The Ice Tower (2025)

Direction: Lucile Hadzihalilovic
Country: France 

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

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

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

Earwig (2022)

Direction: Lucile Hadzihalilovic
Country: UK / France / Belgium

This haunting, imminently methodic exercise directed by Lucile Hadzihalilovic is replete with pathos and stoic silences. A thread of disquietness infiltrates every pore of our skin while watching a taciturn, solitary middle-aged caretaker (Paul Hilton in an outstanding performance) employed to house-sitting a 10-year-old girl (Romane Hemelaers) in need of special dental care. 

The French director of Bosnian descent rubbed elbows with Geoff Cox (High Life, 2018) in the script, adapting Brian Catling’s beautifully written novel with dreamlike realism. Following the 2015 horror thriller film Evolution, this was the second time they worked together. 

From the very first minutes, we are captive to the bizarre enchantment of a psychological drama, whose style goes hand in hand with some deliberate narrative cloudiness. Occasionally erratic, it's still rewarding, with the abstruse tones and noir tinges evoking the worlds of Kafka, Murnau, Von Trier, and Borges. 

The early moments, slow but never discouraging, force one to search for more than what the eyes are seeing. It takes 24 minutes for the first line to be said, and then the ambiguity gradually dissipates until a final scene that, being so sad and ferocious, made me realize this wasn’t a passive viewing experience. 

Portending great things for the director, Earwig is somber and quiet, a canvas exquisitely painted with the talents of cinematographer Jonathan Ricquebourg (The Death of Louis XIV, 2016; Still Life, 2016), and with something undeniably effective about its creepiest moments.