15 (USA) ★★★★
Directed by Melody Brooke Reviewed by Adrián Pérez In Melody Brooke's “15," we are confronted with a harrowing tale that pierces through the veil of American conservatism, exposing the raw nerves of a society grappling with its own moral contradictions. This short film, manages to tap into a zeitgeist of frustration and despair that permeates the current socio-political landscape. The film's central conflict—a 15-year-old's unintended gravidity in a state with draconian reproductive legislation—functions as a microcosmic representation of the broader ontological crisis facing today's youth. While the dialogue occasionally veers towards the expository, this can be viewed as a deliberate choice to underscore the quotidian nature of such crises, echoing the matter-of-fact devastation found in Barry Jenkins' "Moonlight" (2016). At the heart of "15" lies an absolutely mesmerising performance by Bronwyn Henry. Her portrayal of the protagonist is nothing short of revelatory, imbuing every frame with a raw, palpable emotional intensity that belies her years. Henry navigates the complex terrain of adolescent turmoil with a nuance and depth that recalls the early work of Jennifer Lawrence in "Winter's Bone" (2010). Her ability to convey volumes through the subtlest of expressions—a fleeting glance, a trembling lip, a moment of hesitation—elevates the entire film, transforming what could have been a didactic exercise into a deeply affecting human drama. Brooke's directorial choices, while occasionally hewing closer to televisual conventions, provide an effective canvas for Henry's tour de force. The aesthetic approach grounds the narrative in a recognisable reality, creating a stark juxtaposition with the existential gravity of the protagonist's predicament. This stylistic decision serves to heighten the film's verisimilitude, recalling the raw intimacy of Andrea Arnold's "Fish Tank" (2009). Brooke's background in counselling infuses the film with a palpable empathy, even as it grapples with weighty themes of bodily autonomy, the failure of abstinence-centric pedagogy, and the psychological ramifications of enforced maternity. Melody, "15" demonstrates your continued growth as a filmmaker and your commitment to creating deeply affecting, sociopolitically relevant cinema. Your ability to elicit such a powerful performance from Bronwyn Henry speaks volumes about your skill in directing young actors. As you continue to hone your craft, remember that your unique perspective—informed by both artistic vision and practical counselling experience—positions you to create truly transformative works of cinema. Trust in the power of visual storytelling and in performers like Henry to convey the ineffable complexities of human experience. Your journey as a filmmaker continues to evolve, and if "15" is any indication, you're making significant strides in shaping the landscape of modern American independent cinema. Keep nurturing emerging talents, pushing boundaries, and telling these vital stories that demand to be heard. A
A DOG'S LIFE (Germany) ★★★★
Directed by Philipp Hampl Reviewed by Adrián Pérez Philipp Hampl’s "A Dog’s Life" is an intellectual odyssey disguised as a canine love letter, one that unearths the complex interconnections between genetics, geography, and the deep-rooted bond between humans and dogs. At first glance, the film appears to be a simple exploration of longevity in dogs, but it quickly reveals itself to be a poignant meditation on the interconnectedness of nature, culture, and love—one that would make even Terrence Malick envious in its expansive scope and poetic visual language. How can our four-legged companions live longer, healthier, and happier lives? The thematic aspirations of the film reach back to the grand narratives of Werner Herzog (Grizzly Man (2005) especially) in which the border between man and beast becomes more and more obscured. However, in contrast to many of Herzog's views which tend to be rather pessimistic, Hampl's attitude is much more hopeful, based on the idea that there is a true connection between the understanding of the natural world and a more balanced way of life. In fact, "A Dog’s Life" positions itself as both a critique and a guide—an exposé on the hereditary diseases that plague purebred dogs and a roadmap for those seeking to ensure their pets live a fulfilling life. For though we are all part of this great ecological system, it is in the small everyday connections that we find meaning. The influence of Baraka (1992) is palpable, with its silent contemplation of both the natural world and human endeavor, though Hampl’s film is more narratively driven and less abstract. What makes "A Dog's Life" so poignant is its ability to combine the scientific with the interpersonal. Kerasote’s search for answers is not just a scholarly endeavor, but a deeply emotional one, fueled by the love he has for Pukka. The film delves into the scientific aspects of canine health—genetic testing, diet, exercise regimes—yet it never loses sight of the emotional and spiritual connection between dog and owner. This dual approach brings to mind Chris Marker’s "La Jetée" (1962), where the narrative is propelled by both intellectual curiosity and a profound emotional undercurrent. For although the problems are systemic, the answers are readily available, if only we have the ears to hear, and the hearts to learn. What really makes "A Dog's Life" great, is that it manages to balance all these dark themes with some truly warm and funny moments. Kerasote's play sessions with Pukka are so much fun that they rub off on the reader, adding a lightness to the otherwise serious topics that the movie explores. It becomes a documentary not so much about life itself, but about the quest for knowledge about life in all of its forms. After all, "A Dog's Life" isn't about having the answers, it's about asking the right questions. This is a movie that makes the audience question their friendship with their animal companions, and in a sense, their friendship with the environment. Hampl has created a documentary that is not only intellectually provoking but emotionally satisfying through its sensitive treatment of the subtle relationship between science, nature, and emotion. In the grand documentary tradition, "A Dog's Life" makes you think long after the credits have rolled, not only about being a better dog owner, but maybe a better person. 
A PLACE ABOUT 50 MILES WEST OF NOWHERE (UK) ★★★★
Directed by Mark Nelson Reviewed by Adrián Pérez In the ever-evolving landscape of experimental cinema, Mark Nelson's "A Place About 50 Miles West of Nowhere" emerges as a tour de force of visual poetry, challenging the very fabric of our urban consciousness. Set against the backdrop of New York City's pulsating metropolis, Nelson's work stands as a testament to the enduring power of abstraction in an age of hyperreality. Much like Robert Eggers' "The Lighthouse" (2019) plumbed the depths of psychological isolation, Nelson's film delves into the collective psyche of city dwellers, unearthing a tapestry of emotions that lie just beneath the surface of our daily existence. Nelson's cinematic language, deeply rooted in the traditions of abstract expressionism and surrealism, pushes the boundaries of visual storytelling. His use of in-camera multiple exposures and kinetic framing techniques creates a palimpsest of urban imagery that is at once familiar and otherworldly. This approach echoes the fragmented narratives of Bi Gan's "Long Day's Journey Into Night" (2018), yet Nelson takes it further, eschewing linear time in favour of a more fluid, almost Bergsonian durée. The result is a hypnagogic journey through the city's hidden dimensions, where the quotidian and the extraordinary collide in a symphony of light and shadow. The film's philosophical underpinnings, informed by Nelson's Buddhist practice, invite comparisons to the metaphysical explorations of Terrence Malick's "A Hidden Life" (2019). However, where Malick sought transcendence in the pastoral, Nelson finds it in the urban jungle. The narration, delivered with oracular gravitas by Andromeda Godfrey, weaves a tapestry of phenomenological insights that would not be out of place in a Merleau-Ponty treatise. This verbal counterpoint to the visual feast creates a dialectic tension, challenging viewers to reconcile their lived experience of the city with the film's phantasmagorical renderings. Nelson's integration of dance sequences, choreographed by Annie Waller and performed by Georgia Poole, adds a kinesthetic dimension to the work that is reminiscent of Gaspar Noé's "Climax" (2018), yet stripped of its bacchanalian excess. Instead, these interludes serve as corporeal manifestations of the city's rhythms, their fluid movements embodying the ebb and flow of urban life. This synthesis of movement and image creates a gesamtkunstwerk that transcends the boundaries of traditional documentary, situating "A Place About 50 Miles West of Nowhere" firmly in the realm of avant-garde cinema. In the end, Nelson's film is more than just a visual spectacle; it's a deeply personal meditation on the nature of perception and the hidden emotions that shape our urban experiences. Like the best of experimental cinema, it demands active engagement from its audience, rewarding those willing to surrender to its hypnotic rhythms with insights that linger long after the final frame. For Nelson, a seasoned photographer turned filmmaker, this work represents not just a evolution of his artistic practice, but a profound statement on the power of cinema to transform our understanding of the world around us. "A Place About 50 Miles West of Nowhere" is not just a film; it's an invitation to see the extraordinary in the ordinary, a reminder that even in the heart of the city, there are still unexplored territories of the mind waiting to be discovered. 
A POSTERIORI (UK) ★★★★
Directed by Natalia Jezova Reviewed by Adrián Pérez Natalia Jezova’s “A Posteriori” is an ambitious and intellectually stimulating short film that compresses a wealth of philosophical inquiry into just three minutes of striking visual and auditory experience. This experimental piece, rooted in the concept of a posteriori knowledge—understanding derived from experience—plunges the viewer into a deep exploration of some of the most profound existential questions of our time. The film’s thematic concerns are vast and weighty: the mystery of creation, the delicate line between divinity and humanity, the global crisis of faith and values, and the hypocrisy often found within institutions of power, particularly the church. Jezova tackles these complex issues not through traditional narrative structure but through a series of symbolic associations that challenge the viewer to engage in a process of intellectual reflexivity and personal interpretation. Visually, “A Posteriori” is a kaleidoscope of styles, where each shot is a metaphorical piece in a larger puzzle. The film doesn’t rely on literal continuity but instead weaves together disparate images that resonate on a symbolic level, encouraging the audience to construct their own meaning from the associative links presented on screen. This approach invites the spectator into a process of co-creation, where the boundaries between the filmmaker’s vision and the viewer’s imagination blur, resulting in a deeply personal experience. Jezova’s playful yet profound representation of existential topics is both challenging and rewarding. The film’s brevity belies its complexity, demanding multiple viewings to fully appreciate the layers of meaning embedded within its visuals and sound design. By distilling such vast concepts into a three-minute format, Jezova demonstrates her mastery of the medium, using the constraints of time to heighten the film’s impact. “A Posteriori” has garnered well-deserved recognition on the international festival circuit, with selections at prestigious events such as the Venice Under the Stars International Film Festival and the Sydney Cinematic Horizons Film Festival, as well as being a semi-finalist at Berlin’s FilmHaus Festival. These accolades reflect the film’s ability to resonate with audiences and critics alike, despite—or perhaps because of—its experimental nature. In conclusion, “A Posteriori” is a bold and thought-provoking piece of visual art that pushes the boundaries of short film. Natalia Jezova’s ability to blend philosophical inquiry with experimental filmmaking makes this a must-see for anyone interested in the intersection of art, philosophy, and cinema. It’s a film that stays with you, prompting reflection and conversation long after the credits have rolled. 
A WORLD TURNED AROUND (Canada) ★★★★
Directed by Johanne Chagnon Reviewed by Adrián Pérez In "A World Turned Around," Johanne Chagnon plunges us into a claustrophobic odyssey through pandemic purgatory, crafting a micro-length masterpiece that encapsulates our collective trauma with breathtaking precision. This isometric exploration of isolation is a visual tone poem that would make Richard Kelly's "Donnie Darko" (2001) seem straightforward by comparison. Chagnon's digital diorama traps us alongside a silhouette writhing with existential angst, forcing us to confront the discord between our fragmented inner worlds and the relentless march of nature beyond our windows. It's as if Samuel Beckett decided to create a point-and-click adventure game set in the bleak landscape of our COVID-era psyche. The juxtaposition of cascading waterfalls and verdant forests against the blood-stained wall creates a visual dialectic that's both jarring and poetic, reminiscent of Andrei Tarkovsky's "Stalker" (1979) if the Zone were a lockdown apartment and the wish-granting room was just a Zoom call with your therapist. This loopable piece is a memento mori for the TikTok generation, a claustrophobic odyssey through pandemic purgatory that demands repeated viewing. Each loop peels back another layer of meaning, revealing new depths to our shared experience of isolation and fear. Johanne, in this brief yet monumental piece, you've captured the essence of our collective struggle with a rawness and honesty that pierces the soul. "A World Turned Around" is more than art; it's a mirror reflecting our fractured souls, serving as a powerful reminder of our shared vulnerability and strength. Your ability to distill how we felt as a global village during such a complex crisis and confine it into the four walls of a potent visual shorthand is nothing short of revolutionary. Johanne, how do you do what you do? It's ingenious. You've given voice to the silent screams echoing in the hearts of millions, creating a work that will resonate long after the pandemic fades into history. 
ALIEN DANGER 2 WITH RAVEN VAN SLENDER (USA) ★★★★
Directed by James Balsamo Reviewed by Adrián Pérez "Alien Danger 2 with Raven van Slender" is a delightful romp through the universe of kid-friendly, science fiction adventure, masterfully directed by James Balsamo and Bill Victor Arucan. This film is a love letter to the golden age of B-movies, a genre that, unfortunately, has become increasingly rare in today’s cinematic landscape. Balsamo and Arucan, however, are two of the best in the business, carrying the torch for this beloved form of entertainment with enthusiasm and skill. The film continues the adventures of Raven van Slender and the League of Alien Scientists as they battle to save planets and defeat villains in a universe teeming with quirky characters and unexpected twists. With its blend of zany humor, inventive special effects, and a genuine affection for the genre, "Alien Danger 2" offers a fun-filled experience that both children and adults can enjoy. The presence of genre icons such as Doug Bradley and Vernon Wells, alongside a star-studded cast that includes Rob Halford and WWE legend Robert Remus, adds an extra layer of nostalgic appeal. What sets Balsamo and Arucan apart as directors is their unwavering commitment to the spirit of B-movie filmmaking. They understand that these films are not just about low budgets and campy effects; they are about creativity, passion, and a deep connection with the audience. "Alien Danger 2" is a shining example of how, with the right vision and talent, B-movie cinema can be as entertaining and impactful as any big-budget blockbuster. Directors like Balsamo and Arucan inspire a resurgence of interest in B-movies, reminding us of the joy and creativity that come with embracing the weird and wonderful. Their work is a testament to the enduring appeal of this genre, and "Alien Danger 2" is a must-watch for anyone who loves a good, old-fashioned sci-fi adventure. 
ALL ALONE (USA) ★★★★
Directed by Rowshon Ara Nipa Reviewed by Adrián Pérez “All Alone” is a harrowing and impactful short film directed by the accomplished Rowshon Ara Nipa, who is no stranger to tackling difficult social issues through her work. In this film, Nipa crafts a narrative that is as emotionally intense as it is important, exploring the aftermath of sexual violence and the pursuit of justice through the eyes of the protagonist, Amrita. The strength of “All Alone” lies not only in its bold storytelling but also in the powerful performances delivered by the cast. Onindita Sarker Onadi, in the role of Amrita, brings a raw and visceral intensity to the screen, capturing the deep pain and simmering resolve of a woman determined to take control of her destiny after an unimaginable trauma. Her portrayal is both heart-wrenching and empowering, as she navigates the complexities of seeking justice in a world that often turns a blind eye to such suffering. Basunia Sumon’s performance as Arif also stands out, adding layers of complexity to the narrative. The chemistry between the actors heightens the tension and emotional stakes, making the film’s message even more potent. Nipa’s direction is uncompromising, ensuring that the film’s themes of justice and resilience are communicated with clarity and impact. “All Alone” is more than just a film; it is a statement of defiance against the cruelty of the world, a call to action, and a tribute to the strength of women who fight for justice against all odds. This short film is a testament to the power of storytelling to illuminate the darkest corners of human experience and inspire change. 
AMERICANS IN JAPAN (USA) ★★★★
Directed by Johnny Vonneumann Reviewed by Adrián Pérez Johnny Vonneumann’s “Americans in Japan” is a striking example of how independent filmmaking can transcend conventional boundaries to create something truly unique and profound. Known for his innovative “documentary operas,” Vonneumann once again demonstrates his exceptional talent in this latest work, where he weaves together the experiences of six Americans traveling through Japan, all set against a meticulously chosen musical score that serves as the narrative backbone. Vonneumann’s approach to filmmaking is both resourceful and visionary. By using footage captured during his travels and waiting for the perfect musical inspiration to strike, he transforms ordinary moments into extraordinary visual and auditory experiences. This method not only speaks to his deep understanding of film and music but also highlights his remarkable ability to find beauty and meaning in everyday scenes. Despite the modest production process—where the only investment is Vonneumann’s imagination and effort—the results are anything but modest. “Americans in Japan” is a visually stunning and emotionally resonant film that offers a fresh perspective on cultural exploration and human connection. Vonneumann’s skillful editing and his ability to match music with imagery create a powerful synergy that draws viewers into the film’s immersive world. It’s a testament to Vonneumann’s talent that his work has garnered over 75 awards worldwide across various categories, from Best Short to Best Experimental Film. Yet, despite this impressive recognition, it feels as though his innovative approach to filmmaking deserves even more attention within the broader film community. “Americans in Japan” is not just a film; it’s a vivid reminder of what can be achieved when creativity is unleashed without the constraints of a traditional budget. Vonneumann’s “Americans in Japan” is a must-see for anyone who appreciates the art of documentary filmmaking and the power of music to tell a story. It’s a film that stands as a shining example of independent filmmaking at its finest, deserving of far greater recognition and acclaim. B
BAROQUE BODIES (AMBIENT PORTALS) (USA) ★★★★
Directed by Laura Splan Reviewed by Adrián Pérez “Baroque Bodies (Ambient Portals),” directed by Laura Splan, is an avant-garde journey that traverses the boundaries of art, science, and technology, inviting viewers into a richly layered meditation on the interconnectedness of the natural world and the built environment. Through a fusion of molecular biology and cutting-edge digital artistry, Splan crafts an otherworldly exploration of post-human subjectivities, situating her audience within a liminal space that is both biological and technological, autonomous and entangled. The film’s conceptual foundation is deeply rooted in epigenetic research, particularly in the ways environmental factors such as trauma, climate change, and food scarcity influence gene expression. Splan’s collaboration with theoretical biophysicist Adam Lamson brings an added depth to the project, where simulated chromatin structures and AI-generated landscapes converge to create a hauntingly beautiful visual experience. The 3D molecular models of nucleosomes, reflecting idyllic landscapes that remain otherwise hidden, serve as metaphors for the invisible yet pervasive impact of the environment on our biological makeup. Splan’s use of Blender to animate these molecular models results in a visual language that is both abstract and eerily tangible. The mirror-like surfaces of genetic structures juxtapose the serene with the chaotic, embodying the duality of nature and nurture. This duality is further amplified by the accompanying 20-channel soundscape, composed from sonifications of chromatin simulations, which envelops the viewer in an ethereal auditory environment. The soundscape, a complex arrangement of MIDI instruments driven by molecular movements, enhances the sensory experience, making the viewer’s journey through this liminal space as immersive as it is introspective. “Baroque Bodies (Ambient Portals)” is not merely a film; it is an interdisciplinary research project that challenges the conventional boundaries of both art and science. It offers a new way of understanding the complexities of biology by recontextualizing scientific imagery within an artistic framework, making the invisible visible and the intangible tangible. The collaboration between Splan and Lamson is particularly noteworthy, as it highlights the potential for deeper engagement with scientific concepts through creative expression. Splan’s work stands as a testament to the power of interdisciplinary collaboration, where art becomes a vehicle for scientific inquiry and vice versa. The film’s recognition at the Munich New Wave Short Film Festival, where it won Best Animation, underscores its success in bridging the gap between experimental film and scientific research. In conclusion, “Baroque Bodies (Ambient Portals)” is a visually stunning and intellectually profound exploration of the entanglements between biology, technology, and the environment. Laura Splan’s innovative approach to filmmaking not only challenges the viewer’s perceptions but also invites them to participate in a broader conversation about the impact of our surroundings on our very essence. It’s a film that resonates long after the final frame, prompting contemplation on the intricate connections that define our existence in the modern world. 
BAOBHAN SITH (UK) ★★★★
Directed by Hayley Louise McGuire Reviewed by Adrián Pérez Hayley Louise McGuire's "Baobhan Sith" is a gut-wrenching exploration of trauma that goes for the jugular. Set in the gritty backdrop of 1970s Glasgow, this psychological horror short film plunges us into the fractured psyche of Matthew, a young art student haunted by his recently deceased abusive mother. Here, the monsters aren't hiding under the bed; they're the very people meant to protect us. McGuire crafts a potent, visceral portrayal of complex trauma, specifically the "matrophobic anxiety" as coined by Adrienne Rich, stemming from maternal abuse. Reece Montague's performance as Matthew is nothing short of mesmerising; he's a star in the making, exuding a magnetic presence that feels like a captivating crossover between Penn Badgley and Bill Skarsgård. His raw, vulnerable portrayal echoes the intense anguish of Timothée Chalamet in Felix van Groeningen's "Beautiful Boy" (2018). McGuire's direction, meanwhile, evokes the psychological labyrinth of Christopher Nolan's "Memento" (2000) and the visceral familial horror of Ari Aster's "Hereditary" (2018). The film's visual language speaks volumes beyond dialogue, with McGuire's auteuristic vision crafting a mise-en-scène that would make Wes Anderson weep, particularly in the living room scenes. The dream sequence, bathed in Argento-esque crimson, serves as a powerful metaphor for Matthew's subconscious torment, rivalling the hallucinatory potency of Darren Aronofsky's "Black Swan" (2010). The father-son dynamic crackles with the tension of Sam Mendes' "American Beauty" (1999), while the chilling delivery of "Mother is dead" sends shivers down the spine, reminiscent of Angelina Jolie's haunting line "I want my son back" in Clint Eastwood's "Changeling" (2008) - a raw, visceral articulation of loss that no one ever wants to voice, but with an even darker, unexpected dimension. As Matthew wrestles with his past, the film excavates the Jungian 'wounded child' motif, its structure echoing Freudian trauma theory. The symbiotic dance between visuals and Michael Maftean's score evokes the discordant genius of Jonny Greenwood's work in Paul Thomas Anderson's "There Will Be Blood" (2007). McGuire's deft handling of subtextual dialogue, punctuated by pregnant silences, weaves a complex narrative of unspoken agony. The climax, where Matthew lays waste to his own artistic sanctuary, is a volcanic eruption of suppressed anguish, inviting multiple interpretations through Kristeva's lens of abjection or Deleuze's affect theory. "Baobhan Sith" stands toe-to-toe with contemporary horror masterpieces, solidifying McGuire's status as a filmmaker of profound emotional depth. This isn't merely a short film; it's a primal howl reverberating through the halls of trauma, a testament to the indomitable human spirit. Hayley, your unflinching gaze into the abyss of familial trauma doesn't just move us—it shatters us, then tenderly pieces us back together. 
