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Some films unfold at a pace that demands patience, not because they’re unfocused, but because they’re interested in small moments of human behavior rather than constant escalation. TARIKA is built in that tradition. It’s a story about a father and daughter living on the outskirts of a Bulgarian village, surrounded by people who respond to anything unfamiliar with hostility rather than empathy. That premise alone is heavy, but Milko Lazarov approaches it with an understated tone, anchoring the film in a relationship that feels deeply personal. The film’s quietness isn’t a stylistic pose; it’s an extension of the characters' isolation.

There’s a certain kind of short film that doesn’t aim to shock through twists or visuals, but through honesty. ROSALIE is one of those stories. It presents a situation that could play out behind any closed door in America, and it carries the weight of something deeply human: a woman who’s overwhelmed, stretched to the extremes, and fighting the internal storm of an unplanned pregnancy she doesn’t want. At the same time, her closest friend carries her own heartache — an infertility struggle that shapes every reaction she has to Rosalie’s decision. With only twenty minutes to work with, the film doesn’t waste time circling its themes. Instead, it moves with precision, grounded in realistic dialogue, and the painful contradictions that arise when two people love each other but want entirely different outcomes.

If there’s one franchise that defines ’70s disaster cinema—all its ambition, excess, sincerity, and unintended comedy—it’s this one. AIRPORT: THE COMPLETE 4-FILM COLLECTION isn’t just a lineup of big-cast thrillers; it’s a snapshot of how the industry embraced spectacle before CGI, leaning entirely on elaborate sets, recognizable faces, and the promise that danger at high altitude automatically meant an event film. Watching the four movies together is like watching the decade itself change: the melodrama, the procedural vibes, the escalation of spectacle, and eventually the unrestrained theatrics of a studio system intent on outdoing itself at any cost.

The first thing that strikes you about 100 LITERS OF GOLD is how it leans into the reality of everyday people who make questionable choices for understandable reasons. Writer/director Teemu Nikki, who has built a career on mixing empathy with sharp-edged satire, brings that same sensibility to this story of two middle-aged sisters whose lives revolve around the small traditions that define their identity. In this case, that tradition is sahti — the rustic, unfiltered, almost mythical farmhouse beer that carries an outsized level of pride in rural Finland. Nikki’s personal connection comes from a family of brewers and regards the drink as a cultural anchor, not just a beverage.

The third season of THE GILDED AGE offers the confidence of a series that has settled into its identity. The world is grounded, the characters established, and the show is no longer working to convince the audience of its worth. Instead, this season focuses on escalation. The aftermath of the Opera War leaves the old order weakened, and the Russells step into the vacuum with a level of determination that transforms the social landscape of 1880s New York. The tension between tradition and progress has always been the backbone of this series, but Season 3 pushes those contrasts further, showing how ambition can reshape an entire community.