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.

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.

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.

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.

It Was Just An Accident (2025)

Direction: Jafar Panahi
Country: Iran

Jafar Panahi (Crimson Gold, 2003; Taxi, 2015; No Bears, 2022), the ingenious Iranian filmmaker long targeted by his country’s authoritarian regime, draws directly from his second imprisonment for his 11th feature, It Was Just An Accident. Favoring long takes and dialogue-driven scenes, the film follows Vahid (Vahid Mobasseri), a mechanic falsely accused of spreading propaganda against the regime, who believes he has unexpectedly crossed paths with Eghbal (Ebrahim Azizi), a ruthless, one-legged agent who tortured and humiliated him for years. Consumed by rage, Vahid kidnaps the man with the clear intention of killing him. When doubt begins to creep in, however, he turns to a group of fellow survivors—Shiva (Mariam Afshari), Goli (Hadis Pakbaten), and Hamid (Mohammad Ali Elyasmehr)—to help confirm the man’s identity.

Filmed clandestinely, It Was Just an Accident functions as a straightforward thriller that, despite its lucid dialogue and principled intentions, gradually loses narrative momentum. Blending political courage with cinematic audacity, the film bears the mark of a true fighter, one who insists on distinguishing executioners from victims even when rage and the thirst for vengeance blur moral lines. Panahi approaches these heavy themes—acknowledging wounds that never truly heal—with a tone that oscillates between dark humor and sober drama. He worked with the advice of Mehdi Mahmoudian, himself a former political prisoner who spent considerable time in Iranian jails.

While not a radical departure from Panahi’s earlier work, the film signals a shift toward a more direct approach. The result is a provocative, at times satirical drama whose parts often feel stronger than the whole. It’s a film that actually stands up and shouts, wanting to be noticed, yet its narrative twists are limited, and several key scenes fall short of the emotional impact they seem to aim for. Support for Panahi is unquestionable, but he has articulated sharper and more inventive statements in his previous films.

Misericordia (2025)

Direction: Alain Guiraudie
Country: France

Stranger By The Lake’s director Alain Guiraudie attempts to shock with Misericordia, a silly, slippery, and stiffly libidinous rural comedy-thriller whose wobbly parts add up to an uneven whole. With an absurdist edge reminiscent of Lanthimos, the film begins with intriguing observations and enigmatic characters, only to reduce them to the flimsy ideas they represent. Both the story and the style end up lumbering and graceless, sketching a web of desires and suspicions that feels amorphous, undercooked, and oddly weightless.

Former baker Jeremie (Félix Kysyl, in his first leading role), now living in Toulouse, returns to his hometown of Saint-Martial for his former boss’s funeral. There he reconnects with the boss’s protective widow (Catherine Frot), her belligerent son (Jean-Baptiste Durand), and the latter’s closest friend (David Ayala). A voluptuous, amoral priest—whose intentions remain both unprincipled and self-serving—joins the mix. Their relationships, initially ambiguous, turn sinister, but the film’s formula burns out long before it has a chance to ignite.

Several scenes are outright ludicrous—especially those involving the police—while others strain for provocation, like the fleeting shot of a priest with an erection. These moments feel less like organic absurdity and more like screenwriter contrivances, gestures meant to veer sharply from expectation without becoming any more compelling. Guiraudie clearly aims for a strain of outrageousness he never fully embraces.

As a highly manufactured piece, Misericordia feels more pathetic than smart, functioning like a one-joke film where the filmmaker keeps forgetting to tell it. One doesn’t find enough juice here to keep the boredom at bay.

Colours of Time (2025)

Direction: Cédric Klapisch
Country: France / Belgium

Colours of Time is an absolutely delightful and mesmerizing impressionistic tale, packed with history and an invigorating sense of adventure and discovery. Co-writer and director Cédric Klapisch (The Spanish Apartment, 2002; Rise, 2022) knows how to draw out charm through a compelling narrative structure, well-chosen environments, and bright, luminous visuals.