BONIFACIO - FOUNDING FATHER OF BRAZIL (UK) ★★★★
Directed by Mauro Ventura Reviewed by Adrián Pérez In “Bonifacio – Founding Father of Brazil,” director Mauro Ventura delivers a riveting exploration of one of Brazil’s most influential figures, José Bonifácio de Andrada e Silva. Ventura, already celebrated as one of the premier historical documentarians of our time, cements his reputation with this deeply researched and visually compelling portrait. Through meticulous attention to detail and a narrative that balances both academic rigor and emotional depth, Ventura brings to life the story of a man whose vision and leadership were instrumental in shaping modern Brazil. The documentary seamlessly blends archival footage, expert interviews, and cinematic re-enactments to paint a comprehensive picture of Bonifácio’s life and legacy. Ventura’s direction is nothing short of masterful, guiding the viewer through the complexities of Brazil’s path to independence while making the historical context accessible and engaging for a broad audience. His ability to humanize such a monumental figure without sacrificing historical accuracy is a testament to his unparalleled skill as a storyteller. Ventura’s “Bonifacio” is not just a documentary; it is a crucial piece of cultural heritage that preserves and honors the legacy of one of Brazil’s founding fathers. From the North American premiere at the MAD Museum in New York to its Brazilian debut at Cine Odeon in Rio de Janeiro, the film has rightfully garnered acclaim for its powerful storytelling and historical significance. As the director of the Lonely Wolf Festival, I firmly believe that Mauro Ventura stands as the finest historical documentarian in the world today, if not the very best. His work in “Bonifacio” exemplifies the pinnacle of what historical documentary filmmaking can achieve—both in preserving history and in inspiring future generations. C
CONTRACTING THE COOTIES (USA) ★★★★
Directed by Skylar Levine & Maya Bayewitch Reviewed by Adrián Pérez Ringling College of Art and Design, the animation powerhouse that brought us the globally acclaimed "Pork Chop" (2019), strikes gold again with "Contracting the Cooties" (2024). This brilliant collaboration between 22-year-old directors Skylar Levine and Maya Bayewitch plunges us into the world of Maggie and Parker, two second-graders facing the dreaded "cooties" contagion. What unfolds is a surreal and hilarious odyssey that explores childhood anxieties with Pixar-level sensitivity and Tim Burton-esque visual flair. The film's crowning achievement - a classroom transformation sequence where Maggie undergoes a spectacular metamorphosis (turning into a hyper-muscular, hairy creature) - showcases stunning 3D animation that rivals the dream factory scene in "Inside Out 2" (2024) for sheer creative brilliance. On a technical level, "Contracting the Cooties" is a remarkable achievement. The character designs charm with their big expressive eyes and quirky proportions, while the backgrounds create a world both familiar and fantastical. Exquisite textures, masterful use of chiaroscuro in surrealistic sequences, and Zach Heyde's perfectly synchronised original score keep us spectators captivated throughout. But beyond its technical prowess, the film's true magic lies in its thematic depth. Levine and Bayewitch use the "cooties" concept as a clever metaphor for the anxieties surrounding puberty and sexual awakening, wrapping complex motifs in a visually dazzling package accessible to young audiences. The way you've captured the wide-eyed wonder and heart-pounding fear of childhood is nothing short of miraculous. Your film doesn't just show us childhood – it lets us relive it, in all its messy, beautiful glory. To Skylar and Maya: thank you. Thank you for reminding us of the power of animation to touch hearts and change lives. Thank you for pouring your souls into every line, every color, every movement. You've created something truly special here. Something that will resonate with audiences for years to come. But more than that, you've proven that the future of animation is in good hands. Your hands. Keep dreaming. Keep creating. The playground may be behind us, but thanks to your film, the magic of childhood lives on. And for that, we can't thank you enough. D
DELIVERY (USA) ★★★★
Directed by Hsin Ting Lin Reviewed by Adrián Pérez “Delivery,” directed by Hsin-Ting Lin, is a 3D animated short that dances gracefully between the mundane and the extraordinary, transforming life’s mishaps into moments of serendipity. With a minimalist aesthetic that recalls the work of Oskar Fischinger and a narrative simplicity reminiscent of Jacques Tati’s “Playtime,” Lin’s film invites us to reconsider the small, seemingly insignificant moments of daily life—those fleeting instances where the universe appears to conspire against us, only to reveal, in hindsight, that it was on our side all along. At its core, “Delivery” explores the psychoanalytic tension between expectation and reality, a theme as old as cinema itself. The film’s characters encounter a series of unfortunate events—missed buses, spilled coffee, and other daily frustrations—that initially disrupt their routines. Yet, rather than descending into a Kafkaesque nightmare where the world is an absurd antagonist, Lin’s characters find that these accidents lead them to new connections and opportunities, subtly invoking the idea of synchronicity as posited by Carl Jung. It’s as if the film is gently nudging the viewer to embrace the randomness of life, to see beauty in the chaotic and the unplanned. Cinematically, “Delivery” employs a stripped-down visual style that allows the narrative’s thematic richness to take center stage. The minimalist design, which eschews the hyperrealism often found in contemporary 3D animation, echoes the early works of directors like John Lasseter, where form and function align to serve the story’s emotional core. The environments—be they office corridors, bustling streets, or sports arenas—are rendered with an economy of detail that paradoxically invites a wealth of interpretation. These spaces, so familiar and yet so stylized, become the canvas upon which the characters’ internal journeys are painted. The film’s use of space and movement is particularly noteworthy. Lin’s animation captures the small, often overlooked gestures and glances that define our interactions with the world. There is a rhythmic quality to the film’s pacing, akin to the musicality of Buster Keaton’s silent comedies, where physicality and timing are everything. Each mishap is choreographed with a precision that borders on the balletic, transforming what could have been mere inconveniences into moments of grace and humor. Thematically, “Delivery” also engages with the notion of the “blessing in disguise,” a concept explored in countless films but handled here with a lightness and optimism that is refreshing. There’s an echo of the Coen Brothers’ “A Serious Man” in the way the characters’ lives are upended by forces beyond their control, but where the Coens offer existential bleakness, Lin offers a comforting reminder that life’s disruptions can be pathways to unexpected joy. What makes “Delivery” truly special, however, is its underlying message about human connection. In a world increasingly defined by isolation—exacerbated by the global pandemic—the film’s depiction of accidental encounters leading to meaningful connections feels both timely and timeless. The characters’ journeys, though framed by mishaps, ultimately lead to moments of shared humanity, suggesting that our lives are richer for the detours we take, the strangers we meet, and the plans that go awry. In conclusion, “Delivery” is a delightful and thought-provoking short that encourages us to view the everyday with fresh eyes. Hsin-Ting Lin has crafted a film that is both intellectually stimulating and emotionally resonant, a rare combination in the world of animation. It’s a film that invites us to embrace the imperfections of life, to find joy in the unexpected, and to appreciate the beauty in the ordinary. Like the best works of cinematic art, it leaves us with a deeper understanding of ourselves and the world around us, all while bringing a smile to our faces. 
DEMON (Canada) ★★★★
Directed by Daniel Calderone Reviewed by Adrián Pérez In the claustrophobic and shadowy realm of Daniel Calderone's "Demon," we find ourselves thrust into a nocturnal tableau vivant of paranoia and treachery, where trust is as scarce as light. The film's core conflict stems from the suspicion that one among the group has betrayed the others, serving as a microcosm for broader societal fissures. Calderone's directorial prowess in this micro-action drama canvas is evident from the outset. The film's green-tinted palette exudes the sickly hue of greed, while the inconsistent yet often brilliant cinematography mirrors the fractured psyches of our protagonists. Masterful lens flares channel the otherworldly dread of Ridley Scott's "Alien," where danger perpetually lurks just beyond the frame. The final face-off stands out, showcasing Calderone's command of action choreography. Here, the alternating score shifts from eerie to sensitive, underscoring the emotional complexity of the moment. The revelation of V as a femme fatale, betraying both Kay and Damien, resurrects the spirit of classic noir while feeling refreshingly modern in execution. What's truly exciting about "Demon" is not just what it is, but what it promises. Calderone demonstrates a keen eye for composition, an ear for dialogue, and an understanding of tension that many directors spend years trying to master. However, we're left craving more - more close-ups, more character development, deeper exploration of the psyches behind these deadly games. The performances, while largely shrouded in shadow, hint at complex characters with rich inner lives, begging for further examination. To Daniel Calderone: You've shown us the skeleton of something extraordinary. Your command of action, your ability to create atmosphere, and your understanding of this genre canvas is evident in every frame. Now, I challenge you to flesh it out. Dive deeper into your characters' minds. Show us their fears, their desires, their moral complexities. Let us feel the weight of their choices, the sting of betrayal, the cold sweat of paranoia. "Demon" is a promise - a promise of a great filmmaker on the rise. It's a thrill ride, yes, but more importantly, it's the first step on what promises to be an exciting journey for you. The road ahead is full of potential, and I, for one, can't wait to see where it leads. Keep pushing, keep exploring, and above all, keep telling stories. The film world is watching, Daniel Calderone, and we're eager to see what you do next. 
DISSIMULATION (UK) ★★★★
Directed by Sam Weeks Reviewed by Adrián Pérez In the ever-evolving oeuvre of Sam Weeks, "Dissimulation" emerges as a tour de force, a gritty sci-fi drama that plunges us headlong into the uncanny valley of human-AI relations. Weeks, having traversed the cinematic landscape from war epics to urban dramas, now turns his lens to a future where the line between flesh and circuitry blurs into obscurity. The result is a visual feast that marries the grotesque beauty of Guillermo del Toro's creations with the dystopian dread of David Cronenberg's "Crimes of the Future." At the heart of this neon-noir labyrinth is Gene, portrayed with smoldering intensity by Elliot Cable. Cable's performance evokes the existential angst of Harrison Ford's Deckard and the stoic vulnerability of Ryan Gosling's K from "Blade Runner 2049," yet carves out its own niche in the pantheon of sci-fi anti-heroes. As Gene navigates the crime-soaked streets of this brave new world, Cable exudes a star power that threatens to short-circuit the very machines that populate his universe. Weeks' directorial prowess shines in his ability to orchestrate a symphony of visual and thematic dissonance. The production design, a far cry from the austere minimalism of his previous work "Steps," is a triumph of imagination. Each frame is a palimpsest of technological advancement and societal decay, reminiscent of Fritz Lang's "Metropolis" filtered through a post-cyberpunk lens. The robots, with their organic-mechanic hybridity, seem to have crawled out of a fever dream co-authored by Mary Shelley and William Gibson. The narrative, penned by Peter Woolley, serves as a Rorschach test for our collective technophobia and techno-lust. It's a modern-day Prometheus tale, where the fire stolen from the gods is the spark of artificial consciousness. As Gene grapples with his identity crisis, the film poses questions that would make Philip K. Dick nod in approval: What defines humanity in an age of perfect simulations? Is consciousness merely a complex algorithm, or is there an ineffable quality to the human experience that defies replication? In the final analysis, "Dissimulation" stands as a testament to Weeks' artistic evolution and his ability to transmute philosophical inquiries into visceral cinematic experiences. It's a film that doesn't just depict a world on the precipice of profound change; it catapults us into that world, leaving us disoriented, exhilarated, and profoundly moved. As the credits roll, we find ourselves grappling with the same existential quandaries that plague Gene, our perceptions of reality irrevocably altered. Weeks has not merely created a film; he has engineered a paradigm shift in our understanding of what it means to be human in an increasingly artificial world. "Dissimulation" is destined to be dissected, debated, and revered for years to come-a new classic in the annals of science fiction cinema. 
DIVE BOMB (UK) ★★★★
Directed by Clare Davidson & Will Thomas Freeman Reviewed by Adrián Pérez Clare Davidson and Will Thomas Freeman's "Divebomb" is a mesmerising exploration of adolescent struggle and maternal bonds, set against the backdrop of a luxurious woodland mansion, that serves as both haven and prison. This coming-of-age drama navigates the treacherous waters of Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD) with a sensitivity reminiscent of Andrea Arnold's "Fish Tank" (2009) and Carlota Pereda's "Piggy" (2022), yet imbued with its own ethereal charm. The film's narrative centres on Rachel, brilliantly portrayed by Jennifer Stender, a troubled teenager grappling with the suffocating tendrils of OCD. Stender's performance is nothing short of revelatory, channelling the raw vulnerability and barely contained chaos of youth with an authenticity that echoes the visceral impact of Gabourey Sidibe in Lee Daniels' "Precious" (2009). Davidson and Freeman's directorial symbiosis shines through in their masterful use of close-ups, which serve as windows into the characters' psyches, particularly Rachel's. These intimate framings, coupled with Nina Humphreys' hauntingly beautiful score, create a cinematic language that speaks volumes about the ineffable nature of mental health struggles. The introduction of Darius, played by the exquisite Alecs Simone, as a love interest adds a layer of complexity to the narrative, serving as a catalyst for Rachel's journey towards self-acceptance. This character, with his carefree demeanour and spontaneity, becomes a symbol of the liberation Rachel craves. Thematically, "Divebomb" delves deep into psychoanalytic concepts, with Rachel's OCD representing an overpowering Superego in conflict with her budding desires. The film also explores the Jungian notion of individuation, as Rachel struggles to integrate the disparate parts of her psyche. The recurring motif of water – from the pool to the titular dive – serves as a powerful metaphor for rebirth and psychological transformation. Philippa Heimann's portrayal of the psychiatric therapist adds gravitas to the film, her scenes with Rachel serving as a Greek chorus of sorts, providing insight and perspective on the protagonist's inner turmoil. The film's denouement, with Rachel donning the blue dress she had previously rejected, symbolises her nascent acceptance of herself and her willingness to embrace vulnerability. This scene, set against the backdrop of the caravan, is a masterclass in restrained emotion, showcasing Stender's ability to convey volumes with the subtlest of expressions. "Divebomb" is a triumph of British independent cinema, blending the gritty realism of Ken Loach with the dreamy aesthetics of Sofia Coppola's "The Virgin Suicides" (1999). As a critic, I found myself utterly captivated by the film's ability to balance its weighty themes with moments of lyrical beauty. The use of the dive bomb as a visual metaphor for letting go is particularly inspired, encapsulating the film's central message of embracing life with all its imperfections. Jennifer Stender, you bring a level of authenticity to the role that is both heartbreaking and inspiring. Your ability to convey complex emotions with the subtlest of expressions, particularly in the pivotal scene where Rachel dons the blue dress, is a testament to your immense talent and bravery in sharing such a personal part of yourself with the world. Clare Davidson, your extensive experience in theatre direction and vocal coaching breathes life into every frame. The way you've guided Jennifer Stender through the complex emotional landscape of Rachel's character speaks volumes about your ability to draw out the very best in your actors. Will Thomas Freeman, your visual storytelling, honed at the Prague Film School, creates a world that is both hauntingly beautiful and achingly real. Your deft use of close-ups serves as a window into the characters' souls, particularly Rachel's, allowing us to experience her inner turmoil with visceral intensity. To you both, your collaboration has yielded a work of profound empathy and artistic merit. "Divebomb" is not just a film; it's a cathartic experience that lingers in the mind long after the credits roll. It stands as a testament to the power of cinema to illuminate the human condition and offer solace to those struggling with their own inner demons. Bravo on this remarkable achievement – I eagerly anticipate your future endeavours. E
EL TIGRE (USA) ★★★★½
Directed by Graciela Cassel Reviewed by Adrián Pérez Graciela Cassel's "El Tigre" is a masterclass in documentary filmmaking. Beyond rendering a hypnotising picture of island life, Cassel's lens doesn't merely observe; it becomes an intimate confidant to the islanders, crafting an exquisite portrait of human resilience and, more so, a visual metaphor for the islanders' existence that's both poetic and deeply symbolic. Cassel doesn't just present her subjects - Angel, Nelly Bettiga, Silvia Gomez, and Gustavo - she invites us into their psychic terrain, mapping the contours of their inner worlds with remarkable sensitivity. For example, Nelly's testimony on the floods and her reflections on solitude - "te agarra una melancolía, te agarra una soledad inmensa" - open up a rich vein of philosophical inquiry and an affective dimension that makes "El Tigre" transcend the conventional documentary canvas to become a profound meditation on human resilience and the price of paradise. The beauty in Cassel's directorial approach is how, despite the hardships of island life, she captures these protagonists as modern-day Crusoes, their isolation not a punishment, but a chosen way of life. Cassel couldn't have found a better confidant in managing such exquisite cinematographic fragility; Guido Gabella's composition, reminiscent of Tom Hooper's work in "The King's Speech," often places our island heroes in vast natural settings, where the Delta itself becomes a silent protagonist, its waters reflecting both the sky above and the psychological depths of its inhabitants below. It would be criminal to dismiss the inclusion of Bikash Makaju's animation, which adds a layer of magical realism to the documentary, reminiscent of Wes Anderson's "The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou." This method only emphasises the almost mythical nature of life on El Tigre, where jaguars still roam in the collective consciousness, misnamed tigers by past colonisers. Cassel's decision to feature the omnipresent soundscape of the Delta—married with Aiert Erkoreka's exquisite music score—creates an immersive experience akin to the hypnotic auditory world of Lynch's "Eraserhead." Lastly, Cassel weaves Teresa Parodi's "Por El Rio Volvere" throughout the narrative, reimagined by the Argentinian legend Victoria Birchner, as a haunting leitmotif. Birchner's ethereal vocals float through the film like mist over the Delta, binding the disparate elements of the story as seamlessly as the river unites its islands, adding a final, transcendent layer to this quietly powerful documentary. Cassel's genius is in her ability to put a human face to this geolocation, where solitude only serves to make the war within more obvious. This admission of weakness in the face of such natural beauty is what makes this character study so full, and allows the movie to escape falling into simple pastoral romanticism. Like the mist that surely cloaks the Delta at dawn, Cassel's film lingers in the mind, a testament to lives lived in harmony with—and sometimes in defiance of—nature's grand design. In conclusion, "El Tigre" stands as a testament to Cassel's extraordinary vision and courage as a documentarian. She fearlessly ventures where others dare not tread, uncovering not just a hidden corner of the world, but also pieces of herself in the process. This journey of mutual discovery - of the Delta and of the filmmaker - results in a work of staggering beauty and profound humanity. "El Tigre" deserves to be mentioned in the same breath as classics of place-based cinema, from Flaherty's "Nanook of the North" to Scorsese's "Silence," and more recently, Zhao's "Nomadland." Like these films, it offers a window into a world at once familiar and utterly foreign, where the boundary between human and nature blurs like the horizon on a foggy river morning. Graciela, your brilliant direction, along with your profound insight into humanity, has produced a work that is not only intellectually provoking, but emotionally devastating. You've crafted a visual poem, your willingness to immerse yourself so completely in this world, to listen so intently to its rhythms and its people, has produced a film that will undoubtedly move viewers to tears, just as it has moved us. "El Tigre" is a towering achievement in documentary cinema. 
ECHO HOMO (Germany) ★★★★
Directed by Wolfgang Christoph Schmiedt Reviewed by Adrián Pérez Wolfgang Christoph Schmiedt's "Echo Homo" is a tour de force of avant-garde cinema, offering a triptych exploration of human evolution that transcends traditional narrative structures. This ambitious work evokes the spirit of Godfrey Reggio's "Qatsi" trilogy whilst carving its own unique path through the realms of experimental filmmaking. Schmiedt's background in music shines through in the film's masterful use of sound and rhythm, creating a sensory experience that is both intellectually stimulating and viscerally affecting. The trilogy's thematic depth is truly impressive, delving into complex philosophical concepts such as phenomenology, biopolitics, and the anthropocene. Schmiedt's visual language owes a debt to the choreographed naturalism of Pina Bausch, whilst its more experimental segments recall the body-horror transformations of Julia Ducournau's "Titane" (2021). The juxtaposition of organic movement against brutalist architecture brings to mind Michelangelo Antonioni's "Red Desert" (1964), creating a palpable tension between humanity and our constructed environments. The third segment's neon-drenched, spasmodic choreography presents a disturbing vision of techno-human hybridisation that wouldn't be out of place in Jaco Van Dormael's "Toto the Hero" (1991) or Panos Cosmatos' "Beyond the Black Rainbow" (2010). What truly sets "Echo Homo" apart is its ability to navigate the liminal space between the corporeal and the metaphysical. The first segment's fire-lit nocturnal dances are particularly striking, evoking primal rituals and hinting at Carl Jung's concept of the collective unconscious. In the second part, the interplay between the lovers in the auditorium and the concurrent surgery creates a visceral link between emotional and physical vulnerability, reminiscent of Apichatpong Weerasethakul's "Memoria" (2021) in its exploration of the body as a site of memory and trauma. Schmiedt's trilogy posits that our evolution as a species is inextricably linked to our relationship with nature, each other, and technology. It warns against the dangers of losing touch with our organic roots while simultaneously acknowledging the inevitability – and potential – of technological integration. This tension is beautifully realised in the film's affective dimension, which bypasses intellectual understanding to speak directly to our subconscious, creating a trance-like state akin to Terrence Malick's "The Tree of Life" (2011) or, more recently, Charlotte Wells' "Aftersun" (2022). As a critic, I found myself utterly mesmerised by Schmiedt's audacious vision. "Echo Homo" stands as a testament to the power of experimental cinema to probe the depths of human experience. Wolfgang, you've created a work that is both deeply personal and universally relevant, challenging viewers to reconsider their place in the grand tapestry of human evolution. Your transition from musician to filmmaker is nothing short of remarkable, and I eagerly anticipate your future contributions to the world of cinema. While "Echo Homo" may not be for all tastes, those willing to surrender themselves to its rhythms will find a rich and rewarding experience that lingers long after the final frame, much like the haunting resonance of a perfectly struck chord. 
