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.

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.

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.

Marty Supreme (2025)

Direction: Josh Safdie
Country: USA

Writer-director Josh Safdie’s fascination with flawed characters and shady worlds finds a natural outlet in Marty Supreme, a sports drama set in 1950s New York and inspired by a book by Marty Reisman, the city’s table tennis prodigy. After portraying Bob Dylan with distinction in A Complete Unknown (2024), 29-year-old French-American actor Timothée Chalamet—who also produces—stars as ping-pong player Marty Mauser in a wild tale of boundless ambition. Boisterous and relentlessly driven, Mauser, even when financially compromised, is determined to get to Tokyo at any cost to defeat his former Japanese opponent in a tense revenge match.

Boasting an organic structure and lively dialogue, the film is powered by impetuous, effective editing and flows with an ironic tone that occasionally brushes against the absurd. That doesn’t mean Marty Supreme lacks standout moments. It is bolstered by a terrific soundtrack (including New Order, Alphaville, and Tears for Fears) and bursts of visual invention. The film is a genuine cinematic experience, imaginatively told and brimming with striking energy, much of it drawn from ping-pong matches staged with remarkable intensity.

Safdie pushes the pace hard, and the actors keep up. At times, less might have been more, as the relentless intensity can become tiring, but Marty Supreme still delivers a compelling character study rich in unexpected twists, humor, and narrative momentum. It’s a blast to spend time with this rousing film: not Safdie’s most atypical work, but perhaps his most immediately accessible and funny.

Peter Hujar's Day (2025)

Direction: Ira Sachs
Country: USA 

Based on Linda Rosenkrantz’s book drawn from a 1974 interview she conducted with photographer Peter Hujar in her apartment, Peter Hujar’s Day recounts not only his activities during the previous day in New York but also sheds light on his inner life, emotions, and temperament. This chatty, experimental two-hander heightens intimacy between interviewer and subject, buoyed by finely attuned performances from Ben Whishaw and Rebecca Hall. Through dialogue alone, it vividly evokes the energy of New York City’s 1970s art scene.

Ira Sachs—known for films such as Love Is Strange (2014), Little Men (2016), and Passages (2023)—approaches the material with an informal, almost documentary-like directness. Yet, Peter Hujar’s Day doesn’t crackle with overt excitement and often seems content simply to invoke figures like Allen Ginsberg, Fran Lebowitz, Susan Sontag, and Peter Orlovsky. Whether that is enough depends largely on the viewer’s mood and their interest in the subject matter.

Set entirely within a confined space, the film nonetheless allows for a few subtle surprises to emerge from its corners. Ultimately, it is Whishaw and Hall who hold everything together, giving the dialogue its weight, rhythm, and emotional grounding.

Roofman (2025)

Direction: Derek Cianfrance
Country: USA

Roofman tells the true story of Jeffrey Manchester (Channing Tatum), an Army veteran and romantic crook who robbed more than 40 McDonald’s restaurants with the primary intention of providing for his three children. Nicknamed Roofman for his preferred method of entry—drilling through restaurant roofs—Manchester is portrayed as polite and charming, a figure who intrigues more than he repels. While on the run, he lived hidden inside a Toys “R” Us store for six months, during which he fell for Leigh (Kirsten Dunst), a sympathetic employee and single mother.

The film marks the sixth feature by Derek Cianfrance (Blue Valentine, 2010; The Place Beyond the Pines, 2012; The Sound of Metal, 2020), who co-wrote the screenplay with Kirt Gunn. It unfolds with a deliberately goofy posture, shaped as a crowd-pleasing parody. Some scenes linger too long, creating a sense of stagnation, while others are lightly amusing and charmingly clumsy in an offbeat way. Although the crime narrative feels somewhat tired and shallow at its core, Roofman manages to land a handful of mildly funny moments driven by a basic dramatic instinct.

Tatum proves to be a solid casting choice, skillfully balancing Manchester’s gentle intentions with his criminal behavior, always teetering on a razor’s edge. The romantic subplot carries a bittersweet tone, though the stakes never feel particularly high, leaving the overall experience short on memorability.

Even as the narrative settles into a familiar rhythm, Cianfrance’s approach retains a certain artfulness. He and Tatum deliver an acceptable, if not especially original, piece of work.

