Dead Man's Wire (2026)

Direction: Gus Van Sant
Country: USA 

The bizarre true story of Tony Kiritsis, a man undone by a loan in 1977 Indianapolis, is brought to the screen by Gus Van Sant in a somewhat colorless fashion, with a script by Austin Kolodney. In Dead Man’s Wire, Kiritsis—played by Bill Skarsgård—comes across as clumsy yet determined, carrying out a naive revenge plan against the mortgage company where he worked for four years. Targeting the arrogant broker M.L. Hall, portrayed by Al Pacino, he instead kidnaps Hall’s son Richard (Dacre Montgomery), taking him to his apartment with a shotgun wired to his neck. Overwhelmed by betrayal and humiliation, Kiritsis demands his debt be cleared, along with five million dollars and a public apology.

Dead Man’s Wire is a lukewarm yet watchable thriller, marked by limited tension, friction, and surprise. It unfolds at a steady pace, becoming increasingly repetitive and emotionally uneven as it progresses. Lacking cunning twists, this strange ordeal centers on a protagonist who, in attempting to reclaim his dignity, oscillates between inexperience and defiance. There is a subdued sense of pathos and desperation in Kiritsis’ gaze, and it feels inevitable that something—or someone—will eventually snap.

The film’s strength lies in its perceptive social and psychological observations, and one can’t help rooting for a man whose life spirals beyond repair.

La Grazia (2025)

Direction: Paolo Sorrentino
Country: Italy 

In the spectacular La Grazia, Paolo Sorrentino stages an Italian president confronting moral dilemmas—two presidential pardons and a bill on euthanasia—six months before the end of his term. The aging head of state, magnificently portrayed by the inimitable Toni Servillo, longs for his late, unfaithful wife, raps in his spare time, and reflects on how he will exercise his powers.

Never adverse to political themes, Sorrentino makes a triumphant return with a reflective, ironic, and witty political comedy brimming with value and spirit. Director and actor collaborate here for the seventh time, adding another title to memorable works such as The Great Beauty (2013), Il Divo (2008), and The Consequences of Love (2004). 

Rather than indulging in cynicism, Sorrentino’s artistry reveals a genuine zest for life. While examining power and influence, the film also underscores the importance of truth. It unfolds with both grace and gravity, its offbeat supporting characters enhanced by a powerful mise-en-scène and a sublime fusion of classical tones with a vibrant contemporary sensibility.

Openly flirting with comedy to probe authority and doubt, La Grazia once again places Sorrentino among the foremost international directors. Stylish and intoxicating, the film approaches politics—dirty or otherwise—with unusual entertainment value. Servillo commands the screen with authority, crafting a character far more compelling than most real-life politicians. Though entirely a product of the director’s imagination, the president inevitably recalls Italy’s current head of state, Sergio Mattarella, while certain artistic inspirations echo Krzysztof Kieślowski’s late-1980s miniseries Dekalog.

Olmo (2025)

Direction: Fernando Eimbcke
Country: USA / Mexico

Charismatic and respected Mexican helmer Fernando Eimbcke returns 12 years after his last feature, Club Sandwich. Previously known for Duck Season (2004) and Lake Tahoe (2008), he now presents Olmo, set in 1979 New Mexico. The story follows 14-year-old Olmo (Aivan Uttapa), who prefers hanging out with his best friend Miguel rather than taking care of his bedridden father (Gustavo Sánchez Parra), afflicted with multiple sclerosis. Caught in an emotional spiral, Olmo—who harbors a crush on his neighbor Nina (Melanie Frometa)—also discovers that his hard-working mother (Andrea Suárez Paz) has a lover, all before attending a long-awaited party.

Although sincere in its intentions, Olmo is not a flawless coming-of-age comedy-drama. Its shortcomings gradually fade, however, as style and substance begin to align, offering a slice of demanding real life filtered through humor. It is a small yet deeply felt film, supported by strong performances that boldly contrast mischievous, bubbly moments with an undercurrent of disconcerting sweetness. This adolescent adventure shifts from cheerful lightness to emotional chaos, and there is no denying the stylistic assurance and talent behind Eimbcke’s direction.