ENAMOUR (UK) ★★★★
Directed by Doulla Panaretou Reviewed by Adrián Pérez “Enamour,” directed by Doulla Panaretou, is a captivating and eerie reimagining of Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven,” infused with a dark vampire twist. This loose adaptation transforms the classic poem into a chilling narrative that explores themes of love, loss, and the supernatural. Panaretou’s direction shines through in her meticulous attention to detail, particularly in her work with the cast. The performances are deeply nuanced, with Simon Haines as Charles, Molly Chesworth as the mysterious woman, and Jack Fursseddon Coates as Daniel all delivering compelling portrayals that draw the audience into the film’s gothic world. Panaretou’s skill in guiding her actors to bring out the emotional depth of their characters is evident, adding layers of complexity to the story. The film’s production design is another standout element, successfully creating an atmosphere that is both haunting and immersive. The sets, costumes, and lighting all work in harmony to evoke a sense of dread and suspense, perfectly complementing the film’s dark narrative. The attention to detail in the design not only grounds the story in a believable world but also enhances the supernatural elements, making them all the more unsettling. The screenplay, also penned by Panaretou, is a testament to her creative vision. By blending Poe’s iconic poem with a vampire plot, she has crafted a story that feels fresh and original while still paying homage to the source material. The script’s ability to balance these elements speaks to Panaretou’s talent as a writer, ensuring that the film resonates with both fans of classic literature and those who enjoy contemporary horror. “Enamour” has already garnered critical acclaim, including winning the Award of Excellence at Global Shorts, Los Angeles in 2024. This recognition is well-deserved, as Panaretou has created a film that not only entertains but also invites viewers to experience a classic story in a new and thrilling way. In conclusion, “Enamour” is a beautifully crafted film that highlights Doulla Panaretou’s strengths as a director, writer, and producer. Her work in bringing together strong performances, a richly atmospheric production design, and an original script makes this adaptation of “The Raven” a must-see for fans of horror and gothic storytelling. Panaretou’s ability to breathe new life into a well-known tale is a clear indicator of her emerging talent in the world of cinema. 
EVERYTHING I NEVER TOLD YOU (USA) ★★★★
Directed by Carley Lovito Reviewed by Adrián Pérez “Everything I Never Told You” is a poignant and visually stunning short film that marks a powerful debut for writer-director Carley Lovito. Through the tender and tumultuous relationship of Ines and Sid, Lovito crafts a narrative that transcends the specifics of gender identity and sexuality, offering a universal exploration of love, loss, and the journey toward self-acceptance. The chemistry between the lead actors, Ines Høysæter Asserson and Sidney Rose White, is nothing short of mesmerizing. Their performances bring a deep authenticity to the screen, making the characters' emotional journeys feel intimate and real. The way they navigate the delicate balance between reality and romanticization is both captivating and heartbreaking, drawing the audience into their world with effortless grace. What truly elevates “Everything I Never Told You” is its breathtaking cinematography. Every frame is meticulously composed, creating a visual poem that mirrors the film's exploration of limerence and emotional release. The film's aesthetic beauty is not just a backdrop but an integral part of the storytelling, enhancing the narrative's emotional depth and resonance. Lovito’s direction showcases her unique voice in the world of film, blending poetic realism with a deep understanding of human emotion. Her ability to create a story that feels both specific to the queer experience and universally relatable is a testament to her talent as a filmmaker. This film is not just a love story but a love letter to the self, encouraging viewers to reflect on their own journeys of love, grief, and acceptance. “Everything I Never Told You” is a beautiful, heartfelt film that speaks to anyone who has ever experienced the complexities of love and the bittersweet process of letting go. It’s a cinematic experience that lingers long after the final frame, a true testament to the power of love and the importance of self-acceptance. F
FAREWELL, MY LOVELY (USA) ★★★★
Directed by Sean Silleck Reviewed by Adrián Pérez Sean Silleck's "Farewell, My Lovely" (2023) is a tour de force of miniature proportions, a LEGO-laden homage to Raymond Chandler's hard-boiled classic that manages to be both whimsical and gritty in equal measure. This 35-minute stop-motion masterpiece elevates the humble brickfilm to new heights, proving that even in a world of plastic, the shadows can run deep. Silleck, no stranger to literary adaptations (his "A Good Man Is Hard to Find" (2021) being a notable precursor), tackles Chandler's labyrinthine plot with the precision of a watchmaker and the vision of a true cinephile. The result is a neo-noir pastiche that would make even the most jaded cineast sit up and take notice. The film's visual palette is a triumph of chiaroscuro in primary colors. Silleck manipulates light and shadow with the deftness of a young Orson Welles, if Welles had been armed with LED strips and a camera capable of capturing LEGO's signature sheen. The blood-red splatters and muzzle flashes pop against the desaturated backgrounds, creating a world that's equal parts "Sin City" (2005) and "The LEGO Movie" (2014). Choreographically, "Farewell, My Lovely" represents a quantum leap forward in Silleck's oeuvre. The higher frame rate lends a fluidity to the movement that belies the static nature of its stars. Each meticulously crafted set is a diorama of noir tropes, from the venetian-blinded office to the smoke-filled jazz club. Silleck's attention to minutiae recalls the obsessive world-building of Wes Anderson, if Anderson had been weaned on a diet of pulp fiction and Danish toys. In the pantheon of LEGO cinema, "Farewell, My Lovely" stands as a bold experiment in genre fusion. It's as if "The Third Man" (1949) stumbled into a world of interlocking bricks, resulting in a unique cinematic chimera that defies easy categorization. The voice work, largely a family affair, ranges from serviceable to surprisingly nuanced, with Owen Silleck's Marlowe hitting the right notes of world-weary cynicism. If there's a critique to be leveled, it's that Silleck's fidelity to Chandler's dialogue-heavy source material occasionally hampers the visual storytelling that is brickfilm's raison d'être. One yearns for more kinetic set pieces to punctuate the verbose exchanges, a "Maltese Falcon" (1941) by way of "The Matrix" (1999), if you will. Nonetheless, Silleck has not only pushed the boundaries of his chosen medium but has also crafted a loving tribute to the noir tradition that manages to be both reverent and irreverent, proving that even in a world of plastic, the human touch can still create magic. And on a personal note… it’s jaw-dropping, heart-warming, and downright inspiring to witness Silleck’s evolution over the years. Sean, my friend, you're not just playing with toys – you're redefining what it means to be a storyteller in the 21st century. Keep building those dreams, brick by brilliant brick. |
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GIFT OF SUCCESS (Germany) ★★★★
Directed by Sven Oliver Kürten & Roberto Puzzo Reviewed by Adrián Pérez In the neon-lit alleyways of a nameless metropolis, Roberto Puzzo's "Gift of Success" emerges as a visceral exploration of power, ambition, and the inevitable fall that awaits those who climb too high. This 23-minute crime thriller, co-directed by Puzzo and Sven Oliver Kürten, is a testament to the raw potential of low-budget filmmaking when fueled by unbridled creativity and a willingness to push boundaries. Puzzo, in a tour de force performance as Tony "The Axe," channels the manic energy of Heath Ledger's Joker and the calculated menace of Javier Bardem's Raoul Silva, creating a villain who is at once captivating and repulsive. His portrayal of a man unraveling at the seams of his own ambition is a joy to behold, even as we recoil from the graphic violence that follows in his wake. The film's structure, a series of vignettes showcasing exhilarating action choreography, serves as a canvas for Puzzo's performance. Each scene is a brushstroke in a larger portrait of madness, with Tony's descent into power-hungry oblivion rendered in brutal, kinetic detail. The 21:9 aspect ratio, captured on a Sony F5, lends a cinematic quality to the proceedings, expanding the claustrophobic urban setting into a widescreen nightmare. However, "Gift of Success" is not without its flaws. The film's breakneck pace, while thrilling, leaves little room for the kind of character development that might have elevated Tony from caricature to tragic figure. A stronger opening scene, perhaps showing Tony enduring a more severe humiliation or threat, could have provided the emotional stakes needed to fully invest the audience in his violent quest for power. Lara Kimpel's Rabiossa emerges as a standout, her character arc a refreshing subversion in a testosterone-fueled narrative. Her final confrontation with Tony serves as a cathartic release, reminiscent of the gender dynamics at play in films like "Promising Young Woman" or "Kill Bill." The inclusion of Calvin Edwin Burke, even in a brief role as "The Handler," adds a layer of star power that hints at the filmmakers' ability to attract talent. His presence, along with the solid ensemble cast, elevates the production beyond its modest \$2,000 budget. Cinematographically, "Gift of Success" punches above its weight class. The use of color and shadow in creating a neo-noir atmosphere is reminiscent of Nicolas Winding Refn's "Drive," with bursts of neon punctuating the darkness of Tony's world. The action sequences, while clearly constrained by budget, showcase a creative use of space and framing that brings to mind the early works of Gareth Evans. Thematically, the film treads familiar ground in its exploration of power and corruption, but does so with a gleeful abandon that's hard to resist. The Shakespearean arc of Tony's rise and fall plays out like a fever dream version of "Macbeth," set in a world where morality is as flexible as the rules of physics in a Looney Tunes cartoon. "Gift of Success" is a film that revels in its own excesses, much like its protagonist. It's a bloody, brutal, and occasionally brilliant piece of pulp cinema that announces Puzzo and Kürten as directors to watch. While it may lack the polish and depth of more established crime thrillers, it makes up for it with sheer audacity and a palpable love for the genre. In the end, "Gift of Success" is exactly what its title promises - a gift to audiences hungry for raw, unfiltered storytelling. It's a reminder that sometimes, in the world of independent cinema, ambition and passion can triumph over budget constraints, delivering a viewing experience that's as memorable as it is imperfect. Like Tony "The Axe" himself, the film hacks and slashes its way into our consciousness, leaving us both exhilarated and slightly disturbed - and isn't that precisely what great crime cinema should do? H
HENRY'S WIVES (UK) ★★★★
Directed by Graham John Sessions Reviewed by Adrián Pérez Graham Sessions' "Henry's Wives" aspires to deconstruct historical narrative through a contemporary lens, echoing works like Josie Rourke's "Mary Queen of Scots" (2018) and Saul Dibb's "The Duchess" (2008). This medium-length film invites us into the confessional chambers of Henry VIII's six queens, promising an intimate exploration of power, gender, and historical revisionism. However, Sessions' work inadvertently becomes a meta-commentary on the enduring nature of patriarchal narratives. While ostensibly giving voice to these historically silenced women, the film paradoxically reinforces the very structures it might have sought to critique, missing an opportunity to delve into the psychological complexities of these women's experiences. Visually, "Henry's Wives" occupies an intriguing liminal space between Augusto Boal's Theatre of the Oppressed and the raw aesthetics of cinema vérité. The direct-to-camera confessionals evoke the work of Errol Morris, particularly his use of the Interrotron in "The Fog of War" (2003). However, where Morris excavates hidden truths, Sessions' approach inadvertently reinforces historical façades. The ambitious costumes juxtaposed against minimalist cinematography create a cognitive dissonance that mirrors the queens' internal conflicts between public persona and private anguish. Despite its overall conservative approach, fleeting moments hint at unrealised potential, serving as tantalising glimpses of what could have been a more subversive, emotionally resonant work in the vein of Yorgos Lanthimos' "The Favourite" (2018). Sessions' transition from actor to filmmaker is commendable, echoing the journeys of Kenneth Branagh or Greta Gerwig. His evident passion for Shakespearean text and historical drama shines through, even as the execution falls short of its lofty ambitions. The film's structure, giving each queen her moment in the spotlight, recalls Lars von Trier's "Dogville" (2003) in its theatrical minimalism. However, where von Trier's characters burst with complex inner lives, Sessions' queens remain frustratingly opaque. The potential for a "Gone Girl" (2014, David Fincher) like exploration of conflicting narratives and unreliable narrators feels tantalizingly close yet ultimately unrealised. Graham Sessions, your "Henry's Wives" may not achieve the transcendental heights of Martin Scorsese's "Silence" (2016) or the psychological intensity of Darren Aronofsky's "Black Swan" (2010), but it stands as a testament to your unwavering artistic vision and courage. Your journey from acclaimed actor to bold filmmaker is nothing short of inspiring. In this work, we see the seeds of greatness—a willingness to grapple with complex historical narratives and a desire to give voice to the silenced. Yes, there are flaws, but they are the flaws of ambition, of reaching beyond the comfortable and known. Your career to date has been a masterclass in dedication to the craft, and "Henry's Wives" is a brave step into new territory. Remember, every great filmmaker started with a vision that outpaced their current skills. Your passion for theatre, for Shakespeare, for the raw power of performance shines through every frame. This film is not an endpoint, but a beginning. It's a declaration of intent, a promise of the powerful, provocative works to come. Keep pushing, keep exploring, keep challenging yourself and your audience. The road of a filmmaker is long and often difficult, but you've already proven you have the tenacity and talent to walk it. Your "Henry's Wives" may not have fully realised its lofty goals, but in its ambition, in its very existence, it points the way forward. We, your audience, your critics, your admirers, wait with bated breath to see where your artistic journey takes you next. Bravo, Graham, for daring greatly—onward to your next artistic adventure! 
HINTER-LAND (Canada) ★★★★
Directed by Christopher Angus Reviewed by Adrián Pérez Christopher Angus’s “Hinter-Land” is a mesmerizing animated short that transports viewers into a surreal, otherworldly realm. The story unfolds on a small, isolated planet where a musical gardener, who meticulously tends to his cosmic garden, makes a fateful decision to dismiss his hired hand. This seemingly simple action sets off a chain of events that lead to chaos and disarray, exploring themes of isolation, control, and the fragile balance between creation and destruction. Angus, a veteran animator with a profound passion for his craft, has created a film that is not only visually stunning but also emotionally resonant. The film’s haunting beauty is brought to life through meticulous animation, a captivating original score by Paul Shrofel, and a carefully crafted soundscape that amplifies the film’s eerie and melancholic atmosphere. The narration by Andrew Yankiwski adds depth to the narrative, guiding the audience through the unfolding drama with a voice that is both authoritative and deeply reflective. “Hinter-Land” has been widely celebrated on the international festival circuit, earning numerous accolades for its innovative storytelling and artistic excellence. The film premiered at the prestigious Ottawa International Animation Festival as part of the Canadian Panorama selection and has since gone on to win Best Animated Short at several festivals, including the Chicago Indie Film Awards, Infinite Creativity Film Festival in Geneva, and Amsterdam Movie Fest. It also received Honorable Mentions at the Red Movie Awards in Reims and the Los Angeles Animation Festival, highlighting its exceptional quality and impact. The film’s exploration of fantastical and philosophical themes has resonated particularly in the fantasy genre, garnering awards such as Best Fantasy at the Oniros Film Awards in New York, Real Harmony Film and Script Festival in London, and the French International Modern Film and Script Festival in Paris. Christopher Angus’s “Hinter-Land” is not just a film—it is an immersive experience that lingers in the mind long after the credits roll. With its striking visual style, evocative sound design, and thought-provoking narrative, “Hinter-Land” stands as a testament to the power of animation to explore complex human emotions and universal themes. Angus’s work is a shining example of independent animation at its finest, and “Hinter-Land” is a must-see for anyone who appreciates the art of storytelling through animation. I
I HAD AN AFFAIR, OR DID I? (USA) ★★★★
Directed by Dr. Barbara Becker Holstein Reviewed by Adrián Pérez Barbara Becker Holstein’s “I Had an Affair, or Did I?” is a compelling and innovative exploration of the blurred lines between fantasy and reality, set against the backdrop of a modern marriage. This experimental medium-length film, created entirely via Zoom, is a testament to Holstein’s adaptability and creative ingenuity in the face of the pandemic. It challenges traditional filmmaking by utilizing the digital platform to craft a narrative that feels both intimate and disorienting. The story follows Hannah, portrayed by Tara London, as she navigates the complexities of her emotions while on a trip to the Northwest with her husband. Hannah finds herself fantasizing about another man she meets, and the film delves into the psychological turmoil that follows. The narrative cleverly leaves the audience questioning what is real and what is imagined, inviting viewers to engage deeply with the character’s inner world. Tara London’s performance as Hannah is a standout element of the film. Despite the limitations of the Zoom format, London brings a powerful presence to the screen, conveying a range of emotions with subtlety and nuance. Her ability to portray Hannah’s internal conflict and vulnerability adds layers of depth to the character, making her journey all the more compelling. London’s performance anchors the film, allowing the audience to connect with Hannah’s experiences on a personal level. Holstein’s decision to create a Zoom drama as an experimental film response to the pandemic is both timely and innovative. The medium enhances the themes of isolation and introspection, creating a unique viewing experience that resonates with the current global situation. “I Had an Affair, or Did I?” not only showcases the potential of Zoom as a filmmaking tool but also highlights Holstein’s skill in adapting to new challenges while continuing to produce meaningful and thought-provoking work. In conclusion, “I Had an Affair, or Did I?” is an intriguing and original piece that captures the complexities of human emotion and the fragility of relationships in a time of uncertainty. Tara London’s exceptional performance, combined with Barbara Becker Holstein’s visionary direction, makes this experimental Zoom film a must-see for anyone interested in innovative storytelling and psychological drama. 
