera that scrutinizes its casts’ faces. Audrey Hepburn and Shirley MacLaine delivered their anguish through excellent performances.

Modern day coming-of-age ennui isn’t a new subject at all, but there’s a charm to the way this was presented in Güeros. In his first film, Alonso Ruizpalacios beautifully shoots each scene in black and white, forming striking images of what the capital used to be and taking new approaches in depicting certain scenes (for example, that panic attack with the POV shot covered in feathers!). The cast also excellently portray this millennial emotion well, with their eyes glazed over as they try to seek moments of connection and grounding, as they try to make sense of it all. While some of the politics might fly under the radar to people outside the country, Güeros nevertheless serves as an interesting portrait of the time, as well as an interesting debut for one of Mexico’s avant-garde filmmakers.

In the last years of their partnership, Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger decided to take on another art form in The Tales of Hoffmann. Jacques Offenbach’s opera is excellently adapted with similar extravagance to The Red Shoes, only this time, rather than limiting the performance in one sequence, the entire film is sung-through and plays out on what feels like a neverending stage. The split between E.T.A. Hoffmann’s three short stories can seem a bit uneven, with Olympia’s tale the longest of the three, but the outstanding cast, the fantastic costumes and sets, and the seamless cinematography takes a spectacular route into a brilliant conclusion. Most people’s mileage of this film would depend on their appreciation of the mediums of opera and movie musicals, but fans of both would adore The Tales of Hoffmann.

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.

In a few seconds, a mistake can change your life forever. Insomnia is centered on a Swedish detective trying to solve a murder while trying desperately to cover a mistake made from the difficult mix of the fog and human exhaustion, but in doing so, his guilt, shame, and suspicion that no one would believe him due to past mistakes, weigh down on him, twisting the police procedural upon itself. Stellan Skarsgård holds an incredibly restrained performance throughout the entire film, and it’s well-framed by writer-director Erik Skjoldbjærg, whose use of cold white light in this debut feature eventually became the staple of on-screen Scandinavian noir.

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.

Bad Boy Bubby is not an easy watch. Within the first ten minutes, the indie drama seemed to be one of those films created only to provoke the viewer, and not much else. We won’t deny that the intro is provocative– in fact, we’re warning you outright that it includes domestic violence, abuse towards the disabled main character that’s implied to have started since childhood, and the killing of a cat– but with such a harrowing introduction, Bubby being thrown into the wider world actually becomes something optimistic. His escape is written to be full of possibilities, the possibilities that we ordinary folk take for granted, but possibilities nonetheless. There’s nowhere to go but up, for him. Writer-director Rolf de Heer matches this unusual characterization with unusual style, with 30+ cinematographers shooting with different styles as Bubby learns from each person he meets, and with the binaural audio recorded to simulate what Bubby would actually hear. It makes for a very weird, experimental film, but Bad Boy Bubby also reveals to be a surprisingly hopeful drama that celebrates the goodness of ordinary life.

Is there a film as transcendent as Top Hat? While the plot could have easily been resolved by a personal introduction, it’s absolutely fun to see the shenanigans that this simple miscommunication brings. It brings the spats between the couples, the witty banter they share, and the palpable chemistry between Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. And of course, it’s lovely to see Fred and Ginger dance, gliding through the ballroom with their smooth voices and even smoother moves. Their on-screen partnership can be seen in plenty of other films, but Top Hat was one of the best ones they made together, and one of the best Hollywood musicals ever made.

As a comedy made in the 80’s all about a gay couple, viewers not familiar with this indie film might expect something tragic, raunchy, or insensitive, but Parting Glances is surprisingly understated. The main relationship is refreshingly treated with the same domesticity as a straight couple would, and the main conflict isn’t concerned with acceptance– after all, Michael and Robert were already accepted by their urban Manhattan community. In writing this, first-time director Bill Sherwood is able to focus on the upcoming long-distance relationship, Michael realizing Robert wants the distance, while Robert feels uncertain over Michael’s feelings for his ex dying from AIDS. The film doesn’t shy away from the touching, but even with the difficult pain of losing parts of the community, it’s still straightforward, unsentimental, and so funny with the witty repartee between the well-written characters. Parting Glances is a true gem.