Ballad of a Small Player (2025)

Direction: Edward Berger
Country: USA

From Conclave’s Swiss-Austrian director Edward Berger, Ballad of a Small Player is an adaptation of Lawrence Osborne’s 2014 novel of the same name. Not a groundbreaking work, this oddly psychological gambling drama oscillates between reality and fantasy, carrying a faint but persistent aura of supernatural eeriness.

Colin Farrell stars as Lord Doyle, a ruthless gambler with a battered conscience who heads to the gambling mecca of Macau in a desperate attempt to manage his mounting debts. The situation is increasingly dire, yet the stubbornly optimistic Doyle refuses to surrender, especially after meeting Dao Ming (Fala Chen), a lonely woman working at the casino where he plays. What he cannot escape, however, is Betty Grayson (Tilda Swinton), a private detective and debt collector who knows far too much about his murky past.

Berger is unafraid to take big swings, staging sharp contrasts between moments of crushing despair and others of intoxicating invincibility and ecstasy. Farrell embodies this compulsive risk-taker with such uncompromised honesty that his performance can only be called courageous. Still, some of Doyle’s actions remain deliberately opaque, leaving the viewer suspended in a state of ambiguity that is both intriguing and occasionally exasperating.

Drenched in saturated colors and striking, vivid imagery, and populated by a few characters that verge on the cartoonish, Ballad of a Small Player is far from Berger’s strongest effort. Alongside Conclave (2024), his filmography includes Jack (2014) and All Quiet on the Western Front (2022). Yet this film retains its share of compelling moments. Presented as a nightmarish, old-fashioned character study, it probes the tension-fueled psyche of addiction before drifting toward ideas of redemption and lost love. The film never quite coheres as a whole, and its twists are unlikely to astonish, but Farrell remains a constant source of fascination. Once you surrender to its rhythm, it’s a film that carries you along, unevenly but smoothly.

If I Had Legs I'd Kick You (2025)

Direction: Mary Bronstein
Country: USA 

There is much to admire in If I Had Legs I’d Kick You, a dark comedy steeped in irony about a sleep-deprived psychotherapist spiraling under the weight of alcohol, drugs, and emotional distress. An absent husband who works as a ship captain, a gravely ill daughter undergoing a demanding and complicated treatment, and a gaping hole in her apartment ceiling conspire to make Linda’s life increasingly unmanageable. Played with ferocious commitment by Rose Byrne, Linda is forced to relocate temporarily to a nondescript motel, a move that only sharpens her emotional volatility and neglectful tendencies.

The film’s inventive situations consistently land with force, sustaining an impressive level of engagement throughout. On one hand, the tone is bleak and disconsolate; on the other, it is hyper-tense, wildly unhinged, and unexpectedly fun to watch. There is a fearless energy to this plunge into the abyss, offering moments of audacity that far more expensive productions would envy.

Though the narrative itself is relatively straightforward, the execution is anything but. Writer-director Mary Bronstein’s vision is bleak, provocative, and uncompromising, yet remarkably assured. Through an intelligent and cathartic orchestration of anxieties, she dissects toxic routines, irresponsibility, and emotional neglect, anchoring the film in themes of female rage, psychological unraveling, and the isolating realities of motherhood.

Often associated with lighter, forgettable comedies such as Spy (2015) or Bridesmaids (2011), Rose Byrne seizes the opportunity to reveal a far more daring and commanding range. She is riveting from beginning to end, fully inhabiting a character whose volatility feels both frightening and painfully real. Fueled by a sharp, bubbling script, If I Had Legs I’d Kick You bursts with flavors that unsettle, delight, and excite. It is an ambitious, ultimately fascinating mess that feels raw and authentic, slowly working its way under your skin. Viewers drawn to pungent, psychologically offbeat dramas will find much to savor in this fluid, slightly bruised, irresistibly skewed, and deliciously nightmarish experience.

The Mastermind (2025)

Direction: Kelly Reichardt
Country: USA

Directed by the acclaimed Kelly Reichardt (Certain Women, 2016; Showing Up, 2022), whose approach often feels refreshingly removed from convention, The Mastermind is a charming, atmospheric crime thriller infused with subtle humor. Set in Massachusetts in 1970, the story casts Josh O’Connor as an indolent family man turned naive art thief on the run.

