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What happens when a murder mystery stops pretending suspense comes from darkness and instead lets everything unfold in the daylight? EVIL UNDER THE SUN doesn’t just answer that question; it builds its entire personality around it. Set against blinding Mediterranean sunshine and unapologetic luxury, the film understands that the true tension of a whodunit doesn’t come from shadows, but from proximity. Everyone is too close, too comfortable, too beautifully dressed to be innocent.

What does fear look like when it’s passed down as a myth from one person to another, rather than fact? THE MYSTERIOUS GAZE OF THE FLAMINGO approaches that question with patience, filtering terror through the eyes of a child and allowing imagination, rumors, and love to coexist without flattening any of them into simple allegory.

What happens when a heist story refuses to let its characters hide behind competence? STEAL opens with a familiar setup, then steadily strips away the fantasy of control, replacing it with panic, compromise, and moral erosion in a space designed for spreadsheets, not shootouts. Every time you think you know where this thriller is headed, it slams you into a wall and turns the corner in the best way possible.

What happens when a story mistakes cruelty for insight and noise for tension? THE VINDICATOR sets out to interrogate the ethics of true crime obsession, but quickly reveals that it’s far more interested in staging punishment than in examining the culture it borrows from. The result is a film with a provocative hook and very little clarity about what it wants to say once that hook is in place.

How much control are you willing to surrender if someone promises it will keep you safe? DOOBA DOOBA opens with that unsettling question and then builds an entire film around the discomfort of never knowing who is in charge of the situation you’re watching. Framed entirely through in-home security cameras and rooted in the analog/found footage horror tradition, the film doesn’t try to make you feel welcome. It wants you disoriented, unsure, and constantly second-guessing what you’re seeing and why you’re being allowed to see it at all.

What happens when a crime film is more in love with the idea of danger than the consequences that are supposed to come with it? A GANGSTER’S LIFE wants to kick the door open with confidence. From the first moments, it makes its intentions obvious, leaning hard into the image of the modern British gangster film, the kind that thrives on penetrating dialogue, fast cuts, and characters who believe they are far cleverer than they actually are. The problem is that confidence alone doesn’t equate to authority, and this film often mistakes surface-level ‘cool’ for actual control over tone, story, and consequences.

What do we really inherit from the people who came before us, and how much of that inheritance is hiding in plain sight? ROOTS & RELICS builds its entire premise around that question, and rather than racing toward answers, the project takes its time examining the quiet spaces where history settles. This documentary adventure understands that the most meaningful stories of the past are rarely found behind glass cases. They live in barns, attics, homesteads, and the hands of people who have chosen to keep them.

What if the need for connection matters more than the way we get it? HENRY BY THE HOUR opens with that question sitting just beneath the surface, never framed as a provocation and never treated as a joke at the expense of its characters. Instead, this pilot approaches loneliness with patience, curiosity, and an unexpected tenderness that immediately separates it from more cynical takes on transactional relationships.

What does it actually mean to be seen when grief, culture, and self-protection have told you to disappear? That question sits at the center of BANANA SPLIT. It never pretends to be a thesis and never wraps up the idea. Walter Kim’s debut feature understands that the most honest conversations about identity and loss rarely come in the form of speeches. They surface in hesitation, in miscommunication, in the awkward silence of two people sharing space before they know how to share themselves.

What does found footage still have to offer when audiences already know the rules of the game? INFIRMARY approaches that question without trying to reinvent the wheel, which, honestly, after almost 30 years (technically longer, but that’s a conversation for another time), feels oddly refreshing. Rather than chasing innovation, the film chooses refinement through discipline and control. Set almost entirely inside an actual abandoned mental hospital, INFIRMARY understands that credibility in found-footage horror comes less from invention than from commitment to its environment and limitations.

What if the strangest parts of the world weren’t accidents of evolution, but compromises made under the fluorescent lights of meetings by people who hadn’t slept in days? COMMITTEE ANIMAL takes that question and commits to it, delivering an observed workplace satire that understands exactly how much story a short film should tell and when to get out of its own way.

What happens when faith becomes something you measure yourself against instead of something you live by? BY THE GRAPE OF GOD starts with a premise that feels almost deceptively light, then tightens its grip as it reveals what it’s actually interested in examining. This is not really a movie about wine, or even about religion in the institutional sense. It’s a character study about comparison, resentment, and the panic that sets in when a life built on belief begins to feel hollow.

What does acceptance really mean when fear enters the room? SANCTUARY: A WITCH’S TALE builds its entire premise around that question, using supernatural identity not as a main focus, but as a stress test for a supposedly progressive community. Set in a small English town where witches live openly alongside non-magical residents, the series begins with a sudden death that fractures the illusion of harmony almost instantly.

What does hope mean when it has to coexist with addiction, exploitation, and survival rather than replace them? HOLY GHETTO asks that question without romanticizing its answers. Set within Tel Aviv’s red-light district, the documentary turns its attention to people who live inside systems designed to erase them. Director iLan Azoulai doesn’t present their stories as cautionary tales or inspirational arcs; instead, he frames them as ongoing negotiations with trauma, faith, and endurance.