The Things You Kill (2025)

Direction: Alireza Khatami
Country: Turkey

The Things You Kill, the third feature from Iranian-Canadian filmmaker Alireza Khatami (Terrestrial Verses, 2023), is a Lynchian misfire. Semi-autobiographical in nature, the film follows Ali (Ekin Koç), a college English professor grappling with fertility issues, who returns to Turkey after several years in the US. Back home, he is confronted with deeply ingrained patriarchy, ongoing family disputes, government corruption, and a series of invisible wounds rooted in shameful, inherited behavioral patterns. Everything shifts after his mother dies under suspicious circumstances, prompting Ali to hire a new gardener, Reza (Erkan Kolçak Köstendil), an enigmatic wanderer from the North with whom he enters an obscure and unsettling pact.

At first, the film sustains a slow-burning tension, working as a measured psychological character study with a clear sense of purpose. However, the surreal second half—a hall-of-mirrors pact that probes darker impulses, exposing cruelty, vengeance, and simmering resentment—possesses an enigmatic allure, though one that feels more decorative than illuminating. Like a Picasso painting, it invites interpretation without necessarily deepening emotional engagement.

The performances are solid, and Khatami deliberately sidesteps several conventions of the crime thriller. Still, everything feels a bit jarring and soulless throughout. It is a thinly veiled, downbeat tale that, despite its complex narrative construction, still delivers a fairly straightforward message. The austere tone and chilly portrayal of grief and obsession are intellectually intriguing but rarely visceral. Spiraling and twisting without arriving at anything truly revelatory, The Things You Kill won’t make you sweat—its surreal dimension adding too little substance to justify its ambitions.

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.

Beau is Afraid (2023)

Direction: Ari Aster
Country: USA 

Beau is Afraid is a quirky Freudian odyssey with an unhinged mother/son relationship at the center and some elliptical Kafkaesque situations. Starting off well, it takes a descending curve over the course of a disjointed structure. This exhausting three-hour trip to the edge of madness stars Joaquin Phoenix as the title character. However, even shifting extraordinarily in attitude from child fragility to adulthood deliriums, he’s powerless in the face of an overstuffed script that serves as a lopsided vehicle for his outstanding acting skills. 

For a film by Ari Aster, who gave us horror gems like Hereditary (2018) and Midsommar (2019), it is unspeakably disappointing. It would have been a better horror comedy if it didn’t suffocate in its own ideas. Everything appears to follow a sort of code that needs deciphering, and the systematic metaphors become tiresome as we delve into the real/surreal aspects of a neurotic man whose severe childhood trauma prevents him from finding happiness. Beau tries to reach his mother’s place in time, both before and after her death, but with no success. 

Playing with twisted dimensions and labyrinthine layers, Aster squanders the chance to lead a few good ideas to fruition. The result, much less fascinating than expected, is congested and appalling.