Parky At the Pictures (26/12/2025)

(A review of the film year)

The year that culminates in cinema's 130th birthday has not been a vintage one. Even the usually reliable French film industry has had an unremarkable 12 months, while Hollywood seems stumped about what to do next because, after 50 years, the bottom finally seems to be dropping out of the blockbuster market. Indeed, 2025 ends with Paramount and Netflix competing to purchase Warner Bros. in a symbolic battle for the soul of cinema that casts doubt over the very future of the communal experience of paying customers sitting together in the darkness to watch moving images being projected on to a large screen.

As personal mobility issues and studio piracy protocols restrict the access that Parky At the Pictures has to the UK release schedule, its weekly columns can only offer occasional glimpses of how the mainstream is faring. But we are more than happy to focus on the far more interesting arthouse, independent, and documentary sectors and our gratitude is extended to the various distribution and publicity companies who provide the online screeners that make P@P possible.

Without such generosity and trust, we would not have been able to offer reviews of such diverse and recommendable items as Little Trouble Girls, Mr Blake At Your Service, In the Nguyen Kitchen, The Surfer, The Shrouds, A Sip of Irish, Bambi: A Tale of Life in the Woods, Pillion, Islands, Dragonfly, Day of the Fight, and Gazer, which don't quite make our Top 20 selection. Nor do the typically engaging offerings from Exhibition on Screen and CinemaItaliaUK. Also missing are Last Swim, Left-Handed Girl, and Train Dreams, which were seen but not reviewed, and One to One: John & Yoko, The Librarians, and The Tale of Silyan, which were reviewed for Radio Times only.

The saddest film of the year is unquestionably Spinal Tap II: The End Continues, as not only do its estimable leads struggle to recapture the glories of the 1984 original, but also because director Rob Reiner was so cruelly killed just three months after its release. Several other major figures have passed away this year and this writer has commemorated them in tributes posted on the BFI and Cinema Paradiso websites.

These articles take a good deal of researching and this eats into the time available to review films for Parky At the Pictures. As a consequence, far too many features have slipped through the net this year and apologies are due to those who made them and entrusted us with viewing links that went unseen. In an effort to rectify this situation, we shall strive in 2026 to reduce the number of in-depth reviews each week and seek to cover more in less exhaustive detail. Hopefully, this won't diminish the site's usefulness as a place of record and viewpoint for subscribers and stumble-uponers alike. As the wise man once said, `Onwards and sideways.'

20) HappyEnd.

Having captured his father's farewell performance in the deeply moving documentary, Ryuichi Sakamoto: Opus (2023), Neo Sora makes his narrative feature debut with Happyend, a disconcerting study of surveillance culture that's nowhere near as futuristic as we might wish to believe.

Best friends Kou (Yukito Hidaki) and Yuta (Hayao Kurihara) attend a Tokyo high school and have formed a secret music research club with Tomu (Arazi), Ming (Shina Peng), and Ata-chan (Yuta Hayashi). After nearly being caught in a police raid on an underground club, Yuta and Kou are thrilled when the DJ entrusts them with a hard-drive of his set. Sneaking back into school, they dodge the nightwatchman to spend the night in the music room. At dawn, they prank Principal Nagai (Shiro Sano) by standing his flashy yellow sports car on its bumper and he is busy questioning them when an earthquake tremor dumps the vehicle on its roof.

The studious Fumi (Inori Kilala) congratulates Kou on the stunt because he is from a Korean background and less privileged than Yuta, who is wary of Fumi's influence, as she is part of a subversive group that protests against the authoritarian prime minister. Cross when Kou fails to show up for a night out, Yuta is also miffed when the principal instals a state-of-the-art facial recognition surveillance system at the school and confiscates the music-making equipment.

Creating a distraction with the earthquake alarm, they steal the music decks while no one is watching the CCTV and set up a new studio. But Yuta is less than pleased when Kou leaves early to join Fumi and he seems unconcerned when one of the others warns him that he should make the most of the group's time together because they will go their separate ways when they graduate. But Kou joins Fumi and teacher Okada (Ayumu Nakajima) on a demonstration and mother Fukuko (Pushim) has to plead with the principal not to punish Kou, as it would count against his naturalisation application. She slaps him on the way home for accusing her of wanting an easy life, when she has to work long hours in her restaurant to make ends meet.

Kuo gets into trouble again, when Yuta browbeats him into helping him move the musical kit and they get stopped by the cops and Kuo is frogmarched home to get his ID card. The following day, Fumi leads a class walkout when a civil defence officer comes to speak exclusively to Japanese students and her fellow rebels join her in occupying the principal's study after they are caught on the CCTV and receive punishment points against their records. Kou backs down, as he can't afford any more trouble and hangs out with his old pals. But he dons a crash helmet to deliver food to the office after Fumi refuses to eat the takeaway ordered by the principal.

During a rehearsal for the graduation ceremony, the principal offers to consider removing the surveillance system if the car prank culprit owns up. Fumi accuses him of going back on his word, but some students back the need for security and a full-scale row breaks out before Yuta goes to the microphone and declares that he pulled the stunt alone as a joke and he apologises with a grin.

Tomu leaves to study in America and the gang see him off on the bus. Ming and Ata-chan are going to graduation dinner with her parents (after he wore an rude design on the back of his jacket during graduation). Yuta and Kou are left together, but the latter makes his excuses and they part promising to hook up again soon (having been almost inseparable since kindergarten). They go their different ways, as Kou has been awarded a scholarship to college, leaving Yuta to realise that things can never simply stay the same.

This poignant conclusion leaves the teenagers at the start of a new chapter in their lives with the city and the country teetering on the edge of a precipice that could signal the end before it has even begun. It's a sobering thought, but this is the predicament facing the youth of today, as our increasingly vulnerable planet's temperature rises, AI threatens to obliterate existing working patterns, and the rise of right-wing populism makes the future look ominously bleak.

Coaxing canny performances out of his young cast and knowing precisely where to place Bill Kirstein's and let it rest or glide, Neo Sora dots the action with throwaway scenes that create a sense of lives being lived in defiance of creeping anxiety. Ming is amused as her friend mops himself into a corner, while Yuta is amazed to discover that the female boss of the music shop where he works is a no mean DJ. Yet this deadpan microcosmic satire drifts in places, as the daunting message seeps in (ironically in a week in which Keir Starmer has announced his intention to introduce compulsory ID cards] that humanity has allowed the potential of digital technology to slip through its fingers and land in the grasp of the rich and powerful who will harness it to protect themselves and oppress everyone else.

That said, this isn't solely an exercise in techno-paranoia, as Sora places his faith in the intrepidity of youth to combat social conservatism and uses Lia Ouyang Rusli's hybrid electro/piano score to suggest that civilisation will never entirely succumb to totalitarianism as long as there is music and a teenage rebel who is prepared to give the Man the middle finger.

19) To a Land Unknown.

Born in Dubai to Palestinian parents and raised in both a refugee camp in Lebanon and the Danish town of Helsingør, Mahdi Fleifel studied film at the National Film and Television School. Following the documentary, A World Not Ours (2012), he made a series of shorts, including the acclaimed A Drowning Man (2017), before making his feature bow with To a Land Unknown. Set in modern-day Athens, but owing much to the 1970s films of Sidney Lumet, Brian De Palma, and Martin Scorsese, this tense neo-realist thriller has its tone set by an opening caption quoting the academic, Edward Said: `In a way, it's sort of the fate of Palestinians, not to end up where they started, but somewhere unexpected and far away.'

