Hard Truths (2025)

Direction: Mike Leigh
Country: UK

Written and directed by the great Mike Leigh (Naked, 1993; Vera Drake, 2004), Hard Truths is an acrid contemporary drama that explores depression and bitterness within an African-American family in England. Marked by the pragmatic, unflinching realism that defines much of Leigh’s work, the film centers on Pansy Deacon (Marianne Jean-Baptiste), an unsympathetic, deeply unhappy woman whose life is weighed down by trauma, extreme control, antagonism, and emotional isolation. Lonely, exhausted, and fearful, she makes life unbearable for her hardworking husband, Curtley (David Webber), and their indolent 22-year-old son, Moses (Tuwaine Barrett). The only person who can tolerate Pansy’s abrasive nature is her sister, Chantelle (Michele Austin).

Reuniting with Jean-Baptiste 28 years after Secrets & Lies—Leigh’s Palme d’Or-winning drama—the director presents a toxic home environment with no easy resolution. It’s an intense, at times overwhelming experience, more humiliating than humorous, and grappling with Leigh’s recurring theme: the sheer difficulty of living. Emotional suffocation, unrelenting tension, and pervasive sadness dominate the atmosphere, yet if ever a performance could redeem such bleakness, it is Jean-Baptiste’s.

At times, while carrying his love-it-or-hate-it penchant for directness, Leigh risks alienating the audience from his intent. However, he ensures that every emotional wound is laid bare with sharp clarity, granting his actors the freedom to improvise in a way that heightens the film’s authenticity. The good part is that he’s not afraid to show the ugliest moments of life, doing it without passing judgment.

Nickel Boys (2024)

Direction: RaMell Ross
Country: USA

Based on Colson Whitehead’s 2019 Pulitzer Prize-winning novel, Nickel Boys, is a poignant historical drama directed and co-written by RaMell Ross in his narrative feature debut. The film follows two young Black men struggling to survive the brutal realities of a Florida reformatory school in the 1960s. Inspired by the real-life Nickel Academy—a segregationist institution notorious for its systemic abuse—the story unfolds with a raw, unflinching perspective. 

Presented from a first-person point of view, this tough-minded film thrives on exquisitely composed imagery that both stimulates the senses and piques curiosity. Ross employs a distinct filmmaking intensity, one that encourages viewers not just to watch, but to observe and feel deeply. Echoing the works of Terrence Malick, Charles Burnett, and Barry Jenkins, he approaches youth incarceration with a fiercely personal and devastating lens. 

Not being an easy watch, Nickel Boys offers an impressionistic view of a tragic experience, covering predictable ground with an admirable sense of artistry and a fair dose of sincerity.

A Complete Unknown (2024)

Direction: James Mangold
Country: USA 

James Mangold’s biographical drama A Complete Unknown delves into the early rise of American singer-songwriter Bob Dylan, capturing the transformative years between 1961 and 1966. This pivotal period in Dylan’s ever-evolving career sees him transition from a struggling nomad to a folk hero and ultimately to a groundbreaking rock icon. Co-written by Mangold and Joe Cocks, the film is based on Dylan Goes Electric! by musician and music journalist Elijah Wald. 

French actor Thimothee Chalamet skillfully slips into the shoes of the genius, transmitting Dylan’s spirit in his twenties and conveying not only his elusive personality but also his enigmatic charm. Singing, playing guitar, and embodying the artist’s restless spirit, his portrayal borders on perfection. 

The film traces Dylan’s meteoric rise, his tumultuous relationships with Suze Rotolo (Elle Fanning) and folk singer Joan Baez (Monica Barbaro), and the seismic shockwaves of his controversial Newport Folk Festival performance, where he defied expectations by picking up an electric guitar. This moment, a turning point in his career, signified his determination to forge his own path beyond the confines of traditional folk music.

Mangold and cinematographer Phedon Papamichael, a frequent collaborator since 2003, vividly reconstruct the atmosphere of New York’s Greenwich Village in the 1960s, painting a visually rich and immersive portrait of the era. There is careful craftsmanship in Mangold’s direction—nothing feels cheap or inauthentic. Having already demonstrated his prowess in biopics with Walk the Line (about country-folk and rockabilly singer Johnny Cash) and Ford vs. Ferrari, he ensures that the film not only tells Dylan’s story but also reflects the broader political and cultural influence of American folk music at the time. 