I probably couldn't connect with the story and its characters in the way that Eimbcke would have liked but It's that kind of movie where life just happens, with hope and love surfacing in expected corners. It is worth seeking out for its retro atmosphere, passionate family dynamics, and comedic tone that balances silliness with sensitivity.

Blue Sun Palace (2025)

Direction: Constance Tsang
Country: USA

American filmmaker Constance Tsang makes a very positive impression with her feature directorial debut, Blue Sun Palace, a wistful contemporary drama starring seasoned Taiwanese actor Lee Kang-sheng—a frequent collaborator and first choice of acclaimed director Tsai Ming-liang—alongside Wu Ke-xi (The Road to Mandalay, 2016) and the still under-the-radar Haipeng Xu.

The story revolves around the unexpected bond between two Chinese migrants living and working in Queens, New York. Stricken by loss and loneliness, Cheung (Lee) and Amy (Wu) feel strangely connected after the murder of Didi (Xu), Cheung’s lover and Amy’s best friend. As their shared grief draws them closer, their emotional fragilities and lingering doubts complicate the connection.

Blue Sun Palace conveys a peculiar sense of belonging and displacement simultaneously, addressing solitude through intimate close-ups and melancholy imagery that sustains a solid narrative core. Absorbing in its languid rhythm, the film uses cultural nuance and contextual detail to explore imperfect relationships and the ways individuals cope with sudden tragedy.

Tsang’s screenplay unfolds organically, and her quiet, sometimes understated presentation of a tentative love story is wrapped in a transfixing mournful atmosphere. Gradually accumulating moments of compassion and somber revelation until it radiates painful loneliness, this offbeat and serious tale of love and death, infused with a dreamlike quality, reaches deep into genuine romantic longing. The mood lingers—recalling the cinema of Tsai Ming-liang—through a spare yet clear narrative approach that offers a poignant portrait of migrant life, likely to make viewers’ hearts beat in sync with its emotional cadence. On the strength of this observant and affecting work, Tsang’s future projects merit close attention.

Sound of Falling (2026)

Direction: Mascha Schilinski
Country: Germany

In Sound of Falling, the haunting sophomore feature by German helmer and co-writer Mascha Schilinski, we follow four teenage girls living in the same farmhouse across different temporal eras. Adopting a non-linear narrative, Schilinski orchestrates eerie atmospheres—some shaped by sepia-toned imagery—combining moody, painterly visuals (Fabian Gamper’s cinematography draws inspiration from the work of American photographer Francesca Woodman) with cold, bleak storytelling. Desire, anxiety, loneliness, family secrets, death obsession, and trauma form intergenerational patterns that surface in the lives of Alma, Erika, Angelika, and Lenka.

This finely tuned, skillfully composed psychological drama is a challenging watch, layering opaque and obscure passages with an imminent sense of doom. Immersed in such a soul-crushing cinematic experience, one can almost feel the anguish and desolation of these girls. It is a thematically provocative film whose nuanced details—carrying a disturbing poeticism—bind the stories together, even if connecting every narrative thread is initially difficult.

Sound of Falling is a rare, darkly beautiful movie experience and a powerful reflection on childhood, femininity, the body, and memory. Fluctuating between emotional devastation and moments of fragile stillness while navigating subtly intertwined temporalities, this character-driven work doesn’t waste time trying to be something it isn’t. A complex, sometimes elusive piece of cinema that reveals a distinctive and promising voice in contemporary German filmmaking, and certainly one worth seeing.

The Baltimorons (2025)

Direction: Jay Duplass
Country: USA

The Baltimorons is an unremarkable romantic comedy that aims for naturalistic acting and wry observation but never quite delivers enough of either. It follows a familiar path, relying on a type of humor that feels more lowbrow than genuinely engaging. Set in Baltimore, the film follows newly sober comedian Cliff (co-writer Michael Strassner), who inadvertently spends Christmas Eve with his emergency dentist, Didi (Liz Larsen). 

Jay Duplass (The Puffy Chair, 2005; Jeff Who Lives at Home, 2011) directs and co-writes a film whose biggest flaw is its inability to generate real sympathy for its characters. The whole enterprise feels somewhat stagey, if mostly harmless, hinging on a discouraging plot that is neither sharp nor eccentric enough to spark real interest. With narrative ups and downs drifting along to the sound of jazz waltzes, The Baltimorons is occasionally charming but ultimately a rather shallow, low-key rom-com featuring characters who deserve more exploration and depth than they are given. Highly uneven and oddly weighted, this love letter to Baltimore arrives with diminishing returns.