Long before his battles with King Kong, this sci-fi classic set the foundations of what was to become the world’s longest running film franchise. It’s an interesting rewatch, decades later. That’s not because the monster in the title is huge and awesome, though it certainly helped when it finally emerged from the water. No, what really makes the first installment interesting is how it lingers on the confusion, the uncertainty, and the terror for something so strong and massive that it can’t be stopped, even when indirectly caused by human warfare. Given the atomic bomb and the succeeding nuclear arms race, Godzilla fully encapsulated the worries of its audiences at home, and it’s the terror that has been shared all over the world even to today.

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.

In response to violence, some people consider aggression as the only solution, especially in a place that cannot rely on institutions– fighting fire with fire, but fighting for the good. Tyrannosaur depicts a British town with men that only operate on a mix of this idea, but this rage becomes relentless, unceasing, and never lies to rest, oftentimes at the expense of those more vulnerable around them. The debut feature from indie anti-hero actor Paddy Considine is downright depressing and it’s not an easy watch, but there’s no denying that Tyrannosaur feels incredibly personal and the stellar performances from the three leads makes this bleak drama so compelling to watch.

Simple but lovely movies like Fallen Leaves are hard to come by these days. While others rely on complicated dialogue or overly ambitious premises to be deemed deep or important, Director Aki Kaurismäki trusts that his material is strong enough. After all, its silence speaks volumes; the characters don’t say much but when they do, you can be sure it’s something hard-hitting or funny. The plot doesn’t contain a lot of surprises, but when it makes a turn, it moves you instantly. And the leads, Ansa (Alma Pöysti) and Holappa (Jussi Vatanen) barely move their features, but their eyes convey more emotion, more longing and ache and joy, than one can hope for. Some movies can be challenging, exhilarating, or exhausting to watch. This one is simply delightful. 

Beautifully directed and blessed to be led by the wonderfully gentle and curious dog Zeytin, Stray commits to its unique point of view by reimagining Istanbul as a place made up of cars, torsos, and trash on the street. Such constraints on one’s filmmaking might make it seem like director Elizabeth Lo is in the perfect position to manipulate her animal characters in order to get the “story” she wants, but it genuinely never feels that way. If anything, Zeytin is the one who pulls Lo into orbit, and there’s a sense that the director is simply recording what the dog is revealing to us about human beings’ daily rituals and how they end up creating structure, culture, and (sadly) outcasts from this culture.

Gilda is Rita Hayworth’s film. She didn’t direct it, but it feels like it’s hers. It’s hers in the sense that she’s probably the first thing that comes to mind when recalling the movie. Part of that recall could be because the whole film is named after her character, but it mostly makes sense because it’s only when she appears that the noir drama becomes interesting. It’s her entrance that forces Johnny Farrell to face his past, pushing both him and Mr. Mundson into a tense, jealousy-fuelled stalemate that reveals the true cruelty lurking underneath both men. And as she seeks as much freedom as she can possibly have, Gilda subtly reinterpreted the femme fatale, whether or not Hollywood intended it.

There are plenty of great Hollywood movie musicals from the 1950s that are still held in high regard today. Guys and Dolls is one such musical, though perhaps it hasn’t gotten the iconic status that other MGM musicals garnered due to its uneven casting. Nevertheless, the film version of the popular stage musical adapts it well, adding incredible synchronization, excellent choreography, and a charismatic cast (as well as their behind-the-scenes drama) to a familiar, but well-made plotline of guys challenged to keep their word, whether that be in terms of gambling or of love. Guys and Dolls might not have the iconic status due to certain song performances, but it nonetheless still remains a classic for a reason– it’s just a good film.

Has there ever been a relationship dynamic more complicated than The Marriage Circle? It’s not made out of one or two love triangles, it’s actually a whole pentagon between two married couples and one of their friends. This convoluted tangle of relationships makes for a rather surprising comedy. As they interact, not just through silent intertitles, but also through scribbled letters and lip reads, the film transforms the original play into an entertaining romp. Director Ernst Lubitsch expands past the witty dialogue through provocative innuendo, with shots that hint at the heady emotions they shouldn’t feel for each other. But what makes the film surprising is its ending, as it pushed against marital boundaries, long before no-fault divorce. The Marriage Circle might not be as prominent as Lubitsch’s talkies, but it’s the witty silent film that hinted at his future mastery over the comedy of manners.