Airily layered, the film burns quietly but steadily, exuding a poignant, dark, Robert Altman–esque sensibility. It greatly benefits from Rob Mazurek’s outstanding jazz score—he doubles on piano and trumpet, complemented by tasteful solo drum figures and shimmering cymbal work—and from the gorgeous ’70s texture captured by cinematographer Christopher Blauvelt, who collaborates with Reichardt here for the sixth time. 

The director’s simple, patient, and direct approach once again proves fruitful, resulting in another subtle yet assured film that largely succeeds through the natural, unforced presence of its lead performance.

Simmering without boiling, The Mastermind peels off the surfaces of old-school heist genre, smartly avoiding commonplace, complacency, and demagogy to achieve something truly moody and dusky. While the character's psychology is intriguing, the story and context are subtlety anchored in consistency, rigor, and a deliberate rhythm that catches, almost without words, the sensation of someone who, once lost, seems condemned to the unfathomable pain of permanent solitude. The unforeseeable finale is strikingly ironic in both tone and perspective.

With aesthetics perfectly attuned to its subject, this is another authentic-feeling narrative that further enriches Reichardt’s singular filmography.

Die My Love (2025)

Direction: Lynne Ramsay
Country: USA 

This raw, startlingly honest effort by Scottish filmmaker Lynne Ramsay (Ratcatcher, 1999; We Need to Talk About Kevin, 2011; You Were Never Really Here, 2017) comes charged with fury, following a young mother—superbly portrayed by Jennifer Lawrence—grappling with mental health struggles and postnatal depression. Set in rural Montana, the story unfolds across two time frames, incorporating flashbacks that gradually deepen our understanding of the character’s fragile psychological state.

Die My Love, both painful and exquisite, carries nuance and complexity even in its seemingly blunt title. It is a small yet shattering adult drama that plunges the viewer into a suffocating, harrowing psychosis that appears to offer no clear way out. Based on the 2012 novel of the same name by Argentine writer Ariana Harwicz, the film was co-produced by Martin Scorsese and co-stars Robert Pattinson, Sissy Spacek, and Nick Nolte.

Creatively shot, Die My Love demonstrates keen visual intelligence in service of a compelling narrative that foregrounds boredom, loneliness, and pervasive unhappiness. It leaves you powerless and contemplative, drawing the audience into a state of distress that mirrors that of its characters. The emotional impact is profound, offering a compassionate look at the unexplainable intricacies of life that can suddenly unravel everything. This film also stands as a remarkable showcase for Lawrence, who delivers an unparalleled performance. She and the rest of the cast maintain complete control over the material, while Ramsay never condescends to or sentimentalizes the subject.

Jay Kelly (2025)

Direction: Noah Baumbach
Country: USA

Decidedly petty, Jay Kelly is the new feature by Noah Baumbach, who co-wrote it with Emily Mortimer. This comedy-drama follows a famous yet lonely Hollywood actor (George Clooney) who, accompanied by his loyal manager and longtime friend (Adam Sandler), travels through Europe in an attempt to reconnect with himself. Along the way, he visits his indifferent, often rude father (Stacy Keach) and is forced to confront his strained relationships with his two daughters—the traumatized Jessica (Riley Keough) and the more adventurous Daisy (Grace Edwards). If only the film itself didn’t feel so adrift too…

Jay Kelly is built around a series of glittering but hollow exchanges between characters who always look and act like characters. It never seems to have much that is interesting or new to say. Fragile in conception, the film leans heavily on the strength of its cast, which also includes cameo appearances by Laura Dern, Greta Gerwig, and Jim Broadbent.

There are moments of interest when the characters face their own emptiness and limitations, but these are undercut by several irritating, even ridiculous scenes—the train sequence is a complete wreck—that disrupt the pacing and add a sense of frivolous choppiness. For most of its runtime, this uneven Jay Kelly remains diluted in both tension and emotion, while the humor strains for offbeat quirkiness without ever quite getting there.

The film marks the first collaboration between Sandler and Clooney. While Sandler feels confident and grounded, Clooney tends to overact. Still, it’s within their characters’ relationship that the film becomes minimally tolerable. Everything else falls flat, leaving you simply waiting for it to end.