IN THE INTEREST OF THE CHILD (Netherlands) ★★★★½
Directed by Ronald Voort Reviewed by Adrián Pérez Ronald Voort's debut documentary "In het belang van het kind" (In the Interest of the Child) follows the harrowing journey of Ilona, a divorced mother fighting a Kafkaesque battle against the Dutch child protection system to regain access to her children. This harrowing, visceral journey into the heart of institutional darkness dissects the Byzantine complexities of child welfare services with the precision of a surgeon and the empathy of a poet. Voort crafts a work that is both a searing indictment and a deeply moving portrait of maternal devotion. At its core, the film grapples with interconnected philosophical concepts: Foucauldian biopower in state control over family life, Kafkaesque bureaucracy trapping individuals in nightmarish loops, and Kristevian abjection in the societal rejection of Ilona's maternal identity. These themes coalesce to create a potent critique of institutional power that feels eerily relevant in our era of increasing state surveillance and control. Voort's cinematic language is a masterful blend of observational documentary and psychological thriller, or shall I say, horror. His handheld camerawork, reminiscent of the Dardenne brothers' immersive realism, plunges us into Ilona's world with unflinching intimacy. The original score, a haunting undercurrent of dissonant strings and electronic pulses, amplifies the sense of creeping dread. It's a testament to Voort's multifaceted talent that he not only directed and produced but also wielded the camera, creating a unified vision that feels both immediate and meticulously crafted. What elevates "In het belang van het kind" from mere exposé to cinematic art is its ability to transmute raw pain into profound empathy. As a critic, one becomes somewhat inured to tales of injustice, but "In het belang van het kind" broke through my professional detachment. Voort's unflinching gaze forces us to confront uncomfortable truths about the systems we trust to protect our most vulnerable. It's a film that lingers in the mind, prompting deep reflection on the nature of justice, family, and the sometimes destructive power of good intentions. To Ronald Voort, I say this: Your debut is not just a film, but an act of courage and compassion. You've given voice to the voiceless and shone a light into the darkest corners of bureaucratic indifference. This is documentary filmmaking at its most vital and necessary. The documentary doesn't provide all the answers; in an age where the line between protection and control grows ever blurrier, this documentary serves as a crucial reminder of the human cost of bureaucratic overreach. It's a testament to the power of cinema to illuminate, educate, and ultimately, to move us towards a more just and empathetic society. As we follow Ilona's eight-year battle against the system, we can't help but feel the frustration and injustice she experiences, running in circles through a labyrinthine bureaucracy. Ronald Voort has announced himself as a formidable new voice in documentary filmmaking. One can only wait with bated breath to see what stories he will illuminate next. "In het belang van het kind" is a powerful, haunting, and personal documentary that transcends the documentarian canvas, reminding us that reality can indeed surpass fiction. J
茉莉花 "Jasmine" (Ireland) ★★★★
Directed by Ellen Costa Reviewed by Adrián Pérez “Jasmine 茉莉花” is a deeply poignant drama that plunges into the tumultuous life of its titular character, Jasmine, as she struggles to find love, identity, and meaning amidst the suffocating societal pressures of Hong Kong. Directed by the immensely talented Ellen Costa, this film marks a stunning debut in the realm of independent cinema, showcasing her as one of the most promising new voices in filmmaking. Ellen Costa, with her diverse background and rich experience in performing arts, crafts a narrative that is both visually captivating and emotionally resonant. Her unique perspective, shaped by her Latinx/Brazilian indigenous heritage and her years living in Asia, allows her to delve into the complexities of the “mistress culture” with a depth and sensitivity that few filmmakers could achieve. Costa’s direction shines as she navigates the fine line between the opulence and the oppressive realities of Jasmine’s world, creating a film that is as much about inner turmoil as it is about external circumstances. The film follows Jasmine, a woman of beauty and talent, who is nevertheless relegated to the status of a mistress—a second choice in the lives of the powerful men who enter her world. Costa does not shy away from depicting the harsh realities of this life, from the personal disappointments that drive Jasmine to a mental breakdown, to her struggles with drug abuse and depression. Yet, amidst the darkness, Costa also weaves a narrative of resilience and self-discovery, as Jasmine embarks on a journey to reclaim her identity and find hope in a world that has offered her little but despair. Costa’s skill as a director is evident in every frame, from the lush, yet isolating, depiction of Hong Kong’s opulent society to the raw and intimate portrayal of Jasmine’s most vulnerable moments. The cinematography by Shane Serrano enhances the film’s emotional depth, capturing the stark contrast between the city’s dazzling exterior and the bleak reality of Jasmine’s internal world. “Jasmine 茉莉花” is a film that not only highlights Ellen Costa’s extraordinary talent as a director but also positions her as a powerful storyteller in the independent film industry. Her ability to tackle taboo subjects with such grace and insight, while simultaneously creating a visually stunning and thought-provoking film, is a testament to her artistic vision and potential. Costa is undoubtedly a filmmaker to watch, and “Jasmine 茉莉花” is a compelling introduction to her work that will resonate with audiences long after the credits roll. K
KING OF BLADES (USA) ★★★★
Written by Paul Hikari Reviewed by Adrián Pérez Paul Hikari's "King of Blades" is a thrilling sci-fi sports drama that masterfully blends heart-pounding action with profound character development. Set in a futuristic world where gladiatorial combat has evolved into a virtual reality spectacle, this screenplay follows Makoto Yamasaki, the daughter of a legendary champion, as she enters the brutal "Children of the Earth" competition. Hikari crafts a coming-of-age tale that is both intimate and epic in scope, exploring themes of legacy, self-discovery, and the tension between individual ambition and the need for human connection. The world-building is rich and immersive, with the virtual arenas providing a kaleidoscope of imaginative settings for the fight sequences. From crumbling cathedrals to volcanic hellscapes, each battle feels distinct and raises the stakes. The technology is seamlessly integrated, enhancing the narrative rather than overshadowing it. Particularly inventive is the cursed Muramasa katana, which serves as both a powerful weapon and a metaphor for the protagonist's internal struggle. At its core, "King of Blades" is a character-driven story. Makoto's journey from a prideful loner to a true leader is compelling and emotionally resonant. Her relationships with her father Yoshihiro, rival-turned-friend Gil Dong, and the conjoined twins Yukiko and Natsumi form the emotional backbone of the script. The antagonist, Joshua Strada, is more than a mere villain - his descent into madness parallels Makoto's own flirtation with isolation and obsession. Hikari's dialogue crackles with energy, balancing moments of tension, humor, and pathos. The sports commentary interludes are particularly well-executed, providing exposition and heightening the drama without feeling intrusive. The screenplay's structure is taut, with each training montage and battle sequence driving the plot and character arcs forward. Thematically, "King of Blades" delves deep into questions of identity and the true nature of strength. Makoto's struggle to step out of her father's shadow and forge her own path is universally relatable. The script astutely examines how our relationships shape us, and how true power comes not from isolation, but from embracing the support of others. If there's a weakness, it's that some of the supporting characters, particularly Tulio and Prashasti, feel slightly underdeveloped compared to the richness of the main cast. Additionally, the final battle, while thrilling, could perhaps use a touch more complexity to fully pay off the buildup. Nevertheless, "King of Blades" is a remarkably assured work, especially for a first-time screenwriter. It seamlessly blends the high-octane excitement of a sports film with the world-building of science fiction and the emotional depth of a character study. Hikari has crafted a story that is at once a crowd-pleasing spectacle and a nuanced exploration of what it means to be human. With its vivid imagery, complex characters, and universal themes, "King of Blades" is ripe for adaptation. In the hands of a visionary director, this could become a landmark piece of sci-fi cinema, appealing to fans of both intimate dramas and grand spectacles. Paul Hikari has announced himself as a major new voice in screenwriting, and "King of Blades" stands as a testament to the power of storytelling to illuminate the human condition, even in the most fantastical of settings. L
LA HACIENDA (USA) ★★★★½
Written by Patricia Fox Reviewed by Adrián Pérez Patricia Fox's "La Hacienda" thrusts us into a vortex of historical trauma and supernatural dread, constructing a labyrinthine story that blurs the boundaries between reality and nightmare. Fox's haunting screenplay explores the lingering effects of colonial violence and generational guilt against the backdrop of a decaying Mexican estate that serves as both setting and malevolent character. Fox's epic unfolds like a fever dream, drawing parallels to Guillermo del Toro's "Pan's Labyrinth" (2006) in its fusion of historical horror and magical realism. The hacienda becomes a palimpsest of pain, each layer of its history bleeding into the next, reminiscent of Stanley Kubrick's "The Shining" (1980) - a place that is "not sane." Fox's strength lies in her ability to create a palpable sense of unease, an atmosphere of dread that permeates every scene. Katrina and Emmanuel, our central couple (one could easily envision Ana de Armas and Oscar Isaac or Gael García Bernal in these roles), serve as our guides through this labyrinth of memory and guilt. Their relationship, strained by personal loss, becomes a microcosm of the larger historical tensions at play. Fox deftly uses their interpersonal dynamics to explore themes of power, identity, and the insidious nature of colonialism. The ghostly apparitions that haunt the hacienda - particularly the veiled Mistress and the spectral Master - serve as potent metaphors for the unresolved traumas of Mexico's revolutionary past. Fox's screenplay shines in its vivid, often hallucinatory imagery. The recurring motif of the red garter, for instance, becomes a powerful symbol of violated innocence and corrupted desire. The climactic scene, where past and present merge in a horrifying tableau of violence, is particularly striking - a cinematic coup de théâtre that recalls the nightmarish logic of Richard Kelly's "Donnie Darko" (2001). However, Fox's screenplay occasionally stumbles in its ambition. The narrative can feel disjointed, its numerous dream sequences and time slips threatening to overwhelm the central story. The dialogue, while often poetic, sometimes veers into on-the-nose territory, spelling out thematics that might be better left implicit. Despite these flaws, "La Hacienda" remains a compelling and thought-provoking work. Fox's exploration of how historical violence echoes through generations feels particularly relevant in our current moment of reckoning with colonial legacies. Her screenplay invites us to consider how the sins of the past continue to haunt our present, and asks whether reconciliation is possible in the face of such deep-seated trauma. In terms of cinematic potential, Fox's "La Hacienda" calls for a director with a strong visual sensibility and a skilled touch in navigating tonal shifts. One could imagine a filmmaker like Ari Aster (of "Hereditary" fame) bringing Fox's phantasmagoric vision to life, or perhaps Alejandro González Iñárritu, whose "Birdman" (2014) demonstrated a masterful ability to blend reality and surrealism in a visually stunning manner. Ultimately, Fox's "La Hacienda" is a bold, if imperfect, attempt to grapple with weighty themes employing genre mechanics to deliver its message. It's a screenplay that lingers in the mind long after reading, its images and ideas haunting the reader much like the spirits that haunt its titular estate. With further refinement, it could evolve into a powerful meditation on history, guilt, and the ghosts we all carry within us. LET'S PRETEND I'M TALKING ABOUT YOU
"PONGAMOS QUE HABLO DE TI" (USA) ★★★★★ Written by Daniel Pradilla de Bedout Reviewed by Adrián Pérez Daniel Pradilla de Bedout's "Let's Pretend I'm Talking About You" is a mesmerising foray into the labyrinthine corridors of memory, loss, and the human psyche's stubborn resistance to change. This screenplay is a cinematic Rubik's Cube, each scene a twist and turn that realigns our understanding of the characters and their shared history. Pradilla de Bedout crafts a story that is at once deeply personal and universally resonant, echoing the works of Charlie Kaufman's "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" (2004) and Wong Kar-wai's "In the Mood for Love" (2000) in its exploration of love's lingering ghosts. The script's non-linear structure serves as a brilliant metaphor for the way memories intrude upon the present, much like Barry Jenkins' "Moonlight" (2016). Pradilla de Bedout's Sebastian, whom I envision being brought to life by the achingly vulnerable Andrew Garfield, is a sommelier whose obsessive-compulsive tendencies become a poignant allegory for his inability to let go of the past. His compulsion to check and recheck his belongings mirrors his relentless examination of his memories with Laura, a role I could see being played with enigmatic charm by Margaret Qualley. The beach encounter that opens the screenplay is a masterclass in subtle exposition, establishing the dreamlike quality that permeates the story. Sebastian's inner monologue, "I'm trying to think about her imperfections, as if I'm searching for an excuse to not miss her," encapsulates the screenplay's central conflict with devastating economy. Pradilla de Bedout's dialogue crackles with authenticity, each line a dagger cutting to the heart of human vulnerability. The therapy session scene, where Sebastian confesses, "I've wasted so much time yearning for memories that never were," is particularly potent. It's a moment that will resonate painfully with anyone who has ever found themselves trapped in the shadows of former lovers. The screenplay's exploration of addiction - both to substances and to the past - adds layers of complexity to the characters. Laura's struggle with alcoholism and Sebastian's OCD become metaphors for the ways we self-medicate against the pain of loss and the fear of moving forward. This thematic depth elevates the script beyond a simple romance into a profound meditation on the human condition. Cinematically, Pradilla de Bedout's writing suggests a visual style that could blend the sun-drenched nostalgia of Luca Guadagnino's "Call Me by Your Name" (2017) with the fragmented, dreamlike quality of Terrence Malick's "The Tree of Life" (2011). The recurring motif of the Rubik's Cube serves as a brilliant visual metaphor for the characters' attempts to solve the puzzle of their lives and relationships. As someone who has grappled with the challenge of moving on from a significant relationship, I found this screenplay to be a raw and honest exploration of the journey. Pradilla de Bedout captures the way past loves can haunt us, colouring our present and future with their lingering presence. Having followed Daniel Pradilla de Bedout's career for several years now, I find myself profoundly moved by the evolution of his artistry. From the moment I first encountered his proof-of-concept short film, I knew I was witnessing the birth of a unique voice in cinema. Now, seeing that seed of an idea blossom into this spectacular full-length screenplay, I'm overcome with emotion. The sheer depth of feeling, the raw honesty, and the masterful storytelling in "Let's Pretend I'm Talking About You" electrifies me. Pradilla de Bedout hasn't simply written a script, he's bled all over the pages, the result of which is a work that pulses with the essential truths of what it means to be human. This is the kind of screenplay that reminds us why we fell in love with cinema in the first place. The world is dying to meet this fresh, original voice - a true auteur in the making. With this screenplay, he cements his place among the most exciting filmmakers of his generation. I find myself moved to tears, not just by the story itself, but by the knowledge that we are witnessing the ascension of a remarkable talent. Daniel Pradilla de Bedout, I salute you. 
LIFE WITHOUT A HEARTBEAT (Germany) ★★★★
Directed by Wolfgang Christoph Schmiedt Reviewed by Adrián Pérez Wolfgang Schmiedt and Lutz Hofmann's short documentary on heart transplantation is a cinematic masterpiece that transforms as it informs. From the first frame, it draws you into a world where the fragility of human life dances with the marvels of modern medicine. The narrative echoes the profound beauty found in Terrence Malick's "The Tree of Life" (2011), finding wonder in the intimate details of existence. As I watched, I felt a deep connection to the subject matter, my own heartbeat seeming to sync with the film's rhythm. The documentary's exploration of the 'techno-body' is presented with a warmth that sets it apart. Unlike the unsettling explorations in David Cronenberg's "eXistenZ" (1999), Wolfgang Schmiedt and Lutz Hofmann inspire, showing artificial hearts as testaments to human ingenuity. This delicate balance between nature and technology is reminiscent of Errol Morris's "The Fog of War" (2003), yet feels more immediate and personal. The interplay of light and shadow in the dance sequences creates a chiaroscuro effect that powerfully illustrates the balance between life and death, hope and fear, turning the dancer's movements into a representation of the heart's own rhythm and resilience. Wolfgang Schmiedt and Lutz Hofmann's decision to interweave actual surgery footage with a choreographed dance performance is nothing short of inspired. It reminded me of the artistic daring of Pedro Almodóvar's "The Skin I Live In" (2011), elevating medical procedures to the realm of high art. Just as Almodóvar blurred the lines between beauty and horror, science and obsession, Schmiedt and Hofmann transform the clinical into the poetic. This approach pushes the boundaries of documentary filmmaking, much like James Marsh's "Man on Wire" (2008), which turned the story of a tightrope walk into a breathtaking meditation on human ambition and artistry. As the lone female dancer moves, her body becoming a canvas for projected anatomical diagrams, the seamless integration of science and art is striking. This visual poetry, challenging our perceptions of the human body and medical science, evokes the layered imagery and emotional depth of Michel Gondry's "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" (2004). Wolfgang Schmiedt and Lutz Hofmann have created more than just a documentary—they've crafted a deeply affecting meditation on humanity in an age of technological marvels. By synthesising cinéma vérité with experimental aesthetics, they've pushed the boundaries of medical documentaries. This interdisciplinary approach not only informs but profoundly moves, reminding us of the wonder of our own hearts—both as organs and as the metaphorical seat of our humanity. In a world often divided, Schmiedt and Hofmann have created a unifying work that pulsates with our shared human experience, lingering in our thoughts long after the final frame. 
LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE (USA) ★★★★
Directed by Charli Brown Reviewed by Adrián Pérez A Supernatural Espresso: Charli Brown's Latest Short Film Leaves Us Thirsting for More Charli Brown's directorial evolution continues to astound, with each of her fantasy high-concepts growing richer and more enticing. Her latest short film “Little Miss Sunshine” is, without a doubt, her most captivating work to date. This vignette, centred around a seemingly innocuous coffee order, serves as a canvas for Brown to showcase her growing mastery of the medium. The film's premise is deceptively simple: a customer, Croix, attempts to order an espresso while contending with an overzealous waitress. However, this seemingly mundane interaction swiftly spirals into a realm of dark fantasy. Nicole Unger's performance as the pestering server is a masterclass in cringe-worthy conviction. Her portrayal of a tip-hungry waitress practically grovelling at the customer's feet is both uncomfortable and utterly believable. Jack Ilco's Croix is equally impressive, visibly irritated yet desperately trying to maintain composure. There's a dark, menacing undercurrent to his character that becomes increasingly apparent as the waitress fails to take the hint. The tension builds exquisitely until the second coffee encounter, where Croix's true nature begins to emerge. In a shocking turn, he grabs the waitress's arm, making his point clear in no uncertain terms. What follows is a twist that elevates this short from a simple character study to a mind-bending supernatural thriller. Brown's deft handling of this tonal shift is particularly noteworthy. The introduction of Croix's Luciferian qualities and the summoning of the waitress's evil twin sibling doppelgänger is executed with a subtlety that speaks to Brown's growing confidence as a filmmaker. This short packs enough gravitas to leave viewers clamouring for a feature-length exploration of these characters. As the waitress collapses to the floor, we're struck by the realisation that beneath her over-serviceable façade lies a living, breathing human being we've only begun to understand. And what of Croix? Is he extraterrestrial, supernatural, or perhaps even satanic? Brown leaves us with lingering questions, and it's this narrative teasing that makes the short so effective. While Brown's canvas still shows signs of being unpolished, her growth as a filmmaker is undeniable. There are minor sound issues that could be addressed with more meticulous engineering. However, the most significant improvement would be to strip away the score entirely. The dramatic tension inherent in the scene is powerful enough to stand on its own, and silence could speak volumes, enhancing the otherworldly atmosphere Brown has so carefully crafted. Despite these small critiques, Brown firmly establishes herself as an exciting emerging filmmaker. With each new project, we see growth and a stronger grasp of the cinematographic tools at her disposal. One can only hope that this short eventually evolves into a feature-length film, potentially standing shoulder to shoulder with supernatural horror classics like "Hereditary" (directed by Ari Aster, 2018) and "Speak No Evil" (directed by Christian Tafdrup, 2022). In conclusion, this latest offering from Charli Brown represents a significant step forward in her artistic journey. “Little Miss Sunshine” is a tantalising sip of a much larger, darker brew. It leaves us thirsting for more, eagerly anticipating what this promising director will serve up next. M
MAGNITUDE THE WORLD (Sweden) ★★★★
Directed by Anders Storm, David Storm, Mattias Risberg Reviewed by Adrián Pérez In their latest cinematic expedition, Anders and David Storm continue to push the artistry of experimental cinema with "Magnitude the World". As a longtime admirer of their work, I approached this fourth instalment of Mattias Risberg's "Mining" suite with high expectations - and I'm pleased to report that this father-son duo have once again crafted a work of staggering ambition, melding Mattias Risberg's jazz improvisations with stark, monochromatic visuals that transform the abandoned Stripa mine into a dreamscape of industrial melancholy, with ghostly miners lurking in the shadows. Their signature style, reminiscent of German Expressionism yet wholly unique, creates a hypnotic atmosphere that draws you into the film's labyrinthine exploration of consciousness. The philosophical underpinnings of "Magnitude the World" are as deep as the mineshafts it explores. The film grapples with the concept of introspection as a form of excavation, echoing the poet's words: "Digging for something, digging within oneself." This Jungian descent into the collective unconscious is masterfully intertwined with the physical act of mining, creating a multi-layered metaphor for self-discovery. The Storms further delve into ancient mythological terrain, invoking the idea that "To be spirited off into the mountain is an old mythical concept based in claustrophobia, the fear of being relentlessly trapped, of being buried alive." This exploration of primal fears and existential dread is reminiscent of Tarkovsky's "Stalker" (1979), yet the Storms imbue it with their own unique sensibility. Stylistically, the film is a tour de force. The use of long-take cinematography and spiralling handheld shots creates a sense of disorientation that mirrors the psychological journey of the characters. The juxtaposition of the jazz orchestra against the industrial backdrop serves as a powerful metaphor for the improvisation of life amidst rigid bureaucracy. One of the most striking sequences involves the female narrator/poet escaping the warehouse and ascending a hill barefoot. This moment, which gave me chills, evokes the transcendental power of nature in contrast to the industrial setting. It's a visual motif that Anders and David Storm employed to great effect in "Remarkabel" (2021), and its reappearance here feels like a continuation of their artistic dialogue with the viewer. Personally, while "Magnitude the World" may not surpass the raw, visceral impact of "Remarkabel”, it showcases a maturation of the Storm duo's style. The synthesis of Risberg's musical vision with the Storms' visual poetry is nothing short of extraordinary, creating a new language that speaks directly to the subconscious. I found myself in a near-trance state at times, lost in the interplay of image and sound. It's a powerful thing they've created here. "Magnitude the World" is not for the faint of heart or those seeking easy answers. It demands your full engagement, rewarding multiple viewings with new insights and interpretations. It's a film that operates on a near-subliminal level, bypassing our rational defences to speak directly to our subconscious. While it may not be for everyone, those who appreciate cinema as an art form will find much to ponder and discuss in this latest offering from two of Sweden's most innovative filmmakers. The Storm duo have once again proven themselves to be at the forefront of experimental cinema, and this latest offering cements their status as two of the most innovative filmmakers working today. Don't miss this opportunity to witness their genius firsthand. Anders and David, I can't wait to see where you'll take us next. Until then, I'll be here, ready to descend into whatever cinematic labyrinth you construct, knowing I'll emerge changed, challenged, and utterly captivated. 