Stranded in Athens in the hope of reaching Germany, twentysomething cousins Chatila (Mahmood Bakri) and Reda (Aram Sabbah) live in a squat and snatch handbags from unsuspecting women in leafy square in order to raise the money for the fake documents promised them by people smuggler, Marwan (Monzer Rayahneh). As they are fellow Palestians, he cuts them some slack when they are late with payment and they pass his name on to 13 year-old Malik (Mohammad Alsurafa) after the spot him picking an orange from a tree in the square.

Malik is hoping to get to his aunt in Italy and Chatila thinks he might be useful in helping them pull a scam. However, he is worried that Reda will lapse back into his heroin habit and isn't sure he can trust him, which puts extra pressure on him as wife Nabila is stuck in a refugee camp and being told by her brothers that Chatila is a time-waster. When he discovers that Reda has stolen the money he has hidden in a crevice in the roof, Chatila is furious and throws him out of the room. However, he turns some tricks in the park to earn part of the sum and Chatila allows him back in their room just in time to field a phone call from Reda's concerned mother.

Finding a purpose in taking care of Malik, Reda cheers up after his fix comedown and sense of shame at having gay sex. They steal some trainers to pay for lunch and Reda (who has a tattoo of the outline of Palestine on his torso) explains how the camp in Lebanon felt like a prison, so they left to take their chances. If they get to Germany, they'll open a café and Nabila can cook, while he does odd jobs. He shrugs, as he admits he'll do anything to make it work. Working on the same principle, Chatila cheats on his wife to help set up a scam to get money out of Malik's aunt in order to persuade local alcoholic, Tatiana (Angeliki Papoulia), to escort Malik on a flight to Italy so they can bypass the smugglers and make enough for their own documents.

Accepting their insistence that they are just helping a stranded kid, Marwan helps them with ID for Malik and Tatiana, who has an eleventh hour wobble before Chatila reassures her that everything will go smoothly, even though she and Malik don't have a common language. However, it's the cousins who suffer, as they can't contact anyone and don't know if the trip has gone wrong or if they've been duped. They stay at Tatiana's place and Chatila forces Reda into finding clients in the park to pay Marwan what they owe.

For a while, Chatila is despondent. But he realises that a middleman has got involved with the deal and has blocked his calls to Tatiana and Malik. So, he persuades Marwan that he has found a safe route out and asks him to co-sponsor a trip by three Syrian refugees so that he and Reda can set up the scam, seize the cash, and be on the plane to Germany before Marwan realises he's been duped. Against his better judgement, he agrees to enlist the help of Reda's dealer, Abu Love (Mouataz Alshaltouh), and buddy Yasser (Mohammad Ghassan) to drive the truck with the Syrians aboard. As they need cash and want to leave Greece themselves, they agree without asking too many questions.

With their help, Chatila has the Syrians bound and gagged and hidden in Tatiana's bedroom. As they bide their time, Abu Love quotes Mahmoud Darwish's poem about the Arab psyche, `Praise For the High Shadow'. Chatila warns him not to bring any drugs to the hideout and goes to get the cash from Marwan after leaving Yasser to beat the delivery password out of the hapless Syrians. Reda feels bad about this and laments that he's become a bad person exploiting people who are as desperate as he is. So, when Abu Love turns up with some heroin, he can't resist, even though Chatila has told him to stay calm and focussed.

Waking to find his cousin in a coma in the locked bathroom, Chatila kicks down the door and tries to wake him in the bath. Yasser helps haul him to the street and they flag down a bus to get them to the hospital. Chatila tells Reda his favourite story about the café in Germany, but there's no light as they enter a long, dark tunnel.

Cross John Steinbeck's Of Mice and Men with Sidney Lumet's Dog Day Aftenoon (1975) and you'll get the gist of this taut and often traumatic insight into the lot of the migrant trapped in no man's land. Working from stories that Fleifel had heard during his own wanderings, co-scenarists Fyzal Boulifa and Jason McColgan are also clearly au fait with John Schlesinger's Midnight Cowboy (1969), as Reda is forced to prostitute himself to make back the money he has frittered on the drugs that feel like they will claim him from the moment they are first mentioned. This aspect of the script veers towards melodrama at times and feels more formulaic than Chatila's need to betray his wife in order to lure Tatiana into the Malik ruse.

This is neatly done, with the sudden breakdown in communication highlighting how helpless the pair are in a foreign land with no one to rely upon. But the climactic scam lacks a sense of jeopardy, as the Syrian hostages suffer no ill effects from their captivity and Marwan proves far too easy to outsmart for a supposedly all-seeing fixer. Nevertheless, Fleifel retains an aura of authenticity, as he and cinematographer Thodoris Mihopoulos avoid postcard views and keep the 16mm camera close to the cousins, as they lurch from one tight spot to another.

Mahmood Bakri and Aram Sabbah impress as Chatila and Reda, who had not seen much of each other since childhood before becoming travelling companions. Bakri makes a fine George to Sabbah's Lennie, as humanity and opportunity come into conflict as they seek ways to work a system in which the odds and the fates are stacked against them. Angeliki Papoulia is also excellent, as the lonely Athenian who turns out not to be a hapless victim after all. Mohammad Alsurafa also does well as Malik, particularly in the scene in which they try to flog the trainers to Yasser, which some have shrewdly compared to the byplay between Charlie Chaplin and Jackie Coogan in The Kid (1921), which also ended `somewhere unexpected and far away'.

18) Christy.

A very different Cork to the one seen in Peter Foott's The Young Offenders (2016) and its ongoing spin-off series (2018-) emerges in Brendan Canty's Christy. Expanded from a 2019 short of the same name, this Berlin prize-winner represents an impressive step up for a feature debutant who was previously best known for the video for Hozier's `Take Me to Church'.

About to turn 18, Christy (Danny Power) has been ejected from his latest foster home in Ballincollig for fighting with another boy. Half-brother, Shane (Diarmud Noyes), agrees to put him up in his Knocknaheeny council house, while social worker, Gerard (Ciaran Bermingham), finds another billet. But neither sibling is happy with an arrangement that sees Christy take over his infant niece's room, while she bunks with Shane and his wife, Stacey (Emma Willis).

As part of the deal, Christy helps Shane with his decorating business, as assistant Trevor (Chris Walley) is an aspiring boxer who is distracted by an upcoming bout. Rather than mooch around the house, however, Christy drifts into the orbit of Leona (Cara Cullen), who knocks about the Northside estate with the wheelchair-bound Robot (Jamie Forde), Joey (Sophie McNamara), Fingers (Ciaran McCarthy), Aveen (Taylor Lee-Keating), and Radar (Kane O'Connell O'Flynn), who are collecting firewood for a forthcoming bonfire.

When the group is threatened by the bristling Troy (Lewis Brophy) and his mates, Christy stands his corner and is surprised to learn that Troy is his cousin. He says nothing about the skirmish to Shane, who is furious when his van is damaged in a midnight ramming and he orders Christy to have nothing to do with his cousins, as they were responsible for their late mother getting hooked on drugs.

Feeling picked on, Christy wanders into town, where he makes the acquaintance of Chloe (Alison Oliver), a recovering addict who is sleeping rough. She understands his sense of frustration and Stacey is equally supportive when Christy turns up for breakfast after a night of not answering his phone. However, he's powerless to resist when Troy orders him into a car to visit his older brother, Jammy (Ian Tabone), who tries to intimidate him and orders him to stop talking to his Aunt Fionnula (Hilary Vesey), who tries to apologise for not being able to save his mother. Jammy is clearly testing Christy to see if he has what it takes to join his drug gang.