Springsteen: Deliver me From Nowhere (2025)

Direction: Scott Cooper
Country: USA 

Scott Cooper’s adaptation from the book Deliver Me from Nowhere: The Making of Bruce Springteen's Nebraska by Warren Zanes focuses on a very specific period in Springsteen's life, a depressive phase partly motivated by a complicated relationship with an abusive father and a wobbly, reticent romantic affair. Yet, it was a musically creative one, with the musician risking an unorthodox career move that ultimately paid off.

Jeremy Allen White’s much-anticipated turn as Springsteen raises expectations, but neither he nor Cooper ever quite find a rhythm to build upon. The biopic drifts along passively, leaning heavily on Springsteen’s music while failing to draw any real emotional charge from the material. Conventional in approach and stretched well beyond what its thin narrative can sustain, the film remains trapped in bland, repetitive formulas, never daring to push beyond familiar biopic beats.

Cooper’s pacing is leaden, and the film’s narrow focus further limits its scope, sinking into melancholic passages that rarely rise above banality. Enthusiasm is hard to muster, as the overall experience lacks urgency, momentum, and vitality. Despite the suitably retro-flavored cinematography by Cooper’s regular collaborator Masanobu Takayanagi, Springsteen: Deliver Me from Nowhere remains dramatically inert.

Hamnet (2025)

Direction: Chloé Zhao
Country: USA 

Based on Maggie O’Farrell’s fictional novel of the same name—adapted for the screen by the author alongside director Chloé Zhao (The Rider, 2017; Nomadland, 2020)—Hamnet emerges as a grievous, moody, and faintly mystical historical drama, hampered by torpid narrative development and muted dramatic contours.

In need of greater dramatic maturation from beginning to end, the film is set in England in 1580 and follows the young Latin tutor William Shakespeare (Paul Mescal), who marries Agnes (Jessie Buckley), a free-spirited woman endowed with an enigmatic bond to the natural world. Despite strong opposition from their families, the couple builds a contented life together with their three children. This fragile harmony is shattered by the sudden death of their 11-year-old son, Hamnet—an event that would later inspire Shakespeare’s famous tragedy Hamlet, written at the turn of the 17th century.

Although Buckley and Mescal work earnestly to anchor the emotional weight, the film rarely achieves the depth or intensity it promises. There is something curiously generic and over-polished about its execution, as if the individual elements never quite ignite into something greater. After an opening stretch that sparks curiosity with its atmospheric hints and suggestive mysteries, Hamnet slowly contracts into a dutiful, emotionally distant pseudo-epic in which everything feels pale and overly restrained.

Zhao struggles to overcome the dramatic inertia of a sluggish, lifeless script, and the film trudges forward without accumulating force. By the time it reaches its conclusion, it is too little and too late to recalibrate expectations. Even the ending—clearly designed as an emotional crescendo—lands with disappointing shallowness. A thin narrative spine and awkwardly staged theatrics prevent Hamnet from forging a meaningful emotional connection, leaving it more inert than affecting.

Train Dreams (2025)

Direction: Clint Bentley
Country: USA

Co-written and directed by Clint Benton (Sing Sing, 2023), Train Dreams adapts Denis Johnson’s 2011 novella of the same name. Set in the early 20th century, it follows Robert Grainier (Joel Edgerton), a humble, hard-working lumberjack employed by a railway company that operates around Bonners Ferry, Idaho. He lives a largely solitary existence until he meets and marries Gladys Olding (Felicity Jones), with whom he has a daughter. Struggling financially, Grainier is forced to spend longer stretches working in the forests, and his prolonged absences from home grow increasingly painful. Yet nothing compares to the sudden tragedy that ultimately reshapes his life.

Influenced by the dreamy tones and minimalist aesthetic of Terrence Malick, Benton crafts a cruel, elegiac, and melancholic tone poem about life, loss, grief, and the inexorable passage of time. Will Patton’s voice-over narration gently guides us through a harsh landscape of hope and disillusionment. The intimacy and sorrow are quietly transfixing, and despite its unhurried pace, Train Dreams emerges as a deeply moving piece of filmmaking. It is elevated by polished, evocative visuals (shot by Adolpho Veloso), a bittersweet script that also reflects a racially divided America yearning for progress, and a soundtrack that convincingly transports us to another era.

