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HELLCAT wastes no time pulling you into its world of uncertainty. A woman wakes up in a moving trailer with no idea where she is, how she got there, or why she has a wound on her side. That’s the setup, and the clock starts ticking almost immediately. What follows is a lean, paranoia-fueled thriller that gradually shifts into something more emotionally grounded—and ultimately more unsettling. It’s a strong debut feature from writer-director Brock Bodell, and a showcase for Dakota Gorman, whose performance helps anchor the film as it veers from grittiness to psychological horror.

After more than a decade off the air, KING OF THE HILL returns with its long-awaited fourteenth season—and somehow, it feels like it never left. From the very first episode, the rebooted series strikes a balance between nostalgia and relevance, honoring the character-driven heart of the original while evolving enough to fit the world as it is now. This isn't just a return to a greatest hits compilation; it's a thoughtful extension of the lives we left behind in Arlen, Texas. And by the end of these ten episodes, it’s clear the show still has something to say.

You could argue that THE OLD DARK HOUSE was too strange, and too early. Released in 1932, sandwiched between the earth-shaking shock of FRANKENSTEIN and THE INVISIBLE MAN, James Whale’s genre-blending haunted house film didn’t quite fit the mold of Universal’s monster-driven horror renaissance. It wasn’t a monster movie, and it wasn’t a straight gothic either—it was something else. Something campy and dry, macabre and absurd. And for years, it was nearly forgotten. Thanks to a meticulous 4K restoration and limited-edition release from Eureka’s Masters of Cinema series, that wrong gets spectacularly righted.

MOTHER OF FLIES is a return—and a reckoning. With this latest experience, the Adams family doesn't just go back to their roots; they dig them up, twist them, and expose every worm underneath, burying it with rocks. John Adams, Zelda Adams, and Toby Poser once again write, direct, and star, continuing the familiar filmmaking style that’s defined their work: the family that slays together, stays together. It’s never clearer than now how much that bond shines through on screen. But this time, the stakes feel more personal, the horror more real, and the artistry more purposeful.

James DeMonaco’s THE HOME might come from the same mind that brought us THE PURGE, but this isn't a dystopian free-for-all. It’s something more contained, more psychological, and, ultimately, more personal. Anchored by an unexpectedly tame performance from Pete Davidson and bolstered by a stellar cast of stage and screen veterans, THE HOME reimagines the haunted house subgenre inside a decaying retirement facility where the dead don’t just haunt the halls—they might still be walking them.

BILLY MADISON shouldn’t work as well as it does. On paper, it’s a loud, abrasive film built around the antics of a man-child with too much money and too little maturity. But somehow, through a combination of perfect comedic timing, endearing absurdity, and an unforgettable supporting cast, it remains one of the most beloved comedies of the 90s—and arguably the film that made Adam Sandler a household name. He may have had a few memorable moments before this, but this was the film that put him front and center, allowing his unique blend of comedy to shine.

Some horror films scream; this one snarls. THE SERPENT’S SKIN might clock in at just over 80 minutes, but it packs in enough fury, vulnerability, and rebellion to fill an entire franchise. Alice Maio Mackay’s sixth feature is her most assured and emotionally volatile work yet (and that’s saying something because she has one hell of a filmography)—a supernatural queer horror tale that wields witchcraft, body horror, and heartbreak with equal urgency. It’s brutal, funny, and unmistakably punk in spirit, refusing to flatten its characters into metaphors or reduce their trauma to exposition.

Jeffrey Cohen’s THE BALLAD OF ISABEL WINSLOW doesn’t waste a second of its 15-minute runtime. This sharply dressed short manages to weave satire, social critique, romance, and high-stakes trickery into one delightfully witty package. Though compact in runtime, it feels complete—an entire world distilled into a single con. The world needs more period comedy; there’s something magical about dropping untamed humor into a timeframe that feels like it wasn’t meant for laughs.

The pressures of assimilation, especially for immigrant teens, are rarely presented with a story this powerful. FOREIGNER captures a time when low-rise jeans and sitcom reruns ruled pop culture, but reimagines that familiar coming-of-age formula through a supernatural horror lens. Ava Maria Safai’s directorial debut dares to blend pastel-filtered aesthetics with the creeping dread of cultural erasure, delivering a film that’s equal parts satire and psychological nightmare. It does all of this with very little “traditional horror” and with a focus on fear, anger, and judgment.

SHINY HAPPY PEOPLE: A TEENAGE HOLY WAR plays like a mirror to a very specific moment in American pop-religious culture: the height of evangelical youth movements in the late 1990s and early 2000s. The second season of the docuseries, which began with an unflinching look at the Duggar family and the IBLP, now turns its attention to Teen Mania Ministries—once a towering presence in youth ministry and the force behind Acquire the Fire, one of the largest Christian stadium events in U.S. history.

FUTRA DAYS is one of those films that’s difficult to dismiss entirely, even if you’re checking your watch by the halfway point. Writer-director Ryan David builds an intriguing premise—a man given the chance to travel through time to preview the outcome of a potential relationship—and then slowly drains it of urgency by focusing less on the sci-fi elements and more on the glacial tension between its characters.

THE BEARDED GIRL may sound like the setup for something whimsical, but what it delivers instead is a stripped-down, emotionally honest coming-of-age story about the weight of legacy, the longing for normalcy, and the cost of pretending to be something you’re not—even if that something was working just fine for everyone else.

AJ GOES TO THE DOG PARK is the kind of film where you're either in on the joke or you're the punchline. And if you can’t laugh at a man dramatically reacting to the closure of a dog park like it’s a national emergency, this may not be your kind of weird. But for those who can appreciate a proudly clunky, oddball comedy stitched together with more heart than budget, it’s a strangely enjoyable ride through the surreal suburbs of suburban malaise.

Romantic comedies love to ask whether love conquers all, but GHOSTED flips the question: What if the thing standing in the way of love is you? Built on the very real frustrations of dating in the digital era, this indie rom-com makes space for humor, heartbreak, and self-discovery, without losing the charm that defines the genre. While the film embraces some familiar tropes, it balances them with a refreshing honesty and emotional payoff that sticks. Don’t get me wrong, this is a very British, very romcom film, but there’s something to it, there’s a heart beneath it all that’s hard to explain.

There’s a kind of horror that’s born not from monsters or ghosts, but from the absurdity of our obsessions. HEADCASE doesn’t just see that—it dives into it face first and comes back smiling. In just a handful of minutes, director Spencer Zimmerman delivers a viciously smart short that takes on influencer culture with the kind of unflinching creativity you don’t often see in projects about the world of false idols. It’s funny, unsettling, and bizarre in all the right ways—and the final act transforms the experience into something far bigger than its runtime suggests.