Hearing where his sibling has gone, Shane succumbs to the stress of keeping an eye on him and asks Gerard to find him a haven outside the city. Yet Christy is beginning to feel at home with Leona and her pals. As hairdresser mother, Pauline (Helen Behan), is too busy to give son Radar a haircut before his birthday party, Christy offers to give him a trim, as he has a natural talent for barbering. Pauline is impressed and offers Christy work in her sitting-room salon, while Leona fills him in on all the gossip within the gang, as the party gets into full swing. While everyone is taking their turn at karaoke, Stacey gets smoochy with Shane, as she realises that he is under pressure and suffering from his own demons following his mother's death.

News spreads that Christy is doing haircuts and Pauline confides that he reminds her of his mother. She hints that the cousins were responsible for getting her hooked on drugs, but she trusts him to have the sense to steer clear of them. Shane is more forthright in badmouthing Jammy and Troy and warns Christy not to get too settled. When he realises that Shane has been plotting behind his back to find him a room in a halfway hostel, Shane packs his bag and heads for his auntie's.

He feels uncomfortable in the house, as it's full of partying strangers. Moreover, Troy tries to dissuade him from moving in, as he would willingly escape from his brother's bullying. Jammy makes a point of showing Christy the spot where his mother died and he bridles in striving to withhold his emotions. Hearing where Christy has gone, Shane rushes across the city and forces himself to enter the house. Troy informs him that Christy had left of his own accord and had mentioned something about a bonfire.

Arriving at the wasteground, Shane sees the group sing `Happy Birthday', because Christy has turned 18. He realises that he has found his niche and can be trusted not to veer off the straight and narrow. A few weeks later, Shane comes to Pauline's for a trim. Now lodging in a halfway house, Christy is pleased to see him and they laugh remembering a terrible haircut that their mother had given Shane when she had let the trimmer slip. Shane tells Christy that she would have been proud of him and the film ends with the misfit gang rapping `That's How We Do It in Cork, Kid' over the credit crawl.

Scripted by Alan O'Gorman and photographed by Colm Hogan to nail a sense of place and the nature of the people who inhabit it, this feels like slice of life in a messily authentic rather than academically social realist sort of way. Canty and O'Gorman eschew political point scoring in preferring to let the milieu speak for itself. It's clear from the street views and Martin Goulding's lived-in interiors that the action takes place in a rough-and-ready part of Cork. But the byplay between the excellent performers reinforces the air of community that makes both Christy and the audience feel at home.

A rapper who - like many of the cast - has cropped up in The Young Offenders - Danny Power excels as the taciturn, detached teenager, whose troubled demeanour slowly peals away to reveal a sweet-natured personality, as Christy learns the difference between temptation and possibility. He's still got much to learn, as the story ends, but he has learned some vital lessons in coming to terms with his loss and a chequered past that is allowed to remain in the shadows. As is the case with Shane, who has striven hard not to fall into any traps and is rightly concerned that his unpredictable sibling might threaten the cosy existence that he feels is a reward for having survived the system.

There's nothing particularly new about the subject matter or Canty's depiction of it. Yet this always feels plausible in its approach to everything from bereavement and foster care to family ties and drug dealing. The strand involving the homeless addict flaps slightly in the breeze, while the amusing Trevor disappears somewhat abruptly. But there's something poignant about the regretful look that Christy gives Chloe when he's unable to stop and chat that suggests he's emerging from his own cocoon of self-pity and embracing life for what it is.

17) Good One.

The daughter of Antipodean director Roger Donaldson, India Donaldson makes her feature debut with Good One. Intriguingly, the idea for the film came when she and her husband found themselves living with her father, his new wife, and their two teenage children during the Covid lockdowns in Los Angeles. It follows on from the admired shorts, Medusa (2018), Hannahs (2019), and If Found (2021).

Leaving girlfriend Jessie (Sumaya Bouhbal) in bed, 17 year-old Sam (Lily Collias) meets up with her divorced dad, Chris (James Le Gros), for a weekend hiking in the Catskills. He has married again and has a young baby, but Sam seems on good terms and even tolerates the bluster of Chris's actor buddy, Matt (Danny McCarthy), whose teenage son refuses to join them because he's so cross with his father for cheating on his mom.

Miffed at being moved into the backseat, Sam laughs of Matt's messing around with the passenger window as they drive along. She exchanges knowing glances with the woman at a garage checkout when Matt loads up with unnecessary items and Chris sighs in frustration because he never listens. He's scarcely more sympathetic when Matt complains about being the villain in his marriage break-up and Sam suggests that he views things from his wife and son's perspectives instead of his own. Chris gets a work text and asks Sam to send replies, even though she has asked to drive to stop her from feeling car sick. She calls Chris out on his sexist remark about female customers and he shrugs it off by implying she should take his side and not the client's.

Stopping at a motel for the night, the men take the beds and Sam sleeps on the floor. At supper in a diner, they tease her about her sexuality and the fact she should be vegetarian to go with her right-on image. When she starts to answer, Matt cuts in to complain about his son's online search history and Sam rolls her eyes before joining a toast to a good weekend's hiking as a trio.

After Chris insists on decluttering Matt's rucksack, they set off and discuss favourite colours and dream jobs while trudging through the woods. When they make a stop, Matt hacks down a pair of jeans to make some shorts, while Sam spots through young men horsing around in the river when she slips away to change a tampon. She's put out when they roll up at their camping spot and Chris is fine about them pitching nearby.

Having filled a water bottle from a stream while Matt and Chris are squabbling about whether the former could run a marathon, Sam helps both men erect their tents. She cooks noodles and is touched when Matt sheds a tear because they taste so good and he wishes his boy was there to share the experience.

As it starts to rain and they have a tarpaulin cover, they invite Zach (Sam Lanier), Andy (Eric Yates), and Jake (Peter McNally) to join them for a game of cards. Chris and Matt reminisce about an expedition when the latter's girlfriend wore flip-flops and Sam keeps shooting embarrassed glances at the college kids, who listen with respect. She's even more mortified when Chris proposes a trek across China because the frat boys have already done the trips to Patagonia and Alaska that he is so proud of. Matt chides him for leaving his wife with the baby for a month, but he insists that such separations are what makes a family strong.

Finding themselves alone in the morning, the trio brew coffee before dismantling their tents. Chris rollicks Matt for eating during the night because a bear might have picked up the scent and silence descends as Sam and Matt fall in behind Chris. He gets jealous when they start chatting about their favourite foods and keeps up the snub when they stop for a comfort break. When they reach a ledge over a lake, Matt becomes emotional and Sam has to stop Chris from teasing him because she realises how vulnerable he is feeling. They take selfies and Chris ignores a work call because they have a phone signal. He joshes Matt into posing like muscle men for Sam to snap them and the mood lightens.

As they sit around a fire that night, Chris tries to tell a spooky story, but makes such a mess of it that Sam mocks him. Slugging from a hip flask, Matt describes how his acting career took a dive and he had to work as a white goods salesman. At a convention in Vegas, he succumbed to temptation and his wife found out and he is still devastated that he faces the future alone. When Chris says it happens to the best of us, Sam interjects to remind her father that he played an active role in things going wrong.

