The Ice Tower (2025)

Direction: Lucile Hadzihalilovic
Country: France 

Lucile Hadzihalilovic’s new feature, The Ice Tower, is a contemplative and gloomy fairytale that reaches gothic proportions by playing with shadows and immersing itself in dark, anguished atmospheres. However, this mise-en-abyme exercise, set in the ’70s, nearly exhausts itself in artifice. Adopting experimental, surreal, and glacial tones, this fantasy drama strikes with emotional cruelty—a bleak blend of strange passions, obsession, motherless trauma, and inharmonious relationships. The controversial filmmaker Gaspar Noé—Hadzihalilovic’s partner in real life—makes a cameo appearance, while Marion Cotillard reunites with the director 21 years after their first collaboration, Innocence (2004).

The script, co-written by Hadzihalilovic and Geoff Cox, draws an obvious connection to Hans Christian Andersen’s fairy tale The Snow Queen, while its cinematic influences range from Black Narcissus (1947) to A Midsummer Night’s Dream (1935) to The Spirit of the Beehive (1973). Never rushing its narrative flow, The Ice Tower follows a runaway 15-year-old orphan, Jeanne (Clara Pacini), who takes refuge in the film studio where volatile actress Cristina Van Den Berg (Cotillard) is shooting The White Snow. Drawn to one another, they develop a very strange bond.

This is one of the oddest, most outrageous, and most disproportionate films to emerge this year—a beguiling mix of art and fantasy, psychic dissonance, and shattered mirrors that yields yet another intriguingly peculiar experience. It is, however, a difficult film to watch, and not as captivating as Hadzihalilovic’s previous feature, Earwig (2021). Technically well made, it is not particularly enjoyable at its core, limned with bitter rawness and marked by loneliness and despair that can be terrifying. But does its dreamlike, phantasmagoric aura carry us anywhere more profound than the merely artistic? Not quite. The narrative eventually freezes, suffocating without knowing where to go next. It’s a film that transfixes more than it enchants.

Sunfish (& Other Stories on Green Lake) (2025)

Direction: Sierra Falconer
Country: USA 

Executive produced by Joanna Hogg (The Souvenir, 2019), Sunfish (& Other Stories on Green Lake) is a soulful five-vignette anthology directed by newcomer Sierra Falcone. The semi-autobiographical film, built around coming-of-age themes, follows a 14-year-old girl who discovers a love of sailing while staying with her grandparents after her mother’s recent remarriage; a young violinist striving to excel at a summer music camp under the pressure of his ambitious mother; a brief, tragic romance between a dreamy fisherman and a rebellious young woman; and the deep bond between two sisters who run a bed-and-breakfast on Michigan’s Green Lake.

Through carefully framed shots and a cohesive ensemble cast, Falcone tackles mature themes while maintaining a gentle patina of softness across the film. There is a generosity of spirit and a sense of lived experience that lift Sunfish above more conventional indie dramas. The screenplay’s objectivity and simplicity may frustrate viewers seeking denser plotting, but Falcone has an undeniable gift for tuning into deftly tactful wavelengths, rendering each story with a delicate, warm sensibility.

These modest, uncynical tales make space for compassion—occasionally moving, never manipulative. The actors bring nuance and vitality, often adding just when the film seems to risk subtracting from itself.

The Smashing Machine (2025)

Direction: Bennie Safdie
Country: USA 

In his first film without his brother Josh, Bennie Safdie (Daddy Longlegs, 2009; Uncut Gems, 2019) turns to the true story of former wrestler and MMA fighter Mark Kerr, reconstructing key events—between 1997 and 2000—of his professional and personal life with with the relaxed, comfortable posture of an alternative sports biopic. Safdie casts Dwayne Johnson—here boasting an intimidating, Herculean presence—in the lead role, with Emily Blunt as Kerr’s selfish yet intermittently supportive girlfriend. Double-time Bellator MMA champion Ryan Bader appears as Kerr’s best friend Mark Coleman, while Dutch MMA former champion Bas Rutten, who trained Kerr in real life, plays himself.

Buoyed by terrific lead performances, The Smashing Machine avoids pushing the drama into radical territory, instead adopting a mildly superficial stance toward adversity. Although well shot, the fighting scenes lack visceral bite and could have carried more tension. Ultimately, this is a compact, low-key film that resists showiness. Safdie—who also wrote, produced, and edited—doesn’t inject new life into the familiar framework. It’s Johnson, vigorously supported by Blunt, who keeps the film afloat with a ferocious, career-expanding performance, breaking free from his usual screen persona and delivering a convincing portrayal of Kerr in a successful turn toward dramatic acting.

