Atlanta‘s Hometown News Site

There’s something about a film that invites you to sit with discomfort rather than explain it all away, making it hard to forget. With premeditated pacing, haunting imagery, and minimal exposition, this story is more interested in lingering questions than easy resolutions. It unpacks deep-rooted cultural trauma through a quiet, symbol-laden narrative that demands attention, even when it feels just out of reach.

There’s something oddly hypnotic about watching structure disintegrate on screen—not through disaster or violence as we expect, but through raw, feral rejection. THEMROC pulls off that rare feat of turning complete absurdity into a strangely coherent thesis. Claude Faraldo’s anarchist satire is messy by design, and behind every crumbling wall is a pointed critique dressed up in unfiltered chaos. It’s not content with disrupting norms; it wants to dismember them entirely and leave the remains twitching.

Not every prison break movie wants you to root for the escape. Sometimes, watching someone run is more compelling because staying still would mean admitting defeat to something bigger than the bars. That’s what gives this gritty, quietly chaotic story its punch—freedom isn’t a destination here, it’s a compulsion.

This story plays with limits—blurring chaos with soft-spoken humor, placing global collapse next to personal longing. It knows how to slip between tones without needing to justify the transitions. It trusts that audiences can feel the noise behind the silence and recognize sincerity in absurdity. There's a strange confidence in its refusal to clarify. This isn't a love story. It's not a disaster film either. It's a snapshot of fragility wrapped in dry wit and slightly off-kilter optimism.

Stories that work best aren’t always the loudest. Some simply hold a mirror up to our systems, roles, and the limits of our control—and they ask us to look without flinching. I ONLY REST IN THE STORM does exactly that. It crafts its mood out of tension rather than action, and instead of pointing toward resolution, it circles the idea of disintegration—of purpose, identity, and infrastructure. The film thrives in the space between what’s happening and what can’t be said aloud, offering a precise, sharp meditation on power, presence, and disconnection. Be warned, at three and a half hours, it’s not a quick watch, but thankfully, the story gives you more than enough to work with, and the runtime never feels like an issue.

When a story finds clarity in the complicated and weight in the quiet moments rather than the explosive ones, it earns its place by how closely it listens to its characters. That’s the approach taken here—patient, careful, and layered with unspoken tension. The film explores the space between legality and love. It doesn’t ask the audience to lean in—it trusts they already are.

There’s bold, and then there’s bewildering—and this one walks that line with an uneven but undeniably curious confidence. A USEFUL GHOST presents a premise that’s strange enough to be memorable, yet it stumbles when translating that novelty into something emotionally satisfying. It’s the kind of film that feels like it’s reaching for meaning, but never quite gets there, even when its intentions are admirable.

When a competition built on anonymity unexpectedly hands a colossal national project to a soft-spoken Danish academic, the result is less a fairy tale and more a slow-motion clash between idealism and the real world. THE GREAT ARCH taps into that tension with precision, offering a procedural character study about the weight of vision, the limits of control, and how quickly inspiration can become compromised under public scrutiny.

Before DEFA’s (Deutsche Film-Aktiengesellschaft) science fiction films were rediscovered, East German cinema’s contributions to the genre remained tucked away, simultaneously mysterious and captivating. Thanks to Eureka’s Masters of Cinema line, STRANGE NEW WORLDS: SCIENCE FICTION AT DEFA makes its Blu-ray debut with four restored features that capture a speculative vision of space exploration unlike anything Hollywood produced during the Cold War. This limited edition box set brings together THE SILENT STAR, SIGNALS: A SPACE ADVENTURE, EOLOMEA, and IN THE DUST OF THE STARS in a presentation that respects their charm and ideological roots. The result is a rewarding glimpse into an alternate universe powered by practical effects, philosophical anxieties, and the belief that the stars could be the setting for revolution, redemption, or ruin.

When a show gets its hooks in you fast and doesn’t let up, it’s usually because it understands what it's trying to say. MOTORHEADS may not rewrite the rules of coming-of-age storytelling, but it knows exactly what gear it wants to drive in. With a youthful centric cast, raw emotion, and a backdrop of clashing steel, oil, and growing pains, it moves intentionally, even when it hits a few familiar bumps in the road. Once it gets going, it’s hard not to get swept up in its emotion.

There’s a distinct kind of power that comes from reclaiming your story—and this documentary doesn’t just tell one, it redefines the terms. Centered on a protest that shook a university and echoed nationwide, DEAF PRESIDENT NOW! turns a lesser-known civil rights milestone into a vivid, visceral, and deeply personal experience. This is a character-driven reminder of what happens when a community stops waiting for permission to lead.

This happens when a series with cult-level recognition decides to stare into the multiverse and ask, “What if we changed everything… but also nothing at all?” RICK AND MORTY: THE ANIME attempts to reshape the long-running animated favorite through a different visual and emotional filter. What it builds is neither a straight sequel nor a self-contained reboot, but rather a remix that reinterprets familiar characters in unfamiliar ways. It’s messy, oddly charming, and sometimes contradictory, but it certainly plays it safe.

There’s a difference between a movie that pushes boundaries and one that joyfully kicks them down with a grin and a syringe full of glowing serum. That’s the energy this film brings. It’s brash, unfiltered, and so deeply committed to its bizarre blend of horror and comedy that it oscillates with genre defiance. And now, with its 40th anniversary release from Ignite Films, newly restored in 4K UHD and approved by Brian Yuzna himself, this cult oddity isn’t just preserved—it’s reborn.

What happens when a film shows us inner turmoil rather than spell it out? DEATH DOES NOT EXIST takes that gamble and leans into a style that embraces uncertainty, challenging its audience to engage without a clear roadmap. Rather than presenting a story with traditional arcs and easily labeled motives, this animated feature opts for a structure built on contradiction, metaphor, and transformation, both literal and emotional. The result is a project that’s as introspective as it is ambitious, walking a fine line between originality and occasionally opacity.