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Horror doesn’t need to shout to be unsettling, and this film proves that discomfort, guilt, and grief can simmer just below the surface without ever needing to break into an overblown extravaganza. Rooted in emotional trauma and shaped through a stylized visual lens, the story explores the weight of standing still when someone else suffers. What starts as a slow-burning character study morphs into a psychological nightmare where the line between consequence and supernatural punishment nearly disappears. It’s a story about watching and doing nothing—and the terrible things that silence might invite.

This isn’t just a story about a man seeking justice—it’s about what happens when that pursuit becomes the only thing holding someone together. What starts as a seemingly simple premise uncoils into something more introspective, leaning into long silences, raw tension, and morality rather than answers. The film doesn’t rush to justify its characters; instead, it leaves them—and us—sitting with uncertainty. And that’s where it finds its strongest footing.

What if your worst fear wasn’t a monster in the dark, but the laws meant to “protect you”? This debut feature drags you straight into the kind of terror that isn’t imagined, but is institutional. Unfolding like a psychological pressure cooker, the film strips away comfort, security, and choice, replacing them with bureaucratic coldness and moral indifference. The story doesn't just get under your skin—it makes you question the systems built around it. And that unease? It’s earned, every second of it!

SABRINA is one of those rare films that captures elegance, wit, and emotional sincerity without ever feeling forced. Directed by the ever-versatile Billy Wilder and anchored by three undeniable stars—Humphrey Bogart, Audrey Hepburn, and William Holden—SABRINA is more than just a romantic comedy; it’s a showcase of old-school charisma, visual polish, and a surprisingly layered emotional core. Kino Lorber’s new 4K UHD release underlines how enduring this story is, lovingly restoring a mid-century gem that still sparkles in the modern era.

Something undeniably hypnotic about the alchemy of horror and pulp fiction—especially when it's given life by a filmmaker who knows how to stir the pot. I, MADMAN is a darkly imaginative, genre-melding gem that slipped through the cracks of late '80s horror. Still, thanks to Kino Cult—the refreshingly bold sublabel of Kino Lorber—it’s finally getting the spotlight it deserves. This reissue further strengthens their track record of resurrecting offbeat, fascinating titles. It’s not just a re-release—it’s a revival of a title that deserved to be part of the horror conversation long before.

A certain energy hits when a documentary refuses to put a polish on its subject. Instead of buffing the rough edges, this film leans into them, allowing its central figure, Harley Flanagan, to be messy, conflicted, and real. It doesn’t serve as a redemption fairytale or another nostalgia-heavy music tribute. It feels more like a reckoning that asks what happens after the noise fades and whether survival alone is enough to call something a win.

From its opening moments, where a woman dances through the beats of a beloved old movie in her small Toronto apartment, it’s clear this isn’t just a story about mourning or tension—it’s about rediscovery, identity, and how the pieces of our past still shape who we become. What begins with a death unexpectedly pivots into a multi-decade exploration of love, culture, memory, and how complicated the mother-daughter bond can be when identity and tradition clash.

There’s something satisfying about watching a horror mockumentary in which the chaos of filmmaking becomes the real monster. That’s the strange charm of FOUND FOOTAGE: THE MAKING OF THE PATTERSON PROJECT. This movie captures the desperation and absurdity of trying to complete a passion project with minimal resources and then flips that setup into a nightmare. What begins as a playful behind-the-scenes chronicle gradually transforms into a much darker experience, blurring the line between production issues and something genuinely dangerous.

There’s something powerful about a story that doesn’t rush to prove itself. This short lets its premise breathe, finding clarity through quiet moments and unspoken tension. What starts as a story about an older woman marking the anniversary of her husband’s passing evolves into a commentary on presence, change, and the aching human desire to matter. The film leans on performance, composition, and grounded emotion more than spectacle, which gives it a sense of weight—and also reveals some of its missed opportunities.

Something is refreshing about a short film that doesn’t waste a second establishing where you are and who you’re watching, but still finds the time to surprise you. What begins as a seemingly familiar spy setup takes an unexpected and grounded detour. Set against the backdrop of Cambodia, this story doesn’t use its location as embellishment. Instead, the setting shapes the story’s entire undercurrent. And as soon as the camera starts sweeping through landscapes with a nostalgic grain, it’s clear this isn’t just another international mission with a silent protagonist and a disposable adversary.

Sometimes a movie lines up all the right ingredients—an iconic lead, a flashy heist setup, a crew of specialists—and still feels like a test run for something that never quite came together. That’s the case here, where a familiar formula gets another outing but lacks the spark to make it worth remembering. With a storyline that leans on every convention in the book, what could’ve been a sleek, character-driven crime caper ends up more like a shrug of a sequel.

Japan’s most infamous tale of betrayal and supernatural revenge has been told countless times. Still, Tai Katô’s 1961 version of THE TALE OF OIWA’S GHOST is one of the more relentless and grounded adaptations. Newly released on Blu-ray by Radiance Films and MVD Entertainment, this restoration gives the lesser-seen Toei production a fresh coat of dread. While it doesn’t quite reach the dreamlike artistry of KWAIDAN, Katô’s take grabs you by the throat with its raw emotion, pacing, and brutal sense of justice.

This Cult Epics double-feature pairs two works from the late 1970s that are connected yet incredibly different. MYSTERIES and PASTORALE 1943 are two films that couldn’t feel more different in tone, focus, and success, yet the presence of Dutch icons Rutger Hauer and Sylvia Kristel anchors both. Released at the height of their respective careers, these films offer a fascinating glimpse into the ambitions of Dutch cinema during a transformative era.

HEART OF STONE might be a fable, but it isn’t content with being quiet. This East German fairy tale, originally titled DAS KALTE HERZ, filters its lesson through striking visuals, shadowy forests, and the kind of existential consequence you don’t often expect from a children’s fantasy. Newly restored for its Blu-ray debut from Eureka’s Masters of Cinema series, the 1950 film is fascinating both as a work of early color cinema and as a social commentary buried in the framework of folklore. It doesn’t hit every mark, but there’s much to appreciate, especially how it mixes whimsy with something far darker.

The moment this short begins, there’s a spark—unfiltered, almost chaotic in its momentum, as if we’re being tossed into someone else’s world and left to ride the confusion alongside them. That unpredictability is both its strength and its ceiling. The film plays with improvisation, character dynamics, and lived-in tension. Still, while it captures a certain emotional honesty, it hesitates to push any of its ideas. There’s charm, chemistry, and a mood worth appreciating, but it feels like it needed just one more try to connect fully.