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MISS FREELANCE compresses a week of a woman’s life into nineteen minutes, yet the film’s impact extends well beyond that running time. Matthew Kyle Levine writes, directs, shoots, and edits with a prudence that never feels rushed. The story follows Carly, played by Maddy Murphy, as she moves through a series of meetings with men across New York City. The nature of these interactions isn’t a mystery—Levine isn’t coy about the transactional element—but the focus is on what each encounter reveals about Carly’s life.

This limited-edition collection arrives with a simple promise: three features that capture a studio at full tilt and a filmmaker defining his lane just before the tidal wave of Bruce Lee reshaped the market. MARTIAL LAW: LO WEI’S WUXIA WORLD isn’t pitched as a greatest-hits reel; it’s a snapshot of a style. You get the moral chess of classic wuxia, the immaculate storytelling of Shaw Brothers productions, and a trio of heroines and heroes whose choices are drawn with confident precision. The restoration and supplements make the case that these are not just archival curiosities—they’re genuinely entertaining films that still play well all these years later.

There’s a depth to stories like BAU, ARTIST AT WAR that goes beyond the mechanics of filmmaking. Sean McNamara’s dramatization of Joseph Bau’s life doesn’t just retell history—it actively engages with the question of how love and art can endure when surrounded by cruelty. The film’s premise alone places it alongside some of the most emotionally charged narratives in the war drama genre. But what keeps it from being swallowed by the familiar tropes of Holocaust cinema is the specificity of its subject: a man who turned creativity into resistance.

Long before Baz Luhrmann’s visual fireworks or Robert Redford’s sun-drenched elegance, Elliott Nugent’s 1949 take on THE GREAT GATSBY brought F. Scott Fitzgerald’s Jazz Age novel to life, filtered through the sensibilities of postwar Hollywood. With the Production Code still in force, this adaptation inevitably softens some of the source material’s sharper edges. Yet, it remains a compelling, character-focused take on one of America’s most enduring stories — and now, restored from a new scan for Kino Lorber’s 2025 Blu-ray release, it’s easier than ever to appreciate its strengths.

Olivier Assayas’ SUSPENDED TIME is as much a diary entry as it is a feature film, built from the in-between moments of pandemic life and anchored by a deeply personal connection to its setting. In the spring of 2020, as lockdown reshaped daily life worldwide, Paul Berger (Vincent Macaigne), a filmmaker not far removed from Assayas himself, retreats to his childhood home in the Chevreuse Valley. He’s joined by his partner, Carole (Nora Hamzawi), his brother Etienne (Micha Lescot), and Etienne’s new girlfriend Morgan (Nine d’Urso). The arrangement quickly turns into a personal, sometimes claustrophobic microcosm of the broader uncertainties outside their walls.

THE DIABOLIK TRILOGY from the Manetti Brothers is a bold, three-film return to one of Italy’s most enduring pop culture icons, adapting the long-running comic created by sisters Angela and Luciana Giussani. Spanning three years and two actors in the title role, this Kino Lorber collection brings together DIABOLIK (2021) and DIABOLIK: GINKO ATTACKS! (2022), and DIABOLIK: WHO ARE YOU? (2023) in a single package that embraces the source material’s style while testing the patience of audiences expecting modern comic-book pacing. It’s a set that’s at its best when it leans into its sleek production design and the magnetic presence of Miriam Leone’s Eva Kant, but not every chapter delivers with the same precision.

Some home video releases arrive and serve as simple preservation projects; others feel like a chance to step into a time capsule. Kino Lorber’s Pre-Code Classics [CONFESSIONS OF A CO-ED | LADIES OF THE BIG HOUSE] is firmly in the latter category, resurrecting two early-1930s Paramount melodramas with all the forbidden allure of pre-Code Hollywood. Both star a radiant, still-rising Sylvia Sidney and showcase just how far studio storytellers could push the boundaries before the Production Code began tightening its grip. Viewed together, they not only highlight Sidney’s remarkable screen presence but also reveal two sides of the same coin — scandal in collegiate halls and desperation behind prison bars.

REPUTATION didn’t need a sprawling city or a sprawling runtime to make an impact. Set in a small Lancashire town still scarred by tragedy and soaked in tension, Martin Law’s 83-minute feature debut delivers a brutal yet empathetic look at male identity, loyalty, and the illusion of escape. For all the familiar elements—drug deals, toxic friendships, and spiraling violence—there’s a freshness here rooted in direction, confident performances, and a deep understanding of working-class lives.

There’s no anchor in FINIS TERRAE—not in plot, nor pacing. And that’s the point. Jean Epstein’s 1929 maritime drama refuses the comforts of traditional storytelling, choosing instead to let its visuals breathe like the salt-soaked winds off Brittany’s coast. Nearly a century after its release, this newly restored version—presented by Eureka Entertainment’s Masters of Cinema series—feels more like an elemental experience than a narrative one. Less concerned with dialogue (silent, of course) or structure, Epstein’s film locks us into a stark and immersive meditation on survival, isolation, and the subtle violence of suspicion.

There’s a reassurance in the chaos of a slasher film that knows exactly what it wants to be. DIE’CED: RELOADED doesn’t try to be the definitive genre title—it simply leans into what works: blood, retro vibes, exaggerated villains, and a final girl worth rooting for. Set in 1987 Seattle but filtered through a fog of modern horror, this reimagined expansion of Jeremy Rudd’s viral short film DIE’CED plays like a lovingly demented mixtape of every scarecrow-stalking, asylum-escapee, neon-soaked nightmare that haunted the late VHS era.