I Swear (2025)

Direction: Kirk Jones
Country: UK

I Swear depicts the true story of John Davidson, a Scottish man first diagnosed with Tourette syndrome—a condition that can cause involuntary swearing, spitting, and gestural tics—at the age of 12. Written and directed by Kirk Jones (Waking Ned Devine, 1998; Everybody’s Fine, 2009), the film follows Davidson’s path from his difficult teenage years into adulthood, when he decides to help others living with this exhausting and often misunderstood neurological disorder.

Sometimes hilarious, sometimes sad—but always with a big heart—I Swear is a noble and worthwhile effort that still struggles with a somewhat heavy-handed script. This mildly likable drama, occasionally frustrating yet equally rewarding, feels more educational and encouraging than truly exciting as a viewing experience. English actor Robert Aramayo immerses himself so completely in the role that his performance feels refreshingly unforced. He is the soul of a film that informs while also managing to please audiences.

Rebuilding (2025)

Direction: Max Walker-Silverman
Country: USA

Rebuilding is a melancholy, heartbreaking neo-western drama marked by deliberate pacing and a hopeful, emotionally resonant conclusion. Simple, sincere, and deeply human, it follows Dusty (Josh O’Connor), a divorced cowboy and father who loses his family ranch to a devastating wildfire in southern Colorado. Temporarily living in a trailer community at a government-run campsite with other dispossessed landowners, Dusty finds support in his neighbors and in his ex-wife Ruby (Meghann Fahy). His once busy days suddenly become heavy with anguish and inertia.

Some films take their time laying out the story and settling over the audience. This is one of them. Yet, thanks to Max Walker-Silverman’s focused and sensitive direction, as well as the impressive naturalness of the gifted and much sought-after Josh O’Connor—who recently stood out in Kelly Reichardt’s The Mastermind—the result is an emotionally charged account that never feels manipulative, transcending the sappier trappings of the genre. There is plenty of aching nuance, but the film remains generous and entirely legible in its sorrow.

This complexity of feeling, paired with formal sumptuousness, translates into deeply ingrained sadness but also genuine uplift as events shift toward cautious hope and new opportunity. Capturing more than just lavish backdrops and romantic sentimentality, Rebuilding is a tolerant, poetic, and realistic work that earns its place in contemporary American cinema.

Pillion (2026)

Direction: Harry Lighton
Country: UK / Ireland 

Harry Lighton’s confident feature debut, Pillion, adapts Adam Mars-Jones’s 2020 novel Box Hill, telling the story of an introverted, openly gay man (Harry Melling) who becomes the submissive companion of a seductive biker (Alexander Skarsgård), who turns him into a servant and sexual object. He accepts this role willingly until, one day, everything shifts. Lighton also draws inspiration from Kenneth Anger’s experimental short film Scorpio Rising (1963).

Relatively simple in concept but complex in detail, Pillion portrays an atypical relationship in which brutality and tenderness coexist. It is a well-written, carefully constructed, shape-shifting work guided by powerful, pitch-perfect performances from Melling and Skarsgård, both of whom excel in the face of demanding material.

Evocatively transgressive and unexpected, the convincing scenes accumulate emotional impact. Some elements are intentionally left unspoken, requiring the viewer to read between the lines of the characters’ behavior. This is neither a conventional crowd-pleaser nor a traditional romance, but something more unusual and less familiar. Lighton’s approach replaces sentimentality with mordancy, while razor-sharp wit appears in measured, well-timed doses. It makes a striking dramatic statement, boldly peculiar in nature, much like its characters.

Although not for everyone, Pillion is determined to be candid, boundary-pushing, and entertaining, weaving a carefully balanced dynamic that is controlled by neither character.

The Voice of Hind Rajab (2025)

Direction: Kaouther Ben Hania
Country: Tunisia / France

The third feature by Tunisian filmmaker Kaouther Ben Hania (Beauty and the Dogs, 2017; The Man Who Sold His Skin, 2020) is a powerful docudrama centered on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. It chillingly portrays the assassination of six-year-old Palestinian girl Hind Rajab, who becomes trapped in a bullet-riddled car surrounded by Israeli tanks. Six members of her family died that day, as well as two paramedics who went to her rescue.