Matt is impressed by her wisdom and asks Sam how things will pan out for him. She describes precisely what happened to her father and they laugh at him being an age-gap dad who is hardly fit for new parenting. Nettled, Chris goes to bed and Matt confides in Sam that he's scared about being alone and asks how long it will take for his son to forgive him. Sam feels sorry for Matt, but he shocks her by suggesting in a throwaway manner that she warms him up in his tent because he doesn't have a sleeping bag. Making an excuse that she needs water, she slips away, leaving Matt by the fire with no idea that he's crossed a line.

Next morning, after breaking camp in silence, they walk to a waterfall and Matt falls behind to take photos. Chris asks Sam if she's excited about going to college and she jokes that this is the first question he has asked her all trip. She mentions Matt's inappropriate remark, only for Chris to scoff that she shouldn't take him seriously when he's drunk. When she stresses how uncomfortable she had felt, he chides her for spoiling a nice day and persuades her to go for a dip. Too dismayed to enjoy the water, Sam dresses and stuffs rocks into Chris and Matt's rucksacks before striding off alone.

Taking herself into the verdant hills, Sam feels the breeze rustling the trees before making her way back to the car. She flops down and waits for Chris and Matt to return. Her father is baffled by her sudden disappearance and he offers her the keys to drive by way of atonement. She locks them out for a few seconds before opening the doors. The silent Matt slouches in the back, as Chris plonks a stone on the dashboard and father and daughter exchange a meaningful glance.

Connie Converse's `Talkin' Like You (Two Tall Mountains)' plays over the closing credits, which is apt, as Celia Hollander's guitar and harp score is one of the highlights of this fine, fine film. Lily Collias is outstanding as the outwardly composed, but inwardly anxious Sam taking in her stride the foibles and faux pas committed by the equally commendable James LeGros and Danny McCarthy. The skill in the playing and in India Donaldson's screenplay is that neither boor is presented as entirely unsympathetic. There are degrees of toxicity, even in middle-aged white men and it's intriguing to surmise how Dylan (seen briefly rowing on the stoop with his dad) and the three college campers will turn out (not that all of them are white).

Sam seems to be heading in the right direction, which she demonstrates by returning to the car park without any bother after having been made to stay in step behind her father for three days. Despite actively re-evaluating her perceptions of her childhood, she also demonstrates her emotional maturity when speaking about the self-inflicted complications facing her companions without bruising their egos. Indeed, she even feels sorry for Matt when Chris taunts him about his weight, his sloppy preparations, and his unthought-out plans for the future. But his misjudged fireside comment goes beyond the pale and Chris's failure to take him to task is inexcusably shocking.

Although cinematographer Wilson Cameron captures the beauty of the Catskill terrain, he is also alert to small details within the natural world. Moreover, he succeeds in creating a sense of claustrophobia within the great outdoors, in much the same way that Peter Sillen did in Kelly Reichardt's Old Joy (2006), with which this film has much in common, as Donaldson uses the dialogue to divulge the backstories that keep the tensions simmering. That said, it also brings back memories of Mike Leigh's Nuts in May (1976), which, ridiculously, is nearly half a century old.

16) From Hilde, With Love.

Several critics have noted the similarities between Andreas Dresen's From Hilde, With Love and Marc Rothemund's Sophie Scholl - The Final Days (2005). But it actually belongs to a tradition of films depicting German women resisting the Nazi regime that also includes Alfred Vohrer's Everyone Dies Alone (1976), which was remade by Vincent Pérez as Alone in Berlin (2016), Helma Sanders-Brahms's Germany, Pale Mother (1980), and Max Färberböck's Aimée & Jaguar (1999) and A Woman in Berlin (2008).

Arrested in 1942 while picking strawberries with her mother, Hilde Coppi (Liv Lisa Fries) is accused of helping husband Hans (Johannes Hegemann) send radio messages to Moscow. She insists he was merely practicing before being called up, but the interrogators don't believe her, even though one had asked to touch her pregnant belly because his own wife was expecting a little miracle.

Trying to be watchfully evasive in her answers, the bespectacled Hilde claims to know nothing about Albert Hößler (Hans-Christian Hegewald), the Soviet airman that Hans has supposedly been hiding. But, amidst flashbacks to happier times with friends, she identifies photographs of Ina Ender-Lautenschläger (Emma Bading), Heinrich Scheel (Jacob Keller), and Harro (Nico Ehrenteit) and Libertas Schulze-Boysen (Sina Martens).

In her cell, Hilde tries to exercise and keep calm. However, she goes into labour and the midwife proves kind and encouraging under the stern gaze of warder Anneliese Kühn (Lisa Wagner). The doctor sneers that baby Hans won't live long, but the midwife allows Hilde to nurse him on the ward, where she finds herself in the next bed to Liane Berkowitz (Lena Urzendowsky). Afraid that the child will be taken away, Hilde is relieved when she finally starts producing milk.

Cutting back in time, Hilde scolds friend Grete Jäger (Lisa Hrdina) for consorting with a married soldier. But they listen to the radio broadcasts from Moscow and send letters to the families of the prisoners of war they hear being interviewed because the government claimed that the Red Army executed all German captives. On another occasion, they send a Morse message of good wishes and are thrilled to get a reply.

Before the war, Hilde was dating Franz and her mother (Tilla Kratochwil) had been against her marrying Hans because she thought he was reckless in being part of a group of left-leaning sympathisers that issued leaflets and flyposted slogans condemning the Nazis and advocating the Communist line. Initially, Hilde had supported Hans because she had fallen in love with him, but she confides in Liane that she expects to remain in jail as a political prisoner, even though her circumstances have improved because the doctor has discovered that she had worked as a dental assistant and he gives her chores around the ward, much to Kühn's annoyance.

She's more sympathetic when Hilde is allowed to visit Hans and Kühn allows her to take a bath and wear a red dress. He is nervous to hold Hansi, but Hilde helps him change a nappy. They reminisce about the wonderful summer of 1941, when he had asked her to help him learn Morse and they had tumbled into bed together. As she didn't think she could conceive, they were overjoyed when Hilde became pregnant, but they agreed that they had to keep taking risks to promote the Party and resist the tyranny of the Third Reich after the launch of Operation Barbarossa.

But things didn't always run smoothly, as Hans didn't think that Hilde was as committed as Grete, Ina, or Libertas, who takes covert photographs to aide the cause. On seeing her dark room, Hilde feels bad for thinking that Libertas was a party girl (as she was having a fling with husband Harro's knowledge). But she knows she has responsibilities to her sickly mother and can't afford to get ideas above her station.

Shortly after she has consoled Liane after her baby is removed, Hilde is returned to her prison wing. Kühn allows her to see Ina in the next cell and turns a blind eye when they whisper messages in the exercise yard. But Hilde faints on being told in December 1942 that Hans has been sentenced to the guillotine and hardly hears Ina's assurance that they will pardon her for having merely been led astray.

Shortly afterwards, Hilde receives a visit from Pastor Harald Poelchau (Alexander Scheer), who brings her a poem that Hans wrote before his execution. The Schulze-Boysens died alongside him and Hilde hears the news with sang froid. She thinks back to helping Grete dress Ina for a fashion show, with Swedish singing star Zarah Leander among the clients. She had taken up Greta's place on a camping weekend and Hans had helped her put up her tent. Around the campfire, Hilde had been shocked by Libertas kissing her lover in front of Harro and she had overheard one of the men saying the women called her `The Governess' because she was such a prude. But Hans had taken a shine to her and soon afterwards had asked her to help him master Morse.