Carrying the sweep of an epic drama without overreaching, Train Dreams stands as a heartfelt tribute to honest, hard-working men in search of solace and inner peace.

Blue Moon (2025)

Direction: Richard Linklater
Country: USA 

Richard Linklater—who also made the wonderful Nouvelle Vague this year—directs Blue Moon, a strong, impeccably staged biopic about the witty, technically sophisticated lyricist Lorenz Hart, who rose to prominence in the 1930s through his long collaboration with composer Richard Rodgers. Together, they created immortal jazz standards such as “Blue Moon”, “The Lady Is a Tramp”, “Manhattan”, and “My Funny Valentine”. The script by novelist Robert Kaplow—re-teaming with Linklater after Me and Orson Welles (2008)—offers more than enough to give us a precise sense of Hart’s personality and inner struggles.

Shot with controlled, precise camerawork, Blue Moon is beautifully rendered, anchored by powerhouse work from Ethan Hawke, who portrays the alcoholic lyricist with a mix of lively spark, reverence for beauty in all its forms, and deep poignancy. The narrative, set in 1934 New York, unfolds over one painful night at Hart’s favorite bar, capturing the bitterness of having to celebrate the massive success and rave reviews of Oklahoma!—Rodgers’ first Broadway show without him (this time collaborating with Oscar Hammerstein). At the same time, Hart confronts an abyss of despair as he feels used by his twenty-year-old protégé and production-designer-wannabe Elizabeth Weiland (Margaret Qualley).

Blue Moon sifts gently across a jazzy landscape with a heartfelt, sometimes bitter touch. Bursting with Hart’s sharp wit and mordant observations, the dialogue is a delight—inebriating, funny, sarcastic, and engrossing. The film’s visual and atmospheric formality may feel pronounced, but don’t let that deter you: this passionate account darts and hops with bracing energy, offering just enough depth to both warm and break your heart.

Observant in the way only Linklater can be, the film feels strikingly authentic and radiates a contagious pleasure. It is not a conventional biopic, but it’s cleverly attuned to emotional nuance, and that makes all the difference.

Bugonia (2025)

Direction: Yorgos Lanthimos
Country: USA

Bugonia, a delirious sci-fi thriller by Greek filmmaker Yorgos Lanthimos (Dogtooth, 2009; The Favourite, 2018; Poor Things, 2023), is propelled by violence, dark humor, paranoia, and outlandish situations. The film, a remake of Jang Joon-hwan’s South Korean hit Save the Green Planet! (2003), stars Lanthimos’s muse Emma Stone, who maneuvers through different dramatic registers with unflinching force; Jesse Plemons, delivering a convincing bravura performance; and first-timer Aidan Delbis, a welcome surprise. Will Tracy (The Menu, 2022) wrote the script, and Ari Aster (Hereditary, 2018) co-produced alongside Stone, Lanthimos, and others.

Cousins Teddy (Plemons), an enraged, manic conspiracy theorist, and the submissive Don (Delbis), who behaves like an innocent child, kidnap Michelle Fuller (Stone), a powerful pharmaceutical CEO they believe to be an Andromedan on a special mission to Earth. Their goal is to force a meeting with her alien emperor, negotiating the withdrawal of her species in order to save the planet. The choice is not arbitrary: Teddy and Michelle share a charged history. 

The film confronts a postmodern society in decline, voicing anxieties about human extinction and Earth’s urgent need for care and healing. While its message is clear, the narrative is provocatively mounted, with Lanthimos once again subverting norms—this time through a mix of cynicism, absurdism, eccentric sci-fi, and a wacky, dystopian doomsday theory. The ferocity of his direction is striking, and the story grows more intriguing and disconcerting as it progresses, carrying a kind of grip sorely missing from many recent entries in the genre.

Bugonia is a wild, offbeat eco-tale built with boundless imagination, sprinting toward a punishing finale that dismantles a macabre farce and plunges into perpetual tragedy. Though it sometimes feels calculated, it is also finely crafted, hallucinatory, and immensely entertaining. A galvanizing cinematic experience with a radical edge—one that, whether you love it or hate it, won’t be easy to forget.