MILLE PONTI "THOUSAND BRIDGES" (Italy) ★★★★½
Directed by Nico Amedeo Reviewed by Adrián Pérez Nico Amedeo's "Mille Ponti" offers a poignant exploration of disability, intimacy, and urban design within the labyrinthine landscape of Venice. This 20-minute short film interrogates the intersectionality of ableism and architectural hegemony, presenting the city's iconic bridges as Foucauldian heterotopias—spaces that simultaneously represent, contest, and invert societal norms. Through the lens of protagonists Tommaso and Chiara, Amedeo crafts a narrative that resonates with disability theorist Rosemarie Garland-Thomson's concept of the "extraordinary body," challenging viewers to confront their own ableist biases and reimagine the social construct of disability. The film's thematic exploration extends beyond mere representation, engaging with complex issues of caregiver burnout, sexual agency, and the psychosocial impact of sudden disability. In its visual language, "Mille Ponti" evokes the aesthetics of Italian Neorealism, particularly reminiscent of Vittorio De Sica's "Bicycle Thieves" (1948) in its use of urban landscapes as a character unto itself. However, Amedeo's work also dialogues with contemporary disability narratives in cinema, such as "The Intouchables" (Nakache & Toledano, 2011) and "The Theory of Everything" (Marsh, 2014), while offering a unique perspective on the intersection of disability and romance. The film's unflinching examination of intimacy and sexuality in the context of disability marks a significant departure from traditionally desexualized portrayals of disabled individuals in media, aligning more closely with the raw honesty of Ben Lewin's "The Sessions" (2012). Nico Amedeo's "Mille Ponti" hit me like a punch to the gut. This 20-minute short isn't just a film; it's a window into a future I both fear and feel compelled to understand. As the son of a man who lost his leg at 10, I've grown up acutely aware of the challenges faced by those with mobility issues. While my dad manages with a prosthetic now, I can't help but see glimpses of our potential future in Tommaso and Chiara's struggle. Venice, that floating dream of a city, becomes a nightmare labyrinth in Amedeo's lens. Each bridge transforms into a mountain to climb, a barrier between Chiara and the world she once knew. It's a brilliant metaphor. Giulio Foccardi's Tommaso broke my heart. His journey from devoted partner to exhausted caregiver is painfully real. That scene in the bedroom - God, I had to pause the film. His breakdown, his admission of fatigue, of feeling more like a "chauffeur" than a lover... I haven't been there yet, but I can feel the weight of that future pressing down on me. It's a glimpse into a world I'm not sure I'm ready for, but one I know I might have to face. Emma Padoan's Chiara is a force. Her portrayal of a woman grappling with the loss of her mobility, her independence, and potentially her partner is gut-wrenching. The scene where she confronts Tommaso about his pre-sex ritual - it's uncomfortable, it's raw, and it's so, so necessary. How often do we see disabled characters allowed to express sexual frustration, to demand to be seen as desirable? Not nearly enough. Nico, your evolution as a filmmaker since "Virtuoso" is staggering. There's a maturity here, a willingness to sit in the discomfort of difficult emotions, that speaks volumes. Your use of Venice's panoramas to chart the growing distance between Tommaso and Chiara is masterful - it reminded me of the way Antonioni used landscape in "L'Avventura", but with an added layer of bitter irony. These views that tourists flock to see become a taunt, a reminder of all Chiara has lost. The script, co-written with Claudia Sferrazza, doesn't waste a word. Every line peels back another layer of this relationship, revealing the tender flesh beneath. And Tomasz Jagoda's score - it's the heartbeat of the film, swelling and receding like the tides of the canals. I can't help but wonder about your connection to this story, Nico. The sensitivity with which you handle motor diseases - first in "Virtuoso" and now here - speaks of personal experience. Whatever your inspiration, know that your work is seen and deeply appreciated by those of us who live on the periphery of this world, watching our loved ones navigate its challenges. This film feels like a classic, something that should have existed for years but somehow didn't until now. It's 2024, and we're only just seeing love stories like this? It's a testament to how far we still have to go in representing disabled experiences on screen. I'm curious how the disabled community will receive this film. It's a harsh representation, yes, but an honest one. It doesn't shy away from the ugly truths - the pitying looks, the friends who drift away, the strain on relationships. But in that honesty, there's respect. You're not asking for pity; you're demanding to be seen. Nico, thank you. Thank you for this film, for the visibility it brings, for the conversations it will start. As someone who's grown up alongside disability and who faces an uncertain future of caregiving, I feel seen in a way I rarely do in cinema. This short has legs (forgive the poor choice of words) to become a feature, and I sincerely hope it does. There's so much more to explore here - Chiara's journey post-Tommaso, her sexual reawakening, her reclaiming of self in a city that seems designed to exclude her. "Mille Ponti" is a bridge - between the able-bodied and disabled worlds, between love and resentment, between what was and what is. It's not an easy crossing, but it's a necessary one. And Nico, you've given us a map to start the journey. 
MY DIGITAL TRUTH (UK) ★★★★
Directed by Swen Werner Reviewed by Adrián Pérez Swen Werner’s “My Digital Truth” is a compelling short film that blurs the lines between reality and the digital world, exploring the profound implications of our increasingly interconnected existence. Set in present-day London, the film follows a banker on a quest for knowledge while battling illness and forming a curious alliance with ChatAI, a narrative that delves deep into the intersections of technology, identity, and reality. Werner, a finance professional with a rich array of interests spanning the arts, philosophy, and electronic music, brings a unique perspective to the film. His background in digital technology and capital markets informs the narrative, providing a deeply personal and intellectually stimulating exploration of how these forces shape our lives. The film is a reflection of Werner’s own journey—a quest for redemption during a challenging time that evolved into a broader commentary on the human experience and our relationship with technology. What sets “My Digital Truth” apart is its ability to intertwine Werner’s diverse interests into a cohesive narrative. The film is not just a story; it is an art-tech fusion that captures the essence of the modern digital age. Werner’s artistic vision is further enhanced by the inclusion of a song he wrote, encapsulating the film’s themes and adding a layer of emotional depth to the narrative. This creative blend of narrative, music, and visuals allows the film to delve into the complexities of the human psyche, offering viewers a unique and introspective experience. In his interview, Werner expresses a deep belief in the power of cinema to effect change in society, a conviction that is evident in the film’s themes and execution. “My Digital Truth” serves as a catalyst for reflection on our collective existence, urging audiences to consider the ethical and philosophical implications of the technologies that increasingly dominate our lives. Werner’s hope is that his work will foster empathy, understanding, and awareness, contributing to a more inclusive and compassionate world. As Werner looks to the future of the film industry, he acknowledges the transformative potential of AI and other technologies in storytelling. However, he also cautions against the ethical challenges that come with such advancements, emphasizing the need for vigilance in maintaining the balance between creativity and control. In conclusion, “My Digital Truth” is a powerful and timely exploration of the digital age, seen through the lens of a filmmaker who brings a wealth of experience and insight to the screen. Swen Werner’s debut is a testament to the potential of art to navigate and illuminate the complex realities of our time, making him a filmmaker to watch as the industry continues to evolve. N
NARAKU (Japan) ★★★★★
Directed by Yoshimitsu Kushida Reviewed by Adrián Pérez Yoshimitsu Kushida's "奈落" (Naraku), an avant-garde dance-theatre piece, captured on film with haunting precision, offers a visceral exploration of existential thematics that resonate deeply in our increasingly disembodied digital age. Echoing the alien perspective on humanity in Jonathan Glazer's "Under the Skin" (2013) and the apocalyptic melancholy of Lars von Trier's "Melancholia" (2011), Kushida infuses these influences with a distinctly Japanese aesthetic reminiscent of the psychological intensity in Darren Aronofsky's "Black Swan" (2010). The result is a work that probes the liminal spaces between life and death, consciousness and subconsciousness, desire and restraint, with a rawness that is both deeply unsettling and profoundly moving. The choreography, at once erotic and violent, beautiful and grotesque, speaks to the Jungian shadow self that lurks beneath our civilised veneer. In one particularly striking sequence, the female dancer's "elegant and avant-garde lapdance" transitions into a full-bodied convulsion, evoking both the ecstasy of St. Teresa and the possessed contortions of Friedkin's "The Exorcist" (1973). This juxtaposition of the sacred and the profane is a recurring motif, challenging our notions of bodily autonomy and spiritual transcendence. Kushida's masterful use of lighting, shifting from blood-red hues reminiscent of Argento's "Suspiria" (1977) to stark white illumination echoing the clinical sterility of Kubrick's "2001: A Space Odyssey" (1968), marks transitions between states of being with breathtaking efficacy. As the piece reaches its crescendo, with the ensemble stripping the protagonists bare amidst a cacophony of movement and sound, we are reminded of the primal chaos that underpins our existence. The final solo, performed under the sound of rain, feels like a baptism or a requiem – perhaps both. It's a moment of catharsis that leaves us emotionally drained yet intellectually invigorated, grappling with weighty themes: the nature of consciousness, the fluidity of sexual identity, and the eternal struggle between fate and free will. Kushida's work is a Rorschach test of the soul, inviting each viewer to project their own existential anxieties onto its abstract canvas. One cannot ignore the palpable homoerotic undercurrent that pulses through the work. The intricate, acrobatic pas de deux between the two male dancers is a feast of sensuality and raw physicality. Their topless confrontation, bathed in red light and set to classical music, is a dance of seduction and resistance that crackles with tension. This homoerotic subtext adds a rich layer to the piece's exploration of identity and desire, challenging heteronormative narratives and blurring the lines between platonic intimacy and erotic charge. It's a bold choice that speaks to Kushida's fearless approach to tackling complex themes of sexuality and human connection. Kushida-san, I'm utterly gobsmacked by the transcendental power of "奈落". Your work has scarred me in the most exquisite way, leaving an indelible mark on my psyche that I'll carry for years to come. The raw emotionality and intellectual rigour on display moved me to tears, then to laughter, then back to tears again. I found myself utterly enthralled by your exploration of identity, sexual and otherwise, and the existential dread that permeates every frame. The phantasmagorical elements led me to ponder questions of faith, purpose, and the afterlife in ways I never expected from a dance performance. Your unflinching portrayal of the human condition, in all its beauty and grotesquerie, is fucking spectacular. I'm in awe of your artistic vision and your ability to translate complex philosophical concepts into pure, visceral movement. Kushida-san, you've created something truly extraordinary here – a work that will haunt and inspire me for years to come. Please, continue to push boundaries and challenge perceptions. The world of contemporary art needs your unique voice now more than ever. 
NIGHTWORKS (Australia) ★★★★
Directed by Jonathan Nolan Reviewed by Adrián Pérez In the first episode of the Nightworks series, titled "The Night-Adapted Eye," director Jonathan Nolan embarks on an enigmatic journey that fuses conspiracy theories, urban legends, and cosmic mysteries into a gripping animated narrative. Known for his expansive work in writing, game design, and visual arts, Nolan brings his unique storytelling approach to animation, creating a world that is both captivating and unsettling. "The Night-Adapted Eye" introduces us to a young woman who finds herself caught in a web of secrecy and suppression. As she delves deeper into the mysteries surrounding the Toynbee Tiles, the ominous figure of the Mothman, and the enigmatic connection to the planet Jupiter, the episode unravels a story that is as mysterious as it is thought-provoking. Nolan skillfully intertwines these elements to craft a narrative that keeps the viewer on the edge of their seat, questioning what is real and what lies beyond our understanding. The animation in this episode is strikingly atmospheric, reflecting Nolan’s deep passion for visual storytelling. The art style complements the eerie and surreal nature of the plot, with each scene meticulously designed to draw the audience further into the unfolding conspiracy. Nolan’s background in various creative fields is evident in the episode’s rich visual texture, which serves as a perfect canvas for the complex story he tells. With "The Night-Adapted Eye," Nolan taps into his long-standing fascination with folklore and the unexplained, bringing to life the dark allure of myths like the Mothman and the mysterious Toynbee Tiles. This episode sets the tone for the Nightworks series, blending elements of science fiction, horror, and conspiracy to create a narrative that is both contemporary and timeless. The inclusion of cosmic elements, particularly the connection to Jupiter, adds a layer of existential intrigue that elevates the story beyond the ordinary. Despite the challenges and obstacles that have marked the production of Nightworks, Nolan’s dedication to his vision shines through. His ability to weave together different threads of mystery and folklore into a cohesive and compelling narrative is a testament to his skill as a storyteller. "The Night-Adapted Eye" not only serves as a strong introduction to the Nightworks series but also stands alone as a powerful piece of animated storytelling that invites viewers to explore the unknown. For those who are drawn to tales of conspiracy, urban legends, and cosmic mysteries, "Nightworks Episode 1 - The Night-Adapted Eye" is a must-watch. Jonathan Nolan has crafted an episode that resonates with both the eerie fascination of 20th-century myths and the modern-day quest for truth in an age of uncertainty. As the first installment of the series, it promises a journey that will captivate and challenge audiences, leaving them eager for more. 
NONNONNON - MADA MADA feat. ORLANDA
(DIRECTOR'S CUT) (Canada) ★★★★½ Directed by Alexandre Richard Reviewed by Adrián Pérez Alexandre Richard’s “Mada Mada” is a masterful fusion of music video and narrative film, offering a deeply immersive journey into the psychological turmoil of its protagonist. Following a man grappling with the possibility of permanent blindness after surgery, the film dives into his psyche, presenting a series of dreamlike sequences that explore his deepest fears, losses, and anxieties. What sets this project apart is its exceptional technical quality. The cinematography by Graham GS is nothing short of breathtaking, capturing the surreal and often haunting atmosphere with striking compositions and a keen eye for detail. Every frame is meticulously crafted, enhancing the emotional depth of the narrative while also providing a visual feast for the audience. The editing, handled by Richard himself, is equally impressive. The seamless transitions between the protagonist's reality and his vivid, lucid dreams blur the lines between what is real and what is imagined, mirroring the character’s inner conflict. The pacing is expertly managed, allowing the narrative to unfold in a way that keeps the viewer engaged and emotionally invested from start to finish. Perhaps the most standout element is the sound design by Kristopher Laflamme. The use of expressionist soundscapes and carefully placed audio cues not only heightens the dreamlike ambiance but also steers the film towards the edge of horror. The sound design plays a crucial role in building tension and immersing the viewer in the protagonist's experience, making the psychological and emotional stakes feel tangible. Richard’s direction brings all these elements together in a cohesive and emotionally charged whole. His ability to blend genres and push the boundaries of traditional music video storytelling results in a film that resonates on multiple levels. The narrative, inspired by personal experiences and observations, adds a layer of authenticity and introspection that invites the audience to reflect on the themes of loss, fear, and the human condition. “Mada Mada” is a testament to Alexandre Richard’s talent as a filmmaker. The technical excellence in cinematography, editing, and sound design elevates the project, making it a compelling and unforgettable experience. Richard has created a film that not only tells a powerful story but also connects with viewers on a deeply emotional level, solidifying his place as a visionary in the world of independent cinema. O
ON THE LINE (Israel) ★★★★
Directed by Roy Shellef Reviewed by Adrián Pérez In Roy Shellef's directorial debut "On The Line", we are thrust into the claustrophobic world of a couple on the precipice of emotional freefall. This nine-minute vignette is a masterclass in tension-building, reminiscent of the psychological intensity found in Darren Aronofsky's "Black Swan" (2010) and the raw intimacy of Derek Cianfrance's "Blue Valentine" (2010). Shellef's camera work is a character unto itself, employing a handheld technique that mirrors the protagonists' internal turmoil. The film opens with a striking sequence of Kate (Aleque Cronquist) in the bathroom, the muffled soundscape creating a sensory deprivation that immediately plunges us into her discombobulated psyche. This auditory manipulation is reminiscent of Darius Marder's "Sound of Metal" (2019), where sound design becomes a portal into the character's subjective experience. As we transition to the living room, where Nathan (Caleb Bloomer) awaits, the confined space transforms into a labyrinthine arena of emotions. The dialogue-heavy script is punctuated by pregnant pauses, each silence a deafening echo of unspoken fears and desires. This interplay between speech and silence evokes the communicative complexities explored in Noah Baumbach's "Marriage Story" (2019), where what remains unsaid often speaks volumes. Thematically, "On The Line" grapples with the Sisyphean task of relationship maintenance in the face of diverging life paths. Nathan's military career and Kate's artistic pursuits serve as metaphors for the eternal struggle between duty and passion, stability and freedom. This conflict resonates deeply in our current socio-cultural climate, where the pursuit of individual fulfilment often clashes with the demands of partnership, echoing the existential quandaries posed in Joachim Trier's "The Worst Person in the World" (2021). The film's naturalistic approach to camerawork and performance belies a sophisticated understanding of cinematic language. Shellef's direction demonstrates a precocious grasp of the medium's potential for exploring interiority, reminiscent of Joanna Hogg's autobiographical excavations in "The Souvenir" (2019). The ethereal quality that permeates the short suggests a director well-versed in the oeuvre of Terrence Malick, particularly his later works like "To the Wonder" (2012), where the metaphysical and the mundane coalesce. Roy, your debut left me breathless. In just nine minutes, you've managed to capture the essence of human connection with a raw authenticity that many seasoned directors spend careers chasing. The way you've choreographed the dance between Nathan and Kate - their hopes, fears, and unspoken truths - speaks to a profound understanding of the human heart. As I watched, I found myself transported back to moments in my own life where words failed and silence spoke volumes. Your ability to render these universal experiences with such intimacy is nothing short of extraordinary. As you continue on this path, I implore you to keep mining the depths of human experience with the same courage and sensitivity you've shown here. Your voice - so clear, so honest - is one we desperately need in cinema today. I, for one, can't wait to see where your journey takes you next. Keep pushing boundaries, Roy. Keep making us feel. The world is dying to meet you. OVERDUE (USA) ★★★★
Written by Janna Jones Reviewed by Adrián Pérez In Janna Jones' "Overdue," we are transported into a whimsical Odyssean journey through the quaint streets of Flagstaff, where our protagonist Nancy embarks on a quest as urgent as Frodo's trek to Mount Doom, yet as banal as returning an overdue library book. Jones weaves a delightful tale of small-town Americana, reminiscent of the folksy charm of Gilmore Girls (2000-2007), infused with the quirky romance of a Nora Ephron screenplay. The narrative unfolds like a ticking clock, each scene a metronome beating towards the impending library fine. Jones' mastery of pacing transforms what could have been a humdrum errand into a Proustian exploration of memory, loss, and renewal. Nancy's bike becomes her time machine, each pedal stroke propelling her through a townscape peppered with madeleine-like encounters that evoke her past and hint at her future. At its core, "Overdue" is a profound meditation on the passage of time and personal growth. The overdue book, aptly titled "Suddenly Single," serves as a Chekhovian gun, its presence a constant reminder of Nancy's emotional stasis. Jones cleverly juxtaposes Nancy's reluctance to return the book with her hesitancy to fully embrace her singleness, creating a rich metaphor for the hurdles of moving forward after heartbreak. The screenplay's dialogue sparkles with wit and subtext, each interaction a miniature play within the larger drama. The awkward encounter with Felicia at the hair salon is a masterclass in tension, rivalling the legendary diner scene in When Harry Met Sally (1989) for its blend of humor and discomfort. Jones navigates this social minefield with the deftness of a tightrope walker, each line of dialogue a careful step above the abyss of social anxiety. Visually, Jones paints Flagstaff as a character itself, its tree-lined streets and quaint storefronts forming an Edward Hopper-esque backdrop to Nancy's journey. The overstuffed bicycle basket becomes a visual metaphor for Nancy's emotional baggage, one can easily imagine Kristen Bell bringing Nancy to life with her blend of vulnerability and humor, while John Krasinski could charm as Stuart, the new librarian. The climax on the library lawn is a masterpiece of romantic comedy writing. In a scene that echoes the rain-soaked finales of Four Weddings and a Funeral (1994) or Breakfast at Tiffany's (1961), Jones subverts expectations by replacing torrential rain with a picnic spread of collected items. This final tableau embodies Nancy's journey, with each object representing a chapter in her story of self-discovery. "Overdue" is a delightful confection of a screenplay, as satisfying as a well-brewed cup of tea on a rainy afternoon. While it may not reinvent the wheel of romantic comedy, it certainly gives it a charming new spin. Jones has penned a script that is both a love letter to small-town America and a nuanced examination of personal growth. It's a screenplay that deserves to be savoured, much like a beloved book pulled from the shelf for a comforting re-read. With a dream cast potentially including Anna Kendrick as Nancy's sister Alice, and veterans like Lisa Kudrow and Ted Danson as her parents, "Overdue" could become a heartwarming indie gem. P
PLAYGROUND 2013-14 (Germany) ★★★★
Directed by Erdogan Bulut Reviewed by Adrián Pérez Erdogan Bulut's "Playground 2013-14" is an audacious opus that pushes the boundaries of experimental cinema to their breaking point. This 74-minute journey defies easy categorization, blending animation, documentary, and pure artistic expression into a challenging yet mesmerizing experience. Bulut's background in fine arts permeates every frame, wielding his paintbrush like a cinematic time machine that transports viewers through the annals of human history and the depths of our collective unconscious. The film's soundscape, reminiscent of Ari Aster's unsettling aural landscapes, weaves with Bulut's visual poetry to create a synesthetic experience that lingers in the soul long after. As we traverse this labyrinthine narrative, Bulut's artistic courage shines through in his unflinching exploration of human suffering. The film's allusions to historical traumas, particularly the Holocaust, are handled with a delicate balance of respect and artistic license. However, the sheer density of imagery and the relentless pace of stylistic shifts may alienate viewers accustomed to more conventional narratives. Bulut seems unconcerned with accessibility, crafting a work that demands not just attention but active intellectual engagement from its audience. This uncompromising approach is both the film's greatest strength and its most significant barrier to wider appreciation. In an age of algorithmic content and formulaic blockbusters, Bulut's unwavering commitment to his artistic vision is nothing short of revolutionary. "Playground 2013-14" stands as a defiant declaration that cinema can still be a playground for ideas, a canvas for dreams, and a mirror reflecting the vast complexity of the human soul. Herr Bulut, your creation transcends the boundaries of conventional filmmaking, plunging us into the depths of human experience with unflinching honesty and breathtaking artistry. You have not merely made a film; you have birthed a raw, pulsating piece of your soul onto the screen. In doing so, you challenge us to confront the full spectrum of human existence - its beauty, its horror, its banality, and its profundity. Your courage to lay bare such vulnerable truths moves us to tears and reminds us of the transformative power of true art. "Playground 2013-14" is not just a film to be watched, but an experience to be lived, a journey that leaves us forever changed. |
POINTS OF VIEW (Italy) ★★★★
