U Are the Universe (2025)

Direction: Pavlo Ostrikov
Country: Ukraine / Belgium

U Are the Universe is a minimalist, low-budget Ukrainian space odyssey with unusual tonal shifts and much to admire. Written and directed by Pavlo Ostrikov, the film stars Volodymyr Kravchuk as a solitary, hot-tempered, and a bit self-centered astronaut tasked with transporting nuclear waste to Jupiter’s abandoned moon, Callisto. When Earth suddenly explodes, he accepts his fate as the last human in the universe—until a radio message from a female meteorologist stationed near Saturn suggests otherwise.

The film signals a fresh and exciting entry in European sci-fi cinema, drawing the viewer into its survivalist premise with steady, absorbing momentum. It remains consistently mesmerizing, sustained by Ostrikov’s thoughtful direction. Both the set design and special effects are impressively realized, while occasional touches of deliberately cheesy music enhance the film’s offbeat humor—particularly in the evolving, love-hate dynamic between the astronaut and Max, his devoted onboard computer.

Caught between the certainty of death and the emergence of a love he has never known, the protagonist undergoes a form of spiritual awakening that transcends mere survival instinct. The film is constructed with meticulous care, generating a palpable sense of uncertainty, wonder, and emotional depth.

Loneliness stands at the core of the narrative, and U Are the Universe explores it with striking effectiveness—blending humor, tenderness, suspense, and claustrophobia with substance. By the time the credits roll, its impact is undeniable—a small but remarkable gem that leaves a lasting impression.

The Plague (2026)

Direction: Charlie Polinger
Country: USA

The Plague, a psychological horror drama centered on a youth water polo team, marks a convincing debut for writer-director Charlie Polinger, who received accolades in the Un Certain Regard section at the 2025 Cannes Film Festival. Delving into a neurotic pre-adolescence steeped in anxiety, the film draws from the director’s personal diaries written during a summer camp in 2003.

As an astute—if at times dreary—examination of youth culture within a sports camp setting, the film confronts uncomfortable realities such as bullying and the challenges of integrating into a new group. It is also notably atmospheric, ambiguous, and faintly bizarre, with a darkness that probes into grim, rarely explored emotional corners.

Polinger avoids sensationalism, maintaining a restrained, low-key approach, while the ensemble cast delivers strong performances. Young actors Everett Blunck and Kayo Martin are particularly remarkable, and a composed Joel Edgerton also contributes both on screen and as a co-producer. 

It’s a strange movie—one that may initially feel elusive in its appeal, yet gradually reveals its intrigue through lingering enigmas. A bolder ending might have elevated it further, but The Plague, carrying an unexpected emotional weight, emerges as a pleasant surprise.

Project Hail Mary (2026)

Direction: Phil Lord, Christopher Miller
Country: USA

Project Hail Mary, a family-friendly sci-fi comedy-drama directed by Phil Lord and Christopher Miller, stars Ryan Gosling as Ryland Grace, a teacher-turned-astronaut tasked with an impossible mission: saving Earth from starvation and extinction caused by a gradual, unexplained dimming of the sun. During his solitary journey, he establishes communication with an alien creature who shares the same goal of saving its own planet. The screenplay, written by Drew Goddard, adapts Andy Weir’s novel of the same name. Goddard previously adapted another of Weir’s celebrated works, The Martian, brought to the screen by Ridley Scott in 2015. 

True to form, the film takes us on a journey against all odds, with occasional narrative confusion and some overly extended passages offset by a welcome sense of humor and a heartfelt tone. This is a blockbuster that works, if modestly, thanks to its unflashy visuals—a subtle homage to the space operas of the 1980s—and to Ryan Gosling’s strong performance, marking his second portrayal of an astronaut after First Man (2018). 

What stands out most in this survivalist space tale is its refusal to follow entirely predictable paths, leaning less on action and more on themes of friendship, curiosity, compassion, and courage. Still, some sections feel uneven, occasionally slipping into avoidable melodrama. Though technically proficient, Project Hail Mary may not rank among the great sci-fi films, but it remains a fairly entertaining one.

