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What does it take to keep creating when the industry keeps asking you to disappear? THE ROSE: COME BACK TO ME presents that question hovering beneath every image and interview, even when it’s never stated outright. Rather than framing itself as a victory lap or fan-service celebration, the film commits to something more honest: an exploration of endurance, identity, and the emotional cost of choosing authenticity in a system built to reward conformity.

What happens when survival stops being heroic and starts feeling imperative? HUNTING JESSICA BROK offers the audience a familiar silhouette of a genre archetype — the retired operative, the quiet life, the past that won’t stay buried — but it quickly makes clear that this isn’t a story interested in comfort. Alastair Orr’s film wants exhaustion, consequence, and moral abrasion, even when those ambitions strain against the limits of its own structure.

What does it look like when democracy doesn’t fall with an unforgettable impact, but instead erodes quietly and in full public view? AN AMERICAN PASTORAL asks that question not through narration or argument, but by standing still and letting the answer reveal itself over time. Set in Elizabethtown, Pennsylvania, the documentary observes a local school board race that gradually exposes how cultural grievance, religious extremism, and procedural manipulation can reshape public institutions long before most people realize what’s happening.

What if the scariest part of the job is how normal it feels? That issue quietly anchors THE MORTUARY ASSISTANT, a horror film that understands fear doesn’t always arrive with extravaganza. Instead, it creeps in through repetition, silence, and the slow erosion of certainty. Adapting a video game known for its oppressive atmosphere rather than jump-driven shocks, director Jeremiah Kipp delivers a film that largely resists the urge to overexplain itself, trusting mood, environment, and performance to do the work.

What happens when justice stops pretending it plays by the rules? That interrogation hangs over every episode of CROSS: SEASON 2, not as a philosophical exercise but as a lived reality for Alex Cross and everyone caught in his pull. Where the first season laid the groundwork for this adaptation of James Patterson’s iconic character, this second chapter tightens its grip, narrows its focus, and places its trust squarely in performance, especially Aldis Hodge’s increasingly assured turn at the center.

Who decides which victories are remembered and which are quietly buried? THE OTHER ROE builds its entire purpose around that question, then answers it with precision, restraint, and clarity. In just sixteen minutes, the film accomplishes what many feature-length documentaries struggle to do: it reframes a foundational moment in American history without grandstanding, and it restores credit where it has been systematically withheld.

At what point does lore stop enriching a movie and start replacing it? That question defines FIVE NIGHTS AT FREDDY’S 2, a follow-up that clearly understands its audience but struggles to justify itself to those who aren’t diehards. Where the first entry attempted to introduce a broader crowd to Scott Cawthon’s dense mythology, this sequel largely abandons that bridge-building in favor of immersion, recognition, and expansion. For fans, that approach has obvious appeal. For everyone else, it creates a movie that often feels like it’s speaking a language it never bothers to teach.

What are you willing to give up to finally be heard? MIMICS frames that question with a grin rather than a snarl, delivering a genre hybrid that understands its own absurdity without ever treating its characters as punchlines. This film recognizes how desperation and ambition often wear the same face, especially in creative fields where validation feels perpetually just out of reach.

What gets remembered in American sports history, and who decides when innovation becomes acceptable only after it’s been stripped of its original authorship? SOUL POWER: THE LEGEND OF THE AMERICAN BASKETBALL ASSOCIATION frames its entire four-part structure around that question, and it’s at its strongest when it refuses to reduce the ABA to a novelty act or a footnote to NBA dominance.

What happens when the person who knows you best is also the one you’ve actively been avoiding? MAGID / ZAFAR chases this question with relentless intensity, turning it into a pressure cooker for identity, masculinity, and emotional avoidance. In just eighteen minutes, director Luís Hindman delivers one of the most viscerally direct British shorts in recent years, a film that doesn’t just depict tension but manufactures it moment by moment until escape feels impossible.

What does redemption cost when the world stops giving second chances? THE ARTFUL DODGER: SEASON 2 opens with that question already answered in practice, if not yet in words. Jack Dawkins isn’t flirting with consequence anymore; he’s staring straight down the barrel of it. Where the first season was about possibility and transformation, this is about debt, the kind that doesn’t disappear just because you’ve learned new skills or adopted better manners.

What happens when something you made to escape becomes something others used to survive, or worse, to justify harm? That question hangs over NOSTALGIE from its opening, shaping the film not as a tale of faded fame but as a quiet, devastating examination of authorship, complicity, and the myths artists tell themselves to stay afloat. At just nineteen minutes, Kathryn Ferguson’s BAFTA-nominated short manages to feel both intimate and expansive, never rushing its ideas yet never overcomplicating its message.

What do you do when the world feels on edge, and every new technological promise sounds like a threat dressed up as convenience? GOOD LUCK, HAVE FUN, DON’T DIE doesn’t offer comfort, clarity, or solutions. Instead, Gore Verbinski returns to filmmaking by throwing gasoline on that anxiety and daring the audience to keep up. This is a loud, restless, deliberately overstuffed movie that treats chaos as both subject and method, and it never pretends otherwise. Everything you think you know about this film is wrong, and ultimately, in the best way possible.

What happens when the desire to be loved curdles into the desire to disappear? BY DESIGN doesn’t ask that question softly, and it certainly doesn’t bother cushioning the answer. Amanda Kramer’s feature takes an absurdist premise that sounds like a punchline and commits to it with absolute seriousness, using surrealism not as a stylistic lens, but as a blunt instrument for interrogating female interiority, objectification, and the fantasy of frictionless existence.