Directed by Pepi Romagnoli Reviewed by Adrián Pérez Pepi Romagnoli's documentary, or shall we say film essay, "Points of View" (Punti di Vista) is utterly captivating. It's a raw, unpolished gem that shines with authenticity and humanity. From the moment the camera focuses on Mihai, us spectators are transported to the streets of Milan, walking alongside both filmmaker and subject. Romagnoli's guerrilla-style filmmaking, while technically rough around the edges, creates an intimacy that polished productions often lack. It's as if we're there with them, discovering Mihai's story, feeling Romagnoli's curiosity and compassion with every frame. Mihai himself is a revelation. How many times have we walked past homeless individuals, wondering about their stories but never daring to ask? Through Romagnoli's lens, we see not just a young man living on the streets, but a complex, intelligent individual who challenges every preconception we might hold about homelessness. Watching Mihai discuss literature and philosophy, we're reminded of Jean-Paul Sartre's explorations of freedom and authenticity. Mihai's choice to live on the fringes of society raises profound questions about the nature of liberty in our modern world. The emotional journey of this film is nothing short of extraordinary. We feel Romagnoli's hope and determination as she seeks to help Mihai, and share her devastation upon learning of his gambling addiction. This twist in the documentary's story is heartbreaking, yet it adds a layer of complexity that elevates the work beyond mere observation to a nuanced exploration of human nature. It's reminiscent of Werner Herzog's ability to uncover the unexpected in his subjects, revealing the multifaceted nature of the human experience. One of the most touching aspects of the film is the appearance of Romagnoli's mother, the handwriting analyst. This moment is pure cinematic gold. It's unexpected, insightful, and adds a personal touch that makes the documentary uniquely Romagnoli's. Her assessment of Mihai's writing as indicative of someone in control of their life adds an unexpected dimension to the story, challenging both Romagnoli's and the audience's perceptions. This moment exemplifies the documentary's ability to surprise and provoke thought, elevating it beyond a mere observational piece to a nuanced exploration of human nature. "Points of View" is more than just a documentary – it's a transformative experience. It changes the way we see the world around us, especially the people society often overlooks. Romagnoli's work embodies the highest ideals of documentary filmmaking: to challenge, to enlighten, and to foster empathy. Despite its technical imperfections – or perhaps because of them – her film achieves a rare emotional and intellectual resonance that many polished productions can only dream of. Romagnoli's courage in approaching such a complex subject with both empathy and unflinching honesty is truly commendable. She's created a work that lingers in the mind long after viewing, potentially altering how we interact with and perceive the marginalised members of our communities. It's a testament to the power of cinema to touch hearts and open minds. In conclusion, Pepi, "Points of View" is a triumph of the human spirit – both yours and Mihai's. It stands as a valuable contribution to the ongoing dialogue about social inequality, personal freedom, and the resilience of the human spirit in the face of adversity. Your film has moved me deeply, and I can't wait to see what you create next. Keep pushing boundaries, keep asking tough questions, and most importantly, keep sharing these vital stories with the world. Your voice is important, and it deserves to be heard. R
RIVER TAKE ME (UK) ★★★★
Directed by Edie Deffebach Reviewed by Adrián Pérez In Edie Deffebach's electrifying short film "River Take Me," we are not merely submerged but utterly engulfed in a day-long struggle between two women fighting to salvage their relationship. This short masterpiece is a testament to the power of contained storytelling, evoking the claustrophobic brilliance of Roman Polanski's "Carnage" (2011), the raw intimacy of Noah Baumbach's "Marriage Story" (2019), and the ethereal, water-laden symbolism of Guillermo del Toro's "The Shape of Water" (2017). The thematic exploration in "River Take Me" is a veritable Matryoshka doll of psychological and philosophical concepts. It delves into transgenerational trauma, illustrating how past wounds seep into present actions. The film examines the psychology of forgiveness, questioning whether some betrayals are too monumental to overcome, reminiscent of the moral complexities in John Patrick Shanley's "Doubt" (2008). Furthermore, it probes into the philosophy of identity, asking whether we are defined by our past actions or our present attempts at redemption, echoing the existential quandaries in Lars von Trier's "Melancholia" (2011). Deffebach, wearing the triple hat of writer, director, and actor, demonstrates a remarkable command of the medium. Specific scenes stand out for their raw emotional power and technical brilliance. The morning sequence, ostensibly tender yet laced with underlying tension, brilliantly sets the stage for the impending storm, reminiscent of the deceptive calm in Michael Haneke's "Amour" (2012). The dinner party scene, fraught with unspoken resentments and forced civility, is a masterclass in building dramatic tension. However, it's the climactic argument that truly showcases Deffebach's talents both as a director and an actor. The dialogue crackles with authenticity, each line laden with subtext and years of shared history. The use of water as a recurring motif - from the open window letting in rain to the final confrontation - evokes not only del Toro's "The Shape of Water," but also the fluid, transformative nature of identity as explored in Guillermo del Toro's fantastical romance. On a deeply personal note, what I found most intriguing about "River Take Me" is its unflinching portrayal of the aftermath of infidelity. Deffebach chooses to explore the long-term consequences, the daily struggle to rebuild trust, and the exhausting dance between guilt and resentment. This approach feels refreshingly honest and painfully relatable, striking a chord with anyone who has grappled with betrayal or the weight of their own mistakes. The characters of Emilia and Liv are beautifully realised, their relationship a complex tapestry of love and hurt, creating a dynamic as fascinating as it is heartbreaking. Their struggle reminded me of the complexities explored in Baumbach's "Marriage Story," where the lines between right and wrong, love and resentment, become hopelessly blurred. If there's a message to be gleaned from "River Take Me," it's that healing is not a linear process. The film suggests that true reconciliation requires not only forgiveness but also a willingness to let go of the person we were before the hurt occurred. It's a challenging proposition, one that the film doesn't pretend to have easy answers for, much like the complex emotional landscapes navigated in von Trier's "Melancholia." "River Take Me" announces the arrival of a director with a keen eye for human complexity and a rare ability to translate emotional nuance to the screen. Edie, the raw honesty with which you approach the complexities of relationships and personal growth is both brave and inspiring. As I watched your film, I felt seen in a way that is rare and precious. Your exploration of the messiness of love, the weight of past mistakes, and the struggle for redemption resonated deeply, leaving me both introspective and oddly hopeful. "River Take Me" is not just a film, but a mirror that reflects our most vulnerable selves back to us, inviting us to look unflinchingly at who we are and who we might become. It is, in short, a triumph of cinema as both art and catharsis. S
SH'MA: A STORY OF SURVIVAL (USA) ★★★★
Directed by Suki John Reviewed by Adrián Pérez There are moments in cinema that transcend the boundaries of the screen, reaching out to touch the viewer in profound and unexpected ways. Suki John's "Sh'ma" is one such work - a dance film that doesn't merely depict the Holocaust, but embodies its trauma and resilience through movement. As I watched "Sh'ma", I found myself drawn into a world where the language of the body speaks volumes that words cannot express. John's choreography serves as a conduit for intergenerational pain, each gesture a testament to survival and remembrance. It's a far cry from the narrative approach of Spielberg's "Schindler's List" (1993), yet it carries an emotional weight that is equally, if not more, impactful. One scene in particular has etched itself into my memory: dancers stripped bare in the snow, their vulnerability a stark reminder of the dehumanization suffered by millions. In this moment of raw exposure, the film achieves a level of truth-telling that left me breathless. It evoked the same visceral response I felt watching the relentless journey into darkness in Coppola's "Apocalypse Now" (1979) - a sense of bearing witness to the depths of human experience. While part of me wondered if John could have pushed further into experimental territory - perhaps drawing inspiration from the boundary-pushing body horror of Ducournau's "Titane" (2021) - I realized that "Sh'ma"'s power lies in its restraint. It doesn't seek to shock, but to connect, creating a space for reflection and empathy. The film's integration of dance, theatre, and music reminded me of the sensory assault in Noé's "Climax" (2018), but with a purpose that transcends mere spectacle. Each element in "Sh'ma" works in harmony to create a living, breathing memorial to those lost and those who survived. As the final dancer faded from view, I was left with a question that continues to resonate: How do we carry the weight of history without being crushed by it? "Sh'ma" offers no easy answers, but in its choreography of remembrance, it provides a new way of engaging with this essential question. This is not an easy film to watch, but it is a necessary one. It demands not just our attention, but our engagement, implicating us in its dance of memory. John has created more than a film; she's crafted an experience that lingers long after the screen goes dark, reminding us of the power of art to confront our darkest chapters and find within them a spark of hope. In a world increasingly disconnected from its past, "Sh'ma" serves as a powerful reminder of the body's capacity to carry and communicate history. It stands as a testament to the enduring power of movement to express the inexpressible, heal the unhealable, and ensure that we never forget. 
SOEUR MARIE-ANGE (Lebanon) ★★★★½
Written & Directed by Rami Salloum Reviewed by Adrián Pérez I've become a huge fan of Rami Salloum since discovering him through "Le Poussin Et Les Sourcils." So naturally, I was hyped to see his new picture "Soeur Marie-Ange." All I knew going in was the wild premise: a man infiltrating a convent disguised as a nun. For what reason? Who knows! The concept felt macabre and fresh, and I was eager to see how Salloum would flesh out this high-concept drama. "Le Poussin" particularly placed Salloum on the map for me as one of the most exciting filmmakers of his generation. His daring, risky approach to storytelling sets him apart - I find him more provocative and twisted than any other director working today. "Le Poussin" introduced me to pedophilia through a surprisingly empathetic lens, where a pedophile's partner, upon learning of their "illness," accommodates and plays into their sexual desires. It's this kind of dark storytelling that I devour and love. At its core, "Soeur Marie-Ange" is a Freudian nightmare brought to life. Salloum again teams up with his muse, Joseph Maroun, in what proves to be another powerhouse collaboration. Both aren't afraid to venture where others won't dare, especially in the often-censored Lebanese setting. This fearlessness makes Salloum Lebanon's answer to Almodóvar, but with a distinctly Levantine twist. Maroun is fucking spectacular as Dominique, a haunted son infiltrating a convent to end his dying mother's life. His motivation? Revenge for a childhood ruined by witnessing his "whore mother's" sexual adventures right before his eyes - with her consent, no less. It's an evil thing; no kid should see their parent like that. Maroun's performance is a tour de force, crafting the most minuscule of micro-actions and details. He oscillates between psychopathic determination and childlike vulnerability, dancing between an unstable Joker-like murderer and a deeply wounded man. The ghost of his mother's sexuality still haunts him, yet a complex love persists. Maroun is mesmerising, oozing star power. He's easily one of the most exciting actors working today, in Lebanon and beyond. But the real MVP here is Salloum. He resists the urge to go graphic, instead zeroing in on Dominique's psyche, the drama, the empathy, to the powerful message that no matter how fucked up our mothers are, they're still our mothers, impossible to truly hate. It's a twisted moral, but damn if it isn't riveting. The ending - Dominique's failure to go through with the matricide - is a gut punch about the unbreakable maternal bond. It's a cathartic moment that transcends the darkness, offering a sliver of hope. Is it mercy or weakness? Either way, it's powerful as hell. Part of me wishes Salloum would marry his stories with more graphic and extreme content, but that's not where he shines. He's a master at finding light in the darkest places, treating even the most fucked-up characters with deep respect, not glamourising, fetishising or mocking them in any way. His restraint makes the psychological horror hit harder, leaving our imaginations to fill in the gaps with terrors far worse than anything explicit. "Soeur Marie-Ange" cements Salloum as one of the most exciting filmmakers working today, not just in Lebanon, but globally. In a world dominated by safe, formulaic films, his willingness to dive into the murky depths of the human psyche isn't just refreshing - it's essential. As he continues to hone his craft, one can only anticipate with bated breath what twisted tales this Lebanese maestro will conjure next. Bravo, Salloum, for having the balls to go where others fear to. 
SOMEWHERE BETWEEN HEAVEN AND HELL (USA) ★★★★
Directed by Andrew Librizzi Reviewed by Adrián Pérez “Somewhere Between Heaven And Hell” is a powerful exploration of friendship and hidden truths, brought to life through a masterfully crafted screenplay by Andrew Librizzi, Keith Rushing, Tommy G. Kendrick, and Si Dunn. The film follows William Kell and Drew Smartt, two best friends of forty years, as they embark on a weekend road trip to Hell, LA, only to have their long-held secrets come crashing into the open, threatening to change their lives forever. What sets this film apart is its exceptional script, which brilliantly navigates the complexities of human relationships and the devastating impact of concealed truths. The dialogue is sharp and authentic, capturing the nuances of a decades-long friendship with remarkable accuracy. The script skillfully balances moments of tension, humor, and deep emotional resonance, ensuring that the audience remains engaged and invested in the characters’ journey from start to finish. The narrative is structured in a way that allows the story to unfold organically, with each revelation hitting with the force of a well-placed punch. As the layers of William and Drew’s friendship are peeled back, the audience is drawn deeper into their world, feeling the weight of their secrets and the consequences that follow. The script’s ability to maintain suspense while exploring themes of trust, betrayal, and redemption is a testament to the writers’ collective talent. Librizzi’s direction complements the script perfectly, guiding the cast to deliver performances that are both grounded and compelling. The film benefits from the strong performances of Keith Rushing and Tommy G. Kendrick, whose chemistry on screen adds depth to the narrative and brings the characters’ struggles to life in a way that is both relatable and impactful. In conclusion, “Somewhere Between Heaven And Hell” is a film that stands out for its outstanding screenplay. The writing team has crafted a story that is not only entertaining but also thought-provoking, delving into the intricacies of friendship and the painful truths that can lie beneath the surface. This film is a must-watch for those who appreciate well-written drama that challenges the heart and mind in equal measure. 
SOS HUMANITY: EARTH'S LAST DISTRESS SIGNAL (USA) ★★★★
Directed by Kegan Thomas Witzki Reviewed by Adrián Pérez "SOS Humanity: Earth's Last Distress Signal" is a stellar accomplishment that showcases the extraordinary talents of creator Kegan Thomas Witzki. This immersive podcast transcends typical audio storytelling, rivaling the sonic mastery of cinematic classics like Stanley Kubrick's "2001: A Space Odyssey" (1968). Witzki's multifaceted involvement is nothing short of awe-inspiring. From crafting an ingenious script filled with witty dialogue to expert audio engineering and production, his artistic fingerprints are evident throughout. However, it's Witzki's versatile voice performance as Chip Reynolds that truly catapults this podcast into the stratosphere. Channeling the charismatic charm of Ryan Reynolds, Witzki delivers a vocal tour de force, seamlessly oscillating between endearing naivety and sardonic wit. His ability to create a character that feels deeply human amidst an otherworldly setting is a testament to his exceptional talent. But Witzki's brilliance doesn't stop at voice acting. His singing in the podcast is an unexpected revelation, adding a layer of musicality that elevates the already rich auditory symphony. The depth of Witzki's involvement - simultaneously serving as writer, producer, audio engineer, and lead voice actor - results in a cohesive and fully realized audio universe. This level of creative control allows for a perfectly calibrated balance between story evolution and comedic timing, creating a listening experience that is both intellectually stimulating and genuinely entertaining. Witzki's ability to attract and direct a vast, talented cast further demonstrates his skill as a showrunner, resulting in a diverse array of voices that bring this cosmic story to vibrant life. While "SOS Humanity" presents itself as a comedic journey through space, it has an undeniable thematic depth beyond its most comedic exterior. The podcast's premise serves as a clever allegory for humanity's struggle with self-worth in an indifferent universe, reminiscent of Douglas Adams' "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" in its ability to provoke both laughter and introspection. The immersive quality of Witzki's creation is so potent that it begs for a live-action adaptation, perhaps in the vein of Michel Gondry's "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" (2004) or Spike Jonze's "Her" (2013). Kegan Thomas Witzki, your dedication and multifaceted talent shine through every aspect of this production. "SOS Humanity" is more than just a podcast; it's a vivid, fully-realized universe that serves as a compelling argument for the boundless potential of the medium. Your creation left me not only contemplating my place in the universe but also in awe of your artistic versatility and vision. I eagerly anticipate future episodes and secretly hope for that live-action adaptation to materialise. The best and most original podcast I’ve listened to as of yet, and so deserving of its win during this year’s film festival, congratulations. 
SUNDAY IN THE PARK WITH CLARE (USA) ★★★★
Directed by Johnny Vonneumann Reviewed by Adrián Pérez Johnny Vonneumann’s “Sunday In The Park With Clare” is a deeply emotional and poignant piece that captures a fleeting moment of joy between a grandfather and his granddaughter, Clare, just weeks before a tragic event that would change their lives. This documentary opera, crafted from less than 10 minutes of iPhone footage, is a testament to Vonneumann’s unique ability to transform the ordinary into the extraordinary, using the raw simplicity of everyday life to create something profoundly moving. The film, initially never intended to be made, is centered around a simple yet hauntingly prophetic moment: Clare, a lively three-year-old, repeatedly rubbing her right eye while playing in the park. This seemingly innocuous gesture takes on a chilling significance when, two weeks later, Clare is viciously attacked by a dog, nearly losing the use of that very eye. Vonneumann’s film becomes an emotionally charged love letter from a grandfather to his granddaughter, reassuring her that despite the tragedy, the sun will shine again, and life will return to the joyful innocence of that Sunday in the park. Vonneumann’s expertise in the craft of documentary opera is evident in how he uses the minimal footage to its fullest potential. The choice of music—an integral part of his filmmaking process—serves as the narrative spine, infusing the film with a deep emotional resonance. The combination of the tender visuals and the evocative score creates a powerful juxtaposition of the beauty of life’s fleeting moments and the harsh realities that can suddenly intrude. Despite its brevity and the unintended nature of its creation, “Sunday In The Park With Clare” is a masterclass in how minimalism in filmmaking can convey a wealth of emotion and meaning. Vonneumann’s ability to capture the essence of a moment and then elevate it into something universally relatable is what makes his work stand out in the world of independent cinema. This film is not just a tribute to Clare, but also a poignant reminder of the fragility of life and the enduring strength of love. It speaks to the power of film as a medium for personal expression and emotional healing, and it cements Vonneumann’s reputation as a filmmaker who can find profound beauty and meaning in the most unexpected places. R
RUNDE TO "ROUND TWO" (Norway) ★★★★½
Directed by Frøydis Fossli Moe Reviewed by Adrián Pérez Frøydis Fossli Moe's "Runde To" (Round Two) is a cinematic gem that expertly dissects the labyrinth of modern intimacy with the precision of a master surgeon. In a mere 10 minutes, Moe crafts a vignette so rich and nuanced that it rivals feature-length explorations of similar thematics. The film opens with a hypnotic ascent up a spiral staircase, immediately evoking the secretive encounter of star-crossed lovers. This visual metaphor sets the stage for a night that unfolds with the tender awkwardness of new romance and the weighty consequences of miscommunication. The film's true brilliance lies in its exquisite cinematography, which Moe wields like a painter's brush to impregnate her canvas with much subtextual richness. Each frame is composed with such meticulous attention to detail that it becomes a silent narrator, telling volumes without a single word spoken. The scene where Hanne, portrayed with heartrending vulnerability by Emilie Sofie Johannesen, sits veiled behind a curtain is nothing short of visual poetry. Moe's direction shines brightest in her ability to depict the interiority of her characters through external minutiae. The morning-after scene, bathed in cold light and pregnant pauses, is a masterclass in unspoken tension. It's in these moments that "Runde To" transcends its short film format, delivering an emotional impact that lingers in the mind long after the final frame. The film's exploration of consent and its aftermath is handled with a sensitivity and nuance that puts many feature films to shame, marking Moe as a filmmaker of exceptional promise and vision. It's a great short that manages one of the hardest things I demand from film directors: depicting the character's interiority and mental subjectivity, peeking into their psyche in high stakes moments. Here we take a peek into quite a big issue that many women endure - consent, and the aftermath of that transgression. We're left with the cold sweat of the day Hanne has ahead to endure, to ensure she doesn't fall pregnant, day ruined. While I feel the transgression was underplayed compared to scenes in "The Most Beautiful" (2020) directed by Rachel Irene Wilke, and "Un Amor" (2023) directed by Isabel Coixet, the subtlety adds to the film's haunting power. The triumph of "Runde To" lies in starting like a fairytale and ending like a nightmare. The visual transition throughout is mesmerising - this short film feels like a snowball you can shake in your hand, at first beautiful and enchanting to look at, and once the snow has settled, it all seems rather unmagical. It's a modern Romeo & Juliet, more savage and fitting for our times, lifting the veil on the reality of romantic encounters. To Frøydis Fossli Moe and her team: you have created something truly extraordinary. Your courage in tackling the phenomenological hermeneutics of embodied consent, the liminality and ontological insecurity in intimate temporality, and the post-structural feminist critique of heteronormative performativity with unflinching honesty is commendable, and your artistic execution is nothing short of sublime. As a woman filmmaker navigating an industry that often marginalises female voices, your work stands as a beacon of authenticity and artistic integrity. The struggle to be heard, to have your vision realised, and to shed light on the often-overlooked nuances of female experience is palpable in every frame of "Runde To." This film marks you as a voice that cinema desperately needs. Continue to create with such passion and precision – the world is waiting for more stories told through your unique and powerful lens. Your journey as a filmmaker is an inspiration to aspiring women directors everywhere, proving that the most profound stories often come from those who have had to fight the hardest to tell them. T
DEACON PHILLIPPE - TALK (USA) ★★★★
Directed by Zishan Sun Reviewed by Adrián Pérez In the ever-evolving realm of music videography, Deacon Phillippe's visual accompaniment to "TALK" emerges as a poignant exploration of emotional vulnerability and the quest for authentic connection. Directed, written, and executive-produced by the talented Zishan Sun, this cinematic venture serves as a symbolic odyssey through the fragmented psyche of an artist grappling with the complexities of love and self-expression. At its core, the video powerfully illustrates a universal truth: no matter how famous or wealthy one becomes, the same fears of rejection and emotional wounds endured as a young child persist, reminding us that success does not immunise against the fundamental human need for genuine connection and acceptance. The video's story, beautifully shot by Ari Isenberg, takes us on a journey that mirrors the emotional terrain of Phillippe's lyrics. The opening sequence, with its intrusive paparazzi obstructing Phillippe's path to his romantic interest, immediately establishes a sense of disconnect and longing that permeates the entire piece. As Phillippe finds himself transported to a forest, unable to reach his love interest, we're transitioned from the chaotic world of fame to the solitude of nature, creating a powerful contrast that underscores the internal struggle between public persona and private emotions. This duality echoes the thematic depth of Taylor Swift's "Reputation" era (2017), which explored the dichotomy between public perception and personal reality. Simultaneously, the forestal setting evokes the mystical and introspective atmosphere of Swift's "Folklore" (2020), providing a backdrop of isolation and self-reflection that amplifies the emotional weight of Phillippe's journey. The transition to the stark white scene with three doors is particularly striking, evoking Stanley Kubrick's iconic "2001: A Space Odyssey" (1968) monolith scene. Each door, revealing different versions of Phillippe at various ages, serves as a Jungian exploration of the self. The image of young Phillippe alone in his room, surrounded by music, resonates with the isolation often experienced by artists and recalls the bedroom pop aesthetic popularised by artists like Billie Eilish and Clairo. Interspersed throughout are scenes of Phillippe performing against a neon-lit white backdrop, creating a stark contrast to the narrative sequences. The video's climax, where present-day Phillippe embraces his younger self, is a powerful visual metaphor for self-acceptance and healing. Lyrically, "TALK" delves into themes of communication breakdown, emotional dependency, and the cyclical nature of toxic relationships. Lines like "And if I come back once, she already one / So every time I'm down / I always hit her up" encapsulate the struggle of breaking free from unhealthy patterns. The repeated motif of talking to the moon suggests a sense of isolation and the futile attempt to communicate with someone who's no longer there. What sets this video apart is its ability to balance commercial appeal with artistic integrity. While the aesthetics are polished and visually striking, there's an underlying current of vulnerability and introspection that elevates it beyond mere eye candy. Phillippe's performance, both musically and visually, showcases a maturity beyond his years, hinting at a promising career trajectory. In the pantheon of recent music videos exploring similar themes, "TALK" stands alongside works like Billie Eilish's "everything i wanted" (2020) and The Weeknd's "Save Your Tears" (2020) in its ability to create a fully realised visual world that complements and enhances the music. As Phillippe continues to carve out his niche in the industry with his debut album "A NEW EARTH," "TALK" serves as a compelling artistic statement. In an era where music videos often prioritise style over substance, Phillippe and his creative team, including producers Grey Smoley, Jonathan Sim, and Hannah Qin, have crafted a work that satisfies both the eye and the mind, promising an intriguing future for this emerging artist. 