In this period drama, four distant cousins—young digital creator Seb (Abraham Wapler), soon-to-retire teacher Abdel (Zinedine Soualem), workaholic businesswoman Céline (Julia Piaton), and easygoing beekeeper Guy (Vincent Macaigne)—hit it off surprisingly well after meeting for the first time in Paris, summoned by a governmental agency interested in purchasing the house of an ancestor, Adèle Meunier (Suzanne Lindon). Alternating between past and present, with Paris as the central axis, the film also follows Adèle’s inspiring 19th-century journey as she leaves Normandy in search of her mother (Sara Giraudeau).

Impeccable production design and period detail make the film beautiful as a painting, and the smooth transitions between eras are particularly notable. Driven by a love of art and by Lindon’s charming performance, Colours of Time unfolds gently—subtly mixing humor and emotion in satisfying doses and using feel-good ingredients to explore what binds people together in a warm, perceptive portrayal of human relationships.

The script, which could easily sit alongside Alain Resnais’ lighter works, earns its own originality through its endearing characters and narrative fluidity. It marks an ambitious return for Klapisch, who invites us to look at life with renewed tenderness and understanding. This is truly great cinema, reminding us of the enduring impact of ancestry on our lives.

Splitsville (2025)

Direction: Michael Angelo Covino
Country: USA

As in his directorial debut The Climb (2019), American filmmaker Michael Angelo Covino directs, co-produces, and stars in Splitsville, a screwball-inspired comedy bursting with manic energy. Shot in just 24 days, the film follows the emotional whiplash, romantic chaos, and skeptical musings of two married couples—played by Dakota Johnson, Adria Arjona, Kyle Marvin (in his second collaboration with Covino), and Covino himself. 

At once cruel and silly, Splitsville unfolds as an overwrought carousel of breakups and reconciliations, gradually losing traction in its final act as the narrative grows too chaotic and emotionally volatile to sustain. It only truly sparkles in flashes—the standout being a ferocious, unbroken fight sequence between the two male best friends—yet much of it feels in need of a rougher edge and more air to breathe.

Covino wants to transgress but never finds his way to something convincing and original. The discombobulated love stories are marred by a thin script with nothing particularly interesting to say. I felt no connection with the characters, and none of the leads bring anything special to the film. Believability really goes out the window here, and Splitsville might have been easier to take if it were less infatuated with its own cleverness.

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.

Honey Don't! (2025)

Direction: Ethan Coen
Country: USA

Ethan Coen’s second solo directorial effort, Honey Don’t!, is a pedestrian neo-noir detective comedy weighed down by a basic script and textbook psychology. Co-written with Tricia Cooke, the film never rises above mediocrity, depleted of suspense and rarely funny. Its posture convinces some they’re having a good time, but in reality it offers only sex and murder dressed up as a ridiculous masquerade of mass entertainment.

The plot follows Honey Donohue (Margaret Qualley), a small-town private investigator and self-assured lesbian who takes on the case of a murdered woman linked to a spiteful cult church led by the lustful Reverend Drew Devlin (Chris Evans). Along the way, Honey enters a torrid relationship with police officer MG Falcone (Aubrey Plaza) while juggling unresolved family issues.

Every step in this machinery feels awkwardly glued together; the more one expects, the less it delivers. The film plays like a slapdash first draft masquerading as finished work, a violent comedy that becomes a parody of itself. Like his solo debut Drive-Away Dolls (2024), this effort delays Coen’s affirmation as a strong filmmaker and storyteller apart from his brother. Qualley seems more engaged than the material deserves, while Evans fails to convince.

Kill the Jockey (2025)

Direction: Luis Ortega
Country: Argentina / Mexico / other

Kill the Jockey, the fifth feature from Argentine filmmaker Luis Ortega, is a surrealist neo-noir tragicomedy—visually striking and mood-rich—that is just odd enough to skate by. However, it can feel somewhat thin in the plot, despite its intriguing exploration of identity, exploitation, and rebirth. 

The script—crafted by Ortega, Rodolfo Palacios (El Angel, 2018), and Fabian Casas (Jauja, 2014; Eureka, 2023)—follows Remo Manfredini (Nahuel Pérez Biscayart), a horse racing legend whose erratic, self-destructive behavior has left him numb. Struggling with addiction, Remo thrives on disaster and holds contempt for success. The racing world is dominated by Ruben Sirena (Daniel Giménez Cacho), a gangster obsessed with babies, whose only leverage now rests with Remo’s pregnant girlfriend, April (Úrsula Corberó). After a severe accident, Remo undergoes radical physical and psychological transformations that alter the course of his life.