With this low-budget, oppressive, adrenaline-filled thriller, you are in for a few surprises. It is an enthralling examination and recreation of a horrific true event to which no one should remain indifferent. The concept is not new, but the horror and claustrophobia are deeply felt, with the film following stressed Red Crescent volunteers at a call center, desperately trying to save the wounded girl while navigating strict and complex protocols that, when they fail, intensify anguish, frustration, and emotional volatility.

Minimalist and focused, The Void of Hind Rajab hooks the viewer until the very last minute. We never leave the call center, we never see the victims, and yet the film sustains terrifying suspense. It is a war film without weapons and, simultaneously, a cry for peace. The real voice of young Rajab is used, amplifying tension and emotion, though some scenes feel overly staged. Ben Hania confronts us with the tragedy of war and our powerlessness in the face of such inhuman brutality.

The Secret Agent (2025)

Direction: Kleber Mendonça Filho
Country: Brazil

Largely written in France and entirely shot in Brazil, The Secret Agent is Kleber Mendonça Filho’s depiction of 1977 Brazil during politically turbulent times. The director of Neighboring Sounds (2012), Aquarius (2016), and Bacurau (2019) had already left a strong impression on me, and now—through an intelligent, absorbing political thriller that plays with genre conventions—confirms his remarkable ability to create memorable cinema.

Hiding under the name Marcelo, widower and former professor Armando Solimões (Wagner Moura) flees a troubled past and a series of death threats by escaping to Recife, where he reconnects with his in-laws and his son. He is welcomed by Dona Sebastiana (Tania Maria) and the circle of political dissidents she shelters in her home. Forbidden from leaving Brazil and placed on a federal blacklist, Armando needs protection from his own country and from the ruthless engineer Enrique Ghirotti (Luciano Chirolli), who hires two hitmen to track him down.

The story embraces a certain opacity, with its pieces unfolding gradually and confidently through a blend of dark and luminous tones. All the answers are eventually revealed, ensuring a clear sense of closure. Even when deliberately fragmented, The Secret Agent imposes its own rhythm, exposing an extraordinary scope and atmosphere with undeniable force. The opening scene—tense and gripping—immediately signals the corruption and unorthodox witch-hunt tactics employed by Brazilian authorities in the 1970s.

With Filho’s razor-sharp direction and actors fully inhabiting their roles, the film illustrates how absolute power and systemic corruption can corrode an entire country through lies, greed, and violence. It becomes less a conventional spy film than an ode to memory and to life’s persistence in the face of fear, despite what the title might suggest. Exquisitely assembled, The Secret Agent looks and sounds authentic to its period, while resonating with the present in many ways through a restrained, unfussy approach.

Marty Supreme (2025)

Direction: Josh Safdie
Country: USA

Writer-director Josh Safdie’s fascination with flawed characters and shady worlds finds a natural outlet in Marty Supreme, a sports drama set in 1950s New York and inspired by a book by Marty Reisman, the city’s table tennis prodigy. After portraying Bob Dylan with distinction in A Complete Unknown (2024), 29-year-old French-American actor Timothée Chalamet—who also produces—stars as ping-pong player Marty Mauser in a wild tale of boundless ambition. Boisterous and relentlessly driven, Mauser, even when financially compromised, is determined to get to Tokyo at any cost to defeat his former Japanese opponent in a tense revenge match.

Boasting an organic structure and lively dialogue, the film is powered by impetuous, effective editing and flows with an ironic tone that occasionally brushes against the absurd. That doesn’t mean Marty Supreme lacks standout moments. It is bolstered by a terrific soundtrack (including New Order, Alphaville, and Tears for Fears) and bursts of visual invention. The film is a genuine cinematic experience, imaginatively told and brimming with striking energy, much of it drawn from ping-pong matches staged with remarkable intensity.

Safdie pushes the pace hard, and the actors keep up. At times, less might have been more, as the relentless intensity can become tiring, but Marty Supreme still delivers a compelling character study rich in unexpected twists, humor, and narrative momentum. It’s a blast to spend time with this rousing film: not Safdie’s most atypical work, but perhaps his most immediately accessible and funny.

