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Faith, trauma, and the shadows we can’t shake—this film drifts through all three with a deliberate unease. It doesn’t race toward revelation or hide behind itself; instead, it moves like its central character: cautiously, searchingly, and often in silence. With its slow-burn structure and emotionally haunted protagonist, this story sidesteps catharsis to examine what’s left behind when belief collapses. Identity needs to be rebuilt from the ground up.

If Rube Goldberg had directed HOME ALONE and cast a rodent as the mastermind, you’d land somewhere in the neighborhood of MOUSE HUNT. Gleefully over-the-top and bursting at the seams with slapstick lunacy, this 1997 comedy from first-time director Gore Verbinski doesn’t just flirt with chaos—it buys it dinner, marries it, and moves into a house booby-trapped by fate and a single unstoppable mouse.

With PALINDROMES, Todd Solondz returns to the deeply uncomfortable territory he’s known for, offering a narrative as fragmented as it is fearless. This 2004 film, now restored in 4K and presented in a limited dual-format edition by Radiance Films, pushes boundaries in form and content. It follows a young girl named Aviva who is determined to become a mother, but the path she takes is anything but ordinary, and the lens through which we view her keeps shifting.

There’s a raw, scorched beauty to Hideo Gosha’s GATE OF FLESH—a film that doesn’t romanticize survival, but refuses to ignore the resilience that springs up in even the harshest conditions. Set in postwar Tokyo during the Allied Occupation, this adaptation of Taijiro Tamura’s oft-retold story follows a collective of sex workers who reclaim a building and turn it into their small utopia, Paradise. But in a world littered with trauma, struggles, and lingering violence, nothing stays untouched for long.

There’s no question that DARK CITY sets a mood. From the first frame, the film pulls the viewer into a nightmare dressed in noir, where trench coats and fog go hand in hand, and the sky has forgotten how to turn blue. Directed by Alex Proyas and featuring a cast of genre veterans, the movie doesn’t waste time trying to ease anyone in. Instead, it throws you headfirst into a world of manufactured memories, mysterious strangers, and a city that seems less like a location and more like a trap.

Released in 1970 and now making its Blu-ray debut courtesy of Arrow Video, THE INVISIBLE SWORDSMAN is a fantasy-tinged action film with a traditional revenge arc and a dash of the supernatural. While the title may suggest something a little zany or offbeat, what’s here is a far more sincere samurai adventure than you'd expect—more spiritual fable with occasional playful touches.

Ah, the year 2000 was when your biggest concern was whether your frosted tips were even and if someone had accidentally mailed your sex tape across the country (I was graduating high school.) ROAD TRIP was not for prestige cinema; it aimed for that awkward humor, and maybe make you just a little uncomfortable. With this new 4K restoration from Kino Lorber (an odd, but welcome choice), the movie that once lived on worn-out DVD shelves next to AMERICAN PIE and VAN WILDER now gets a glow-up.

Something is entrancing about a story that doesn’t rely on explosions, world-ending stakes, or grand spectacle to keep your attention. What starts as an off-grid weekend between two academics quickly reshapes into a story that’s as much about human connection as it is about the coded mysteries of our DNA. Rather than reaching outward, this one folds inward, zooming in on the friction, affection, and unease that can spark when three people find themselves locked in a single space, navigating each other's minds and a discovery that could change everything.

It’s not often you see a project this raw and stripped of pretense, where the drama plays out in glances, hesitations, and a year’s worth of personal milestones. Rather than leaning on spectacle, this film trusts the audience to sit with uncertainty, and the reward is a story that feels remarkably lived-in and sincere.

Some projects hit harder when the camera turns inward, looking at the subject and those who meant the most to the subject's world. What begins as a tribute evolves into something more textured—an introspective examination of legacy, identity, and the weight of preserving a name that once lit up the Las Vegas strip. The director’s proximity to the subject gives the documentary a raw intimacy, elevating it from profile piece to personal reckoning.

A distinct dread creeps in when horror is filtered through something as mundane as a car ride home. What begins with the casual discomfort of unexpected company gradually shifts into survival territory—not the kind with weapons or monsters, but the type that demands silence, calculation, and the ability to stay unnoticed. The stakes don’t scream; they press in quietly. That’s part of what makes this experience more unnerving than most. It finds its terror in restraint.

TOURIST TRAP is the kind of cult horror film that inspires a spectrum of reactions—some viewers swear it’s a deeply unsettling classic, others think it’s a weird relic of its time. The truth probably lies somewhere in between. A curious mix of slasher tropes, supernatural gimmicks, and mannequin-induced nightmares, this 1979 oddity has enough originality to stand out, even if it struggles to pull all its elements into a satisfying whole.

This one doesn’t just walk the line into chaos—it opens the door, throws out the script, and invites it to stay a while. From the first moments, this documentary drags you into the margins of cinema history and refuses to let you look away. What emerges isn’t a glossy recap of a well-known icon or a clean-cut origin story, but a ragged, bloodied love letter to a provocateur who didn’t just push boundaries—he gleefully stomped on them.

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.