Rife with controversy and released after one of the leads’ death, it’s no wonder that The Misfits was commercially panned upon release despite the big names on its cast. But make no mistake– it’s a pretty good movie. It’s not the usual movie that the leads would have made, but maybe it’s because of this that Clark Gable, Marilyn Monroe, and Montgomery Cline delivered some of their best performances. At first glance, the film presents their usual star personas, but the story twists their usual plots in a melancholic, eerily prophetic way, culminating in a last-ditch effort around the desert that gets them to question what they have become. Classic film fans might find it tough to watch the film without thinking about the later tragedies the actors faced in real life, but The Misfits marked a shift for the Hollywood studio system, eventually garnering a reputation as a cult classic.

The choice between practicality and passion is the subject of many a drama, but A Thousand Times Good Night depicts that passion stemming from a different place. Rather than pure expression, or creativity, director Erik Poppe depicts the passion of his former profession of photojournalism stemming from social importance– not just status, but in possibly changing the course of history. The semi-autobiographical story clearly has an understanding of the craft, and with her moving performance, Juliette Binoche proves to be an effective proxy, as her character takes risks her family find it hard to tolerate, and as continually choosing those risks, also entails influencing your family to make that same sacrifice. Some viewers might not agree with these choices, but nevertheless A Thousand Times Good Night is a palpable character study of someone whose career is personally interlinked with their advocacy, their identity, and their philosophy of what the world should prioritize.

Although this adaptation of the 1960s TV show feels like four episodes of material crammed into a feature runtime, Shin Ultraman really does squeeze as much as it can out of every scene, sometimes to the point of exhaustion. Not only are the action scenes as ridiculous as they should be—still imitating the clunkiness and the theatricality of classic Japanese tokusatsu—but even sequences of exposition are made to feel urgent and breathless by breakneck comedic editing and by placing the camera in the weirdest positions for the quickest shots. And somehow, Shin Ultraman still doesn’t feel like it’s making fun of its source material. It’s an honest-to-goodness sci-fi superhero movie that’s much more insightful about the nature of international crises than Hollywood tends to be.

Is there a performance more iconic than Marilyn Monroe in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes? Even without watching the film, you’re likely to recognize the film’s biggest number Diamonds Are A Girl’s Best Friend, whether that be from Marilyn herself or from the many renditions of the exact same scene. Given her stellar performance and the glamorous costumes, it makes sense that that song number would be the one most viewers would remember. Most of the film leads to that moment and it actually encapsulates the entire film’s themes. However, the film in its entirety proves to be delightfully entertaining, with Jane Russell holding up the rest of the film with equal magnetism, and a friendship between the two women that holds true even as they satirize their romantic exploits. Gentlemen Prefer Blondes is an iconic film, but we’re happy to report that its wit and humor is timeless.

Looking at the animated character designs, it seemed like Birdboy: The Forgotten Children would be a cutesy, creepy cartoon for children with a defanged Halloween aesthetic. But the cute animals of the island face a horror much scarier than plenty of terrifying tales, because their horrors mirror everyday poverty in a fictional island taken, destroyed, and tossed aside by an industry producing garbage. It immediately starts off bleak, with a father telling his son what became of the island as they pick up copper scraps for food, and as the film continues, desperation starts closing in, shifting the colors into a red, white, and black nightmare. Birdboy: The Forgotten Children takes on a different tone than what animation lovers are used to seeing, but it’s a welcome difference in a media landscape made to distract from today’s troubles.

Blood Tea and Red String is cryptic as hell. There’s no dialogue, the film was in production for around 13 years, and the stop-motion animated rats and bat-crow creatures fight over a stuffed human-like doll and her bird-bodied child, spilling some tea and sewing her together with help from frog priests and a spider woman that keeps spinning her web. Whether the film is an allegory for class struggle and the inherent destructiveness of art, or is a straightforward Alice-in-Wonderland-esque fairytale with goth and medieval motifs is up to the viewer, but either way, the symbolism of Blood Tea and Red String is interesting enough to watch and try to make your own conclusions.

It doesn’t matter how many years have passed, Naked is the kind of film that’s sure to shock you with its wit and violence. There’s no plot, really, but we do follow Johnny (an explosive David Thewlis) as he drifts around London, announcing doomsday prophecies, conspiracy theories, and philosophical observations about the world. The thing is, unlike your usual street weirdo, Johnny is actually intelligent, eloquent, and dangerously charming. His forceful presence has varying effects on people, who are all bruised but undoubtedly affected by him. One of them is a hopeful nightguard, the other is a depressed waitress. He also meets homeless immigrants and a punk. They’re cynical and angry like Johnny (they make up the city’s underbelly after all) but unlike them, Johnny expresses all that he thinks and feels, even if those words just mask the fear and insecurity that’s eating him up inside. Naked angered a lot of people when it first came out in 1993, but its unfiltered portrait of the neglected sectors in Britain is sure to have the same dizzying effect on viewers today.