Peter Hujar's Day (2025)

Direction: Ira Sachs
Country: USA 

Based on Linda Rosenkrantz’s book drawn from a 1974 interview she conducted with photographer Peter Hujar in her apartment, Peter Hujar’s Day recounts not only his activities during the previous day in New York but also sheds light on his inner life, emotions, and temperament. This chatty, experimental two-hander heightens intimacy between interviewer and subject, buoyed by finely attuned performances from Ben Whishaw and Rebecca Hall. Through dialogue alone, it vividly evokes the energy of New York City’s 1970s art scene.

Ira Sachs—known for films such as Love Is Strange (2014), Little Men (2016), and Passages (2023)—approaches the material with an informal, almost documentary-like directness. Yet, Peter Hujar’s Day doesn’t crackle with overt excitement and often seems content simply to invoke figures like Allen Ginsberg, Fran Lebowitz, Susan Sontag, and Peter Orlovsky. Whether that is enough depends largely on the viewer’s mood and their interest in the subject matter.

Set entirely within a confined space, the film nonetheless allows for a few subtle surprises to emerge from its corners. Ultimately, it is Whishaw and Hall who hold everything together, giving the dialogue its weight, rhythm, and emotional grounding.

Roofman (2025)

Direction: Derek Cianfrance
Country: USA

Roofman tells the true story of Jeffrey Manchester (Channing Tatum), an Army veteran and romantic crook who robbed more than 40 McDonald’s restaurants with the primary intention of providing for his three children. Nicknamed Roofman for his preferred method of entry—drilling through restaurant roofs—Manchester is portrayed as polite and charming, a figure who intrigues more than he repels. While on the run, he lived hidden inside a Toys “R” Us store for six months, during which he fell for Leigh (Kirsten Dunst), a sympathetic employee and single mother.

The film marks the sixth feature by Derek Cianfrance (Blue Valentine, 2010; The Place Beyond the Pines, 2012; The Sound of Metal, 2020), who co-wrote the screenplay with Kirt Gunn. It unfolds with a deliberately goofy posture, shaped as a crowd-pleasing parody. Some scenes linger too long, creating a sense of stagnation, while others are lightly amusing and charmingly clumsy in an offbeat way. Although the crime narrative feels somewhat tired and shallow at its core, Roofman manages to land a handful of mildly funny moments driven by a basic dramatic instinct.

Tatum proves to be a solid casting choice, skillfully balancing Manchester’s gentle intentions with his criminal behavior, always teetering on a razor’s edge. The romantic subplot carries a bittersweet tone, though the stakes never feel particularly high, leaving the overall experience short on memorability.

Even as the narrative settles into a familiar rhythm, Cianfrance’s approach retains a certain artfulness. He and Tatum deliver an acceptable, if not especially original, piece of work.

Urchin (2025)

Direction: Harris Dickinson
Country: UK

Urchin, a pungent and desolate drama written and directed by debutant Harris Dickinson, confronts the trauma of abandonment, homelessness, and the brutal cycles of addiction and relapse with a realistic, sensitive touch. Unpolished by design and deliberately loose in structure, this compelling tale offers a painfully accurate portrait of addiction and failed rehabilitation. It rings true largely thanks to a fearless performance by Frank Dillane, who makes it unmistakably clear that surviving as a homeless junkie is an exhausting, corrosive existence. He carries the film on his back with gritty conviction, anchoring a work that may be rough around the edges but remains intoxicating absorbing.

Dillane plays Michael Wiltshire, a volatile drug abuser drifting through Dalston, East London, who violently assaults a man trying to help him. Following his release from jail, Michael is offered second chances and encounters new people who briefly suggest the possibility of change. But whether he can find happiness, stability, or even a sense of purpose remains painfully uncertain. What makes the character so unsettling is how Michael appears paradoxically both in love with and repelled by his own impulses and self-destructive behavior.

Urchin avoids the trappings of dour social realism, yet it does not flinch from exposing the devastating toll drugs take on individuals and those around them. Merciless and unsettling, it is a tightly focused indie drama perfectly scaled to the towering performance at its center. Dickinson announces himself as a filmmaker worth watching, and Dillane confirms a formidable talent whose future work deserves close attention.