The Smashing Machine, overshadowed by John Hyams’ 2002 documentary of the same name, sometimes feels like a re-enacted documentary, following a classic, predictable narrative path. It’s a minor biopic with a satisfying retro flavor—one we watch without either great enthusiasm or boredom.

Tina (2025)

Direction: Miki Magasiva
Country: New Zealand

This New Zealand drama, written and directed by debut filmmaker Miki Magasiva, follows a Samoan teacher (Anapela Polataivao) who loses her daughter in the 2011 Christchurch earthquake and seeks solace in directing a student choir at an elite, predominantly white private school. There, she confronts racism and social inequities but gradually earns the respect of her students, their families, and the broader community, ultimately finding redemption through music and mentorship.

Tina is a motivational, feel-good story infused with genuine emotion and strong dramatic moments. Its triumphs feel hard-won, and Magasiva—himself born in Samoa—approaches the material with sincerity and craft. He employs a largely traditional filmmaking style, balancing it with a modern sensibility. His camera searches earnestly for emotion, particularly in the climactic musical sequence, where sentimentality hovers. However, he walks that tightrope with passionate devotion, showing he has a way with both actors and sets.

Generic and uncomplicated—which doesn't mean it doesn't work—Tina catches the eye as an admirable tale of resilience and hope.

Lurker (2025)

Direction: Alex Russell
Country: USA

Alex Russell’s debut feature, Lurker, is a sharp, unsettling study of competitive environments, the hunger for attention, obsessive fantasy, and emotional manipulation. Shot in textured 16mm, it unfolds as a psychological drama tinged with darkness and simmering tension, anchored by strong performances from Théodore Pellerin (Genesis, 2018; Never Rarely Sometimes Always, 2020) and Archie Madekwe (Midsommar, 2019). Pellerin plays a lonely, obsessive fan who cunningly insinuates himself into the inner circle of the musician he idolizes—played by Madekwe. Playing a toxic game, he ensconces himself in his idol’s house and pretends to be his best friend. 

Slyly aware of its own absurdity, the film keeps you hooked through its intricate web of relationships and subtle rivalries. It deftly examines the psychology of a narcissistic outsider turned confidant, revealing the corrosion and chaos his presence brings to those around him.

Though Lurker never transcends the confines of traditional storytelling, it retains an alluring spark—serving as a quiet warning against the ever-smiling manipulator desperate for validation. Pellerin is superb, walking the fine line between unhinged stalker and misguided devotee, radiating unease in every glance. It’s a pity that this perspicacious setup never fully detonates, but even without the explosive payoff it hints at, Lurker remains an astute, unnerving character study that lingers.

Suze (2025)

Direction: Dane Clark, Linsey Stewart
Country: Canada

Married couple Dane Clark and Linsey Stewart’s sophomore feature, Suze, is a smartly observed excavation of dependent single parenthood, middle-aged crisis, conflicted choices, and the unfulfilled expectations of youth.

Super-protective single mother Susan (Michaela Watkins), navigating the challenges of perimenopause, finds herself adrift when her daughter Brooke (Sara Waisglass) leaves home to attend university in Montreal. To her dismay, she unexpectedly maintains contact with Brooke’s blunt, unfiltered boyfriend, Gage (Charlie Gillespie), whom she can barely tolerate.

Flawed yet sympathetic, Suze is intimately aligned with its topics, hitting the sweet spot between awkward and affecting. Clark and Stewart’s sharp understanding of their characters’ inner lives makes the film consistently engaging, even when dealing with uncomfortable truths. Watkins delivers one of her most rounded performances, finding humor and heart in Susan’s vulnerability, while the film’s charming attention to small details makes the film easy to watch and like. 

If there’s one minor irritation, it’s how often the title name is repeated throughout — but even that can’t dull the film’s gentle wit and emotional honesty.

Familiar Touch (2025)

Direction: Sarah Friedland
Country: USA 

Familiar Touch, the first feature by 33-year-old Sarah Friedland, draws inspiration from the filmmaker's dementia-stricken grandmother. Through carefully composed frames, Friedland depicts a challenging reality with the help of 80-year-old actress Kathleen Chalfant, whose performance stands as a career highlight. Their collaboration yields a delicate, sensitive, and luminous portrait of aging.

