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.

Lurker (2025)

Direction: Alex Russell
Country: USA

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

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

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

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.

All of Us Strangers (2023)

Direction: Andrew Haigh
Country: UK

In Andrew Haigh’s latest psychological and supernatural drama, All of Us Strangers, we follow the journey of Adam (Andre Scott), a homosexual screenwriter in his forties who gets in touch with his feelings after starting a relationship with a mysterious neighbor, Harry (Paul Mescal). As their connection deepens, Adam inexplicably finds himself connecting with their late parents (Jamie Bell and Claire Foy), who tragically passed away in a car accident when he was 12. Partially filmed in the house where Haigh grew up on the outskirts of Croydon, the film, based on Taichi Yamada’s 1987 novel Strangers, carries a personal touch that adds depth to the narrative. The inclusion of a 1980s soundtrack further enhances the nostalgic atmosphere.

This beautifully understated and unique film transitions from the mundane to the otherworldly with feverish quietness, offering a poignant exploration of solitude, trauma, grief, love, and the vagaries of time. It’s a well-constructed and nuanced drama that drips with bold visual aplomb and a subtle mysticism akin to disorienting, dreamlike states.

Haigh confirms the immense filmmaking capabilities and storytelling expertise previously showcased in films such as Weekend (2011) and 45 Years (2015). All of Us Strangers lingers in the mind long after the credits roll. It haunts you, and you’ll admire its conception while searching for answers. While the film may not provide easy resolutions, its ambivalent nature and mysterious allure make for a captivating viewing experience. Indeed, it stands as something special in contemporary cinema.

Sick of Myself (2023)

Direction: Kristoffer Borgli
Country: Norway

Sick of Myself is a cruelly ironic and soulless dark comedy drama that flirts with the psychological horror genre. An uneasy, infectiously entertaining romp whose delirious story focuses on two obnoxious narcissists. 

Kristine Kujath Thorp (she delighted us two years ago with Ninjababy) and Eirik Sæther (in his feature debut) star as Signe and Thomas, respectively, two extreme narcissists who keep insanely competing for attention and fame while in a toxic relationship. However, their focuses diverge into distinct directions; whereas he obsesses with his career as a bogus avant-garde artist, she takes her madness further by sacrificing her body and general health in order to get the public’s eye on her. 

Expect to be struck by a mix of sad and funny feelings that, depending on your mood, can delight, depress or infuriate. The sarcastic humor spares no one in a film that aims right, with venom, and painfully hits the right spot in such a manner that we are ready to excuse its redundancies. 

Sadly terrifying and often repulsive, Sick of Myself is not a film I'm likely ever to revisit but is well directed, acted, and observed, even if it takes that observation to a deliberately disturbing satirical degree.

Madeleine Collins (2023)

Direction: Antoine Barraud
Country: France

Madeleine Collins, the latest feature by French director Antoine Barraud (Portrait of the Artist, 2014), is an ambitious psychological drama that borders on Hitchcockian thriller. It was co-written with Héléna Klotz (Atomic Age, 2012), and stars Virginie Efira (Benedetta, 2021; Revoir Paris, 2022), who couldn’t have been a better choice for the leading role. With great talent, she embodies Judith, a fragile woman - more generous than treacherous - whose double life gradually disintegrates as her multiple identities are unveiled.

The film involves the viewer in a labyrinth of pitfalls and pretenses that misleads before eventually shedding some light on a story that keeps throbbing with twists. They progressively explain the confusion of its earlier parts, which make you search incessantly for logical grounds. The success, however, comes partially from Barraud, who keeps the pace moving and manages to disconcert at regular intervals while directing with a skillful sense of suspense. 

Elevated by a great performance, this tale only seems possible on screen, but the uncanny undertones of humanity and perversity infused by the protagonist keep us centered on her self-created nightmare. With that said, the whole thing feels familiar, moodwise, without ever veering into cliché.