What sets A Complete Unknown apart is its deep admiration and respect for both Dylan and the artists who surrounded him. The dry, academic biography that many might have feared turned out a rich and fascinating work. Not a moment is wasted in a film that runs fluidly, with historical significance.

Sing Sing (2025)

Direction: Greg Kwedar
Country: USA

Sing Sing tells the story of Divine G (Colman Domingo), an inmate at the infamous high-security prison who finds solace and purpose in a theater program while serving time for a crime he didn’t commit. Inspired by true events, the film is directed by Greg Kwedar (Transpecos, 2016; Jockey, 2021), who once again collaborates with Clint Bentley on the script. Notably, several former prisoners who benefited from this artistic rehabilitation program appear in the cast, adding an extra layer of authenticity.

Sometimes heavy-handed, sometimes surprisingly fluid, the documentary-like drama is carried by Domingo, who portrays a man reclaiming a fragment of his lost humanity by daring to dream of a new life. Shot primarily with a shoulder camera, the film favors close-ups, capturing expressions steeped in regret and pain. Presented without artifice, Sing Sing follows a slow-burning script in which characters gradually reveal themselves—though the emotional impact doesn’t always land as powerfully as intended. 

A sort of Dead Poets Society within Shawshank, the film’s message of hope and friendship is intertwined with a stripped-down, minimalist theatricality that sometimes borders on the academic. While not particularly surprising in its execution, Sing Sing maintains a genuine human tone, packed with disillusion, frustration, and hope. It’s a serious work, though one that may be challenging to engage with as pure entertainment.

Exhibiting Forgiveness (2024)

Direction: Titus Kaphar
Country: USA

Exhibiting Forgiveness marks the directorial feature film debut of Titus Kaphar, an American contemporary painter who draws from his own life, deconstructing personal experiences to craft a thoughtful, if imperfect, drama. The film stars André Holland as Tarell, a talented Black painter haunted by the past. His beloved mother, Joyce (Aunjanue Ellis-Taylor), is terminally ill, and urges him to reconcile with and forgive his estranged father, La’Ron (John Earl Jelks), a former drug addict whose neglect and cruelty made Tarell’s childhood a nightmare. Together, father and son grapple with the painful truth that forgetting is often harder than forgiving.

With family trauma at its core, the film is ultimately about healing and finding a path forward. While occasionally tentative, it remains an honest and heartfelt melodrama that flickers with emotional depth, even if it never fully ignites. It is a small film in the best sense—intimate, personal, and rooted in the everyday struggles of ordinary people. However, the slow, restrained performances sometimes add more mannerism than poetry to this pursuit of happiness.

Kaphar’s screenplay, not being thin, is on the verge of collapsing on several occasions, leaving emotions in an embryonic state. However, a simmering tension is maintained, and the actors ultimately hold it together. Exhibiting Forgiveness is a movie at odds with itself, but that internal struggle is also its greatest strength.

Queer (2024)

Direction: Luca Guadagnino
Country: USA

Queer is an unimaginative adaptation of William S. Burrough’s 1985 novella, tracing the peculiar journey of his literary alter ego. In 1950s Mexico City, William Lee (Daniel Craig), an American expat in his late forties, leads a solitary life amidst a small American community. However, the arrival in town of Eugene Allerton (Drew Starkey), a charming young student recently discharged from the U.S. Navy, stirs William into finally establishing a meaningful connection with someone. Directed by Luca Guadagnino (Call Me By Your Name, 2017; Suspiria, 2018; Challengers, 2024), with a screenplay by Justin Kuritzkes, the film focuses on a strong character but fails to explore his emotional complexities. 

The film is built on an uneven collection of episodes and intensities that never takes us anywhere despite a feverish final act. The director is true to form, yet the film’s sterile, overly polished approach never truly engages the heart or mind. The climactic descent into spiritual reckoning feels heavy-handed, offering no real payoff.