Ortega’s vision is captivatingly strange, and the cast delivers exactly what he demands. Brimming with cinematic references, the film blends Aki Kaurismäki’s mordant humor, Wes Anderson’s bittersweet surrealism, and Radu Jude’s provocative social commentary. While the narrative occasionally feels circular, its offbeat tone and whimsical audacity make it potentially addictive once you surrender to its peculiar rhythms.

Sorry, Baby (2025)

Direction: Eva Victor
Country: USA

The power of American independent film is on full display in Eva Vitor’s largely autobiographical feature debut Sorry, Baby, a deft blend of black comedy and drama laced with corrosive humor and covert horror. Produced by Barry Jenkins (Moonlight, 2016), the film—low-key yet strikingly authentic—conveys not only the devastating trauma and far-reaching consequences of a sexual assault endured by a literature grad student at her university, but also the tenderness and sustenance of genuine friendship. 

Victor, who also wrote and stars, is utterly convincing as the wounded Agnes; her emotions, demeanor, and concerns carry such integrity that they feel lived-in. Yet, there’s often the haunting sense that she’s teetering on the edge of a precipice. 

Tough and achingly beautiful, Sorry, Baby plays like a letter of apology to all the women forced to navigate the long road of emotional repair while their attackers walked free. At once as intimate as a sigh and as urgent as a klaxon, this symphony of shame, confusion, and resilience is driven by stellar performances—Naomi Ackie shines alongside Victor—and a compelling non-linear structure that gradually unearths and absorbs the emotional core of the story.

The Naked Gun (2025)

Direction: Akiva Schaffer
Country: USA

Shot in 35mm with a nostalgic nod to the ’80s and ’90s, The Naked Gun returns for another unnecessary chapter in the police-parody franchise—this time centering on Frank Drebin Jr., played by Liam Neeson, son of the legendary detective lieutenant Frank Drebin Sr., immortalized by the late Leslie Nielsen across three films. Directed and co-written by Akiva Schaffer, with scripting help from Dan Gregor and Doug Mand—the duo behind his live-action/animated comedy Chip 'n Dale: Rescue Rangers (2022)—the film tries to rekindle old glory with mixed results.

Following in his father’s chaotic footsteps, Drebin Jr., now the LAPD’s zaniest cop, foils a bank robbery with unorthodox (if spectacular) methods. Soon after, he’s pulled into investigating the mysterious car crash that killed software engineer Simon Davenport. Suicide or murder? His sister Beth (Pamela Anderson) is convinced it’s the latter. 

While the premise has the seeds of something playful, The Naked Gun is a campy comedy that rarely lands its jokes. No wonder that David Zucker, who directed the first two installments of the saga, declined to produce the movie, calling it “substandard” after reading the script.  A few glimmers of humor surface early on, but they quickly fade under weak writing and flat performances. What’s left is a limp, witless spoof so overcooked in silliness it borders on painful. 

Suspended Time (2025)

Direction: Olivier Assayas
Country: France

Olivier Assayas is no ordinary director. Irma Vep (1996), Clouds of Sils Maria (2014) and Personal Shopper (2016) are unforgettable works that remain etched in my mind. Suspended Time, however—a personal pandemic-era product—never approaches those heights.

In this uneven docu-dramedy set during Covid, the French filmmaker revisits the confinement with his brother in their childhood home in the countryside of Essonne. Vincent Macaigne plays Paul Berger—Assayas’ on-screen “double”—an anxious, neurotic filmmaker who seeks occasional relief in therapy, while Micha Lescot—carrying a Howard Stern-like arrogance— plays his rock-critic brother Etienne. 

The brothers’ tensions are tempered by their partners, Morgane (Nine d’Urso) and Carol (Nora Hamzawi), and evenings bring a temporary peace—dinners and drinks outdoors soften the edges—only for irritations to resurface the next morning. These domestic rhythms are intercut with lyrical, autobiographical voiceovers from Assayas himself.

