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There’s a difference between horror that shouts and horror that lingers in your mind. This one doesn’t rush to frighten you with jump scares or drown you in CGI monster and chaos. Instead, it creeps along steadily, grounding its supernatural premise in real-world heartbreak and emotional disarray. What starts as an eerie party game becomes a devastating spiral, but the raw humanity, not the haunted hand, leaves the deepest scars.

This one starts slowly but flies by once it gets going. Built around a fractured relationship between a grieving mother and her self-destructive daughter, the story hooks you with a deeply emotional premise before pivoting into something more dangerous. While that shift is compelling, it leaves you wanting more, and not always in the best way.

Watching a movie that understands restraint as a tool, not a limitation, is a quiet experience. This film keeps its punches tucked beneath the surface, letting atmosphere, performance, and suggestion do the heavy lifting. It’s a story where little is said outright, but everything—power shifts, emotional manipulation, quiet longings—can be found in a glance or a moment of silence. The tension simmers rather than boils, and the damage is all the more piercing when it does break.

Something is intriguing about pairing a fictional genius with a real-life monster—and in MURDER BY DECREE, director Bob Clark does exactly that. Taking Sherlock Holmes out of the cozy parlor-room mysteries of Arthur Conan Doyle and placing him squarely in the grim, gaslit alleys haunted by Jack the Ripper, this 1979 thriller thrives on mood, tension, and a human touch. The film never loses sight of its premise, and the thoughtful performances and grounded emotional undercurrent give it lasting power. If you've only known Clark for A CHRISTMAS STORY or PORKY’S, this is your reminder that his horror-mystery chops, honed in BLACK CHRISTMAS, were equally sharp, if not sharper.

If you went into ALIEN TERROR expecting a sequel to ALIEN, you wouldn’t be alone—and you’d be wrong. This 1980 Italian genre-bender, released in various territories as ALIEN 2: ON EARTH, is one of the more brazen examples of opportunistic rebranding, capitalizing on Ridley Scott’s 1979 hit with little more than a shared genre and the word “alien” in the title. But once you accept that, you’re left with a wild, uneven, and oddly hypnotic slice of Italian sci-fi horror that leans hard into atmosphere and subterranean dread. It's messy, sometimes nonsensical, but strangely watchable—and for fans of Italian genre cinema, there’s charm in its chaos.

It’s been over two decades since SWORDFISH detonated its way into theaters, and thanks to Arrow Video’s new 4K release, there’s never been a better time to reexamine the wild, stylish thrill-ride that once asked: what if hackers looked like supermodels and blew up banks in broad daylight? Directed by Dominic Sena and starring Hugh Jackman, John Travolta, Halle Berry, and Don Cheadle, SWORDFISH might not pass any cybersecurity tests, but it still delivers the glossy, high-octane fun that made it a cult favorite of the early 2000s. If you can check your realism at the door, there’s so much to enjoy here.

When an American backpacker lands in Buenos Aires, expecting adventure and perhaps a bit of romanticized self-discovery, the last thing he anticipates is becoming an unwitting performer in a politically charged underground theater group. Yet that’s exactly where he ends up in UNDERGROUND ORANGE. This flirts with satire, activism, and surreal comedy while poking at global power structures and the hypocrisy of national identity. It’s an offbeat, sometimes erratic but undeniably thought-provoking ride.

What happens when a horror story chooses tradition over thrills and contemplation over chaos? You get a film that aims to honor its real-life source material but occasionally forgets to draw the audience in. THE RITUAL is anchored in one of American history's most documented exorcism cases, opting for a grounded tone over genre theatrics. Rather than chasing supernatural spectacle, it leans heavily on restraint and solemn storytelling. That direction is deliberate, but it often lands between bold and muted, offering a take that struggles to maintain energy.

If you’re going to watch any documentary, make it this one, but be prepared for the emotional ride ahead! There’s a rare immediacy in storytelling when the subject is so compelling that the film around them only needs to observe. That’s the case here, where the focus isn’t on the world but on something far more meaningful—an honest, grounded portrayal of a young athlete whose presence is magnetic, not because of what she might achieve, but because of what she already has. JESSZILLA doesn’t rely on forced drama. It draws you in by simply allowing a real person to exist in front of the lens, and in doing so, it crafts one of the most emotionally rewarding documentaries of the year.

When an action-comedy leans too far in both directions, it risks collapsing under its ambitions. That’s the case here, where the premise has a lot going for it—government secrets, hired killers, and a mysterious protector—but the execution rarely sticks the landing. The film tries to juggle satire, suspense, and slapstick, but never fully commits to them. Instead, what could have been a punchy, stylized thriller becomes a muddled blend of concepts and erratic delivery.

What looks like a straightforward story about teenage girls growing up in the '90s gradually cracks open into something far more raw and personal. Director Jessica Rae delivers a debut that plays with expectation—what seems like a throwback drama at first becomes an intimate account of survival, self-discovery, and quiet rebellion. There’s no exaggeration here, just layered storytelling with a point of view that’s confident and grounded in real life.