Craig delivers an impressive performance portraying a man of self-sufficiency and excesses, but Guadagino's approach bothered me as he unoriginally tries to shape the couple’s bonding as revelatory. There’s no need for wider social and cultural context, but in terms of romance, emotions struggle to pop up. The film’s strongest assets are its evocative cinematography by Sayombhu Mukdeeprom—whose lighting draws inspiration from Flemish painters—and a powerful contemporary soundtrack featuring Nirvana, Prince, and Sinéad O’Connor. However, these flourishes aren’t enough to elevate an otherwise hollow experience.

The Girl With the Needle (2025)

Direction: Magnus von Horn 
Country: Denmark / Poland / Sweden

The Girl With the Needle is a stark and unflinching period drama, imbued with immense emotional heft. It marks another impressive achievement from acclaimed Swedish filmmaker Magnus von Horn (The Here After, 2015; Sweat, 2020), in his first venture into black-and-white cinema. Inspired by Denmark’s most notorious criminal case—the life of serial killer Dagmar Overbye, who murdered 25 infants—the screenplay, co-written with Line Langebek Knudsen, deliberately avoids a direct biopic. Instead, they introduce Karoline, a fictional young factory worker who becomes pregnant and, through her fateful encounters with the criminal, reflects society’s perception of women in her position. 

The film unfolds with haunting beauty, capturing the profound isolation of its protagonist through restrained yet deeply affecting storytelling. Von Horn constructs a chilling, nightmarish world where loss and despair seep into every frame, leaving little room for hope. His approach, evocative of classic European arthouse cinema, is both subtly exasperating and hypnotically compelling.

The Girl With the Needle is raw, unrelenting, and unforgettable—its emotional and visual impact heightened by masterful staging and an ever-present sense of suffocating tension. Lushly photographed in monochrome, the film is elevated by outstanding performances from Vic Carmen Sonne and Trine Dyrholm, whose portrayals add to its harrowing intensity.

The Brutalist (2025)

Direction: Brady Corbet
Country: USA

The Brutalist, the fourth feature from Brady Corbet, co-written with his wife Mona Fastvold, is a riveting epic drama starring Adrien Brody, Guy Pearce, and Felicity Jones. The film’s title references both the stark architectural style that emerged in the 1950s—marked by raw materials like concrete and brick—and the underlying brutality of human nature. 

At its core, it tells the story of László Toth (Brody), a visionary Hungarian architect who escapes war-ravaged Europe to rebuild his life in America after surviving the concentration camps. His dreams take shape when wealthy tycoon Harrison Van Buren (Pearce) recognizes his talent and commissions him for an ambitious project. However, the opportunity comes at a steep cost, forcing László to navigate a world of power, ambition, and disillusionment.

Embracing a style that evokes the cinema of Paul Thomas Anderson and Orson Welles, The Brutalist explores the intersection of the immigrant experience and the artist’s journey, as well as the corrosive effects of human dominance. Over its sweeping 3-hour-and-35-minute runtime, the film presents both breathtaking visuals and an unflinching portrayal of an artist’s struggle, leaving the viewer bracingly unsettled.

The Brutalist is breathtakingly cruel and merciless in its essence, served by masterful performances, a punchy dialogue, and bravura staging. As a film of remarkable dramatic and formal magnitude, the more you think about it, the better and more qualified the film seems. A monumental work that firmly establishes itself as an instant classic.
Brody, an actor in state of grace, embraced another tailor-made role for him, making The Brutalist one of the standout films of the year.

Vermiglio (2024)

Direction: Maura Delpero
Country: Italy / Frane / Belgium

Vermiglio is a slow-burning yet largely compelling drama that thrives on its brooding atmosphere and tonal consistency. The title refers to a mountainous region where the harsh wintry landscape and limited resources underscore the hardships of wartime life.

Set in 1944, the film follows Pietro Riso (Giuseppe De Domenico), a deserting soldier who arrives in the village and falls in love with Lucia (Martina Scrinzi), the eldest daughter of the schoolteacher. Their love culminates in marriage, but fate, as often, proves unkind. Simultaneously, we witness the teacher's (Tommaso Ragno) personal struggles and the tribulations of two of his other children: Ada (Roberta Rovelli), tormented by guilt over impure thoughts and resorting to self-punishment, and Dino (Patrick Gardner), a wine-drinking boy who struggles academically.

