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Some thrillers build their suspense through high-speed velocity, while others rely on the slow, deliberate destabilization of a character’s life. VISIONS falls into the second category, focusing on how a single encounter fractures the protagonist's worldview and pushes her toward an emotional and psychological unraveling. The film follows Estelle, an accomplished airline captain whose seemingly grounded life begins to shift after she crosses paths with Ana, a person from her past. What starts as a rediscovery of buried attraction quickly becomes a pressure point that distorts her life, her relationships, and ultimately her sense of what is real.

What does a documentary that tells the story of a moment in time mean? THE ART OF BEING SEEN rather than tackling the entire landscape of LGBTQIA2S+ representation in theater, it concentrates on a single performer navigating one community, one campus, one set of creative spaces. That focus gives the film its strength. It becomes personal instead of conceptual, driven by experience rather than abstract commentary.

Some short films aim for scale; others understand that intimacy can carry more weight than exhibition. IN LOVING MEMORY sits firmly in the second category. Clocking in at just four minutes, Kathryn Bravo’s animated short doesn’t try to overwhelm you with elaborate storylines or dramatic twists. Instead, it builds its emotion through restraint, reflection, and an understanding of how memory takes shape when someone you love is no longer present. The film’s brevity is not a limitation — it’s a deliberate choice that lets the emotional core land with clarity.

The setup is simple enough to feel familiar: someone steps into an apartment aiming to solve a problem, calm a fear, and mark the beginning of something. But AL FRESCO uses that familiar situation to pull you into something uncomfortable. It takes the promise of a dream and turns it into a compact study of how pressure, hope, and anxiety collide when you’re chasing stability you can’t quite grasp. This isn’t a story that aims for emotional sweep or complex structure. Instead, it’s a tightly controlled short that leans into its limitations and finds a strangely honest tension within them.

There’s something that warms the heart when you see classic animation treated like cinema history instead of a disposable library of children’s content. TOM & JERRY: THE GOLDEN ERA ANTHOLOGY acknowledges what longtime fans, animation scholars, and collectors have argued for decades: these shorts shaped American comedy as directly, if not more than, some of the films they played before, and they deserved a release that respects their artistry. This collection delivers exactly that. It’s the complete run of the original Hanna-Barbera era, presented with the type of care normally reserved for prestige restorations. The result isn’t nostalgia packaged for resale, but a reminder of how inventive the shorts were at their peak, how they endured for nearly 20 years, and how much personality could be communicated without a line of dialogue.

The line between imagination and responsibility is a battlefield. THE MOTHER, THE MENACER, AND ME uses that conflict as its whole foundation, following a dreamer who never figured out how to time his dreams with his real-world obligations. The premise sounds absurd on paper: a young father still believes he can mount a career on a single idea while his life unravels around him. The twist that makes the film work is that his passion isn’t a joke to him. Somewhere inside all the comedy, something honest keeps pushing up through the edges.

The TEENAGE MUTANT NINJA TURTLES TRILOGY represents a moment in film history when practical effects reigned, comic-book adaptations embraced the fun, and a group of unlikely heroes became household names. Revisiting all three films together, especially through the incredible restoration and the extras-filled 4K set, offers a clearer view of how these movies became a cultural milestone. They aren’t just childhood favorites; they’re artifacts of a filmmaking philosophy built on craftsmanship, storytelling, and a sense of personality that modern CG-heavy blockbusters rarely replicate.

The idea of using a dog’s emotional slump as the focus through which two people reconsider their own fractured relationship (surprisingly) isn’t new, but MERV approaches it with a charm that doesn’t feel recycled. It opens not with forced whimsy but with something quieter: the uneasy distance between people who once shared a life but now only share responsibilities. It’s the kind of setup that could tip into over-the-top comedy, but Jessica Swale handles the premise with a gentler touch, letting the audience understand the strain before pushing toward any sort of reconciliation. That restrained opening makes the story feel more honest.

For a series with eight or nine films (depending on what you count), this new version of SILENT NIGHT, DEADLY NIGHT walks a tightrope between homage and reinvention — and often it teeters dangerously, but it never quite falls off. Under Mike P. Nelson’s direction and screenplay, the film strips away much of the ’80s cult-slasher’s sleazy exploitation. It replaces it with a more emotionally fraught, character-driven origin of horror. The result is a remake that respects the legacy but isn’t afraid to rework its roots; one that aims for more than cheap shocks and holiday taboos.

SHAWSCOPE VOL. 4 has hit the point in the series where the veneer of classic martial-arts prestige drops away, and Shaw Brothers’ strangest takes in their catalog take center stage. This extraordinary sixteen-film set captures a period when the studio was throwing everything at the wall—superheroes, curses, demons, jiangshi, possession, sci-fi, wuxia fantasy, and supernatural horror. What emerges isn’t a thematic set of curated classics, so much as a snapshot of an industry evolving (and unraveling) in real time. The result is messy, unhinged, and irresistible.

INFLUENCERS is exactly the kind of sequel most genre fans hope to get but rarely do. Instead of repeating the same storyline in a different location or clinging to the original's safer elements, the film builds outward in ways that feel more daring. Kurtis David Harder targets the emotional core and even the moral balance of the story, resulting in something darker, stranger, and more confident. While the first film explored online performance and the constructed identities influencers rely on, this sequel delves deeper into the consequences of building an entire life on manipulation, deception, and curated charm.

AFRAID? offers up a premise that can easily sink or swim depending on how seriously it treats its setup, and writer/director SkyDirects chooses to lean hard into an emotional interpretation of fear rather than a simple body count. It’s a small-scale horror outing built around five teenagers who head into the woods for a Halloween weekend, only to find their party games turning into something far more lethal. What keeps the film interesting is that it isn’t chasing elaborate mythologies or supernatural lore. Instead, it examines the kind of fear that comes from tension between people, decisions that spiral out of control, and the ways trust collapses when we start questioning everything, including each other.

THE ESCORT takes a setup that starts with familiarity and uses its limited runtime to explore the hidden intentions that can surface when two people enter a room for entirely different reasons. At just 15 minutes, the film avoids the usual pitfalls that plague short-form dramas by refusing to oversell its premise or rely on shock. Instead, it draws its tension from the evolving dynamic between its two characters. Tommy, fragile and hesitant, hires Lucy for companionship, yet the encounter gradually shifts into something different. The film is concise, focused, and grounded in performance without ever drifting into melodrama.

ROSA opens with a chaotic, good-natured confidence that helped define mid-’80s Hong Kong action comedies: momentum, humor, and officers sprinting toward a case they may not fully understand. It’s a setup that suggests mayhem, anchored by Yuen Biao at maximum physicality. What the film actually delivers is a loose-limbed comedy that circles its premise for almost an hour before unlocking the exact thing audiences came for — a tightly choreographed fight sequence that proves why everyone involved is still remembered.

MONK IN PIECES is the kind of documentary that understands how to observe an artist without smothering them in over-explained reverence. Instead of shaping Meredith Monk into a wrapped-up narrative, the film approaches her career the way she approaches sound — through fragments, repetition, variation, and purposeful gaps. That makes this a rare documentary about a major artist that doesn’t treat her as an artifact but as a living, evolving presence. The film stands in the territory of works that feel both informative and—maybe more importantly—alive.