Avoiding melodrama, the story follows Brooklyn-based octogenarian Ruth Goldman (Chalfant), who enters a nursing home after a gradual psychological decline. Filmed with precision, the slow-paced, documentary-like staging captures gestures, smiles, and silences that feel authentic, challenging clichés and striking with sobriety and purity. Though it is difficult to witness the decline of an independent woman, Familiar Touch remains warm and affirming. 

Friedland’s script doesn’t take us to a sticky-sweat swamp of tears and wild emotions, but somewhere subtler than that, without sacrificing genuine emotion. This is a small film, but one that gets to the heart with profound affection.

Hallow Road (2025)

Direction: Babak Anvari
Country: UK

British-Iranian director Babak Anvari proves himself a master of economy in his fourth feature, Hallow Road, an intense, low-budget parent-child psychological nightmare stripped down to just two actors: Rosamund Pike and Matthew Rhys. The pair sustain the film admirably, delivering committed if occasionally repetitive performances.

Written by William Gillies, the script follows a married couple—troubled paramedic Maddie (Pike) and overprotective father Frank (Rhys)—who receive a distressed late-night call from their 18-year-old daughter claiming she has crashed her car on a deserted woodland road. Both parents fight to maintain control, but fear and paranoia quickly take hold when they discover the road is steeped in sinister myth and lore.

Hallow Road is taut and spare, sustaining a hypnotic sense of unease that favors suggestion over revelation. Anvari builds suspense with precision, weaving a psychological trance that relies less on shocks than on atmosphere and dread. Yet, while the film gets the job done on its own terms, it lacks the spark that might have elevated it further. The ambiguous finale leaves your mind spinning more than your gut churning, as hope flickers desperately within the shadows of the woods.

Dahomey (2024)

Direction: Mati Diop
Country: France / Benin / other

This intelligent yet ultimately unexceptional documentary directed by Mati Diop (Atlantiques, 2019) centers on the 26 royal ethnographic objects from the Kingdom of Dahomey—now Benin—returned by France after being looted during the colonial era. Their repatriation sparks heated debate among students at the University of Abomey-Calavi. Some hail it as a diplomatic victory spearheaded by President Patrice Talon; others dismiss it as a cynical political gesture, even an insult, noting that over 7,000 pieces were stolen and only 26 have been returned. 

Feelings of frustration and injustice are amplified by a deep, resonant voiceover from Haitian writer Makenzy Orcel, who personifies the treasures in a decolonial monologue that occasionally slips into poetry. The film presents these dilemmas with transparency, leaving questions hanging rather than resolving them. 

Yet Diop’s atmospheric approach doesn’t quite summon the emotional weight the subject demands. While the mood is striking, the narrative offers little historical depth, leaving the reigns of kings Ghezo, Glele, and Béhanzin—and the broader cultural context—underexplored. In the end, the form feels more like a conceptual exercise than a fully engaging historical inquiry.

Stranger Eyes (2025)

Direction: Yeo Siew Hua
Country: Singapore / Taiwan / other

Stranger Eyes is a patiently constructed voyeuristic thriller that simmers with tension but never quite reaches a boil. Though the film is steeped in themes of surveillance and the unease of a mysterious vanishing, it leans too heavily on familiar tropes to become something truly distinctive. Still, Yeo Siew Hua’s taut direction gives it a notable edge.

A middle-aged man (Lee Kang-sheng), living with his blind mother, obsessively observes and records the lives of a young couple (Anicca Panna and Wu Chien-ho). The only crucial moment he fails to capture is the sudden disappearance of their young daughter while she plays at a public park. 

There are distinctive elements that set the film slightly apart—an atmosphere of creeping ambiguity and paranoia—but the wonderfully eerie mood that initially takes hold eventually plateaus, leaving the impression that much more lies beneath. The emotional undercurrents are complex, yet not every element touches a nerve. While my interest never wavered, something essential seems absent from the overall mix. 

Stranger Eyes leans heavily on its strong performances, and fortunately, the cast delivers even when the film itself doesn’t fully follow through.