Covid did these things, with people suddenly needing to tell a lot about themselves. Caught in the web of the past, the film struggles to move beyond the trivial, offering little more than a handful of mildly awkward domestic moments. The “artsy” dialogues, drifting toward tedium, rob the film of momentum. Suspended Time quickly goes stale—a talkative, pretentious, and overly nostalgic trifle that leaves annoyance lingering longer than any genuine insight or emotional connection.

The Phoenician Scheme (2025)

Direction: Wes Anderson
Country: USA

In his latest feature, The Phoenician Scheme, Wes Anderson takes aim at capitalism without morals, blending slapstick and absurdism in a live-action espionage comedy suffused with sumptuous visuals and imaginative scenarios marked by his signature symmetry. Co-written with Roman Copolla and dedicated to his father-in-law, Lebanese businessman Faoud Malouf, the film was primarily shot at Babelsberg, the world's oldest film studio, and boasts an impressive cast led by Benicio Del Toro, Kate Winslet’s daughter Mia Threapleton, and Michael Cera. 

Zsa-Zsa Korda (Del Toro), a cunning, wealthy industrialist, has survived multiple plane crashes and assassination attempts. Wanted for fraud, he is a man of countless schemes and grand projects for the Phoenicia region. He designates his daughter Liesl (Threapleton), a 21-year-old nun, as the sole heir to his empire.

The story zigzags between relentless assassins—all former employees of Korda—infiltrators, double agents, betrayals, revolutionary guerrilla robberies, mysterious shoeboxes, and a hilariously odd basketball competition. The dialogues are surprisingly witty, and Anderson’s cinematic universe is stylized to reflect his unique whims. The Phoenician Scheme may not fully achieve the greatness it aspires to, but it offers a relentlessly stylish parade of comic characters—certainly a more charming, funny, and captivating experience than Anderson’s previous dull feature Asteroid City (2023). At least here, I remained invested in the characters, in a film propelled by an atypical rhythm and enlivened by an unapologetic “cartoon” sensibility. 

Framed by fragmented twists, it doesn’t always land both narratively and comically, but its flashes of darkness bring a welcome novelty to a burlesque depiction of society that questions our times with explosiveness and wild madness.

Grand Tour (2025)

Direction: Miguel Gomes
Country: Portugal / other

A loving tribute to silent dramas and classic historical adventures, Grand Tour—filmed in breathtaking black-and-whit—is a art-house triumph co-written and directed by Miguel Gomes, the visionary behind Tabu (2012), Arabian Nights (2015), and The Tsugua Diaries (2021). Evoking the spirit of Murnau and Pabst, while channeling Herzog’s Fitzcarraldo and elements of Von Sternberg and Mizoguchi, the film thrives on the cultural richness of its settings, imbued with an underground charisma and an enigmatic touch.

Inspired by a passage from William Somerset Maugham’s 1930 travel memoir The Gentleman in the Parlour, the story unfolds in 1918, following Edward Abbot (Gonçalo Waddington), a restless bohemian and possible spy stationed in Rangoon. His determined fiancée, Molly Singleton (Crista Alfaiate), sets out on a journey across Asia in pursuit of him. While he wants freedom, she wants marriage.

As comprehensive and lucid as a tone poem, Grand Tour is a dreamlike, tragicomic odyssey—a lavish production in which every frame pulses with expressiveness and dramatic force. Pushing intuition to its limits, Gomes liberates himself from the conventions of historical reconstruction. The result is a hybrid of experimental cinema, documentary, and fiction, through which he explores the wavering contours of human behavior with poetic clarity. His mastery of script, camera, and performance direction is striking throughout.

With just a bit more emotional depth and heightened tension, the film could have soared even higher. Still, Grand Tour exercises a powerful grip and stands as a strong recommendation.

The Marching Band (2025)

Direction: Emmanuel Courcol
Country: France

The Matching Band, a comedy-drama co-written and directed by Emmanuel Courcol, navigates admirable humanism and warm emotion while exploring the fragile bond between two brothers who have only just discovered each other’s existence. Set in northern France, the story follows Thibaut (Benjamin Lavernhe), a successful 37-year-old conductor in desperate need of a bone marrow transplant, who also learns that he was adopted as a child. His only hope lies in contacting his biological brother, Jimmy (Pierre Lottin), whom he had never known. Despite their vastly different upbringings and lifestyles, the brothers find a shared language in music.