Back at Barnimstrasse, Hilde is summoned from her cell and rides with Liane in a prison truck. She meets Heinrich and asks him to hold her and the guard doesn't object. At the court building, however, Ina is ordered to keep quiet when she blames Hans and Libertas for betraying their comrades and Hilde refuses to listen. Her defence offers nothing in mitigation at her trial and Hilde's only defence is that she loved her husband. On returning to her cell, she finds a black ribbon nailed to the door and she sobs in the darkness when Kühn informs her that she's now on death row.

Hilde thinks back to the time when she had first known Hans. He had just got out of prison and they had come to collect Grete after her release and Hilde had been jealous watching the pair splash in the lake after riding through the country on Hans's motorbike and sidecar. When they had posed as members of a book club having gathered for a planning meeting at a café, Hilde had bailed out the careless bohemians when the nosy Frau Lampert (Franziska Ritter) had quizzed them about the text and she was the only one to have had the foresight to read it in advance. Hans had been grateful, but too wrapped up in Grete to notice. But Frau Rake had realised that Hilde was in a bad mood when she got home and snapped when she asked for news about her fiancé.

Now, in early 1943, Hilde has to break the news to her mother that she's going to be guillotined and Kühn tends to the baby when Frau Rake's bawling makes him cry. Hilde asks her mother to care for the child, as he is now all that matters. When the Führer refuses to grant her clemency, Hilde entrusts Hansi to Kühn after spending a final night together. She is then transported to Plötzensee Prison, where her hair is cut to ensure it doesn't get entangled with the blade.

Pastor Poelchau visits her and she dictates a final letter to her mother. She asks him how it has come to this, having thought about the first time she saw Hans at a wedding and had cycled to the boathouse where he hid a duplicating machine to help him and Ina type anti-Nazi propaganda. The cleric arranges for Hilde to have a change of clothing when breast milk stains her tunic and she recites a childhood prayer and fights back fear and panic, as she learns that she will be taken out around 7pm on 5 August 1943.

Liane falls to the ground in the line in front of Hilde, who tries to remain calm and let the sun shine on her face. Each woman is taken into a brick bunker, where the sentence is read to her before she is placed face down under the blade. The pastor stands behind the desk to offer his support, but Hilde shows no emotion as she is led away.

In voiceover, Hansi explains that he is now 80 years old and has never stopped reading the letters his parents sent to each other while in prison. He visited the archive in Moscow to learn more about the messages that his father had sent to the Russians and discovered that only one had got through because of the radio's limited range: `We wish our friends the very best.' The film ends with Hilde and Hans dancing awkwardly on the night they first met and couldn't take their eyes off each other.

An exceptional performance from Liv Lisa Fries holds together this compelling, if fussily fragmented biopic. Andreas Dresen and co-scenarist Laila Stieler are wise to eschew linearity and use flashbacks to show how Hilde Coppi came to be seen as an enemy of the state. They are shrewder still in stripping the action of Nazi-era signifiers to suggest that a similar kind of injustice could happen anywhere in the world in our own age. But the cutaways from the prison scenes sometimes seem haphazard, especially when they don't appear to be memories that Hilde is revisiting in her cell.

It doesn't help that we learn little about Hilde's background and nothing about her politics before she became involved with what has come to be known as `The Red Orchestra'. Hans is even more sketchily limned and it's not always apparent from Johannes Hegemann's performance why Hilde would forget about her soldier beau so easily and take such reckless risks for a cause she embraces largely because she's in love rather than from any sense of outrage or conviction.

With the flashbacks going undated, it's difficult to know when scenes are actually taking place. By the same token, the other members of the cabal wander in and out without making much impression. Indeed, more time is spent with prison figures like Liane, Kühn, and Poelchau than Hilde's fellow zealots.

Dresen also shows us little of what the Red Orchestra does by way of producing or disseminating materials and gives next to no impression of the impact that their actions and ideas have to render them such a credible threat to the Reich. Moreover, given the nature of the state, they seem to operate with scant jeopardy, as the most dangerous threat to their enterprise that we see comes from an elderly snoop who comes across their far from covert café reading circle.

Susanne Hopf's production design is highly effective, as are Birgitt Kilian's costumes, particularly when it comes to the Nazi uniforms. Cinematographer Judith Kaufmann achieves telling contrasts between the confined spaces and the settings for the blissful summer. Yet, in seeking to avoid specificity, Dresen struggles to convey the sense of a nation at war or the notion that this is a pivotal moment in the tide turning against the Axis.

Raised in an East Germany where the Red Orchestra were hailed as socialist heroes, Dresen uses measured long takes to capture the contrasting emotions in the prison, as Hilde bonds with her baby and gains the respect of her fellow detainees and the staff. Fries movingly conveys the intensity of Hilde's love for a son from whom she knows she will soon be parted. The tenderness of these scenes is as harrowing as the sight of the line of women shuffling towards the guillotine shed. Notwithstanding such poignancy, this earnestly sincere and adroitly made picture will leave many feeling that they don't really know Hilde Coppi or what she stood for.

15) April.

Georgian cinema has been on a roll since Dea Kulumbegashvili debuted with Beginning (2020). Now, following Levan Akin's And Then We Danced (2019) and Crossing (2024), Elene Naveriani's Wet Sand (2021) and Blackbird Blackbird Blackberry (2023), and Alexandre Koberidze's What Do We See When We Look at the Sky? (both 2021), Kulumbegashvili returns with her second feature, the indelibly disturbing, April.

Nina (Ia Sukhitashvili) is the chief obstetrician at a hospital in Lagodekhi in Eastern Georgia. When a child is still born, the furious father (Sandro Kalandadze) lodges a complaint with the police and forces the head physician (Merab Ninidze) to ask colleague, David (Kakha Kintsurashvili), to conduct an inquiry. The father refuses to accept complicity (in spite of the fact that the pregnancy wasn't registered and the wife eschewed all prenatal monitoring) and ignores David's reassurance that Nina is the best OB-GYN in the clinic, as he knows she performs abortions in the village.

Unable to sleep, Nina goes for a drive and picks up a stranger on the road (Beka Songhulashvili). She tells him she used to visit the area as a child and recalls her dilemma when her sister got stuck in the mud at a fishing pool. Despite Nina being paralysed by fear, the sister survived and is now a happy mother of two. Nina asks her passenger if he would like a blow job, but he's too tired to get erect. Nina lifts her top and allows the man to fondle her, but she turns away when he unzips his fly. When she asks him to lick her, he pushes her face into the dashboard and slams the car door behind him.

Nina visits David in his office to ask him to help her with the inquiry because she knows people are looking for an excuse to fire her. She insists she couldn't have performed a Caesarian, as the woman didn't want one. Indeed, she seemed relieved the baby had died, as she already had enough children on her hands. David warns her not to repeat this and enquires about her love life, as they were once an item. He hugs her and promises to see what he can do.

After looking at a field of poppies, Nina calls on Mzia (Ana Nikolava) because her deaf and non-verbal sister, Nana (Roza Kancheishvili), is pregnant again. Mzia knows her husband would be furious if he knew she had not kept an eye on Nana and asks if Nina can help them. Nina is wary of being gossiped about in the village, but she promises to do what she can.

Similarly, she gives the pill to a 16 year-old bride, whose body is not ready to conceive. With David establishing during a post mortem that the dead baby had a problem with its lungs, Nina has new hope that he will find in her favour in his report. When they meet privately, he asks why she refused to marry him and she insists it would not have worked out. He is now married and his kids are rehearsing for a concert at the hospital. But they still have sex on the floor of his office. Once again, David urges Nina to be careful and suggests letting some of the others do abortions for a while (as they are legal, but often lead to problems with irate husbands or parents-in-law). However, she feels she must do her duty by the women who trust her.