A Poet (2026)

Direction: Simón Mesa Soto
Country: Colombia 

Not without humor and acerbic social commentary, A Poet marks the second feature by Colombian writer-director Simón Mesa Soto, who previously garnered awards at Cannes, Havana and Chicago with Amparo (2021). Led by Ubeimar Rios—a non-professional actor portraying an alcoholic, immature, and washed-up poet with an unsympathetic face, a crooked posture, and a weary gait—the film offers a slice of tumultuous life shaped by a complicated man striving to become better.

Oscar Restrepo (Ríos), financially dependent on his elderly mother, leads a solitary existence. He fails not only to gain recognition as a poet and to stop drinking, but also to connect with his daughter, who is preparing to leave for college. Yet his fundamentally kind nature compels him to help a talented young student after reluctantly accepting a position teaching philosophy. There is failure here, certainly, but also a quiet sense of dignity.

Shot over the course of a month on grainy 16mm—lending a nostalgic texture—the film stands out for its cunning and the strength of its writing. Soto crafts something oblique, downbeat, and offbeat, infused with darkly comic and cynical observations. Emotional turmoil abounds, yet not a moment feels wasted; even the humor carries an undercurrent of awkwardness. Nervy, imaginative, and sensitive, A Poet is an outrageously original comedy-drama that draws something unexpected from the tensions between social classes.

Rosemead (2026)

Direction: Eric Lin
Country: USA

Although based on a true story, Rosemead failed to leave a strong impression. The brooding drama, co-written and directed by debutant Eric Lin, stars Lucy Liu and Lawrence Shou as an immigrant mother grappling with terminal cancer and a teenage son struggling with mental illness, respectively. The film also engages with the fraught subject of guns and mass school shootings.

Emotionally wrenching yet fragmented in its misery, Rosemead falters in articulating its parts, with a tone-deaf approach that prevents it from establishing a satisfying narrative arc. The film feels punishing, and its narrative strategy cannot disguise a certain emotional emptiness. Lin aspires to create something gripping, but the result leans toward suffocating instead. His direction, largely unconcerned with visual nuance, reinforces a sense of stiffness and looming dread—arguably the film’s central flaw—as it grows increasingly exhausting over time.

Amrum (2026)

Direction: Fatih Akin
Country: Germany

Based on German actor, director, and screenwriter Mark Bohm’s childhood, Fatih Akin’s Amrum follows Nanning, a good-hearted 12-year-old boy—a member of the Hitler Youth and son of a Nazi dignitary—who becomes obsessed with pleasing his mother by finding the food she craves, especially after she gives birth. Set on the North Sea island of Amrum at the end of World War II, the film is a solid, intimate effort in which the distinct humanity of its key characters makes it both affecting and singular.

As Nanning innocently believes he has everything under control, his world begins to crumble, mirroring the collapse of his family’s misguided beliefs. Despite the surrounding confusion, hardship, and darkness of the era, the touching finale carries a sense of grace and hope for the future.

Compellingly directed and naturally performed, this bittersweet coming-of-age story is anchored by young actor Jasper Billerbeck—a true revelation—who brings tenderness even to the harshest moments. It stands as Akin’s strongest film since The Edge of Heaven (2007), portraying horror through candor, reality through dreams, and suffering through innocence. With a faintly sinister yet soulful fairytale quality, Amrum is a well-observed and powerfully executed little film with beautiful imagery.

Father Mother Sister Brother (2025)

Direction: Jim Jarmusch
Country: USA

Father Mother Sister Brother, the latest anthology drama by acclaimed American filmmaker Jim Jarmusch—consistently remarkable since the 1980s, with too many notable films to list—centers on the distant relationships between adult children and their parents. With humor and elegance, Jarmusch explores these complexities through three distinct stories—separated by dreamy visual interludes—set in different countries, where peculiar elements intersect, such as coordinated clothing colors, Rolex watches, books, and toasts with “forbidden” liquids. The details are delightful, and the phenomenal ensemble cast—Tom Waits, Mayim Bialik, Adam Driver, Cate Blanchett, Charlotte Rampling, Vicky Krieps, Indya Moore, and Luka Sabbat—imbues each segment with authentic resonance, helping to shape the film into a gem of incisive emotional poetry.