The Marching Band is an optimistic yet ultimately heartbreaking drama, elevated by a spirited score but marred by uneven performances—Lavernhe is more convincing than Lottin, who previously worked with Courcol in The Big Hit (2020). The film sometimes feels like a retread of familiar stories, revealing a degree of superficiality in certain areas. Its take on social determinism carries some heart, but despite its transparent staging, it lacks the raw urgency and piercing precision of Ken Loach’s realism. Instead, Courcol leans into light comedy and a saccharine tone that occasionally borders on condescension.

The plight of the mining community and its marching band, along with the romance between Jimmy and fellow band member Sabrina (Sarah Suco), feels underdeveloped—more like narrative filler than fully fleshed-out subplots. While the script doesn’t always ring true, the film ultimately lands with a powerful dramatic finale.

Snow Leopard (2024)

Direction: Pema Tseden
Country: China

Snow Leopard, the final film by Pema Tseden, impresses with its stunning visuals but falters in story development and character depth. Tibetan culture takes center stage in this comedy-drama, which carries the intriguing simplicity of a fable. However, its execution often feels overly theatrical, preventing it from leaving a lasting impact.

The humor wears thin over time, and the film’s polished aesthetic renders some scenes overly staged. The narrative also suffers from the repetitive use of its central motif. Snow Leopard is carefully and calculatingly naive, with a story structure that remains distractingly uninspired. It aims for gravity but its sincerity falls flat. Tseden will likely be more enduringly remembered for Balloon (2019).

Companion (2025)

Direction: Drew Hancock
Country: USA 

By fusing elements of Ex-Machina, Black Mirror, and M3gan, Companion—a muddled sci-fi comedy thriller with a splash of gore—operates on artificial dramatic energies. Written and directed by Drew Hancock, the film follows a couple—insensitive and tactless Josh (Jack Quaid) and devoted, deeply-in-love Iris (Sophia Thatcher)—on a wild weekend getaway with friends at a remote cabin. Things take a dark turn when it’s revealed that one of them is a companion robot that can shift from vulnerable and needy to intoxicatingly confident and violent.

While Companion isn't a complete misfire, it delivers a middling cinematic experience, favoring familiar concepts over genuine wit and substance. The wobbly and misguided final acts fail to disguise the fact that the film doesn’t live up to its hype, even as it explores the horrors of toxic relationships and the looming ethical dilemmas of AI.

The biggest issue is the relentless sequence of twists, which attempts to keep the film engaging but ultimately feels exhausting. Though there are weird and amusing moments, the predictability and lack of originality reduce them to choppy, repetitive sequences. Despite Thatcher’s committed performance and the film’s fluctuating emotional beats, Companion remains a shaky, average effort devoid of real suspense—an interesting idea bogged down by a literal-minded, mechanical, and somewhat draggy execution.

The New Year That Never Came (2024)

Direction: Bogdan Muresanu
Country: Romania

Bogdan Muresanu’s debut feature, The New Year That Never Came, is a political Romanian tragicomedy expanding on his 2018 short film The Christmas Gift. Set against the tumultuous backdrop of the Romanian revolution, the story unfolds over a single day in Bucharest, just before the fall of Nicolae Ceaușescu’s regime.

Filmed in a restrained 4:3 format, the film relies on a skilled ensemble cast to deliver a stripped-down exercise in social realism. While Mureșanu’s simmering narrative never fully boils over, it serves as a poignant meditation on oppression and fear. Carefully structured and tightly measured, it maintains a controlled tension that keeps the audience engaged.

The characters are far from preoccupied with trivial matters. Among them, we meet a disillusioned young student contemplating an illegal escape from the country, a group of men desperately trying to manipulate a politically damning video, a middle-aged woman emotionally torn as she faces losing her home, and a father thrust into jeopardy because of an innocent letter written by his son.

Through its pointed surface, The New Year That Never Came manages to tell us a great deal, capturing both the gravity and absurdity of life under a collapsing regime and offering viewers an evocative and thought-provoking experience. The film’s resonance and craftsmanship earned it the Orizzonti Award and the FIPRESCI Prize at Venice Film Festival.