Eddington (2025)

Direction: Ari Aster
Country: USA

American writer-director Ari Aster ventures into new territory with Eddington, following two unforgettable entries in horror—Hereditary (2018) and Midsommar (2019)—and the far-fetched psychological black comedy—Beau is Afraid (2023). Eddington is a disturbing neo-western set in the fictional small town of Eddington, New Mexico, during the Covid era. Its bleakly comic vision of America’s violent culture unfolds through Joaquin Phoenix—in his second collaboration with Aster—who plays a lawless, asthmatic sheriff spiraling out of control after deciding to run for mayor. Emma Stone plays his moody, cult-bewitched wife, while Pedro Pascal portrays his progressive political rival.

The film is uneven, often veering into excessive satire, but it’s also sparked by occasional flashes of inventive twists. The plot takes on the form of a hallucinatory nightmare, saturated with sardonic humor and sharp social commentary—an uncomfortable, potent reminder that alienation is here to stay. Aster channels the spirit of the Coen brothers to portray a vortex of collective American madness. The viewer is submerged in a world of protests, lies, opportunism, manipulation, humiliation, conspiracies, obsession, crime, and cults. The pervasive restlessness and instability of the characters mirror today’s chaotic reality.

Unfortunately, the film loses steam and unravels after the madcap chase that marks its violent climax. Still, we forgive Aster, who, despite the narrative decline, delivers full-throttle filmmaking in what stands as his most overtly political work to date.

Unicorns (2025)

Direction: James Krishna Floyd, Sally El Hosaini
Country: UK

Ben Hardy and Jason Patel star in Unicorns, a British queer drama directed by James Krishna Floyd— who also penned the script—and Sally El Hosaini (The Swimmers, 2022). The story revolves around the serendipitous relationship between Luke (Hardy), a single father from Essex who works as a mechanic, and Aysha (Patel), a drag queen striving for artistic recognition.

The film presents a respectful and sincere narrative, told with honesty and restraint, though it takes a quieter approach than one might expect—even when going to unsettling places. It’s a cross-cultural love story marked by rivalry, cruelty, and prejudice, elevated by empathetic and grounded performances from its leads.

Straddling the line between kitschy flair and indie sensibility, the filmmakers inject the familiar premise with insight and intimacy. Most notably, the film avoids becoming overly sentimental or obnoxiously cautionary. Not particularly groundbreaking, Unicorns takes an eventful route to a predictable destination. It’s a plot you can see coming once the main characters are in place.

Eden (2025)

Direction: Ron Howard
Country: USA

Eden, a survival thriller based on a true story and directed by Ron Howard (A Beautiful Mind, 2001; Frost/Nixon, 2008), boasts an impressive ensemble cast that includes Jude Law, Sydney Sweeney, Vanessa Kirby, Ana de Armas, and Daniel Brühl. But even with that star power drawing audiences to theaters, they’re unlikely to leave fully satisfied. 

The scrip by Noah Pink explores rising tensions among early European settlers on Floreana Island in the Galápagos. The year is 1929. Reclusive Dr. Friederich Ritter (Law), a semi-renowned German philosopher, and his wife Dora (Kirby), who suffers from multiple sclerosis, savor their isolated life. Ritter is busy crafting a new philosophy he believes will save humanity from itself. Their solitude is soon disrupted by the arrival of the Wittmers (Brühl and Sweeney), followed by the flamboyant and deceitful French baroness Eloise von Wagner-Bousquet (de Armas, in her most irritating role yet) and her two companions. Her dream? To build a luxury hotel for millionaires on the island.

Howard’s unwieldy, cynical screen adaptation is over-staged and draped in noir tones. It’s a little too uneven to match the heights of the director's best work. Although watchable, the film veers into ludicrousness, culminating in spiraling chaos and a burst of physical and psychological violence. With a dark, overarching theme, this propulsive if shapeless tale feels as much flaccid as it is unfocused. Eden is such a mixed bag.

Thunderbolts (2025)

Direction: Jake Schreier
Country: USA

Thunderbolts*, the 36th installment in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, assembles a group of disillusioned misfits—most of them tired of cleanup duty. Among them are Yelena Belova, her father Alexei Shostakov (Red Guardian), John Walker (Steve Rogers’ controversial successor as Captain America), Ava Starr (Ghost), Bucky Barnes (Winter Soldier), and the fragile, amnesiac Bob Reynolds, who unexpectedly emerges as a serious threat. Together, they must navigate the hidden agenda of CIA Director Valentina Allegra de Fontaine (Julia Louis-Dreyfus, reprising her role from Black Widow and Black Panther: Wakanda Forever), whose office is now under scrutiny.

