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There’s a fine line between justice and vengeance, and LAW ABIDING CITIZEN ensures you feel every inch of it. More than a decade after its theatrical debut, this hard-hitting thriller still manages to stir debate—and thanks to Lionsgate’s new 4K Ultra HD Steelbook release, it looks and sounds sharper than ever.

What begins with clinical paperwork and a knock on the door becomes a story about resilience, control, and the strength buried in those who’ve been overlooked. This thriller isn’t about the flash—it’s about the fight that unfolds when the rules are used against the vulnerable, and how that fight doesn’t always come dressed in action tropes or speeches.

There’s something oddly satisfying about a film that knows it’s a little off the rails but moves forward anyway. That’s the curious energy pulsing through STEALING PULP FICTION—a scrappy heist comedy where ambition overshadows logic, and enthusiasm trumps expertise. It’s a knowingly disorganized story about people who adore cinema just enough to make the worst decisions possible. While not every aspect lands, there’s something enjoyable in watching it try.

There are cult films… and then there are the kind of movies that feel like they escaped from a fever dream at a VHS rental store in an alternate timeline. TERMINUS belongs to the latter. Directed by cinematographer-turned-madman Pierre-William Glenn, this 1987 French-American hybrid is getting a high-def debut courtesy of the MVD Rewind Collection, and somehow—somehow—it’s kind of delightful in its B-movie bonkers way.

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.

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.

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.