What is it about the 2000s-10s that inspired many films about sick and dying kids? Perhaps the worldwide child mortality rate has dropped low enough that storytellers feel it’s the right time to talk about it, but regardless of the reason, they have the same familiar plotline– the diagnosis, the acting out, and finally, resolving whatever relationship the film is centered on in order to make things right. Death of a Superhero added animation representing the lead’s artistic outlet, but really, it’s still the same plot, graffiti’d on occasion. Still, the usual beats work because the film doesn’t try to manipulate huge melodramatic moments made to make the viewers cry. Instead, like the protagonist, it tries to keep things realistic, and maybe have some fun along the way. Death of a Superhero mostly pulls it off with its excellent cast.

After the 1975 release of the Maysles brothers’ Grey Gardens, Big and Little Edie Beale’s story captivated viewers and spawned a musical and a dramatized biopic about the reclusive, impoverished socialite mother-daughter duo. The Beales of Grey Gardens is a compilation of the remaining unreleased archival footage, released after the death of both subjects and David Maysles. For those unfamiliar with their story, the film might feel a bit random and contextless. But for Beale fans, and those familiar with their first documentary, this sticks close to the classic cinema vérité style of the Maysles, while also uncovering other sides of these interesting, eccentric former socialites, becoming a lovely tribute for them and their fans.

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

The Beat That My Heart Skipped is a remake of 1978 American film Fingers, but reversed– The film brings a debt collector to piano rather than the other way around. As you can imagine, the reversal completely changes how the plot feels. It’s not great that the mom here is dead, but this choice makes Tom’s dream of piano playing more of a question and more of a subconscious character desire that drives the whole film. The change also makes the action more visceral– the film makes Tom have no choice but to start out with the violence, which, of course, leads to consequences later in the film. And on top of this, the film also adds more interest to the romance, as the language barrier pushes the connection to be bridged by music rather than words. So, sure, The Beat That My Heart Skipped is a remake, but the changes make the neo-noir a bit more original and a bit more compelling.

Certified Copy starts straightforward enough as it follows an unnamed shopkeeper (Juliette Binoche) and a writer (William Shimell) taking a stroll around picturesque Tuscany, debating the merits of authenticity and simplicity. They’re strangers flirting under the guise of an intellectual debate, and for a while, you think you’re watching a film like Before Sunrise, that is until a mysterious, almost magical, shift occurs, and suddenly, you’re witnessing something entirely different. For better or worse, director Abbas Kiarostami never makes it clear what happens, and that very mystery gives you a lot to think about. Are they pretending to be copies or is it the other way around? Neverending questions run through your head as you watch them banter, but whatever actually happens might be beside the point. At the moment, you get deeply felt, wonderfully rendered, as-real-as-can-be performances from Binoche and Shimell, and you can’t help but surrender.

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.

Admittedly, Gary Cooper, handsome as he is, was just not a great fit with Audrey Hepburn in Love in the Afternoon. It wasn’t that either of them did badly, really, they performed their roles pretty well, but there was just something so off-putting seeing a girl with someone twice her age and was closer to the age of her father. Still, it was pretty hilarious seeing Ariane pretend to have so many lovers, especially as it directly challenges Frank’s own nonchalance towards his multiple love affairs. The script was witty, the characters were memorable, and the score was excellent. While it was a shame the casting wasn’t spot on, Love in the Afternoon still remains as a charming romcom classic.

Why a bar in the middle of the Belgian countryside is named Texas, we aren’t given an explanation. But North Sea Texas has a bit of the Southern small town charm that marked plenty of old American indies, with its retro neighborhood, lovers next door, and a more grounded approach to romance compared to its European neighbors of the time. The surrounding drama is a bit convoluted and, well, melodramatic, with a love triangle involving Pim’s mom, as well as a funeral, but there’s a sweet simplicity to the way Pim and Gino’s romance unfolds. North Sea Texas doesn’t reinvent the genre, but it’s just a nice coming-of-age story that refreshingly doesn’t have to deal with discrimination.