Following a late-night tryst with a rural car washer, Nina performs the abortion on Nana, who lies on a plastic sheet on the house table. A storm breaks and Nina's car gets stuck in the mud and she has to return to the house. Mzia's husband (David Beradze) is having his supper at the table and he invites Nina to join him. He tells his children that this is the doctor who brought them into the world and chides Mzia for busying herself in the kitchen. Complaining that the region needs asphalt roads rather than a school that resembles a spaceship, the man insists on Nina staying the night, as it would be too dangerous to drive. Despite Nina averring that she's not scared, she sleeps over and he gives her a push in the morning to free the car.

Following a nocturnal stroll around a cattle market and a dream in which an emaciated wraith-like mud creature (who appears intermittently throughout the film) embraces David, Nina performs a C-section. She is summoned to the hospital chief's office, where she learns that Nana has been murdered by her brother-in-law, who has been sexually abusing her for years. The police have discovered that the victim had undergone an abortion and Nina admits to carrying out the procedure. David looks on, as their boss informs her that she will have to take responsibility for what she has done. Remaining calm, he also tells her that she has landed him in trouble and has ruined her own life for refusing to obey the law.

She agrees to do whatever the physician suggests. A knock brings the angry husband and his wife, Irma (Tosia Doloiani), who sit to listen to the verdict of the report. It's full of medical jargon and Nina sits with David and their boss, as the couple listen on the sofa. `Perhaps God sends us blessings so that we learn how to overcome despair,' he concludes in an effort to make the uncomprehending pair feel better. As it becomes clear that the hospital has found enough medical justification to support Nina, everyone is suddenly distracted by a loud noise from outside. The film finishes with a shot of the wizened naked figure moving slowly across marshy terrain with snow-capped Caucasus mountains in the distance.

Bitingly critical of the second-class status of women in modern Georgia, this is a troubling and occasionally problematical drama. Ia Sukhitashvili is compelling as Nina, although she is often an invisible presence during some of the most significant scenes. As Kulumbegashvili favours long takes and eschews traditional over-the-shoulder framing or shot-reverse-shot editing, the camera as frequently fixes on the person speaking or listening to Nina as it does on her. Consequently, the viewer is made to feel like an eavesdropper on intimate conversations, while also being reminded that they are watching a film made up of conscious stylistic decisions.

Once again revealing the influence of Carlos Reygadas, Michael Haneke, and Cristian Mungiu in her approach to narrative, tone, and pacing, Kulumbegashvili makes demands on the audience by returning repeatedly the cadaverous figure. This appears in the opening shot and seems to be an oneiric representation of either the trauma that Nina experiences from a prolonged period aborting foetuses or of the guilt she feels at perhaps having terminated a pregnancy while with David. However, no explanation is provided (although a clue could lie in the dread-filled anecdote about her sister and the engulfing mud) and these surreal reveries reinforce the distancing effect achieved by the blocking strategy. Thanks to Lars Ginzel's mucilaginous sound design, however, they also have a Cronenbergian impact, which can similarly be felt during the close-up coverage of the birthing and aborting sequences. Elsewhere, the soundtrack is filled with heavy breathing, barking dogs, lowing cows, and croaking frogs, as well as lots of mud-, water, and body-related squelching. Matthew Herbert's unsettling psyche-hinting score (which uses bones as an instrument) complements these noises in the same way that production designer Beka Tabukashvili provides cinematographer Arseni Khachatura with the long corridors, spacious offices, and cramped cottages that dictate the camera distances that set the visual tone for the action.

Luca Guadagnino's name among the producers should help the picture gain access to some of the UK's smaller arthouse venues. But, for all its aesthetic quality and thematic potency, this isn't an easy watch, as Kulumbegashvili is not one for compromises. However, the uncompromising rawness of the action and the persistent pugnacity of the assault on the patriarchy make this essential viewing in a way that Coralie Fargeat's over-hyped body horror, The Substance, was not.

14) Flow.

Artistic choice triumphs over technical capability in Flow, Gints Zilbalodis's Oscar-winning follow-up to his extraordinary debut feature, Away (2019). That was a one-man masterpiece. But, while the 29 year-old Latvian has a number of collaborators on this diluvian odyssey, it's instantly recognisable as an anti-anthropomorphic Zilbalodis original that should, if there's any justice, be adored by young and old alike for decades to come.

A dark grey cat with amber eyes pauses to inspect his reflection in a puddle in the woods. He hears dogs barking and bolts for cover, as they bound past. Slinking away, the cat returns to what seems to have once been his home, as the garden is filled with cat statues and there are drawings in what appears to be an abandoned art studio. Paddy-pawing the bed, the cat settles down to sleep with a contented yawn.

Rising next morning, the cat is drinking from the stream when the dogs lumber into sight. A Golden Labrador plucks a fish from the water and the others follow suit. When two start to fight and a flip-flopping fish lands on the grass, the cat seizes his chance and sprints away. The baying hounds follow and the cat drops his prize before hiding under a protruding branch, as the canines are distracted by a hapless rabbit.

They soon come haring back, however, as a distant noise cause the cat to prick up his ears. A herd of deer thunder through the clearing and the cat is nearly caught under their hooves. However, there is no escaping a giant wave that cascades through the forest and sweeps up the cat, who manages to swim to a low-hanging branch. The Labrador tries to clamber up and the branch snaps, but the cat succeeds in reaching the shore.

As he pads back to the house, the cat is aware that he is being followed by the Labrador. Yet, while the dog protects him from a towering secretarybird, the cat hisses when the Labrador tries to follow him through the broken upper window that allows him access to his bedroom.

Waking next morning, the cat is dismayed to see the Labrador fretting in the garden, as the water is still rising. Realising that he also needs to find a new sanctuary, the cat starts to approach the Labrador, as a boat floats into sight. However, several other dogs are aboard and the cat decides to seek alternative transport. Climbing up the biggest statue, as the house is submerged, the mewling cat is frightened by the arching back of a whale. But, just as the tide is about to engulf the tip of the statue's pricked ear, a sailboat hoves into view and the cat is able to scramble aboard, where he's confronted by a capybara, who sniffs him with idle curiosity before settling down for a nap.

When it starts to rain, the cat scuttles under cover beside his snoring companion. In the morning, he sits on the prow and gazes at the stone pillars rising out of the water. He also notices secretarybirds circling overhead and accidentally tumbles into the flood. Staying underwater, he avoids some predatory swoops, only for the whale to swim beneath him and boost him to the surface. A passing bird clutches the cat in its claws and starts flying towards the pillars. However, the cat wriggles so much that he works himself loose and plummets downwards.

Luckily, he lands on the sail and is able to use his claws to arrest his fall. The capybara is still snoozing, while the secretarybird perched in the stern merely gives the cat a quizzical look before taking off. Relieved to be safe, the cat starts washing itself. But the capybara stirs and they join forces to move the tiller to steer the boat towards a ruined building. They spot a ring-tailed lemur placing crockery, cutlery, and assorted jars into a basket, which the capybara hauls aboard and the lemur decides to join the crew. The cat marks the occasion by producing a hairball.

