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GIRL WITH A SUITCASE is a gentle but impactful experience that pulls viewers into the complexities of two very different lives—characters trapped in realities neither has the tools nor the permission to escape. The film isn't simply a story of love or heartache; it's about the invisible chains imposed by social expectations and personal insecurities.

There’s a certain thrill in watching a film that intentionally refuses to act a certain way. From its opening minutes, this one sidesteps every narrative expectation and tears through genre boundaries with all the subtlety of a hammer. What looks like a tale of success under pressure—a young woman’s unexpected rise in a traditionally male-dominated sport—gradually mutates into something far more haunting. What starts with a swing and a smile ends in smoke and confusion, unmasking the machine behind modern stardom and what happens when the illusion becomes unbearable.

You can almost hear the pitch meeting: revenge-fueled drama, undercover intrigue, aerial explosions, and two burning love interests—packaged into one feature-length storm. THE ADVENTURERS sets out to juggle multiple genres with the swagger of a globe-trotting spy thriller and the emotional stakes of a personal vendetta. The result? A volatile mix of ambition and execution that somehow entertains, frustrates, and impresses, all in equal measure.

When horror sidesteps extravagant scares and instead patiently constructs dread from lingering shadows, it usually sets the stage for something special. FRÉWAKA makes a decent effort at this, pulling you into its world where Irish folklore quietly mingles with personal tragedy. The result isn’t always smooth, but there’s something oddly captivating about how this film chooses to tell its story, preferring atmosphere over action, whispers over screams.

Capturing the life of a legendary musician involves far more than simply recounting the highlights of their career. ARTIE SHAW: TIME IS ALL YOU'VE GOT navigates this challenge, balancing the glamour of celebrity with the less comfortable realities that accompany creative brilliance. Director Brigitte Berman’s insightful and often playful documentary offers an in-depth look into the complex and contradictory personality of Artie Shaw, providing a vibrant yet realistic depiction of a man whose talent frequently clashed with his aversion to fame.

When the walls start to close in, what do people cling to first: their morality or their mortgage? That question hovers over every silence and sideways glance in this darkly comic ensemble piece. The film walks the tightrope between discomfort and absurdity, carefully peeling back layers of social pleasantries to expose a core built on convenience, compromise, and just a hint of chaos. What begins as a simple gathering spirals into an unintended test of friendships, loyalties, and ethics, revealing the unnerving ease with which people can slip into denial when their lifestyle is at stake.

There’s something magnetic about stories that never aim to dazzle, but instead invite you into a quiet truth. What begins as a tale about two musicians stepping onto a stage far from home evolves into a broader reflection on voice, space, and cultural identity. This documentary offers a sincere and grounded exploration of ambition and self-definition, demonstrating how music can serve as both an escape and a declaration.

There’s an undeniable allure to horror when it decides to target something you can’t touch or see. THE KILLGRIN explores the territory of psychological torment and emotional despair mixed with supernatural elements. Written and directed by Joanna Tsanis, this debut feature attempts to bridge human pain and otherworldly threats with a thoughtful premise, but struggles to bring its ambitious vision to life. The concept hooks you immediately—personal anguish as a breeding ground for an actual monster—but the final result lands somewhere between fascinating and incomplete.

When seeking refuge in isolation to boost creativity, the last thing one expects is a spiraling descent into paranoia and confusion, yet that's precisely what LYLA delivers. Gordon Cowie's directorial debut introduces audiences to Hugh (Clark Moore), an aspiring author intent on finishing his novel by retreating to a remote spot with his wife Lyla (Jolene Andersen) and their son Lars (Mason Wells). Predictably, what starts as a peaceful writing retreat quickly devolves into a maze of disturbing encounters and blurred realities, challenging perceptions of sanity and trust.

Imagine carrying a secret for over two decades, only for it to resurface through a piece of tech and a government job. That’s the hook that sets SNEAKERS in motion—a clever, offbeat thriller that never tries to outmuscle the genre but outthinks it. Part spy story, part hacker adventure, and part character study, this is a film that trades flashy theatrics for smarter subversions and leans into its ensemble with refreshing confidence, even if not every idea gets the same follow-through.

TRINITY doesn't rely on spectacle or shock value. Instead, it turns its lens on voices long ignored—those quietly living with the consequences of a test that changed the world without their consent. This isn’t a project trying to retell history with rage. It’s trying to fill in the gaping silences. With a focus on lived experiences rather than dramatized recreations, the film unearths a complicated chapter of American history that is as under-discussed as it is hauntingly relevant.

In the golden age of music, there was a man who needed only a 12-string guitar and his voice to turn the world’s ear. LEAD BELLY: THE MAN WHO INVENTED ROCK & ROLL revisits a name history hasn’t entirely forgotten but certainly hasn’t celebrated loudly enough. This documentary isn’t interested in nostalgia for its own sake. Instead, it’s about setting the record straight, digging into a life that shaped modern music more than most charts will ever acknowledge.