Ballad of a Small Player (2025)

Direction: Edward Berger
Country: USA

From Conclave’s Swiss-Austrian director Edward Berger, Ballad of a Small Player is an adaptation of Lawrence Osborne’s 2014 novel of the same name. Not a groundbreaking work, this oddly psychological gambling drama oscillates between reality and fantasy, carrying a faint but persistent aura of supernatural eeriness.

Colin Farrell stars as Lord Doyle, a ruthless gambler with a battered conscience who heads to the gambling mecca of Macau in a desperate attempt to manage his mounting debts. The situation is increasingly dire, yet the stubbornly optimistic Doyle refuses to surrender, especially after meeting Dao Ming (Fala Chen), a lonely woman working at the casino where he plays. What he cannot escape, however, is Betty Grayson (Tilda Swinton), a private detective and debt collector who knows far too much about his murky past.

Berger is unafraid to take big swings, staging sharp contrasts between moments of crushing despair and others of intoxicating invincibility and ecstasy. Farrell embodies this compulsive risk-taker with such uncompromised honesty that his performance can only be called courageous. Still, some of Doyle’s actions remain deliberately opaque, leaving the viewer suspended in a state of ambiguity that is both intriguing and occasionally exasperating.

Drenched in saturated colors and striking, vivid imagery, and populated by a few characters that verge on the cartoonish, Ballad of a Small Player is far from Berger’s strongest effort. Alongside Conclave (2024), his filmography includes Jack (2014) and All Quiet on the Western Front (2022). Yet this film retains its share of compelling moments. Presented as a nightmarish, old-fashioned character study, it probes the tension-fueled psyche of addiction before drifting toward ideas of redemption and lost love. The film never quite coheres as a whole, and its twists are unlikely to astonish, but Farrell remains a constant source of fascination. Once you surrender to its rhythm, it’s a film that carries you along, unevenly but smoothly.

Dreams (2025)

Direction: Dag Johan Haugerud
Country: Norway

Dreams is the second installment in a film trilogy by Norwegian filmmaker Dag Johan Haugerud. This feminist coming-of-age manifesto follows Sex (2024) and precedes Love (2024), exploring themes of love, sexuality, and family dynamics through a blend of first desire and literary awakening. It offers a refreshingly different perspective on teenage angst, examining the fleeting ecstasies and quiet disillusions of a 17-year-old high school student (Ella Øverbye) who falls in love with her female French teacher (Selome Emnetu). She channels her emotions into vivid writing, which unexpectedly earns the attention and encouragement of her mother (Ane Dahl Torp) and grandmother (Anne Marit Jacobsen).

Although the film carries the lightness one might expect from the genre, Haugerud keeps the material grounded and quietly captivating, shaping characters who display an unusual degree of emotional maturity. His approach to the subject is gentle and thoughtful, and the romantic connection is never overstated. Instead, it unfolds as a recollected experience, mediated by a restrained, almost immobilizing voice-over that preserves its fragility.

At times honest and even sensual, this intimate confession recalls the romantic sensibility of Éric Rohmer’s love tales, generating empathy through the careful plausibility that permeates every scene. Dreams stands as a cohesive and rewarding work, buoyed by the performers’ natural charisma and its willingness to incorporate unexpected elements into a tender meditation on first love, fantasy, and the gradual process of growing up and moving on.

The Mysterious Gaze of the Flamingo (2025)

Direction: Diego Céspedes
Country: Chile / France / other

Chilean writer-director Diego Céspedes’s feature debut, The Mysterious Gaze of the Flamingo, is an anemic blend of turbulent coming-of-age drama, social critique, and revenge tale—a film that may have its heart in the right place but ultimately lacks soul. Inflected with Latin and Western motifs, this well-intentioned yet frequently slippery work leans on scenes that tend to lyricize rather than persuade. While foregrounding the terrifying intersections of love, illness, and prejudice, it follows 12-year-old Lidia (Tamara Cortés), the daughter of Flamingo (Matías Catalán), one of the travestis who live and work at a queer bar run by Mama Boa (Paula Dinamarca) in a desert mining town in northern Chile in 1982. As miners begin falling ill and dying from a mysterious plague—none other than AIDS—the community convinces itself that the disease is transmitted through the travestis’ gaze.