What happens when a movie uses its setting not as an escape but as a cage, and reimagines the shark genre without relying on the shark as the villain? That question powers DANGEROUS ANIMALS, a genre blend that swims past surface-level thrills and aims for something more introspective. This story isn’t built around blood-in-the-water suspense but anchored in the deeper tensions of control, obsession, and the illusion of safety.

When a short film makes you laugh, smirk, and nod in recognition—all within a few minutes—you know it’s working with something special. A specific tone here feels unmistakably familiar, blending structured absurdity with the dry humor that only works when the creators fully commit. THE JUNGLE OF ACCOUNTING doesn’t aim to overwhelm its audience with punchlines or antics. Instead, it walks a careful line, crafting its comedy through nuanced character work, design choices that feel lovingly retro, and a narrative style that captures how we often mythologize our professional pasts.

When a story trusts its audience to observe rather than consume, it can be surprisingly intimate. That’s the strength in the middle of LIVE HEALTH, a short film that doesn’t rely on exposition to convey its message. Instead, it embraces the quiet discomfort of emotional, physical, and technological disconnection. What begins as a simple premise becomes a layered, perceptive exploration of the cost of compassion, especially for those tasked with offering it professionally.

Not every short film goes big, but when one does and remains on its feet, it's a project worth mentioning. With a sharp eye for irony and an otherwise off-the-beaten-path concept, this six-minute film doesn't just set out to elicit giggles—it raises real questions about control, emotional intimacy, and the hollow quest for the romantic ideal. What starts as a ridiculous setup turns into something stranger and wittier than expected without overstaying its welcome.

This film is trying for something more personal from the start. Clocking in at 43 minutes, IN THE FLESH is the kind of psychological thriller where the ambition is front and center, even if the execution occasionally stumbles. It doesn’t pretend to be perfect, but it does ask its audience to engage with it beyond surface value. From its small-scale production to its emotionally loaded premise, the film feels like an experiment with heart, rough around the edges, but grounded in a desire to explore something real.

Here’s a comedy that doesn’t just bend the rules of teen movies—it acts like it’s never heard of them. The script feels like it was scribbled during detention, passed between friends with a smirk, and somehow made it to the screen without being finished. That’s not an insult—it’s a compliment. In a genre that often feels formulaic, this one throws the formula out the window, replaces it with barely-there motivations, and dares you to find meaning in the mayhem.

Documentaries seldom feel like a reflection and a new beginning all in one, but that’s exactly the tone captured in ARCADES & LOVE SONGS: THE BALLAD OF WALTER DAY. This isn’t a walk down memory lane padded with nostalgia or a high-score victory lap. Instead, it’s a story that looks at its subject from a different angle, allowing viewers to see him outside his once-restrained frame. Known for his role in shaping competitive gaming, Walter Day returns not to defend his legacy but to chase a dream he left unfinished decades ago.

Some documentaries linger in the mind because of the magnitude of their subject. Others hold you because of how the story is told. NORITA manages to do both. It doesn't just present a portrait of Nora Cortiñas—it refuses to let her become a passive symbol of grief. Instead, it insists on the power of staying angry, staying present, and refusing to vanish.

SACRUM VINDICTAE II enters with the swagger of a revenge thriller that promises high-stakes drama, polish, and thematic weight. Instead, it delivers a fragmented showcase of potential, where moments of visual ambition and narrative intrigue collapse under the weight of underdeveloped characters, half-formed ideas, and emotional detachment. It isn’t without its redeeming qualities, but they’re buried beneath a surface-level commitment to style over cohesion.

DIRTY COP doesn’t waste time. With a runtime just under 20 minutes, it aims to pack a gritty, character-driven drama into a tight window—just enough space to introduce a man on the edge and suggest a whole world of consequences without being able to explore any of them fully. Directed by Elena Maria Dell Aguzzo and written by Fabian Farina, the short features Farina in the lead alongside Sarah Maria Paul and Staci Dickerson. It carries a familiar genre energy—corrupt law enforcement, internal chaos, a system that erodes the soul—but approaches it with the rawness of an indie short.

There’s a difference between pulling back the curtain and being the one stepping behind it. BONO: STORIES OF SURRENDER never quite decides what it’s doing. It sells itself as stripped down, honest, even disarmingly human. But what unfolds is a performance built from the bones of self-awareness, carefully choreographed vulnerability, and just enough mischief to keep the illusion of spontaneity intact. It’s like watching someone audition for the role of themselves—and in many ways, that’s exactly what this is.

There’s a rare comfort in stories that don’t feel obligated to shout over the noise. This one doesn’t rely on heavy drama—it simply shifts the focus to the quiet disruptions that gradually alter the tempo of a person’s life. What begins as a seemingly innocuous decision becomes the foundation for a story that’s more introspective than explosive. It unfolds with care, following a middle-aged man whose curiosity steers him toward a place he didn’t know he needed.

When creative ambition meets the emotional baggage that no studio could balance, things will get complicated. KID doesn’t just acknowledge this—it builds its entire story around it. This grounded, sometimes heavy, sometimes tender indie project explores the reality behind all those “follow your dream” slogans: the mess, the exhaustion, and the emotional trade-offs required when your home life constantly conflicts with your passion. It’s not aiming for grandeur. Instead, it zeroes in on the grind, the intimacy of closed spaces, and the slow burn of personal pressure.