Desolation and inertia permeate this powerful, well-acted tale, brought to life by Maura Delpero’s assured direction and elegantly composed visuals. Her meticulous gaze channels echoes of Anton Chekhov and Nuri Bilge Ceylan, prompting reflection on life’s quiet sorrows and joys. Despite the film’s languid pace and contemplative storytelling, Delpero persistently seeks and captures moments of humanity in her second foray into fictional filmmaking. The bittersweet Vermiglio earned the Grand Jury Prize at Venice.

All We Imagine as Light (2024)

Direction: Payal Kapadia
Country: India

All We Imagine as Light is a heartfelt love letter to Mumbai — a poetic, tender, and thoughtful portrait of contemporary India that follows the lives of two nurses and a cook working at a bustling Mumbai hospital. 

Prabha (Kani Kusruti), an experienced nurse, struggles with loneliness, haunted by an arranged marriage to a stranger who quickly immigrated to Germany and hasn't contacted her for over a year. Her vivacious younger roommate, Anu (Divya Prabha), challenges societal norms by dating a Muslim man, stirring a quiet jealousy in Prabha, who feels stagnant despite the subtle advances of Dr. Manoj (Azees Nedumangad). Meanwhile, their friend Parvathy (Chhaya Kadam), a widowed cook, faces displacement as a greedy landlord threatens her with eviction, forcing her to return to her hometown of Ratnagari.

Powered by three exquisite performances, this nuanced Indian tale unfolds in two distinct parts, each marked by its own landscape and emotional cadence. The film presents diverse forms of resistance against life's adversities, with writer-director Payal Kapadia, who has a background in documentary, wrapping every scene in grace and quiet revelations. Rather than seeking dramatic excesses, she adheres to a composed subtlety that works better than a river of tears. 

All We Imagine as Light is a soothing balm amidst the chaotic rhythms of modern Mumbai, offering a gentle meditation on life's complexities. Its lingering tenderness leaves a profound impression long after the credits roll.

Armand (2024)

Direction: Halfdan Ullmann Tøndel
Country: Norway 

Norwegian writer/director Halfdan Ullmann Tøndel, the grandson of actress Liv Ullmann and director Ingmar Bergman, makes his feature debut with Armand, a film steeped in secrets, lies, suspicions, and the complexities of troubled adult lives. Drawing inspiration from the works of Luis Buñuel, Tøndel crafts a tense narrative centered on Elisabeth (Renate Reinsve), an emotionally complex actor with a troubled past. She is summoned to an emergency meeting at her son's school, where allegations of potential inappropriate behavior by her 6-year-old son, Armand, toward his cousin are under investigation. Previous incidents compound the suspicions. 

The film's intrigue lies in deciphering whether Elisabeth, both neurotic and resilient, is genuinely vulnerable or merely playing a role. While the characters on screen may disappoint us in various ways, the film keeps a firm grip on its audience, pulling viewers into an emotional maelstrom reminiscent of a heavy Bergman-esque drama. 

A succession of uncomfortable and oppressive situations blurs boundaries and emphasizes moral ambiguities. However, the outcome lacks genuine surprise as the initial puzzle gradually falls neatly into place. Though the film is grounded in striking realism, dreamlike interludes choreographed with artistic intent periodically interrupt the narrative. Unfortunately, these sequences come off as ineffectual.

With dashes of dark humor, unnerving cynicism, and a striking lead performance, Armand grapples with superficiality without ever abandoning tension. Tøndel’s diligent filmmaking style captures the unsettling, but fails to deliver something more profound.

The Room Next Door (2024)

Direction: Pedro Almodovar
Country: USA 

The Room Next Door proves to be a far better book than a movie. Celebrated Spanish director Pedro Almodóvar adapts Sigrid Nunez’s What Are You Going Through with conventional dialogue and a calm, polished dramatization that feels too cerebral to evoke powerful emotions.