Some horror films seek to get you through tension and jump scares. Others aim to disturb, to burrow under your skin and sit there. NO TEARS IN HELL does the latter—unflinchingly. Writer/director Michael Caissie’s dramatization of Russian serial killer Alexander Spesivtsev’s crimes is as brutal as it is cold. This isn’t a stylized slasher. It’s a grim, deliberately paced nightmare that swaps sensationalism for discomfort, inviting viewers into a world where evil isn’t theatrical—it’s mundane and methodical.

Few titles in home video history have conjured up as much infamy as FACES OF DEATH. Released in 1978 and marketed as a shocking documentary that captures death in its rawest form, the film has earned notoriety less for its artistic merit and more for the myth surrounding it. Teenagers dared each other to watch it. Parents tried to ban it. And now, with a new Blu-ray Steelcase edition from Dark Sky Selects, the film returns for a generation raised on YouTube reaction videos and Reddit gore threads. Does it still hold power? That depends on your threshold—and your expectations.

Dressed in '80s nostalgia and soaked in blood, FRIENDS FOREVER is a horror short that understands exactly what it wants to be. It’s not trying to redefine the slasher genre, and it doesn’t need to. Instead, it leans into its world created in the film—a cursed party in a farmhouse—with confidence and just enough craft to deliver a memorable 20-minute experience.

The 2006 reimagining of both the film THE POSEIDON ADVENTURE (and the novel by the same name) wastes no time getting to the chaos. Just ten minutes into this high-budget disaster film, a rogue wave upends the luxurious cruise liner, flipping it upside down and throwing its passengers into instant panic. From there, the film plunges into a nonstop scramble for survival—lean on setup, heavy on spectacle. I’m a sucker for disaster films, especially those from the golden era of the 1970s, and this remake leans into the chaos that made them work.

At a glance, MY MOTHER’S WEDDING seems like a guaranteed success. With Kristin Scott Thomas behind the camera and a powerhouse trio of Scarlett Johansson, Sienna Miller, and Emily Beecham in the lead roles, expectations run high for a rich, emotionally layered family drama. But while the film occasionally brushes up against those ambitions, it never fully tackles them. This is a film that often gestures toward depth without quite getting there—warm on the surface, yet oddly hollow in the aftermath.

HOLA FRIDA doesn’t aim to retell Frida Kahlo’s life in a deep biographical fashion. Instead, it narrows its focus to something more intimate: the artist’s childhood, long before she became the timeless icon. The result is a warm, artistic animated film that opens the door for a younger audience to connect with one of the 20th century’s most influential artists—not through her fame, but through her imagination.

There’s no denying that Temple Grandin’s life story is powerful. She’s changed the way we understand both animals and autism, using her neurodivergent perspective not as an obstacle, but as an extraordinary tool. With that kind of legacy, even the most basic documentary about her is bound to carry a certain level of inspiration. AN OPEN DOOR: TEMPLE GRANDIN is exactly that—an informative, well-meaning hour-long profile that offers a gentle walk through Grandin’s world without digging as deeply as it could have.

WE ARE STILL HERE leans into its sorrow like an elegy wrapped in blood and frost. Set in a wintry New England landscape, the film opens in the iciness of loss. A couple, grieving the death of their son, moves into a desolate farmhouse hoping for peace. What they find is far from silence. Ted Geoghegan’s directorial debut manages to create a haunting atmosphere that fuses horror with the raw ache of emotional trauma, and it doesn’t take long for the snow-covered calm to begin unraveling into something far more dangerous.

THE MUSICIANS opens with a rare opportunity and a heavy burden. Astrid Carlson (Valérie Donzelli), daughter of a classical music lover, has managed to reunite four legendary Stradivarius instruments to perform a long-lost composition. However, her father’s dream quickly turns into a logistical nightmare for her. Despite gathering the perfect tools, she’s working with flawed human parts—four brilliant musicians with egos too big to fit in the same room, let alone the same measure.

BOYS GO TO JUPITER plays like a backyard musical staged inside a 3D diorama—bright, elastic, and oddly tender. A day in suburban Florida is an inspired starting point: the calendar feels stalled, the air hangs heavy, and the future refuses to announce itself. That’s where Billy 5000 lives—between errands on a delivery app and a self-imposed deadline to scrape together five grand before New Year’s. Money is the plot device, but the movie’s real currency is attention: to textures, to small talk, to loneliness that looks like boredom until it doesn’t.

ANIMALE sinks its teeth into familiar genre territory but refuses to follow a predictable path. It emerges as a personal horror tale about identity, transformation, and the hidden violence embedded in tradition. Filmmaker Emma Benestan doesn’t just challenge expectations—she tears them open with a protagonist whose body and fate unravel with clarity.

There’s a moment early in UP / DOWN that encapsulates its entire thesis—John Karlston (Michael Cooke) finds himself in a fluorescent-filled waiting room that looks more like a medical clinic than the afterlife. The receptionist tells him to sit tight. What’s he waiting for? That’s the question the entire short film dances around with precision and just enough bite to leave an impression long after its 11-minute runtime ends.

There’s a kind of dread that doesn’t arrive with screams, but with silence. THE SPARROW IN THE CHIMNEY is soaked in that specific discomfort — an eerie stillness that hovers over every frame, each interaction brimming with withheld emotions and domestic disquiet. The final chapter in Ramon Zürcher’s loosely connected “animal trilogy” is his most blistering and refined yet — a psychological slow burn that turns a seemingly mundane family gathering into an experience as suffocating as it is hypnotic.

There’s a fine line between recovering the past and being consumed by it. SITE plants itself firmly at the intersection of memory, trauma, and metaphysical unease, unraveling a slow-burn psychological thriller that’s just as much about family and grief as it is about sci-fi horror. While the concept may evoke something familiar, the execution feels personal and ambitious, driven by a lead performance that elevates its darkest moments.