What would it take to push you to kill? Thankfully, for the general public, modern everyday life would not likely push you to (so far), but in certain circumstances, people might be surprised at the lengths they’re willing to go to for their loved ones. Brawl in Cell Block 99 depicts a man pushed into those circumstances, and thus director S. Craig Zahler takes this to extremely violent ends, with blood gushing and bones crushing all to save his family. Plotwise, Brawl in Cell Block 99 would be typical prison film fare, but fans of Vince Vaughn would appreciate his performance here.

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.

Normally, when your beloved wife dies in a car crash, you would be angry at the driver responsible, maybe even avoidant, sad, or incredibly triggered. Instead, in A Zed & Two Noughts, the twin zoologists with dead wives become addicted to the idea of life and death, obsessed with watching and rewatching the origins of life, captivated in photographing decay in time lapse, and strangely attached to the one-legged driver. Because of this, the film is quite bizarre, grotesque, and it definitely wouldn’t be for everyone, even for fans of Peter Greenaway. But the way it’s all filmed is striking, which is probably why Greenaway continued collaborating with cinematographer Sacha Vierny, until his death, and with the film’s unpredictability and excellent scoring, it’s hard to look away.

Sure, it takes a special type of crazy to try to make it in the movies, especially if you’ve been at it for ten years without any sort of premiere, but the strangely persistent four-man production of Why Don’t You Play in Hell? takes this to even crazier heights, involving a yakuza gang war and potentially their lives. Writer-director Sion Sono infuses his signature gore with much more playful comedy, slinging together chaotic action scenes through the pure power of cool, and the entire roster’s enthusiasm for cinema is just so infectious, it’s compelling to watch, even when the plotlines don’t fully mesh well. Why Don’t You Play in Hell? is such a fun tribute to gritty action filmmaking.

There is goodness within everyone… supposedly. However, there are some instances where the belief is almost foolish, some sins done against humanity that can’t be explained, reasoned out, or defended. Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer challenges that notion in three characters (the titular serial killer, his fellow ex-con Otis, and Otis’ sister Becky) and in the silent, unprotesting way writer-director John McNaughton makes us witness their lives. While true crime aficionados and horror fans might find this rather tame, the true horror of this portrait isn’t in the kills, but rather in the way we’ve become accustomed to this violence, the same way a literal serial killer would be.

With the difference between our day-to-day selves and our darker desires, it’s hard to say which side is the real slice of one’s identity, given that there are certain compromises we have to make in existing in society. Cold Fish takes a wildly violent and explicit approach to this, with a seemingly innocent favor spiralling into a toxic co-dependence between tropical fish sellers Yukio and Nobuyuki, and it’s a harrowing depiction of how quiet, unassuming men can be pushed into evil deeds because of passivity, whether that’s being taken advantage of, or being unwilling to speak against it. And of course, with Sion Sono at the helm, it’s painted and etched with all the gore and taboo he’s well known for.

The subject of the Catholic Pieta– the Virgin Mary cradling the corpse of Jesus– has captivated plenty of artists, most famously in the sculpture by Michelangelo in St. Peter’s Basilica. This time, however, director Kim Ki-duk twists the image into modern day Seoul, with a mourning mother and a loan shark in place of their more innocent inspirations. Though with more dialogue than his other works, Kim delves into this crime thriller with his signature slow burn, crafting an intense, emotional healing for the gruff, violent Lee Kang-do, while his past deeds come to catch up with him, and while he reckons with the way money has replaced all what makes life meaningful. While the (thankfully, pseudo-) incest may be hard to stomach, Pieta is nonetheless a haunting, compelling portrayal of revenge. Just don’t watch this with your mom, though.

Given the Hays Code, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof has toned down an important part from the original play, which is the revelation of what Skipper truly meant to Brick. And given its theater origins, it makes sense that there’s still a sense of staginess as it takes place mostly in one building. However, the film adaptation still works because of its performances. The ensemble is equally great. It helps that every role has solid characterization, but the cast meets that writing by delivering strong performances of these strong personalities. It’s because of these performances that Cat on a Hot Tin Roof managed to stay a classic, keeping the power of the original work even with all the changes.