Despite its heavy central theme, the film isn't a painful watch. It's poignant, occasionally depressing, yet also comforting as it portrays a touching relationship between two captivating characters who admire one another deeply. Ingrid (Julianne Moore), a celebrated author, unexpectedly reconnects with Martha (Tilda Swinton), a retired New York Times war journalist battling stage-three cervical cancer and undergoing experimental treatment. After a failed round of treatment, Martha makes a disconcerting request, asking Ingrid to be present in "the room next door" when she takes an euthanasia pill. Though troubled by the request, Ingrid agrees out of compassion and loyalty. 

The film boasts top-tier performances, though they cannot completely overshadow script oscillations and a certain stiffness in the dialogue. Almodóvar orchestrates the story with elegance, presenting a sober, aesthetically refined depiction that acknowledges the fragile beauty of life while delicately studying suffering. Themes of death, forgiveness, friendship, and regret unfold in a series of contemplations that often feel superfluous. The absence of surprising twists, dramatic friction, or even subdued intensity reveals a more restrained and simplistic Almodóvar, lacking the emotional weight of his past masterpieces. 

The weight of the film rests entirely on the shoulders of its exceptional actors, with Moore and Swinton—the latter delivering another remarkable double role—holding the film together with a genuine friendship supported in honesty and compassion. 
Failing to make a lasting, thought-provoking impression, The Room Next Door still has power, but not as much as it should. Blame the restrained aesthetics, light approach, and occasional conversational inelasticity.

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.

Bird (2024)

Direction: Andrea Arnold
Country: UK 

Bird—a strange, captivating, and sensory coming-of-age drama—marks an extraordinary return for Andrea Arnold, one of the most brilliant independent filmmakers of our time. Known for her raw, direct, and original filmmaking style, Arnold’s work occasionally leans heavily on handheld camera techniques, which may polarize some viewers, but here they deliver stunning results. Her approach thrives in crafting complex environments filled with genuine, idiosyncratic characters.

The film follows a 12-year-old girl, played by the astonishing Nykiya Adams, who delivers a breakout performance as the young protagonist navigating life in a struggling neighborhood in Kent, Southeast England. Bird is not only a testament to Arnold’s command of storytelling but also a deeply satisfying emotional journey. It surprises with its quality and rewards the trust it asks of its audience, presenting a distinct aesthetic that marks another bold step in Arnold’s celebrated career rooted in social realism. This time, however, Arnold enriches the narrative with touches of fantasy that intrigue and captivate. 

The instincts are primitive and euphoric but the humanity is radiant and comforting, infused with a surprising sweetness in moments where harshness might have been expected. If Arnold’s aim was to push buttons and make us feel the environment and the emotions surrounding the protagonist, she's succeeded wildly. Her high-flying fable and observant social chronicle never loses track of its characters and their humanity. Even in its hauntingly poetic and minimalist surrealist interludes, Bird soars with both primal urgency and a tender heart, transcending the hardships it portrays.

Confirmed as an accomplished director of great gifts and passions, Arnold makes the most of her incredible cast of non-professional actors - the exceptions are Barry Keoghan (The Killing of a Sacred Deer, 2017; Dunkirk, 2017; The Banshees of Inisherin, 2022) and Franz Rogowski (Transit, 2018; Great Freedom, 2021; Passages, 2023), who add depth and nuance to the ensemble. The film’s diligent pacing, electrifying British post-punk soundtrack, and dynamic camera work amplify the protagonist’s sense of anxiety and disorientation, making Bird a visceral, radiant, and highly rewarding experience.

A Real Pain (2024)

Direction: Jesse Eisenberg
Country: USA

A Real Pain, the sophomore directorial feature by Jesse Eisenberg, who also stars, focuses on two American Jewish cousins having a hard time to fully reconnect and deal with their feelings during a one-week trip to Poland to honor their late grandmother. David (Eisenberg), a devoted husband and father, is reserved, obsessive-compulsive, sentimental, and occasionally jealous. In contrast, Benji (Kieran Culkin) is a free-spirited, bluntly honest, impulsive, and depressive foil. While both are grateful for the shared journey, their genuine friendship is rife with tension and friction.

This seriocomic slice of life, penned by Eisenberg, feels effortlessly light, even as it navigates a series of awkward situations. However, the narrative structure is so sparse it often feels skeletal. Dramatic moments occasionally fail to reach their emotional apex, and the simplistic character psychology aligns with a script that seems designed more to gently entertain than to provoke or deeply resonate.