Climbing the mast, the cat has a dream that he is being circled by a herd of deer. Shinning down, he tilts the tiller to take the boat towards land and the capybara grabs a branch laden with bananas. Coming to rest, the animals jump ashore, with the lemur finding a rope-encased glass float, which is pushes towards the vessel. As the capybara feasts on some flowers, the cat looks at the fish swimming in the water, but doesn't know how to catch them.

The Labrador bounds up and seems pleased to see the cat again. As he introduces himself t his new travelling companions, the cat is surprised when the secretarybird from the boat drops a fish at his paws. The bird is protecting its young and the cat peers over a ledge to see dozens of secretarybirds nesting below. Unfortunately, the dog and the lemur bundle him to their view and he has to flee. When an alpha bird corners him, the secretarybird who had fed him intervenes on the cat's behalf and a fight breaks out.

Seeing that his rescuer has damaged a wing, the cat ushers them towards the boat and the creatures sit on the bank as the sun sets. Stirring in his sleep, the cat sees the secretarybird with a claw on the tiller and scuttles across the deck to lie close to it. On waking, the cat tries to emulate the bird's erect posture and falls in the water. The Labrador rummages in the lemur's basket for something to chew and has it snatched back. Hearing a familiar sound, the lemur beckons to a boat with several ring-tails aboard. But the cat hisses at them when they leap across to admire the lemur's hand mirror and they quickly return from whence they came.

Bored, the Labrador steals the glass float and chases after it when secretarybird kicks it across the deck. However, it boots the sphere into the water, as they approach a deserted city. The lemur is so cross at losing its prize possession that it jumps on the bird's head and, in the skirmish, the sail becomes entangled in the branches of a tree. While the Labrador and the capybara splash around in what has essentially become a canal, the cat bobs down with the fishes, which glisten in the refracted light.

Hearing a rumbling, the animals scramble back aboard, just as the whale rises beside them to create a swell that frees the boat. As they float on, the cat bats at the lemur's tale and chases after a sunbeam cast by its mirror. He is surprised to see the Labrador also rolling on its back and, when it goes on a fishing expedition, the cat shares his catch with the dog and the secretarybird.

Such harmony doesn't last long, however, as the animals see some stranded dogs in a bell tower and insist on rescuing them, against the secretarybird's better judgement. No sooner are they aboard than they scoff the remaining fish and snap the handle off the lemur's mirror. Anxious to avoid the bickering, the cat scales the mast, only for the boat to run into a heavy storm in the vicinity of some enormous standing stones and he falls on to the deck. Nuzzled by the capybara, the cat revives in time to see the secretarybird fly away.

Distraught, the cat jumps overboard and paddles furiously to reach a rocky outcrop. He rushes up what seems to be an eroded pillar and finds his friend sitting alone. Suddenly, they are swept up in a maelstrom of light and colour that takes the bird upwards. But the cat is returned to earth and he hastens back to the rocks in the hope of seeing the boat. Plunging into the swell, the cat clings to the lemur's float, as it happens to pass by.

Drifting inshore, the cat hops on to some rocks in time to watch a chasm open and drain the water away. Scurrying through the woodland, he comes across a lemur who leads him to a ruined amphitheatre that has been taken over by its kind. The cat sees the basket of trinkets and is disappointed when his friend shuns him because it's busy showing off its mirror. As he turns to go, however, the cat is joined by the lemur, who leads him to the boat, which has been grounded in a tree that is hanging over a ravine. The dogs bay for help and take courage to leap to land. But the capybara can't jump that far and the cat hops on to a branch in order to free a rope that the hounds can use to rock the hull and bring it closer to land. The other dogs run away, leaving the cat and the capybara stranded in the boat. But the Labrador and the lemur summon sufficient strength to pull on the rope and the pair spring to safety, just as the roots slide and send the boat and the tree hurtling into the depths.

Resting on the grass, the animals renew acquaintance, as the Labrador licks the cat's head. But he hears a plaintiff noise and darts away to find the whale beached in the forest. He brushes against him in an effort to provide some comfort, but isn't sure what he can do. Sitting down, he stares into a small pool that is being ruffled by the breeze. In the reflection, he sees the Labrador, the capybara, and the lemur flanking him and he knows he has found friends he can rely upon.

As the credits roll, Zilbalodis offers us the reassuring sight of the whale's fin poking out of the sea, with the sun glinting on the horizon. It's a touching way to end a film that is so replete with Miyazakian moments of purity, poignancy, and beauty that it's easy to forget that one is watching pixels that have been manipulated using Blender 3-D animation software. The animals aren't as photorealistic as they might be in pictures with bigger budgets, but they have character and behave in a natural manner, particularly the wide-eyed cat, who has been referred to as a `he' by Zilbalodis in interviews.

Anyone familiar with feline behaviour will recognise the many little traits that make the character so appealing and authentic, as cats are far more emotionally demonstrative than one might expect. They are also intrepid and resourceful, although Zilbalodis stops short of having his plucky hero do anything more far-fetched than learning how to steer a boat.

He and co-writer Matīss Kaža have similarly ensured that the storyline remains reasonably plausible by resisting explanations for the absence of humankind and the reasons for the deluge and by skirting those tiresome screenwriting platitudes about conflict, crisis, journey, and resolution. There's still plenty to ponder, but the eco messages and musings on mutual trust are not hammered home and the same restraint is applied to the action sequences, which are refreshingly free from the kind of cacophonic crash-bang video game antics that have become de rigueur in animated features from around the world.

Nevertheless, some of the camera movements are exhilarating, while the backdrops achieved with director of animation Léo Silly-Pélissier - whether depicting the natural world or crumbling civilisations - are uniformly evocative and effective. The music co-composed with Rihards Zaļupe is equally astute in gauging the difference between earned emotion and cloying sentimentality. And whoever made the animal noises deserves an award in the shape of Animal Magic legend, Johnny Morris.

For creating a film that is universally accessible, graphically sophisticated, and so respectful of animal intelligence, Zilbalodis was rewarded with an Oscar. Some were surprised by his win, but it was thoroughly merited. But what pressure will be on his shoulders when it comes to his third feature - although the toughest challenge face his fellow animators, as how can they possibly view this and serve up the same old slam-bam CGI dross with a clear conscience?

13) Sister Midnight.

London-based film-maker Karan Kandhari makes his feature debut with Sister Midnight, a Hindi black comedy set in Mumbai that is stuffed with soundtrack surprises and audacious shifts of tone, genre, and style. There's even room for a little quirky stop-motion animation.

Still wearing her wedding veil, Uma (Radhika Apte) views the passing scene from a train bound for Mumbai, while her arranged spouse, Gopal (Ashok Pathak), slumps beside her. On reaching his terraced shack in a bustling part of the city, Gopal leaves Uma flummoxed by fleeing to avoid consummating the union and heads off to work on his bicycle the next morning without a single word.

Unsure what to do with herself, Uma sits on the doorstep and watches the world go by, in the process attracting the scorn of a respectable neighbour and her daughter. When Gopal returns home drunk, Uma takes money from his pocket and goes out to buy some food, which she crunches ostentatiously, as her husband lollops on the bed. She demands more money the next day in order to buy groceries. But she has no idea how to cook them and has to ask next-door neighbour Sheetal (Chhaya Kadam) for a cleaver to chop them. Even though she manages this, Uma can't figure out what to do with a bag of flour and Gopal is forced to give her a crash course in household budgeting before Sheetal shows her how to cook a simple meal.

