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What do you do when the world around you feels like the very thing you’re attempting to get away from? TONY ODYSSEY begins with that problem embedded in its core; it’s rooted in the quite ordinary disappointment of a person, before the movie breaks apart, twists, and ultimately doesn’t bother to be polite or even make sense (and doesn’t need to). From the first scenes, Thales Banzai’s first film shows that this isn’t a story that wants your comfort, or to make things clear, or even to reassure you. It’s a film about being used up from deep inside, about the harm of not moving forward, and about the idea that, perhaps, past the rules, there’s some way to get out.

What happens when trying to be relevant means facing up to those you’ve let down? K-POPS! presents itself as bright, musical, though its real heart is more subdued than you’d think. With the energy of a K-pop contest and the fun of a stranger-in-a-strange-land idea, it is a tale of a man who confused what he wanted to do with what his purpose was, and is now at last made to deal with the difference. Anderson .Paak’s first time directing doesn’t attempt to change the genre.

What happens when a television series grows so large that it begins to rewrite public memory, and not just entertain? PEAKY BLINDERS: THE REAL STORY focuses in part on offering an answer to that question, positioning itself less as an extension of a global franchise and more as a corrective lens, one that slows the momentum of cultural obsession long enough to ask what’s been gained, lost, and distorted along the way.

When power, not affection, is the first thing to shape it, what does love look like? DREAMS starts like a romance, but doesn’t want to ease anyone in. Right from the beginning, between Jennifer McCarthy (Jessica Chastain) and Fernando Rodríguez (Isaac Hernández), there’s a lack of balance, not in obvious spitefulness, but in quiet domination. Writer/director Michel Franco isn’t making a big, cross-cultural love story; he’s making a deal which, little by little, shows what it’s about.

THRESHOLD doesn’t begin with triumph; it begins with showing what proximity is. The film follows Jessie Diggins throughout a single World Cup season. It embeds its focus there, not as a highlight reel or a retrospective, but as a record of the daily pressure, physical demand, and psychological strain. From its opening stretch, the documentary makes clear it isn’t interested in building a myth or reframing success. It wants to see what happens when the mechanisms that once drove greatness begin to cause harm.

Is healing still possible once vulnerability becomes mandatory? BARE SKIN begins with the idea of safety, but never lets the viewer forget just how unstable that idea is. The movie quickly creates a space that conveys concern and healing, only to subtly poison it. The thing that makes it so disturbing isn’t the amount of blood or scares, but the gradual understanding that showing what you feel can be as risky as being in physical danger, and when people in charge aren’t held back from doing whatever they want.

What happens to innocence when those in control no longer recognize it? STARRING CONTEST doesn’t frame that question through dialogue or exhibition; it lets it unfold in silence, trusting the viewer to feel the shift rather than having it explained. In just 99 seconds, the film constructs a space that feels harmless, then quietly dismantles it to an absolutely devastating effect.

What to do when a movie about environmental collapse won’t play ball and instead wants to turn itself into something more digestible? CLIMATE CONTROL begins with that idea embedded in its core concept, then delights in flipping all expectations, over fifteen incisive, restless minutes, not just dismantling climate conversations but also the systems that increasingly render them into content, convenience, and algorithm-friendly placation.

What does it mean to document a relationship when the camera can’t fix what’s already fractured? DIANA & MINERVA begins from a place of observation rather than explanation, following two women whose bond is defined less by grand gestures than by endurance. The film doesn’t reach for metaphor or symbolic framing to elevate its story. Instead, it stays rooted in the everyday realities of care, tension, and dependency, allowing intimacy to emerge through repetition, routine, and moments of unspoken strain. What unfolds isn’t a mythic portrait or a romanticized study of devotion, but a patient record of two lives moving forward together because separating would cost more than staying.

What happens when a comedy stops trying to be quick-witted and commits fully to being honest about how people actually behave when they’re hurt, embarrassed, and making things worse by the second? DANNY IS MY BOYFRIEND answers that question by leaning into discomfort and letting it spiral. There’s an honesty here, there’s something that lets the people in this story exist, break down, and come out swinging on the otherside, telling a cathartic story about who they are.

What if a documentary stopped asking how it should show the subjects of the film, but rather how those subjects wish to be seen? While BRAILLED IT doesn’t explicitly ask this question, it’s built around the answer. We leave behind the premises of conventional documentary expectations the moment this film begins, giving cameras to blind and low-vision kids competing in the annual Braille Challenge. The filmmakers make a discreet yet strong choice against translating experience into sight for sighted viewers and instead invite the audience to come to the experience itself, to where it exists.

What does a dying town look like when nobody’s performing for the camera? CLOVERS answers that question by refusing pageantry. There are no sweeping drone shots of abandoned factories, no heavy-handed narration declaring economic ruin. Instead, the film plants itself in a quasi-legal strip mall casino in Asheboro, North Carolina, and lets time do the storytelling.

What does masculinity express itself as when nobody’s required to show it? SIKSIKAKOWAN: THE BLACKFOOT MAN answers this calmly and without making a big deal of it. The film doesn’t put forward a point or a central idea; instead, it leaves room. Room to look. Room to hear. Room to simply be, and not have to give reasons.

Is there a difference between being stuck and choosing not to move forward? DADDIES BOI opens with a blunt awareness of the world it occupies. This is a space where relevance has a shelf life, youth is treated like a renewable resource, and anyone past a certain point is expected to either reinvent themselves or disappear altogether. Rather than softening that anxiety with irony or distance, the short confronts it using humor as both armor and confession.

Is unexpected shock still effective when it’s tied to something real? PUKE BITCH declares its desires immediately as something uninterested in politeness. This isn’t an experience designed to ease viewers into its world or offer safety handrails. It drops you into an environment already steeped in neglect, cruelty, and unresolved trauma, then dares you to stay long enough to understand how that damage spreads. The result is a viewing experience that’s deliberately abrasive, heavy, and far more disciplined than its title might suggest.