The premise dissipates quickly, leaving surface impressions that fluctuate between pleasantly whimsical and mildly moving. The film’s subdued emotional tone is further undercut by its ambiguous and bittersweet ending, which feels stagnant. What raises A Real Pain slightly above the mediocrity is its comic riffs—toggling between annoying and amusing—and the strong chemistry between Culkin and Eisenberg. The quirkiest thing about it is how much it spends in trivial details at the sound of Chopin’s melancholic nocturnes and waltzes. Not being particularly inventive or diverting, A Real Pain remains in tepid waters for most of its duration, and failed to move me in almost every aspect.

Sujo (2024)

Direction: Astrid Rondero, Fernanda Valadez
Country: Mexico 

Following their debut feature The Darkest Days of Us (2017), Mexican filmmakers Astrid Rondero and Fernanda Valadez reunite for Sujo, a coming-of-age crime drama. The story follows a young boy named Sujo (Juan Jesús Varela), who becomes a target of Mexican cartels due to his lineage. Forced to live in hiding, he eventually leaves the violence-stricken Tierra Caliente of Michoacán for Mexico City, seeking an escape from turmoil and a chance for a dignified and constructive life.

Presented in four uneven chapters, the film offers an innocent perspective on Mexico's drug-related violence. Its narrative fails to evoke a strong emotional connection with the protagonist, never finding deep wells of excitement in a whirlingly divergent romp blending vengeful cartel activity and imminent redemption.This lack of passion makes it difficult to become fully invested in a tale that gives you feelings and impressions, but roundly fails to sell itself as something deeper as its twists are not particularly surprising. Therefore, we ultimately come out of it more numb than fascinated. 

There's a glimmer of interest in the film's narrative contortions, and it's admirable that the directors have taken its subject seriously. However, it's just not thrilling enough. Despite its ambitious themes, Sujo leaves behind a sense of untapped potential.

Small Things Like These (2024)

Direction: Tim Mielants
Country: Ireland / Belgium

Based on Claire Keegan’s best-selling novel, Small Things Like These is a poignant Irish film directed by Belgian filmmaker Tim Mielants (Patrick, 2019), with a screenplay by Enda Walsh, co-writer of Hunger (2008) alongside Steve McQueen. The film stars Cillian Murphy as Bill Furlong, a quiet and diligent coal merchant who uncovers a harrowing secret within his small town’s convent. The mother superior, Sister Mary (Emily Watson), attempts to buy his silence with Christmas gifts, but Bill remains haunted by what he witnesses during his deliveries. As the story unfolds, he confronts unsettling truths about his own past.

The film’s naturalistic treatment—marked by nuanced performances and understated direction—heightens the realism of a story that is quietly profound in its simplicity and austerity. While it lacks a traditional climax and occasionally struggles with languid pacing, the narrative resonates deeply as a restrained yet powerful exploration of Catholic institutional abuses. Unlike more sensationalist approaches, the film opts for a steady, somber tone, subtly gesturing toward the hope of change.

Mielants crafts a sincere, lugubrious historical drama suffused with disenchantment and anguish. It stands as a deeply humanistic work, highlighting the imperative of rescuing young victims from the cruelty of unsupervised religious institutions. However, the film occasionally stumbles upon its understated ambitions, with moments of narrative ennui and a tendency to leave its emotional potential underexplored.

I was touched in the end, but never got hooked during the narrative process. I wanted to feel more, I guess. Yet, the ones who stay with the film may find a quiet reward in its understated power.

Memoir of a Snail (2024)

Direction: Adam Elliot
Country: Australia

Memoir of a Snail, a darkly humorous stop-motion animation loosely inspired by director Adam Elliot’s own life, chronicles the trials and tribulations of lonely Australian misfit Grace Pudel, from childhood to adulthood.

Grace is a hoarder, an obsessive snail collector, and kleptomaniac born prematurely. She narrates her poignant story to Sylvia, her favorite snail, now set free for good. Through her reflections, we learn about her transformative friendship with Pinky—a liberal octogenarian who taught her to see life differently and embrace hope over despair—her strong bond with her twin brother Gilbert, and her complex relationship with her secretive repairman husband, Ken.

