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There’s an eccentric kind of courage in telling a story that isn’t easily explained. LEGEND OF THE HAPPY WORKER, the surrealist satire from veteran editor-turned-director Duwayne Dunham, embraces that ambiguity with open arms and dusty boots. Set in a self-contained utopia built from scratch in the Utah desert, this film is more about philosophy than plot, and more about tone than resolution. But that doesn’t mean it lacks clarity—it just refuses to spoon-feed meaning in a world that’s anything but straightforward.

Few titles in home video history have conjured up as much infamy as FACES OF DEATH. Released in 1978 and marketed as a shocking documentary that captures death in its rawest form, the film has earned notoriety less for its artistic merit and more for the myth surrounding it. Teenagers dared each other to watch it. Parents tried to ban it. And now, with a new Blu-ray Steelcase edition from Dark Sky Selects, the film returns for a generation raised on YouTube reaction videos and Reddit gore threads. Does it still hold power? That depends on your threshold—and your expectations.

Stillness isn’t absence in SILENT LIGHT. It’s intention. It’s discomfort. And in Carlos Reygadas’ deeply spiritual 2007 drama—now given a pristine 4K restoration—it becomes the language through which heartbreak, betrayal, and devotion are explored. This isn’t a film that rushes toward answers. Instead, it demands that you sit with the tension and listen to the silences between words, between glances, between sunrise and sunset.

Dressed in '80s nostalgia and soaked in blood, FRIENDS FOREVER is a horror short that understands exactly what it wants to be. It’s not trying to redefine the slasher genre, and it doesn’t need to. Instead, it leans into its world created in the film—a cursed party in a farmhouse—with confidence and just enough craft to deliver a memorable 20-minute experience.

The 2006 reimagining of both the film THE POSEIDON ADVENTURE (and the novel by the same name) wastes no time getting to the chaos. Just ten minutes into this high-budget disaster film, a rogue wave upends the luxurious cruise liner, flipping it upside down and throwing its passengers into instant panic. From there, the film plunges into a nonstop scramble for survival—lean on setup, heavy on spectacle. I’m a sucker for disaster films, especially those from the golden era of the 1970s, and this remake leans into the chaos that made them work.

At a glance, MY MOTHER’S WEDDING seems like a guaranteed success. With Kristin Scott Thomas behind the camera and a powerhouse trio of Scarlett Johansson, Sienna Miller, and Emily Beecham in the lead roles, expectations run high for a rich, emotionally layered family drama. But while the film occasionally brushes up against those ambitions, it never fully tackles them. This is a film that often gestures toward depth without quite getting there—warm on the surface, yet oddly hollow in the aftermath.

HOLA FRIDA doesn’t aim to retell Frida Kahlo’s life in a deep biographical fashion. Instead, it narrows its focus to something more intimate: the artist’s childhood, long before she became the timeless icon. The result is a warm, artistic animated film that opens the door for a younger audience to connect with one of the 20th century’s most influential artists—not through her fame, but through her imagination.

There’s no denying that Temple Grandin’s life story is powerful. She’s changed the way we understand both animals and autism, using her neurodivergent perspective not as an obstacle, but as an extraordinary tool. With that kind of legacy, even the most basic documentary about her is bound to carry a certain level of inspiration. AN OPEN DOOR: TEMPLE GRANDIN is exactly that—an informative, well-meaning hour-long profile that offers a gentle walk through Grandin’s world without digging as deeply as it could have.

WE ARE STILL HERE leans into its sorrow like an elegy wrapped in blood and frost. Set in a wintry New England landscape, the film opens in the iciness of loss. A couple, grieving the death of their son, moves into a desolate farmhouse hoping for peace. What they find is far from silence. Ted Geoghegan’s directorial debut manages to create a haunting atmosphere that fuses horror with the raw ache of emotional trauma, and it doesn’t take long for the snow-covered calm to begin unraveling into something far more dangerous.

THE MUSICIANS opens with a rare opportunity and a heavy burden. Astrid Carlson (Valérie Donzelli), daughter of a classical music lover, has managed to reunite four legendary Stradivarius instruments to perform a long-lost composition. However, her father’s dream quickly turns into a logistical nightmare for her. Despite gathering the perfect tools, she’s working with flawed human parts—four brilliant musicians with egos too big to fit in the same room, let alone the same measure.

BOYS GO TO JUPITER plays like a backyard musical staged inside a 3D diorama—bright, elastic, and oddly tender. A day in suburban Florida is an inspired starting point: the calendar feels stalled, the air hangs heavy, and the future refuses to announce itself. That’s where Billy 5000 lives—between errands on a delivery app and a self-imposed deadline to scrape together five grand before New Year’s. Money is the plot device, but the movie’s real currency is attention: to textures, to small talk, to loneliness that looks like boredom until it doesn’t.

ANIMALE sinks its teeth into familiar genre territory but refuses to follow a predictable path. It emerges as a personal horror tale about identity, transformation, and the hidden violence embedded in tradition. Filmmaker Emma Benestan doesn’t just challenge expectations—she tears them open with a protagonist whose body and fate unravel with clarity.

There’s giant dramatic fallout or grand romantic gesture in WAVERLY—just two people trying to hold on to each other as the world quietly pushes them apart. Clocking in at just 17 minutes, this short drama lands a surprisingly potent emotional punch, grounded in subtle performances and a setting that feels lived-in rather than staged. Co-directed by Marie-Pier Diamond and Gilles Plouffe, it’s the kind of story that doesn’t ask for your attention—it earns it. It’s rare to see a short that doesn’t try to extend beyond its framing. This is exactly what it sets out to be and knows that from the first frame.

There’s a moment early in UP / DOWN that encapsulates its entire thesis—John Karlston (Michael Cooke) finds himself in a fluorescent-filled waiting room that looks more like a medical clinic than the afterlife. The receptionist tells him to sit tight. What’s he waiting for? That’s the question the entire short film dances around with precision and just enough bite to leave an impression long after its 11-minute runtime ends.