Directed by Jake Schreier (Robot & Frank, 2015), the film offers its strong cast opportunities to shine. However, the script—penned by Marvel regular Eric Pearson (Thor: Ragnarok, 2017; Black Widow, 2021) and Joanna Calo (The Bear)—lacks imaginative spark. This is a different kind of Marvel entry, clearly aimed at attracting a fresh audience. The result is an imperfect yet visually and tonally consistent work—where not everything is fixed, but everything feels slightly patched up. Is it fun? Yeah, sort of. But still not especially memorable.

April (2025)

Direction: Dea Kulumbegashvili
Country: Georgia 

Produced by Luca Guadagnino (Call me By Your Name, 2017) and directed by Dea Kulumbegashvili (Beginning, 2020), who strives to go beyond the simple exposition of a controversial topic, April denounces patriarchal abuses in the Georgian countryside through long shots and anguished tones. 

The plot follows Nina (Ia Sukhitashvili), an experienced obstetrician accused of performing illegal abortions in the village. Solitary, she does what she must, sometimes becoming a stranger to herself. Responsibility clashes with the law in a quiet and lugubrious character study, where sinister realities can morph into quirky surrealism. This is a tough cookie of a film—visually jarring and emotionally despondent, as if Christian Mungiu had joined forces with Carlos Reygadas in ambiguous gestures filled with raw authenticity and layered metaphor. 

Substance prevails over form in a film where unspoken fear, rage, and alienation permeate the oppressive cinematic space. At times, it’s almost too uncomfortable to endure, with brutality and fragility in constant confrontation, making for a slow-paced experience that, while laudable in intention, often feels overwhelmingly static. 

One of the oddest films I’ve seen lately, April wasn’t a pleasant experience for me, but I do understand its point. I tolerated its radical, open-to-question aesthetics to learn more about the rebelliousness and inner decay of its main character. A shame that its art-house tactics tarnish much of the story’s emotional impact.

Wild Diamond (2025)

Direction: Agathe Riedinger
Country: France 

Wild Diamond tells the story of Liane Pougy, a relentless 19-year-old influencer who dreams of joining a reality TV show at any cost. This character had already taken centre stage in director Agathe Riedinger’s 2017 short film J’Attends Jupiter. Now, Riedinger makes her directorial feature debut with a bold foray into the world of fame and social media—offering a sharp reflection of our times.

Liane (Malou Khebizi) lives in Fréjus, a French city that evokes both hedonistic leisure and the grit of English working-class towns. At home, she’s stuck with an emotionally distant mother—who regularly brings sugar daddies home—and a tender younger sister. She prays to Saint Joseph and considers buttock augmentation, clinging to an artificial glitter while impatiently chasing easy fame. Her growing despair drives her to take dangerous risks.

Khebizi is the true diamond of the film in a quite impressive first appearance on the big screen. Trapped between a glossy fantasy and a bleak reality, Liane is a portrait of someone whose biggest aspirations become the very obstacles to her happiness. Riedinger shoots in a confrontational, intimate style, using a 4:3 aspect ratio to heighten the rawness of the characters and setting. Yet, the film occasionally stumbles, with minor plot stagnation and a couple of distracting and ineffective on-screen texts.

By the end, it feels like we’ve only skimmed the surface—but Wild Diamond still hits a very specific bullseye. How it affects you will almost certainly depend on your current relationship with social media and reality television. Flaws aside, this is a film worth wrestling with—brimming with electricity, as if told through the fingertips.

Bring Her Back (2025)

Direction: Danny and Michael Philippou
Country: Australia

The Philippou Brothers, who stirred up some frisson with their debut Talk To Me (2022), strike again with Bring Her Back, finding further creepiness in morbid rituals and macabre video recordings. The story, co-written by Danny and Bill Hinzman, follows orphaned step-siblings Andy (Billy Barratt) and visually impaired Piper (first-timer Sora Wong). They are placed in foster care under the supervision of Laura (Sally Hawkins), a grief-stricken former counselor who becomes dangerously unhinged. She also cares for Oliver (Jonah Wren Phillips), a sinister mute child insensible to pain.

More creepy than outright scary, Bring Her Back possesses a fierce brutality and visceral desperation that kept me watching. The Philippous have a gift for crafting atmospherics, establishing a sustained mood of uneasiness. They don’t shy away from the rough stuff, striving to bring extra layers to the genre, though leaving viewers emotionally drained in the process.