Shot with warmth and precision, this triptych feels both melancholic and acerbic, capturing a sense of distance that appears irretrievable. Jarmusch resists moralizing, choosing instead to observe with acuity and invite reflection on questions that remain unresolved. His screenplay proves both sharply witty and deeply poignant.

Thoughtfully constructed, the film offers a rare sense of intimacy in contemporary cinema, remaining fully captivating while delivering a powerful and thought-provoking experience. Father Mother Sister Brother stands as a beautiful work from a genuinely gifted filmmaker, one whose perspective continues to feel strikingly relevant.

The Testament of Ann Lee (2026)

Direction: Mona Festvold
Country: UK / USA

From Norwegian filmmaker Mona Festvold (The Sleepwalker, 2014; The World to Come, 2020), The Testament of Ann Lee explores the life of the leader and founder of the Shakers, an 18th-century British religious sect, through frenzied songs and dances that attempt to capture the feverish worship of its believers. Ominously introduced through music and movement—set to a score by The Brutalist composer Daniel Blumberg—the film gradually loses momentum, becoming painfully dragging. 

Despite its decent premise, this exploitative mystery leaves much to be desired, with Fastvold knowing exactly where to put the camera but losing control over how long to let it roll. The result is a repetitive execution that struggles to evoke genuine chills, no matter how insistently it tries.

Completely missing the mark on the emotional side, The Testament of Ann Lee ultimately fails to resonate—I neither enjoyed it nor found it to offer anything particularly meaningful. It feels like a film more interested in exhibiting pain than in understanding it, weighed down by extended musical sequences that stall an already unsatisfying narrative. One might even call it an ambitious misfire, lost within its own artistic formula.

Living The Land (2026)

Direction: Huo Meng
Country: China

Huo Meng’s sophomore feature, Living The Land, is a tender and poetic drama about traditional life in a corner of the Chinese countryside at the end of the 20th century. It also unfolds as a bittersweet coming-of-age story, offering an honest portrait of a farming family in the village of Bewangtai, in Henan province, seen through the eyes of a sensitive ten-year-old boy, Chuang (Wang Shang).

Living the Land may bear a simple title, but it conceals an expansive universe within a story that spans four generations. Its heartfelt approach and wealth of observation prove captivating from beginning to end—absent parents, family solidarity, the party’s grip, age-old traditions, an unwanted marriage, survival, oil diggers and progress, (controlled) birth, death… It’s a dazzling package shaped by a distinct aesthetic, bucolic tones, and deliberate pacing.

Carrying a documentary-like verisimilitude and reflective strength, the film—shot over the course of a year—is dedicated to Meng’s childhood and the farmers of his village. Rich in depth, this moving chronicle is remarkably staged and naturally performed, marking it as a film destined to leave its imprint on the history of Chinese cinema. This marvel of subtlety earned Meng the Silver Bear for Best Director at the Berlin International Film Festival.

The Blue Trail (2026)

Direction: Gabriel Mascaro
Country: Brazil

Brazilian director Gabriel Mascaro’s fourth feature, The Blue Trail, is a dystopian boat drama that, marked by a bittersweet tone while refusing to abandon hope, explores themes of ageism, authoritarianism, and resilience. In truth, it unfolds like an absurdist fable, questioning not only one’s relationship with old age but also totalitarian governmental programs driven by greedy economic intentions, to the detriment of a proper consideration for seniors’ feelings.

Upon reaching the age of 77, Tereza (Denise Weinberg) faces forced relocation—to a Colony from which no one returns—yet embarks on a clandestine, almost surreal journey along the Amazon River to embrace freedom and fulfill her dream of flying.

We encounter passive-aggressive undertones while following this woman’s path with curiosity, and the film delivers with disarming subtlety in the right moments. Yet, the script, co-written by Mascaro and Tibério Azul, works only intermittently, at times languishing in feverish psychedelia and heavy-handed gravitas. The Blue Trail could have been a scarier and more intoxicating trip, but it ultimately stands as an ode to brave resistance, dignity, and self-respect.

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.