Nouvelle Vague (2025)

Direction: Richard Linklater
Country: France / USA

Acclaimed American filmmaker Richard Linklater (Boyhood; the Before trilogy) ventures into unexpected territory: reconstructing a pivotal moment in film history—the birth of Jean-Luc Godard’s Breathless (1960), and, with it, the rise of the French New Wave and its legends. More interested in the mechanics and behind-the-scenes processes than in traditional drama, Linklater reimagines the past in crisp black-and-white, delivering a wildly entertaining throwback to the ’60s.

Guillaume Marbeck’s radiant performance as Godard—revolutionary, anarchic, unorthodox, and perpetually dismissive of convention—is nothing short of flawless. Zoey Deutch, in her second collaboration with Linklater after Everybody Wants Some!, brings vivid presence to Jean Seberg, while Aubry Dullin channels the charisma and ease of Jean-Paul Belmondo. Together, they infuse the film with a youthful, infectious vitality that makes Nouvelle Vague pulse with energy.

Beautiful, stylish, and memorable, the film captures the joy, urgency, and constant negotiation that define the filmmaking process. Linklater balances complex elements with sharp dialogue and stellar performances, all framed by deftly angled compositions that reflect the unpredictable currents of Godard’s personality—an unconventional filmmaker perched on the cusp of stardom.

Nouvelle Vague arrives as a triumphant recreation of a defining cinematic moment. Steeped in realism and fueled by a palpable love for cinema, it often feels like an exercise in cinephile time travel. And although a few characters drift in without clear purpose, Linklater widens the frame, painting a dazzling portrait of a generation that revolutionized cinema.

Frankenstein (2025)

Direction: Guillermo Del Toro
Country: USA

Guillermo del Toro adapts Mary Shelley’s classic novel with little distinction. One cannot deny the pictorial beauty of certain scenes, but at no point was I able to connect with the film emotionally. This deceptive, CGI-laden spectacle—split into two amorphous chapters—is weak and unsurprising, lacking coherence in several places.

The story follows the immodest, self-centered, and tenacious scientist Victor Frankenstein (Oscar Isaac), whose fierce response to the death of his beloved mother leads him to create an immortal, abominable beast with a soul. The tragic creation—an assemblage of body parts—soon becomes his near-undoing. The monster, played by Jacob Elordi, is not his only source of torment: his brother’s fiancée, Elizabeth (Mia Goth), develops a strange fascination with the creature.

The film’s mechanical execution erases the chilling allegorical power of the myth, while the early de-monstrification and later over-intellectualization of the beast drain the narrative of potency. Feeling more pathetic than frightening, this Frankenstein is a spectacular misfire on all fronts, its flamboyant gothic hues unable to save it from collapse. Del Toro adds a few uninteresting flourishes rather than breathe new life into a story told innumerable times. By downplaying key aspects of the novel, he assembles a needlessly loud mess—one badly in need of stitches.

Hedda (2025)

Direction: Nia da Costa
Country: USA

Adapting Norwegian playwright Henrik Ibsen’s Hedda Gabler for the screen, Nia DaCosta delivers a pretentious period tale with an unsatisfying finale. The film’s eccentric rhythms prove insufficient to buoy an overstuffed plot marked by intrigue, machinations, and insincere pathos.

The film stars Tessa Thompson—who also co-produces—as the title character, a strong-willed, manipulative socialite interrogated about a shooting that occurred at her lavish party. It is at this same gathering that she is reunited with a former lover, the alcoholic writer Eileen Lövborg (Christian Petzold’s early muse Nina Hoss), and the latter’s new girlfriend, Thea Ellison (Imogen Poots), whom Hedda knows from her school years. Jealousy, overpowering egos, desire, and bourgeois feminine dominance all play into this slyly playful yet misbegotten game, a muddle made worse by the smug self-assurance of its mise-en-scène.

Awkward and atonal, Hedda feels like one of Cassavetes’ fervent dramas but without the genuine discomfort or emotional and psychological acuity that defined them. It is excessively dramatic, emotionally inaccessible, and ultimately absurd. The disparity between expectation and delivery is vast, resulting in a wholly doomed film that insists on putting on a brave face throughout its subpar staging. It may leave you wanting to take a long, cold shower afterward.