THANK YOU (Israel) ★★★½
Directed by Roy Shellef Reviewed by Adrián Pérez Roy Shellef's "Thank You" is a mesmerising prelude to his later work "On The Line", offering viewers a tantalising glimpse into the director's evolving artistic vision. Where "On The Line" dissects the painful unravelling of a relationship with surgical precision, "Thank You" luxuriates in the intoxicating early stages of romantic possibility. The juxtaposition of these two shorts creates a poignant diptych of love's journey - from starry-eyed beginnings to potentially heartbreaking ends. The film's visual language is nothing short of poetic. Shellef bathes his frames in a monochromatic palette reminiscent of classic film noir, evoking the chiaroscuro of Carol Reed's "The Third Man" (1949). This aesthetic choice lends an air of mystery and seduction to every scene, perfectly complementing the protagonist's poetic sensibilities. The director's ability to infuse seemingly naturalistic urban landscapes with a touch of magic calls to mind the dreamy cityscapes of Leos Carax's "Holy Motors" (2012). As our poet-hero and his date, Laura, share an intimate dinner in what appears to be Paris, Shellef pivots brilliantly. The scene shifts from noir-ish monochrome to a warm, multi-coloured palette, mirroring the emotional thaw between the characters. This transition echoes the technique used in Krzysztof Kieślowski's "Three Colours: Blue" (1993), where colour becomes a powerful emotional signifier. The clinking of wine glasses and the soft murmur of conversation create an almost tactile sense of romantic possibility. The film's denouement returns us to the monochromatic world, but with a twist. As snow falls gently around the couple, there's an undeniable ethereal quality to the scene. This moment, suspended between the real and the magical, brings to mind the delicate balance struck in Michel Gondry's "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" (2004). It's as if Shellef is suggesting that even in the midst of urban reality, love has the power to conjure moments of transcendent beauty. Roy, what a journey you've taken us on with these two films! In "Thank You", you've captured the exhilarating naivety of new love - the butterflies, the possibilities, the sheer romance of it all. It's a beautiful counterpoint to the raw, painful honesty of "On The Line". Together, they form a complex, nuanced exploration of relationships that belies your years. Your growth as a filmmaker is evident, yet even in this earlier work, your unique voice shines through. The way you use visual language to express emotional states is truly remarkable. As you continue to hone your craft, I urge you to keep exploring these contrasts - the light and the dark, the beginnings and the endings. Your ability to find poetry in both the bloom of love and its wilting is a rare gift. Keep nurturing it, Roy. The world of cinema is richer for having your voice in it. 
THE ANGE AND ADDI SHOW (USA) ★★★★
Directed by Dustin James Leighton Reviewed by Adrián Pérez Dustin James Leighton's "The Ange and Addi Show" is a bizarre blend of infomercial and sitcom that feels like the lovechild of "The Office" and QVC, raised by "Saturday Night Live." Created for Legend Brands, this web series showcases Leighton's extraordinary range as he pivots from his ethereal mind-bender "Lostless" (2023) to slapstick comedy with the finesse of a true auteur. Through a high-speed odyssey of office hijinks and product demonstrations, Leighton transforms the staid world of cleaning and restoration equipment into a playground for comedy, his keen eye for visual gags and impeccable timing elevating every product placement to new heights of hilarity. At the heart of the show are the cleaning and restoration sales reps Ange and Addi, brought to life by the phenomenal performances of Jade Soto and Jaclyn Hamric. Soto's portrayal of Ange is nothing short of revelatory, her impeccable comic timing and nuanced take on the 'girly girl' archetype a masterclass in comedic acting. The chemistry between Soto and Hamric crackles with energy, their rivalry reminiscent of the absurdist competitiveness in Guy Maddin's "Rumours" (2024), but with more talk about extraction perimeters and LGR 6000 Li Dehumidifiers. The cast commits fully to the absurdity, from worshipping HVE 3000s to parodying hyper-masculine infomercials. Dustin's intervention as Jax is understatedly hilarious, rounding out a team that delivers laughs with every exaggerated sales pitch. Visually, the show is executed flawlessly – if your eyes have developed a particular appetite for cleaning equipment glamour shots. The decision to present these products on literal pedestals atop office desks is *chef's kiss* perfection. It's all very meta, weird, and oddly compelling. As for its impact, will "The Ange and Addi Show" revolutionise the world of branded content? Who knows. But there's something refreshing about a show in this specific branded realm willing to get its hands dirty for a laugh. With Leighton's innovative direction and Soto's star-making performance leading the charge, this series is a triumph of creativity over convention – a cleaning product commercial that leaves you feeling thoroughly entertained. Boldly Bizarre and Persistently Playful. 
THE GIRL WITH THE FORK (UK) ★★★★
Directed by Ignacio Maiso Reviewed by Adrián Pérez Ignacio Maiso's "The Girl with the Fork" (2024) is a mesmerising psychological thriller that unravels like a cryptic puzzle, inviting viewers into a world where guilt, memory, and retribution intertwine in a complex web of human culpability. Echoing the narrative intricacies of Richard Kelly's "Donnie Darko" (2001) and the psychological depths of Denis Villeneuve's "Enemy" (2013), Maiso crafts a non-linear narrative that follows Anna (Rebecca Calienda) as she receives enigmatic messages after her husband's disappearance, and Paul (Paul Dewdney), a grieving widower caring for his daughter Celia. These seemingly disparate threads are masterfully woven together by a mysterious organisation that forces characters to confront their buried pasts, evoking the existential dread of Yorgos Lanthimos's "The Killing of a Sacred Deer" (2017). Maiso's directorial style is a triumph of atmospheric storytelling, reminiscent of the uncanny ambiance in Jonathan Glazer's "Under the Skin" (2013). The cinematography, evocative of Tom Hooper's signature style in "The King's Speech" (2010), elevates the surroundings to the status of a character, creating an omnipresent sense of looming danger. This visual approach, coupled with Fernando Gimeno's hauntingly effective score, constructs a palpable tension that permeates every frame, akin to the unsettling soundscape of "Under the Skin". Calienda's performance as Anna is nothing short of transcendent, bringing a compelling vulnerability and strength to her role that recalls the nuanced complexity of Florence Pugh in Olivia Wilde's "Don't Worry Darling" (2022). Her scenes with Dewdney crackle with tension, particularly when they come face to face in a moment of electrifying revelation, showcasing a masterclass in restrained yet powerful acting. The film's thematic explorations are both timely and timeless, delving into the psychology of anamnesis and the human tendency to engage in mnemic repression. It touches on concepts of collective anagnorisis and the nature of restorative justice, evoking the philosophical depths of Andrei Tarkovsky's "Stalker" (1979). The recurring motif of the fork as a domestic weapon passed down through generations adds a layer of symbolic depth to the proceedings, reminiscent of the iconic tennis balls in Michael Haneke's "Funny Games" (1997). In an age of constant surveillance and digital footprints, "The Girl with the Fork" serves as a chilling reminder of the inescapability of our past actions, no matter how deeply buried in our subconscious. One of the most intriguing aspects of the film is its exploration of societal domino effects. The concept of a secret organisation that avenges forgotten sins is fascinatingly realised, raising questions about accountability and the nature of retributive justice. The confined "trials" in living rooms where characters are forced to confront their past misdeeds are particularly effective, echoing the claustrophobic tension of "Funny Games". Paul Dewdney's performance in these scenes is a tour de force, his silent grief speaking volumes and evoking comparisons to the restrained power of Jake Gyllenhaal's dual roles in "Enemy". While some viewers may find the slow-burn pacing challenging, those who appreciate cinema that demands active engagement will find "The Girl with the Fork" richly rewarding, much like the works of Béla Tarr or Apichatpong Weerasethakul. In conclusion, "The Girl with the Fork" is a triumph of independent filmmaking, showcasing Maiso's growth as an auteur and his ability to attract top-tier talent to his high-concept thrillers, let’s not forget the magnetic supporting performances of Dylan Baldwin and Francesca Hayman. Maiso has proven himself the undisputed king of slow-burn labyrinthine cinematic thrillers, crafting a film that is both visually stunning and intellectually challenging. It's reminiscent of the works of David Lynch and Luis Buñuel, yet distinctly his own, marking him as one of the most exciting directors of his generation. While it may leave some questions unanswered, it's precisely this ambiguity that will have viewers discussing and dissecting the film long after it's over, cementing its place in the pantheon of psychological thrillers that continue to haunt and challenge us long after they’re over. Ignacio, you’re on top form. Keep spooking us, you’re in a league of your own. 
THE HEATHEN SHANE STEVENS (USA) ★★★★
Directed by Benjamin Mulhern Reviewed by Adrián Pérez Benjamin Mulhern's directorial debut "The Heathen Shane Stevens" serves up a tantalising premise that could potentially sizzle with the intensity of "The Bear" (2022-present). The series follows Shane Stevens, a covert atheist hired to revitalise a struggling theatre program at a bible camp - a setup ripe with comedic potential and profound questions about faith and identity. The potential for this series is huge, presenting a super interesting character study that probes the complex interplay between belief and scepticism in contemporary America. However, like a dish that needs more time in the oven, the pilot episode leaves viewers hungry for more. Alan Arias brings an infectiously charismatic presence to Shane Stevens, reminiscent of Jeremy Allen White's Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto. The show has strong legs, with room to grow even stronger in terms of editing, pacing, and tempo-rhythm. There's a more artistic side to this show waiting to be unleashed, one where the dialogue is less expositional and the visual storytelling speaks volumes. From a psychoanalytical perspective, the show brilliantly delves into concepts such as terror management theory and cognitive decoupling in maintaining contradictory belief systems. The intrapsychic conflicts arising from Shane's covert atheism in a deeply religious environment offer a feast for the mind. The current script shows great promise, with potential for even more artistic flair. Mulhern's unique background, straddling Irish Catholic and Reform Jewish influences, isn't just a footnote - it's the secret ingredient that could make this show truly extraordinary. The raw talent and vision displayed in this pilot are nothing short of remarkable. This series has the potential to change the landscape of television comedy. Drawing inspiration from the striking visual storytelling of "The White Lotus" (2021) and the irreverent yet profound approach of "Fleabag" (2016-2019), while maintaining its unique perspective, "The Heathen Shane Stevens" crafts scenarios that are both funny and deeply relatable. While the pilot may leave some viewers wanting more, the potential for this series to become both hilarious and deeply meaningful is immense. As Mulhern continues to develop the show, audiences can look forward to seeing how he amplifies the stakes, sharpens the humor, and delves deeper into the complexities of faith and hypocrisy in modern America. For those intrigued by smart, character-driven comedy with a dash of religious satire, "The Heathen Shane Stevens" is definitely a show to keep on your radar. While the pilot may not fully satisfy, it offers a taste of what could become a truly extraordinary series. This could be the start of something special in the world of television comedy. It's no wonder that this promising pilot was deservedly awarded the Best Series Pilot category at our Lonely Wolf International Film Festival, recognising its potential to bloom into a standout series. 
THE 'JACOB' TRILOGY (USA) ★★★★
Directed by Jason Pfister Reviewed by Adrián Pérez In Jason Pfister's directorial debut, "Jacob's Dream," we are thrust into a labyrinthine exploration of loss, identity, and the elusive nature of truth. The 'Jacob' trilogy unravels the psyche of its young protagonist with a deft touch that belies Pfister's nascent filmmaking career. The film's thematic core orbits around the Jungian concept of individuation, as Jacob (portrayed with disarming authenticity by Jakoby King) navigates the treacherous waters of his own subconscious. Stylistically, "Jacob's Dream" draws inspiration from a diverse array of cinematic influences. The dreamlike quality of the narrative evokes comparisons to Chloé Zhao's "Nomadland" (2020), where the line between reality and inner landscape often blurs, while the visual poetry of certain sequences calls to mind the work of Charlotte Wells in "Aftersun" (2022). One of the most captivating aspects of the film is Jason Pfister's own performance as the enigmatic messenger in Jacob's dreams. His presence on screen is magnetic, reminiscent of the quietly devastating performance by Paul Mescal in "Aftersun". Pfister's portrayal evokes a fascinating blend of Franz Rogowski's ethereal presence as Bird in Andrea Arnold's Cannes-selected "Bird" (2024) and the whimsical charm of James McAvoy's Mr Tumnus in Andrew Adamson's "The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe" (2005). Pfister brings a nuanced complexity to the role that elevates it beyond mere plot device, embodying the Jungian concept of the 'wise old man' archetype with subtle grace. Indeed, Pfister is oozing star power, highlighting his potential to become a formidable presence in front of the camera. While Pfister's directorial prowess is still developing, his innate storytelling ability shines through. The film trilogy as a whole is remarkably cohesive and impressive, especially considering it's Pfister's directorial debut. The level of competence displayed in crafting this interconnected narrative is truly commendable. However, there's room for growth. The film occasionally leans too heavily on dialogue to convey its themes, but there are moments of pure visual storytelling that hint at Pfister's potential to create truly transcendent cinema. Going forward, Pfister should aim for greater artistic depth, relying less on dialogue and more on visual storytelling. By delving deeper into the characters' psyche and employing visual poetry, metaphors, and even elements of surrealism, Pfister could elevate his work to new heights. "Jacob's Dream" is not without its flaws, but it is precisely these imperfections that make it such a compelling work. Like its protagonist, the film is on a journey of self-discovery, and watching Pfister navigate this artistic coming-of-age is a privilege. His willingness to take risks and push boundaries is commendable. While Pfister's performance outshines his direction at this stage, this should serve not as discouragement, but as motivation to continue honing his craft behind the camera. Pfister's passion and dedication are evident in every frame of this film, and I eagerly anticipate watching his growth as both an actor and a visual poet. 
THE LAST WITNESS (UK) ★★★★½
Directed by Piotr Szkopiak Reviewed by Adrián Pérez Piotr Szkopiak's "The Last Witness" is a cinematic triumph of historiographic metafiction, intricately weaving a mosaic of post-war ennui and geopolitical machinations. This sophomore feature excavates the buried trauma of the Katyn Massacre with the precision of an archaeological dig, while simultaneously constructing a labyrinthine narrative that echoes the paranoid cinema of the 1970s. Szkopiak's directorial acumen manifests in his ability to transmute historical minutiae into a palpable miasma of dread, reminiscent of both Emerald Fennell's "Promising Young Woman" (2020) and Leigh Whannell's "The Invisible Man" (2020) in its exploration of systemic corruption and the gaslighting of truth-seekers. The film's thematic core grapples with weighty concepts: the Derridean notion of 'archive fever', the Foucauldian interplay of power and knowledge, and the Lacanian concept of the 'Real' breaking through societal constructs. Alex Pettyfer's portrayal of Stephen Underwood is a masterclass in understated anguish, his performance a palimpsest of repressed trauma and dogged determination. The shocking denouement, which I won't reveal here to keep the critique spoiler-free, serves as a brutal anagnorisis, shattering not only the protagonist's quest but also the audience's expectations of narrative resolution. This moment resonates with the haunting atmospheric tension of Luca Guadagnino's "Suspiria" (2018), where the weight of history bears down on the present with crushing force. Cinematographically, Szkopiak demonstrates a preternatural understanding of visual storytelling. His use of chiaroscuro lighting and claustrophobic framing creates a mise-en-scène redolent of film noir, while the muted colour palette evokes the aesthetic of Martin McDonagh's "The Banshees of Inisherin" (2022). The attention to period detail is meticulous, with each frame a tableau vivant of post-war Britain. This verisimilitude extends beyond the visual, permeating the film's soundscape, where the diegetic sounds of a nation still reeling from conflict underscore the dialogue with an almost subliminal potency. At its heart, "The Last Witness" is a profound meditation on the nature of truth in a post-truth world. Szkopiak's script, co-written with Paul Szambowski, navigates the perilous currents of historical revisionism with the dexterity of a seasoned helmsman. The film's exploration of journalistic integrity in the face of institutionalised deceit feels particularly prescient, drawing parallels with contemporary works like Darren Aronofsky's "The Whale" (2022) and Mark Mylod's "The Menu" (2022) in its unflinching examination of personal sacrifice and the corrosive nature of systemic lies. Moreover, like Todd Field's "Tár" (2022), it offers an incisive examination of power structures and their capacity for self-preservation. Piotr, your passion for cinema blazes through every frame of "The Last Witness", leaving me profoundly moved. This isn't just a film; it's a declaration of your artistic voice, a quantum leap that belies your modest budget. Your courage in tackling such weighty material while maintaining a deeply human core is remarkable. You've not only honored history but created a work that speaks urgently to our present. Watching this, I felt the thrill of discovering a true auteur finding their voice. Your assured direction and nuanced storytelling mark you as a filmmaker not just to watch, but to cherish. I find myself genuinely excited for your future works, envious of those who will experience your stories for the first time. Bravo, Piotr. Truly, bravo. 