Niagara is an interesting intersection of cinema. For one, it was the first time Marilyn Monroe was given top billing, just before her succeeding ditzy blonde roles. And two, it was a Technicolor noir thriller at a time when color started to take over Hollywood. So it’s already pretty cool to see Monroe as a femme fatale, but Niagara thoughtfully improves upon that idea by taking the lust, envy, and jealousy surrounding Monroe’s stage persona and using it as the catalyst for a captivating murder mystery set in the honeymoon capital of the world. Niagara might be one of Monroe’s lesser known works, but it’s one that presented a dimension we wish she got to explore more in her career.

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

Why do we cling to the people that we love, but who clearly don’t treat us well? It’s a common question in romance films, one that often leads to a conclusion that people shouldn’t feel shackled to partners that don’t treat them right, but sometimes other films seem to shame these unfortunate lovers for making the wrong choice. My King doesn’t do that. Sure, Georgio can seem like an obvious asshole (he is), but writer-director Maïwenn makes clear that the same things that make him erratic– his spontaneity, his enjoyment of life, and his open acceptance– which Vincent Cassel superbly embodies, are also the same things that attracted Tony in the first place. And as Tony recovers her knee, the careful interstitching between her time at the center and her romance with Georgio visually parallels the physical and emotional wounds in an interesting way. Mon Roi is familiar romance stuff, but it’s the approach that makes the film work.

Danish writer-director Lars von Trier concludes his so-called Depression trilogy with the two parts of Nymphomaniac, an elaborate retelling of the life of a young woman (played by Stacy Martin and then, by Charlotte Gainsbourg) lived from one libidinous pleasure to another. The film’s elaborate subplots have a life of their own and flashbacks often take center stage in Joe’s auto-narration. Nymphomaniac I introduces the audience to adolescence and early adulthood, through disappointments, adultery, death drive, and extreme ambivalence. Joe’s process of self-actualization seems contested and inspiring at the same time, and Gainsbourg is really given the screen time to shine; even more so than in Trier’s previous psycho-social drama, Antichrist. Typically for the rich treasury of cultural references, Bach, Edgar Allan Poe, and Fibonacci play crucial parts in reconstructing the symbolic planes in Joe’s story. Oh, and Part One opens with Rammstein’s “Führe mich”, which in itself is an perfectly valid reason to give it a go.

What do you do when you meet the man of your dreams right after your wedding? Depending on where they came from, or how famous they are, it’s a scenario that’s not likely to happen, but the chance is never zero. It’s this chance encounter that drives the events of The White Sheik. Alternating between Wanda’s spontaneous on-set encounter, and Ivan’s scrambling search and excuses to appease the family, the film hilariously piles on every mishap, keeping the two separated and stuck in the situations they stumble into, but writer-director Federico Fellini doesn’t poke fun at the country folk’s expense, instead, empathizing with Ivan’s worry and Wanda’s disappointment in the trip they took on. The titular star may have proven that you should never meet your heroes, but The White Sheik nonetheless hinted at the cinema that was to come, as Fellini’s first solo directing stint, as well as introducing Fellini’s wife Giuletta Masini as Cabiria.

While dismissed by earlier critics for its morally dubious protagonists, their primarily financial motives, and its similarities to Casablanca released two years before, this wartime romance is now considered a Hollywood classic. Perhaps it shouldn’t be surprising. After all, To Have and Have Not is the only film written by two Nobel Prize winners, as of writing. And while Ernest Hemingway based it on a novel he considered his worst, the moral of doing good in spite of poverty and rationing was pretty compelling. Regardless of what caused the change in reception, it was clear that the biggest factor in making this story work for the screen is the outstanding chemistry between Humphrey Bogart and then-newcomer Lauren Bacall. It certainly was the beginning of one of Hollywood’s best known relationships.

Like many films about beloved pets, your enjoyment of A Street Cat Named Bob depends on how much you love the titular animal. As such, cat people would delight in how cute the actual true-to-life ginger feline looks on screen, while dog people would disapprove at the gruff way dogs are portrayed here. But for viewers who don’t have a preference for either animal, A Street Cat Named Bob might go through fairly cliché feel good moments, but it’s somewhat justified given the way it depicts that real human-pet relationship not as just a cute thing, but as a lifeline, as a crucial redirection of love and care that couldn’t have been given to by one’s self, and a connection that was necessary. A Street Cat Named Bob is familiar feel-good stuff, but it’s sincere and cute enough to still be enjoyable.