Hawkins, forever remembered for Mike Leigh’s comedy Happy-Go-Lucky (2008) and Del Toro’s fantasy The Shape of Water (2017), delivers a terrific first foray into horror. She even performs her own stunts here. Bring Her Back will probably stick in your gut for a little while, and don't be surprised if you walk away feeling hollow inside. This aggressively ferocious horror flick pushes cruelty to the edge, and is certainly not for the faint of heart.

Motel Destino (2024)

Direction: Karim Ainouz
Country: Brazil 

After experiencing Hollywood last year with the period drama Firebrand, filmmaker Karim Ainouz (Madame Satã, 2002; Invisible Life, 2019) returns to Brazil to helm Motel Destino, a mundane and sexually-charged neo-noir thriller that plays like a haunting phantasmagoria. While the script itself lacks depth, the film benefits from its sensory overload, visual experimentation, and a Coen Brothers-inspired score that evokes sinister western landscapes. 

Living in Ceará, Heraldo (Iago Xavier) plans to move to São Paulo but must first complete one last job for drug kingpin and local artist Bambina (Fabíola Líper). When things spiral out of control, he takes refuge in a seedy sex motel, aided by its owners: the restless Dayana (Nataly Rocha) and her volatile, voyeuristic husband, Elias (Fábio Assunção). 

There’s no pretentiousness or ego in the trio’s performances, and enough tension sustains interest until the film’s ultimately disappointing ending. Motel Destino is a vicious piece of work from a director unafraid to expose the primal, darker instincts of his characters. Unfortunately, this stylized erotic thriller is undermined by clumsy dialogue and a hastily executed conclusion. It offers a shallow cinematic experience that may not leave you breathless, but its darkness lingers like cement, and the tension between its sleazy content and neon-lit aesthetics is precisely where its power resides.

Holy Cow (2025)

Direction: Louise Courvoisier
Country: France 

Louise Courvoisier's feature debut, Holy Cow, is a sensitive coming of age tale set in Jura, a department in the Bourgogne-Franche-Comté region. Eighteen-year-old Totone (Clément Faveau) prefers hanging out and drinking with friends over helping his father on their cheese farm. But misfortune forces him to radically change his life. He finds solace in Marie-Lise (Maiwene Barthelemy), his first love, and in a newfound obsession: making the region’s best cheese.

The beauty of Holy Cow lies in its details as much as in the simplicity of its story, populated by genuine, believable characters. The nuanced performances from non-professional actors, the evocative use of location, and the sensitive script by Courvoisier and Théo Abadie elevates the film above many others in the genre.

The film’s humble nature and the setbacks faced by the protagonist never undercut its uplifting sense of satisfaction or its quiet celebration of romance and self-discovery. What’s perhaps most remarkable about Holy Cow is that it actually works in a quiet, unfussy way. There’s an honest emotional core in Courvoisier’s depiction of a teenager coming to terms with responsibility, morality, and friendship.

Viet and Nam (2025)

Direction: Minh Quy Truong
Country: Vietnam

Set in rural Vietnam in the year 2000, this malancholic and bucolic romantic drama is drenched in intermittent heavy rain, contemplating more than it discovers. Viet and Nam are two coal miners and lovers who dream of a different life abroad. Meanwhile, Nam’s mother obsessively searches for the remains of her husband, a casualty of the war, eventually crossing paths with a medium from the North.

Served by striking camerawork, Minh Quy Truong's second feature unfolds as a slow, profound excavation of a country’s lingering war wounds. Though ghostly and dreamlike, it weaves together queer romance, working-class struggle, historical trauma, grief, and spiritual longing. 

The film embraces a poetic, meditative style, with enigmatic flourishes and an eerie tranquility drawn from its rural landscapes. Its fluid sense of time and space recalls Apichatpong Weerasethakul’s cinema, albeit with a more grounded, objective gaze. The cast—composed of non-professional actors—delivers authentic, unembellished performances.

The film’s languid pacing and long, static 16mm shots may stretch its runtime, but Truong clearly trusts in the power of cinema and the viewer’s patience. Viet and Nam is a respectable film that can be moving in its infinite delicacy and quivering sensitivity—even if it doesn't entirely avoid the familiar traits of contemplative art-house cinema.