What do you get when a film leans into chaos just enough to mirror what it feels like to exist in the middle of a personal identity crisis? ZOE doesn’t aim to tidy up that storm—it dances in its insanity, winks at it, and sometimes stumbles through it. This film is about being lost, not in the conventional sense, but emotionally disoriented in a world where everything appears just fine from the outside. Under the guidance of Emanuela Galliussi, who wears many hats as writer, co-director, producer, and lead, ZOE explores the question so many narratives try to avoid: what happens when “having it all” still feels like not enough?

It’s oddly intriguing watching someone spiral in real-time, especially when the spiral is staged, polished, and presented for our consumption. NAMAS DEI: THE TUCKER J. JAMES STORY takes that premise and crafts a story that feels both of-the-moment and deeply rooted in the timeless human urge to be seen. What starts like another influencer comedy gradually reveals a story about identity, aspiration, and the self-destruction that comes from trying too hard to be the person everyone wants you to be. For a film built around digital facades, it manages to sneak up with moments of surprising honesty.

What happens when a suspense thriller takes a sharp left turn into farce but still tries to keep its footing in romance and mystery? You get a movie that dares to misbehave within its own genre rules. FOUL PLAY doesn’t just transition between tones—it runs them down, laughs in the confusion, and somehow turns the chaos into its greatest strength. The result is a film that’s rarely predictable but always in motion, switching moods mid-scene and embracing its oddball energy without hesitation.

When a story pulls from personal memory rather than genre formula, there's a striking tension between truth and fiction. This one doesn’t just suggest authenticity—it breathes it. Built from the ground up with grit and experience, it is less a studio creation and more a raw confession, shaped by the streets that raised it. We do not get a polished spectacle, but something rough-edged and intentionally human.

THE UGLY STEPSISTER doesn’t tiptoe around its message. It kicks in the door, tears down the fairy tale curtains, and asks what happens when the desire to be seen becomes a compulsion to be reshaped. This is not your storybook Cinderella (although closer in tone to the original, darker version of the story). Instead, Emilie Blichfeldt’s body horror debut reframes the narrative, taking a character long treated as an obstacle and putting her at the center of a brutal, satirical, and deeply human tale about beauty, identity, and the cost of fitting in. What emerges isn’t just a horror movie with a twisted take on a classic—it’s a character study that flays its protagonist in more ways than one.

What starts as a gritty throwback to street-level crime dramas quickly reveals itself as a film stuck between intention and execution. THE 4 POINTS combines a bold concept, a visually grounded approach, and two strong central performances, but it never quite nails the rhythm needed to connect fully. There's an unmistakable passion behind the camera, and you can feel the effort to honor a legacy of L.A.-set crime stories.

Something is fascinating about watching a film that feels like it was unearthed from another time but with just enough weirdness to make it stick in your brain. That’s the strange magic: nostalgia meets innovation, and everything is filtered through the grainy, analog lens of a dreamlike version of Peoria, Illinois. Even though it wasn’t shot there, it’s rooted in the city’s energy, which made it hit even closer to home for me—seeing Peoria get this kind of spotlight. I’ll take it.

CAREER OPPORTUNITIES, a curious blend of romantic comedy, social commentary, and low-stakes thriller that feels made on impulse and edited on a deadline. It’s quirky, flawed, and occasionally disjointed, but a strange charm hovers beneath the surface even in its craziest moments.

Now and then, a short film lands not with spectacle but with clarity—a quiet moment that unfolds with purpose, capturing a shift in perspective as it’s happening. SUCH A PRETTY GIRL takes that challenge head-on and succeeds by focusing less on loud revelations and more on what lingers in glances, gestures, and the quiet spaces between words. It delivers a moment of personal reckoning without pushing for tidy answers or emotional shortcuts, all in just six minutes.

Mistaken identity starts a chain reaction in one of post-war British cinema's most unusual satirical works. At first glance, it might seem like another light-hearted jab at the quirks of British society. However, what unfolds is an unnerving commentary on how communities react when someone truly decides to practice what institutions merely preach. The comedy is sharp, the discomfort even sharper, resulting in a social critique that remains disturbingly relevant.

In a landscape where tech stories usually get filtered through flashy edits and charismatic soundbites with swelling scores, VITALIK: AN ETHEREUM STORY breaks the mold. It trades grandiosity for introspection, ambition for uncertainty, and curated myth for messy, human reality. This isn’t about hype—it’s about what happens after the hype fades and the questions get harder to dodge.

Jean Rollin rarely took the conventional path, and SIDEWALKS OF BANGKOK is proof that even when leaning into a genre as familiar as the espionage thriller, he does it his way—off-kilter, unpolished, and unapologetically strange. This isn’t a sleek international spy saga. Instead, it's an oddly charming mashup of softcore indulgence, pulp storytelling, and late-night cable weirdness that remains with a hook, even when it stumbles over its genre madness. It’s flawed, often ridiculous, and certainly not for everyone, but it delivers just enough spectacle and Rollin flair to make you stick around until the end, even if you’re not exactly sure why.