Conceived as an anti-machismo statement and shot in a square frame, the film oscillates between violence and sentimentality, flamboyance and sorrow. It portrays an atrocious reality, yet never fully capitalizes on its creative potential. Even as it veers away from mainstream formulas, Céspedes’s work is too loosely handled, relying on a narrative strategy that exhausts itself prematurely.

Coarse, titillating, and hopelessly uneven, The Mysterious Gaze of the Flamingo finds its strongest asset in its stark desert setting and period atmosphere. The tone—simultaneously campy and off-kilter—ultimately leaves little lasting impression, while the story drags and steadily erodes the film’s overall effectiveness. In the end, one is left more appreciative of what Céspedes is attempting to do than of what he actually achieves on screen.

If I Had Legs I'd Kick You (2025)

Direction: Mary Bronstein
Country: USA 

There is much to admire in If I Had Legs I’d Kick You, a dark comedy steeped in irony about a sleep-deprived psychotherapist spiraling under the weight of alcohol, drugs, and emotional distress. An absent husband who works as a ship captain, a gravely ill daughter undergoing a demanding and complicated treatment, and a gaping hole in her apartment ceiling conspire to make Linda’s life increasingly unmanageable. Played with ferocious commitment by Rose Byrne, Linda is forced to relocate temporarily to a nondescript motel, a move that only sharpens her emotional volatility and neglectful tendencies.

The film’s inventive situations consistently land with force, sustaining an impressive level of engagement throughout. On one hand, the tone is bleak and disconsolate; on the other, it is hyper-tense, wildly unhinged, and unexpectedly fun to watch. There is a fearless energy to this plunge into the abyss, offering moments of audacity that far more expensive productions would envy.

Though the narrative itself is relatively straightforward, the execution is anything but. Writer-director Mary Bronstein’s vision is bleak, provocative, and uncompromising, yet remarkably assured. Through an intelligent and cathartic orchestration of anxieties, she dissects toxic routines, irresponsibility, and emotional neglect, anchoring the film in themes of female rage, psychological unraveling, and the isolating realities of motherhood.

Often associated with lighter, forgettable comedies such as Spy (2015) or Bridesmaids (2011), Rose Byrne seizes the opportunity to reveal a far more daring and commanding range. She is riveting from beginning to end, fully inhabiting a character whose volatility feels both frightening and painfully real. Fueled by a sharp, bubbling script, If I Had Legs I’d Kick You bursts with flavors that unsettle, delight, and excite. It is an ambitious, ultimately fascinating mess that feels raw and authentic, slowly working its way under your skin. Viewers drawn to pungent, psychologically offbeat dramas will find much to savor in this fluid, slightly bruised, irresistibly skewed, and deliciously nightmarish experience.

Nuremberg (2025)

Direction: James Vanderbilt
Country: USA

Written, directed, and co-produced by James Vanderbilt (Truth, 2015), Nuremberg plunges into the aftermath of World War II, dramatizing the historic trial initiated by the Allied forces following the collapse of the Nazi regime in 1945. Adapted from Jack El-Hai’s essay The Nazi and the Psychiatrist, the film draws on the personal archives and writings of Douglas Kelley, the American psychiatrist tasked with evaluating the mental state of the 22 defendants awaiting judgment. 

Kelley is portrayed by Rami Malek, who feels miscast here, lacking the authority and charisma the role demands. By contrast, Russell Crowe delivers a commanding and unsettling performance as Germany official Hermann Göring, capturing the character’s narcissism and manipulative intelligence with chilling precision. Michael Shannon appears in a restrained supporting role as Justice Robert H. Jackson, the chief U.S. prosecutor determined to hold the Nazi leadership accountable for their crimes.

Undermined by uneven pacing and an overly heavy-handed directorial approach, Nuremberg tells an undeniably important chapter of history, but not in a particularly compelling way. The film suffers from a troubling lack of nuance and dramatic tension, never rising beyond a tepid simmer. While competently shot, its methodical assembly of scenes grows monotonous, evoking the feel of a dutiful, moderately polished Hollywood production rather than the urgency and moral weight such subject matter demands. The visual polish contrasts starkly with an emotional core that feels bland and inert, and the narrative rarely ventures beyond what is expected.

At times artificial, at others overtly sentimental, this historical-by-numbers drama never quite finds the path to grandeur or resonance. A a firmer grasp of the material was needed to elevate it beyond respectable mediocrity.