THE RABBLE (Israel) ★★★★
Directed by Tim Polomani Reviewed by Adrián Pérez In the ever-shifting terrain of dystopian cinema, Tim Polomani's "The Rabble" (2024) emerges as a curious artifact - a film that simultaneously intrigues and frustrates, much like Yorgos Lanthimos' recent "Kinds of Kindness" (2023) in its more enigmatic moments. Polomani, a multi-hyphenate filmmaker in the vein of Robert Rodriguez, wears the hats of director, writer, and producer, even making a metafictional appearance as a narrator-slash-director that would make Bertolt Brecht nod in approval. The film's premise - a dystopian society where academic institutions mandate an extra year of study - initially evokes memories of Lee Chang-dong's "Burning" (2018) in its simmering exploration of youth disillusionment, filtered through the lens of Jordan Peele's "Us" (2019) in its attempt to create an allegorical dystopia. However, unlike those films' richly realised worlds, "The Rabble" struggles to fully flesh out its dystopian canvas. The stakes, crucial in any speculative fiction, feel oddly muted. One can't help but wonder: what if, instead of an extra year of study, the consequences were far more dire? What if students were forced into a decade of solitary academic confinement, with secret executions for those who fail to meet the grade? Such heightened stakes could transform this academic dystopia into a truly chilling reflection of societal pressures and institutional power gone awry. Stylistically, "The Rabble" shows promise. The tempo-rhythm and directorial pacing, while not always cohesive, demonstrate Polomani's potential. A particularly striking scene - a warm-lit composition of the three rebels scheming in a flat - calls to mind the neon-soaked aesthetics of Nicolas Winding Refn's "The Neon Demon" (2016). The cast, especially Diana Fleyer as Liana, brings a captivating energy to their roles, managing to shine despite the linguistic hurdles they face. Indeed, the decision to film in English rather than the cast's native Hebrew proves to be a double-edged sword. While ambitious, it results in dialogue that often feels clunky, reminiscent of Julia Ducournau's "Titane" (2021) in its prioritisation of mood over verbal clarity. This linguistic barrier, coupled with the disjointed transitions between scenes, creates a sense of narrative whiplash. We're left wondering how Liana and Ms. Plotnik develop such a close bond so quickly, or how Bob and his secret organisation fit into this academic rebellion. Yet, for all its flaws, there's something undeniably compelling about "The Rabble". Polomani's love for the craft is palpable, echoing the passion of early Xavier Dolan or Ari Aster. The Brechtian breaking of the fourth wall, where Polomani as the "director" interacts with the cast to reset the story, is a bold choice that adds a layer of metafictional complexity to an otherwise straightforward narrative. Ultimately, "The Rabble" feels like a first draft of what could be a more impactful film. Its circular structure, ending where it begins, leaves us questioning the journey we've just witnessed. While it may not fully succeed in its ambitious aims, it marks Polomani as a filmmaker to watch. Tim, I want you to know that "The Rabble" enchanted me. It pulses with an unquestionable passion, your fingerprints all over this picture. Sure, it's not perfect, but the potential here is electrifying. I can't wait to see what you do next, I have a feeling you're going to blow us all away. Every frame of "The Rabble" screams that you belong in the film industry. Your voice matters. Your stories matter. Keep pushing boundaries, keep challenging us, keep being you. I'm rooting for you. Can't wait for your next one. Keep that fire burning. THE SAVAGE TRAVELLER (France) ★★★★
Written by Jerome Rimbaud Reviewed by Adrián Pérez Jerome Rimbaud's "The Savage Traveller" is a cinematic fever dream that marries the eco-warrior spirit of "Avatar" with the primal awakening of "Apocalypse Now." This screenplay dares to ask: What if Tyler Durden went green and decided to fight Big Oil instead of credit card companies? Our protagonist, Steve Foster, begins as a corporate cipher in a sterile megalopolis that would make Fritz Lang's "Metropolis" look like a cozy cottage. But when his activist parents mysteriously combust (in a scene that channels the fiery tension of "Backdraft" meets "Erin Brockovich"), Steve embarks on a hero's journey that would make Joseph Campbell sit up and take notice. Rimbaud's script is a veritable Rorschach test of genre-blending. It's part eco-thriller, part action spectacle, with a dash of psychedelic vision quest thrown in for good measure. The narrative arc bends towards justice like a tree reaching for sunlight through a canopy of corruption. The screenplay's strength lies in its audacious world-building. The juxtaposition of the antiseptic urban sprawl against the wild, untamed forest creates a visual and thematic chiaroscuro that practically leaps off the page. One can almost hear the dissonant score shifting from electronic bleeps to primal drums as Steve transitions between these worlds. However, like a sapling reaching for the sky, this script still needs some pruning to reach its full potential. The dialogue occasionally veers into the realm of eco-preaching, risking to turn characters into mouthpieces rather than fully-fleshed beings. A touch more subtlety in the messaging could elevate this from a good script to a great one. The action sequences, particularly the commando team's ill-fated forest excursion, crackle with tension. It's "Predator" meets "Deliverance," with a dash of "The Blair Witch Project" thrown in for good measure. These scenes showcase Rimbaud's potential for crafting visceral, heart-pounding setpieces. Thematically, "The Savage Traveller" is as dense as the forest it partly inhabits. It grapples with man's disconnection from nature, the corrupting influence of unchecked capitalism, and the thin veneer of civilisation that separates us from our primal selves. In Steve's journey, we see shades of Kurtz from "Heart of Darkness," but with an eco-warrior twist that feels timely in our era of climate crisis. The screenplay's climax, where Steve fully embraces his "savage" nature, is a tour de force of symbolic imagery. It's part "Apocalypse Now," part "The Emerald Forest," with a sprinkle of "Mad Max: Fury Road" for good measure. The sudden shift in weather during the final confrontation feels like nature itself is rising up to pass judgment, creating a mythic quality that elevates the entire third act. While the character arcs could use some fine-tuning - Steve's transformation occasionally feels more like a light switch than a dimmer - the bones of a compelling psychological journey are there. With some development, Steve could join the pantheon of memorable eco-warriors alongside Dances with Wolves' John Dunbar or "Princess Mononoke's" San. "The Savage Traveller" is a bold, ambitious script that swings for the fences. It doesn't always connect, but when it does, it hits with the force of a redwood falling in a silent forest. With some refinement, particularly in character development and dialogue, this screenplay has the potential to be a thought-provoking, visually stunning piece of cinema. In the end, Rimbaud's script is a primal scream against the machine, a call to return to our roots that resonates in our increasingly disconnected world. It's "Fight Club" for the Extinction Rebellion generation, and while it may not be perfect, it's precisely the kind of audacious, genre-bending storytelling that cinema needs. So, should this script be produced? With some polishing, absolutely. In a world of cookie-cutter blockbusters, "The Savage Traveller" offers a wild, untamed alternative. It's a journey into the heart of darkness that just might shed some light on our own savage natures. 
THE TIN WOODS (USA) ★★★★
Directed by Nick Boxwell Reviewed by Adrián Pérez “The Tin Woods,” directed by Nick Boxwell, is a visually stunning stop-motion short film that delves deep into the origins of the Tin Woodman from L. Frank Baum’s original Oz books. This remarkable piece, which marks Boxwell’s debut in stop-motion filmmaking, tells the poignant story of self-discovery and rebirth through the lens of a beloved character. The narrative begins as the Tin Woodman stumbles upon an abandoned cabin, only to discover his original head—a chilling and profound moment that sets the tone for the film. Through this discovery, the film explores themes of trauma, identity, and the process of reconstructing oneself after life-altering experiences. The Tin Woodman’s journey is both literal and metaphorical, as he confronts the fragmented pieces of his past and navigates the complex emotions tied to his transformation into a being made entirely of tin Boxwell’s work in “The Tin Woods” can be seen as a compelling blend of Guillermo Del Toro’s dark, fantastical storytelling and Tim Burton’s signature gothic whimsy. The film captures the eerie beauty and emotional depth often associated with Del Toro, particularly in the way it handles themes of identity and the grotesque. Much like Del Toro’s “Pan’s Labyrinth” or “The Shape of Water,” “The Tin Woods” doesn’t shy away from exploring the darker aspects of its fantastical world, instead using them to enrich the emotional resonance of the story. At the same time, there’s a clear nod to Tim Burton’s influence, especially in the film’s visual aesthetic. The use of stop-motion animation, reminiscent of Burton’s “The Nightmare Before Christmas” and “Corpse Bride,” gives “The Tin Woods” a tactile, almost haunting quality. The character design and the atmospheric settings evoke the quirky yet unsettling charm that is a hallmark of Burton’s work. Boxwell and co-producer Mattzilla Duron, who has worked on renowned projects like “Guillermo Del Toro's Pinocchio” and “Kubo and the Two Strings,” successfully blend these influences to create a film that feels both familiar and entirely unique. “The Tin Woods” has garnered significant acclaim on the festival circuit, earning awards such as Best Animation Director at the Indie Director Awards in Los Angeles and Best Story at the LGBTQ+ Los Angeles Film Festival. The film’s innovative use of stop-motion and its emotionally compelling narrative have also earned it accolades for Best Animated Short at multiple festivals, including the Feel the Reel International Film Festival and Shared Visions Film Festival. In conclusion, “The Tin Woods” is a masterful debut that showcases Nick Boxwell’s talent for storytelling and his ability to evoke deep emotion through the medium of stop-motion animation. By merging the narrative depth of Guillermo Del Toro with the visual charm of Tim Burton, Boxwell has created a film that is both visually enchanting and thematically profound. “The Tin Woods” is a must-see for fans of animation and anyone who appreciates stories of identity, transformation, and the human (or tin) experience. 
TRUTH IS STRANGER THAN FICTION,
A COMING OF AGE SELFIE FILM (USA) · ★★★★ Directed by Dr. Barbara Becker Holstein Reviewed by Adrián Pérez Amidst the cacophony of voices clamouring for attention in the indie film circuit, Dr Barbara Holstein's "Truth is Stranger Than Fiction" emerges as a curious specimen - part confessional video diary, part psychological case study, and entirely experimental. As a psychologist-turned-filmmaker, Holstein brings a unique perspective to the table, one that both illuminates and occasionally stumbles in its exploration of adolescent trauma and resilience. Her choice to embrace "selfie filmmaking" is undoubtedly the film's most striking feature, echoing the found-footage revolution of Daniel Myrick and Eduardo Sánchez's "The Blair Witch Project" (1999), but reimagined for the Instagram generation. This approach creates an intimacy that's both the film's greatest strength and its most significant challenge. Megan Brown's performance as "the Girl" benefits immensely from this format, delivering a raw authenticity that might have been lost in a more traditional setup. However, the selfie format also constraints the film's visual language, at times feeling less like cinema and more like scrolling through a particularly intense TikTok feed. Holstein's background in psychology is evident throughout the film, sometimes to its detriment. There are moments when "Truth is Stranger Than Fiction" teeters dangerously close to feeling like a well-meaning PSA about teen mental health. The dialogue occasionally veers into territory that feels more educational than narrative, reminding us of the thin line between depicting trauma and explaining it. Yet, it's precisely this psychological insight that gives the film its unique flavour. Holstein's clinical eye lends weight to the portrayal of adolescent struggles, touching on issues of identity formation, collective trauma, and the digital self with a depth rarely seen in coming-of-age stories. The Brechtian touch of adding a flashback bubble during key moments, while conceptually interesting, often breaks the very intimacy the format strives to create. This experimental approach, however, speaks to Holstein's willingness to push boundaries and explore new territories in filmmaking. Her monologue about school shootings, in particular, hits with the force of a confessional video never meant to be seen, showcasing the potential of this unconventional format when it aligns perfectly with content. Dr. Holstein, your transition from psychologist to filmmaker is nothing short of inspiring. "Truth is Stranger Than Fiction" may not be a perfect film, but it's an important one. As you continue on this path, I urge you to push even further. Trust in the power of visual storytelling. Let the silences speak as loudly as the words. Don't be afraid to strip away exposition and let your audience work to unpack the layers of meaning. Your unique perspective as a psychologist-turned-filmmaker is your greatest asset - use it not just to inform your content, but to revolutionise your form. The world of cinema needs voices like yours - voices that aren't afraid to challenge conventions and explore new territories. "Truth is Stranger Than Fiction" may be an imperfect film, but it's an exciting precursor of what's to come. I, for one, am eagerly awaiting your next cinematic session. 
TILL THE END OF THE WORLD (Israel) ★★★★
Directed by Eyal Reginiano Reviewed by Adrián Pérez Eyal Reginiano's "Till the End of the World" is a tour de force that left me utterly spellbound. This five-minute odyssey through Israel's history isn't just a music video; it's a philosophical treatise, a fever dream, and a love letter to a complex nation all rolled into one mesmerising package. From the moment I pressed play, I was transported into Reginiano's world - a kaleidoscopic vision where newspaper clippings dance with surreal fish, and the tumult of history crashes like waves against the hull of a symbolic ship. As a self-taught virtuoso who's mastered everything from folk to jazz, Reginiano's musical journey has clearly prepared him for this magnum opus. His ability to weave together disparate genres finds its visual counterpart in the AI-generated imagery, which he wields with the precision of a master painter. The film's exploration of national identity and collective memory reminded me of Chris Marker's "Sans Soleil" (1983), but Reginiano adds his own distinctly Israeli flavour to the mix. There's a moment where we see an artist sketching fish anatomy that's so hauntingly beautiful, it could be a lost scene from Darren Aronofsky's "Pi" (1998). Yet, unlike Aronofsky's monochrome madness, Reginiano's palette is as vibrant and varied as Tel Aviv's Carmel Market on a Friday morning. What truly sets this work apart is Reginiano's intelligent use of AI. In less capable hands, AI-generated imagery can feel cold and disconnected. But here, it serves to heighten the surrealism, creating a dreamscape that's paradoxically more human, more emotionally resonant. It's as if Reginiano has found a way to visualise the collective unconscious of Israel itself. Eyal, my friend, you've outdone yourself. From your early days in Ramat Hasharon to winning the Rimon College composers contest, from "My Unpolished Diamond" to this shining gem, you've shown us time and again the depth of your talent. But "Till the End of the World" is something special. It's evident that musically and cinematographically, you're operating at the peak of your powers. Your journey from folk albums to this avant-garde masterpiece is nothing short of inspirational. This film isn't just a testament to your growth as an artist; it's a beacon for all creators wrestling with big ideas and new technologies. You've shown us that AI, in the hands of a true artist, can be a tool for deepening our understanding of the human experience, not distancing us from it. In a cultural moment where the discourse around AI and art is often fraught with anxiety, you've given us a work that's both technically impressive and deeply soulful. It's a reminder that no matter how advanced our tools become, the human touch - your touch, Eyal - remains irreplaceable. "Till the End of the World" is more than deserving of its accolades, and I, for one, can't wait to see where your artistic journey takes you next. You've made your country proud, you've impressed this jaded critic, and most importantly, you've created something truly beautiful. Bravo, Eyal. Bravo. V
VESSEL (USA) ★★★★
Directed by Sheldon A Woodson Reviewed by Adrián Pérez “Vessel” is a gripping and thought-provoking feature film that delves into the mysterious and unsettling world of the supernatural. Directed, written, and produced by Sheldon A. Woodson, this film tells the story of Marcus Surgeons, a man with the extraordinary ability to allow the recently deceased to enter his body, offering them a final chance to obtain closure before moving on. However, what begins as a profitable venture soon spirals into a nightmarish scenario when Marcus's body and soul become vulnerable to an unwelcome entity with a hidden agenda. Sheldon A. Woodson, an accomplished writer, director, and producer, brings his extensive experience in storytelling to this film, creating a narrative that is both suspenseful and deeply psychological. Woodson’s ability to craft a story that intertwines mystery, horror, and drama is evident in “Vessel,” where the lines between the physical and the spiritual are blurred, and the consequences of tampering with the supernatural are explored in chilling detail. The film’s cast, led by Joshua Christian-Azali as Marcus Surgeons, delivers powerful performances that anchor the story in emotional reality. Christian-Azali’s portrayal of Marcus is nuanced and compelling, capturing the character’s internal conflict as he grapples with the moral and spiritual implications of his actions. Mya Richardson, as Vanessa Downs, and Vanessa Dehesa-Woodson, as Sam Summers, also deliver strong performances, adding depth to the narrative with their portrayals of characters who are equally affected by the dark forces at play. “Vessel” can be seen as a unique blend of supernatural horror and psychological thriller, with its roots in the classic themes of human vulnerability and the dangers of greed. The film’s narrative structure is reminiscent of horror classics that explore the consequences of opening oneself up to dark, unseen forces. Woodson’s direction keeps the tension high throughout, as the audience is drawn into Marcus’s increasingly desperate situation. The film’s thematic exploration of the risks involved in using one’s body as a vessel for the dead is handled with both subtlety and intensity. The concept of allowing spirits to enter one’s body for closure, while seemingly benevolent, is revealed to be fraught with peril. Woodson masterfully builds the suspense as the true nature of the entity inhabiting Marcus is slowly unveiled, leading to a climax that is both terrifying and thought-provoking. “Vessel” has garnered significant attention and acclaim on the film festival circuit, earning awards such as Best Director at the Indie Director Awards in Los Angeles, and Best Story at the LGBTQ+ Los Angeles Film Festival, among others. These accolades reflect the film’s strong narrative, compelling performances, and Woodson’s skillful direction. In conclusion, “Vessel” is a must-watch for fans of supernatural horror and psychological thrillers. Sheldon A. Woodson has crafted a film that is both chilling and introspective, exploring the darker aspects of human nature and the supernatural. With its intriguing concept, strong performances, and suspenseful narrative, “Vessel” stands out as a powerful entry in the genre and a testament to Woodson’s talent as a filmmaker. V
VULTURE ISLAND: REVENGE OF THE SERVANTS OF THE GODS (UK) ★★★★
Written by by Judy Elizabeth Brulo Reviewed by Adrián Pérez "Vulture Island: Revenge of the Servants of the Gods" soars as an ambitious animated series, offering a fresh take on the coming-of-age adventure genre. This visually rich story, penned by Judy Brulo, weaves together archaeology, mythology, and science fiction into a mosaic as intricate as those uncovered by its young heroes. At its heart, "Vulture Island" chronicles Luke's journey through the labyrinth of adolescence and family upheaval. Brulo's script makes Luke's inner turmoil as tangible as the external dangers he faces, crafting a hero who's both relatable and aspirational. The series' exploration of loss, identity, and destiny echoes the thematic richness of Dean DeBlois's "How to Train Your Dragon" (2010), yet infuses its own Hellenic spice to create a unique flavor. The bond between Luke and Griff, the enigmatic vulture, forms the beating heart of the series. Their friendship transcends the typical human-animal dynamic, venturing into realms of spiritual connection and shared fate that bring to mind Hiccup and Toothless. Brulo's inspired choice to give Griff a voice that only Luke can hear adds layers to their relationship, symbolising the often lonely path of growing up. The series' world, a sun-drenched Greek island, becomes a character in its own right. The script lovingly describes the rugged landscapes and azure waters, promising a visual feast that could rival the stunning artistry of Travis Knight's "Kubo and the Two Strings" (2016) if rendered in a similar stop-motion style. Imagine watching a Greek myth spring to life in your living room! This artistic approach could elevate the mythological elements, imbuing the story with a timeless quality. One can't help but daydream about Griff's majestic flights rendered in this breathtaking style. The series culminates in a heart-tugging conversation between Luke and Griff that rivals the emotional punch of Jill Culton's "Abominable" (2019). Brulo eschews the easy happily-ever-after, instead offering a bittersweet reminder that growth is an ongoing journey. This scene, bathed in the golden hues of a Mediterranean sunset, caps off Luke's adventure beautifully while hinting at adventures yet to come. "Vulture Island: Revenge of the Servants of the Gods" lays a solid foundation for what could be a standout animated series. Judy Brulo has crafted a tale that's both intensely personal and universally appealing, tackling big themes with a light touch. By blending myth, science, and coming-of-age drama, she's created a story as rich and complex as the ancient civilisations it explores. If brought to life with the visual flair it deserves, this could be animation that truly takes flight: thought-provoking, visually stunning, and emotionally resonant. One can't help but imagine the magic that could unfold with dream voice casting choices like Tom Holland bringing his youthful energy to Luke, and Ian McKellen lending his gravitas to the wise and mysterious Griff. Such a pairing could elevate this already promising series into the realm of animated classics. W
WHATEVER IT TAKES (USA) ★★★★
Directed by Damien Bianco Reviewed by Adrián Pérez Damien Bianco’s “Whatever It Takes” is a captivating medium-length film that captures the spirit of determination and the pursuit of dreams during the tumultuous period of the great resignation. This film, which marks Bianco’s debut as a producer, writer, and director, is a testament to his undeniable talent and creative vision. Born in France and now based in Los Angeles, Bianco is quickly establishing himself as one of the most exciting emerging directors on the film festival circuit. His journey from Parisian drama schools to the vibrant Hollywood scene reflects his relentless dedication to mastering the art of storytelling. With a background that includes working alongside Emmy Award-winning producer and director Greg Yaitanes, as well as roles in music videos and independent films, Bianco brings a wealth of experience to his debut project under his production company, Acknowledge Pictures. “Whatever It Takes” is not just a film; it is a statement of artistic resilience. The film's magnetic performances and visually stunning cinematography are a clear demonstration of Bianco’s ability to craft extraordinary artistry, even with limited resources. His direction brings out the best in his cast, delivering a story that resonates with anyone who has ever dared to chase their dreams against the odds. Bianco’s rise in the industry is one to watch closely. His ability to transcend budgetary constraints and deliver high-caliber work suggests a future where major studios will be lining up to entrust him with directing their next blockbuster. “Whatever It Takes” is more than just a medium-length film; it’s a glimpse into the promising future of a filmmaker who is destined to make a significant impact on the world of cinema. 
WILD EYE PUB (Czech Republic) ★★★★
Directed by Filip Neřold Reviewed by Adrián Pérez "U Nalitýho Voka" (The Wild Eye Pub) is a delightfully unhinged romp through the Czech Republic's underbelly of booze-soaked folklore and existential absurdism. In his directorial debut, Filip Nerold proves himself a formidable auteur, crafting a puppet-animated phantasmagoria that masterfully blends the surrealist nightmares of Švankmajer with the meticulous whimsy of Wes Anderson's "Fantastic Mr. Fox" (2009) and "Isle of Dogs" (2018). Nerold's masterpiece unfolds in a decrepit taproom that could easily be mistaken for one of Tim Burton’s gothic whimsy, albeit with more accordions and fewer naked sinners. Here, amidst the clinking of steins and the reek of stale pilsner, we witness Death himself succumbing to the most mortal of follies: a clumsy infatuation. The result is a riotous cascade of slapstick misfortunes. The film's visual palette is a triumph of tactile ingenuity. While the puppet designs may lack the polished refinement of Laika Studios' output, their crude charm perfectly embodies the film's ethos of beautiful grotesquerie. Each wrinkle, each poorly stitched seam becomes a testament to the inherent messiness of the human (and supernatural) condition. Nerold's masterful command of tempo-rhythm elevates "U Nalitýho Voka" from mere comedic romp to cinematic symphony. The voice work is nothing short of spectacular, breathing vibrant life into these primitively sculpted marionettes. Each character, from the hapless Amor to the pink-clad harbinger of doom (a delightful nod to Harry Potter's Dolores Umbridge), is imbued with a depth that belies their crude exterior. Jirka Dojciak's musical score deserves special mention, its medieval flourishes and accordion-heavy interludes serving as the perfect aural accompaniment to this bacchanalian fever dream. The sound design, courtesy of Lukas Pesek and Tomas Kocourek, is equally impressive, each hiccup and belch meticulously crafted to heighten the film's sensory overload. "U Nalitýho Voka" is a testament to the enduring power of Czech cinema's rich tradition of absurdism and dark humor. Nerold's debut is a shot of pure, uncut cinematic adrenaline. Filip, your directorial debut has left me utterly spellbound. The sheer brilliance of your storytelling, the precision of your visual language, and the depth of your cinematic archaeology are nothing short of spectacular. Your ability to marry surrealism, absurdism, and a touch of gothic cinema with such deft skill is truly remarkable. As I watched "U Nalitýho Voka," I couldn't help but feel I was witnessing the birth of a true cinematic genius. Your voice is unique, and desperately needed in the landscape of contemporary cinema. I eagerly anticipate following your career for years to come, certain that each new work will challenge, delight, and move me in ways I never thought possible. Bravo, Filip. |