Sadness permeates Grace's journey, layering despair upon despair, yet the film offers a final glimmer of hope. Despite its melancholic undertones, Memoir of a Snail stands out as a beautifully crafted tragicomedy for adults, consistently daring in its intellectual and emotional exploration. The story's distinctive tone and bittersweet idiosyncrasies highlight themes of loss, loneliness, and resilience. 

As animated work, it is visually flawless, and as a drama, it achieves an emotional depth that surpasses many live-action films this year. It offers a mature, therapeutic, and unsentimental examination of a singular life, where every element integrates seamlessly. For all its intentionally bizarre qualities, the film retains a dark humor and sharp visual wit, blending hope and heartbreak with devastating emotional impact.

Anora (2024)

Direction: Sean Baker
Country: USA 

With his bittersweet worldview and keen sense of the ridiculous, Sean Baker (Tangerine, 2015; The Florida Project, 2017) delivers a jubilant if cruel indie comedy with Anora, his eighth feature film. A romantic tragicomedy that defies standard conventions, the film centers on Ani (Mikey Madison), a 23-year-old sex worker in New York whose life takes an unexpected turn when she marries Ivan Zhakharov (Mark Eydelshteyn), the spoiled son of a Russian oligarch.

This zany nuptial odyssey masterfully balances hysterical and heartfelt tones, weaving together themes of love, fury, laughter, and tears. Baker crafts anarchic, tension-filled situations that satirize unchecked capitalism and immature love, prompting reflection on two disparate souls seemingly escaping their respective prisons. The open-ended staging challenges its actors, who excel amidst the chaos, as the narrative seamlessly shifts between humor and heartache. The result is a dazzlingly paced love story driven by the electric chemistry between Madison and Eydelshteyn. 

Baker’s risk-taking approach and compelling writing are rewarded with neat images, a frenetic pace, and outstanding performances. The director films more statically than ever before, unafraid to take some time on certain scenes to make his social satire closer to reality. Despite its measured approach, monotony never creeps in, as Anora thrives on its originality and compelling characters who continuously evolve. 

With youthful ardor, audacious storytelling, and interpretive depth, the Palme D’Or winner Anora reaffirms Baker as a standout voice in American independent cinema. It’s a thought-provoking, wildly entertaining work that leaves a lasting impression.

Maria (2024)

Direction: Pablo Larraín
Country: USA / Italy / Germany

With Maria, which depicts the final week in the life of legendary American-born Greek opera singer Maria Callas, Chilean director Pablo Larraín completes his trilogy of biopics spotlighting women who shaped the 20th century. Following Jackie (2016), where Natalie Portman portrayed Jackie Onassis, and Spencer (2021), starring Kristen Stewart as Lady Diana, this film casts Angelina Jolie in a surprising and transformative performance as Callas. Jolie not only embodies the role with grace but also lends her voice to the singing. However, despite its poignancy, the screenplay— penned by Steven Knight (Dirty Pretty Things, 2002; Eastern Promises, 2007)—falters in delivering emotional resonance in pivotal moments. 

At 53, Maria lives in Paris, haunted by a traumatic childhood in Athens and the realization that her voice, once unparalleled, has faltered. Alternating between reality and imagination, she leans on her devoted butler Ferruccio (Pierfrancesco Favino) and housemaid Bruna (Alba Rohrwacher) for support. Flashbacks, rendered in stark black-and-white, vividly illustrate her turbulent teenage years and her fraught relationship with the charismatic but domineering Aristotle Onassis (Haluk Bilginer).

Filmed with grandeur and sophistication, Maria eschews melodramatic artifice but probably could've benefited from a little more energy in its telling. While polished and coherent, the drama feels predictably prepackaged. Larraín and Jolie keep the picture moving, yet struggling to showcase how the diva’s trauma and health decline affected her final artistic aspirations. 

The period details are meticulously crafted, and Ed Lachman’s cinematography is nothing short of stunning, but the staging constantly oscillates between elegant mannerism and calibrated realism. Maria is dispensable, and only Jolie’s masterful performance can make it a worthwhile watch for admirers of the actress and the opera icon alike.