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THROUGH AND THROUGH is not the kind of film that eases you into its world. It drags you there and locks the door. From the opening moments, Grzegorz Królikiewicz makes it clear this is a story that will not pander to expectations or offer easy emotional beats. Instead, it’s an exercise in immersion — in how poverty, shame, and isolation can strip people down until all that’s left is survival instinct.

Radiance Films continues its deep dive into the world of Iga ninja with SHINOBI VOL. 2, a meticulously presented box set that picks up right where the first volume left off. This three-film collection—SIEGE, RETURN OF MIST SAIZO, and THE LAST IGA SPY—retains the series’ mix of historical drama, espionage, and martial arts, while subtly shifting its focus toward political maneuvering and personal vendettas.

PERPETRATOR wastes no time establishing itself as something strange. Jennifer Reeder’s latest is a horror film wrapped in a feminist coming-of-age story, dipped in surrealism, and splattered with blood. It’s as ambitious as it is uneven — a movie with moments of real intrigue, flashes of brilliance, and an energy that refuses to stay in one lane, even when a little restraint might have made all the difference.

Few films manage to combine intimacy and brutality with the confidence of TROUBLE EVERY DAY. Claire Denis’ first engagement with genre cinema is as much a meditation on the human body as it is a horror story — a slow, measured plunge into lust, hunger, and the territory where those instincts become indistinguishable. More than two decades after its controversial debut, the film has lost none of its ability to unsettle, disturb, and haunt. Think of a fusion of RAW, BYZANTIUM, and POSSESSION, with the lingering sting of IN MY SKIN.

This film aims to blend found footage, on-screen storytelling, and a documentary-like curiosity into one unsettling journey. From the very start, it’s clear there’s an emotional spark behind the camera — a genuine desire to build a story with layers of mystery, isolation, and creeping dread. The early sections manage to pull the viewer in, offering a premise that feels both personal and expansive: a central figure embarks on a video-based project. It gradually becomes drawn into an investigation with unnerving implications.

There’s a certain appeal to the “friends in a remote cabin” setup — it’s practically baked into horror’s DNA. Done right, it’s a playground for tension, supernatural chaos, and blood-soaked fun. FEAR CABIN clearly understands the formula, but instead of using it as a springboard for something new, it settles for familiar strides and a patchwork of cliches that never gel into a cohesive or engaging whole. If you don’t follow my socials (which you should), I define a 1.5-star film as “An experience that was hard to get through but not beyond some redemption.” And this is the definition of a film like that. It wasn’t so much “bad” as it was something we’ve seen before, on a budget, with a lot of experimentation.

THE STAND is a deeply felt portrait of responsibility, resilience, and love. In just 14 minutes, Oanh-Nhi Nguyen crafts a story that feels both intimate and universally relatable, centering on Quinn (Jovie Leigh), a young girl who helps her mother run a hectic food stand. When her mother is unexpectedly pulled away, Quinn teams up with her younger brother Liam (Kailen Jude) to keep the business running, determined to make enough to give their mom something she rarely gets — a night off.

LITTLE BIRD might only span 17 minutes, but it examines a story with the weight of a feature. Director Oanh-Nhi Nguyen takes audiences back to 80s Los Angeles, crafting a layered, empathetic portrait of displacement, survival, and the courage to stand against injustice. While many films explore the aftermath of the Vietnam War, few focus on what happened after refugees landed on American soil — the nuanced realities that existed between the headlines. Nguyen’s story narrows in on one woman, Linh Tran (Chantal Thuy), whose job forces her to confront those very truths.

HIS MOTORBIKE, HER ISLAND is a film that explores the story like a half-remembered dream — one that lingers not because of its plot, but because of how it makes you feel. Directed by Nobuhiko Obayashi, best known internationally for the wild genre-bending of HOUSE (1977), this 1986 romance trades chaos for something gentler, more reflective. It’s a story of fleeting youth, personal freedom, and the delicate push-and-pull between two people drawn together by the hum of an engine and the lure of the open road.

MISS FREELANCE compresses a week of a woman’s life into nineteen minutes, yet the film’s impact extends well beyond that running time. Matthew Kyle Levine writes, directs, shoots, and edits with a prudence that never feels rushed. The story follows Carly, played by Maddy Murphy, as she moves through a series of meetings with men across New York City. The nature of these interactions isn’t a mystery—Levine isn’t coy about the transactional element—but the focus is on what each encounter reveals about Carly’s life.

This limited-edition collection arrives with a simple promise: three features that capture a studio at full tilt and a filmmaker defining his lane just before the tidal wave of Bruce Lee reshaped the market. MARTIAL LAW: LO WEI’S WUXIA WORLD isn’t pitched as a greatest-hits reel; it’s a snapshot of a style. You get the moral chess of classic wuxia, the immaculate storytelling of Shaw Brothers productions, and a trio of heroines and heroes whose choices are drawn with confident precision. The restoration and supplements make the case that these are not just archival curiosities—they’re genuinely entertaining films that still play well all these years later.

There’s a depth to stories like BAU, ARTIST AT WAR that goes beyond the mechanics of filmmaking. Sean McNamara’s dramatization of Joseph Bau’s life doesn’t just retell history—it actively engages with the question of how love and art can endure when surrounded by cruelty. The film’s premise alone places it alongside some of the most emotionally charged narratives in the war drama genre. But what keeps it from being swallowed by the familiar tropes of Holocaust cinema is the specificity of its subject: a man who turned creativity into resistance.

Long before Baz Luhrmann’s visual fireworks or Robert Redford’s sun-drenched elegance, Elliott Nugent’s 1949 take on THE GREAT GATSBY brought F. Scott Fitzgerald’s Jazz Age novel to life, filtered through the sensibilities of postwar Hollywood. With the Production Code still in force, this adaptation inevitably softens some of the source material’s sharper edges. Yet, it remains a compelling, character-focused take on one of America’s most enduring stories — and now, restored from a new scan for Kino Lorber’s 2025 Blu-ray release, it’s easier than ever to appreciate its strengths.

Some shows build their appeal on grit and high-stakes peril; WHITSTABLE PEARL does it by balancing cozy mysteries with just enough dramatic bite to keep you leaning forward. The third season returns to the Kent coast with the same blend of scenic beauty, relatable characters, and a mix of cases that stretch from the quirky to the chilling. However, while the tone still leans toward the “comfort watch” category, this season delves deeper into the emotional lives of its leads, raising the stakes in subtle yet meaningful ways.

There’s an ease to slipping back into DARBY AND JOAN that’s hard to find in most contemporary mystery dramas. The pairing of Bryan Brown’s wry, world-weary ex-detective Jack Darby and Greta Scacchi’s inquisitive, warmhearted nurse-turned-sleuth Joan Kirkhope has always been the hook, but Season 2 proves that this show has more in its tank than just chemistry and charm. Picking up a year after their initial run-ins across the Australian outback, the duo is more comfortable in each other’s company but just as entangled in trouble — this time with stakes that are personal, and potentially deadly.