Bored with being stuck at home all day, Uma demands a Sunday outing. However, Gopal gets the bus times wrong and they have to return almost as soon as they arrive. Fed up, Uma asks a neighbour to smash the green wedding bracelets covering half her arms and, having visited the station to discover the impossibility of taking a train home, she gets a job mopping floors at a shipping firm.

As she hadn't sought Gopal's permission, he wants to be cross with her, but can't summon the courage. He does, however, drag her off to the doctor when she complains of being unwell. Informed that she merely has a cold, Uma becomes concerned after a mosquito bite and consults a different doctor about an ear infection. Sitting on the sea wall to ponder her condition, she is distracted by a woman crying on one side of her and a weeping man on the other. She tries to cheer herself up by stealing some plants to brighten up the room.

Having befriended the group of hijras who had been taunting her on the street, Uma also makes the acquaintance of office lift operator Sher Singh (Subhash Chandra), who shows her how cool it is on the roof and she dozes off for the night. When she spends the night on a flight of steps, however, Gopal ticks her off. But Uma is starting to behave eccentrically and, after a late-night encounter with a goat, she starts capturing birds of different sizes and draining them of blood before wrapping them in white cloth and storing them carefully in an empty drawer. Not that they stay here, however, as the delusional Uma begins seeing resurrected birds hopping across the hovel floor.

Eventually, Gopal notices the aroma, but she reassures him there is nothing to worry about. Indeed, they have been getting along better, taking the odd cigarette walk and even experimenting with brief hugs and kisses. But Uma is less than pleased when Gopal is pressured into accepting a work colleague's invitation to spend a day on the beach. Consequently, in order to get away, she offers to take their dog for a walk and promptly gives it to a small boy and urges Gopal to beat a hasty retreat. Returning home, the thrill of doing something illicit and the fact that Gopal went above and beyond to get Uma some blue candy floss leads to them sleeping together.

Unfortunately, this means curtains for Gopal and Uma decorates his corpse with fairy lights and hopes no one notices that he's not around. She fobs off his boss with an excuse and murders her nosy neighbour when she barges in and sees his grotesque shrine. Needing to dispose of the corpse, Uma chops it up and carries the bundle to some wasteland, where it is set upon by the ravenous goats (which are stop-animated) that have been thronging around Uma's abode.

Dumping Gopal in a shopping trolley, Uma wheels him out of town so she can incinerate the body. A hermit daubs some of the ashes on to her face, as she shovels them into a biscuit tin. Having wandered off after watching a monochrome chambara film, Uma finds herself at a Buddhist convent, where she is nursed by the nuns. She has her nose fixed and calls Sheetal to collect her. Unable to return home because a band of men are torching the shacks, Uma accepts a lift from Sheetal. When the torch-bearing thugs bang on the car, Uma gets out and protests that it's hard to be a human and they let her leave in peace.

It's not always clear what's going on in Karan Kandhari's decidedly odd, but laudably distinctive first feature. For the first two thirds, it feels like a mash-up between Roy Andersson and Wes Anderson, with the occasional hint of Kaurismäki and Jarmusch tossed in for good measure. But, just as the off-beat rhythms of the splendid performances, the witty abruptness of cinematographer Sverre Sørdal's whip pans, and the jerky precision of Napoleon Stratogiannakis's editing threaten to become repetitive, the action veers off into generic quirkiness before meandering towards a rather underwhelming denouement.

While this isn't ideal, it doesn't detract from the audacious idiosyncrasy of what has gone before. From the opening bar, the soundtrack proves a major asset in keeping the audience disconcerted, as blues classics by Howlin' Wolf and Blind Willie Johnson jostle with early rock tracks by Buddy Holly and Marty Robbins, pop gems by The Band and T. Rex, and heavier cuts from The Stooges and Motörhead, as well as the stylings of legendary Cambodian chanteur, Sinn Sisamouth. But Paul Banks's score and Gunnar Óskarsson's sound mix also merit mention, along with Shruti Gupte's evocative production design.

By shooting on 35mm stock, Sørdal is able capture the texture of the lighting and shading, as well as the vibrancy of the colours. However, there are times when Kandhari over-indulges in audiovisual coolness, particularly during the final third. But the decision to use stop-motion for the re-animated birds and the hungry goats proves inspired, especially as the shots of Uma pulling the latter along on leads recalls Miss Lovelace and her pesky Pekingese dogs in Trumpton (1967).

These scenes confirm Radhika Apte's aptitude for physical comedy, which extends to her hilarious culinary incompetence and her awkward attempts at intimacy. But she also has a way with the curse-strewn dialogue and the range of expression she pulls as Uma tries to fathom what is happening to her. Radhika Apte and Chhaya Kadam provide fine support, but Apte is superb, as she retains sympathy for the reluctant bride even as she becomes a deranged widow.

12) Mongrel.

Born in Singapore, but based in Taiwan, Chiang Wei Liang has focussed so far in his brief career on the fate of migrants. Shorts such as Anchorage Prohibited (2015) and Nyi Ma Lay (2017), as well as the virtual reality item, Only the Mountain Remains (2018), brought him to the attention of the great Hou Hsiao-hsien and, even though he has retired from directing, Chiang's mentor (along with his regular editor, Liao Ching-sung) has executive produced his debut feature, Mongrel.

Hailing from Thailand, Oom (Wanlop Rungkumjad) works as an illegal, unqualified caregiver in Taiwan. His newest patient, Hui (Kuo Shu-wei) is living with cerebral palsy and his elderly mother, Mei (Lu Yi-ching) is finding it hard to cope. No sooner has Oom emerged from their cramped apartment than boss Hsing (Daniel Hong) grabs the money and hands him a few notes to buy food for the other migrants from Indonesia, Vietnam, and the Philippines in the compound. They haven't been paid for two months and Hsing uses Oom as his intermediary to explain that money is tight and that they will be paid as soon as it's feasible.

Indri collapses during the discussion and Oom agrees to take her shift and divide the money between the others to stop them from squabbling over who should be chosen. He is scrutinised by the daughter-in-law of the patient, but Hsing assures her that Oom is his best man. Driving home, he reveals that six of the migrants are going to have to be moved on, as he is heavily in debt and needs to sell them to people traffickers, who run a karaoke bar in the town. Oom is disappointed when his friend is picked, but Hsing thinks he's a troublemaker and is keen to get him out of his hair.

Arriving at the bar, the six are ushered into a room with throbbing music playing, while Hsing goes to see Brother Te (Akira Chen), the gangster who runs the camp and Hsing's business. He promises to help with the debts, but Hsing has a more pressing issue to attend to. Indri has died and he has Oom carry the body into the forest and dump it, so that no questions can be asked. But Oom also has things on his mind, as Mei had tried to put Hui in a home, but he had been so distressed that she had not been able to leave him. As she is ailing, she asks Oom to mercy kill her son so that he doesn't have to go back to the home when she dies.

She hopes to leave Oom alone with Hui on his next visit. But he has confided her request to Hsing, who is furious because he stands to lose a client. Thus, he imposes Jude on Oom, who is frustrated by the fact he refuses to help out and upsets Hui by playing porn on the TV. When he gives him his bath, when Jude refuses to help him, Oom can't resist giving Hui a hand job out of curiosity to see how he would react.

Back at the compound, Oom's friend, Mhai (Atchara Suwan), asks why no one has heard from the six workers who went off to the camp. She says she no longer trusts Oom and he is hurt when they pack their belongings in the night and disappear. He also feels humiliated when he is searched before leaving the home of Indri's elderly female patient and finds himself babysitting her grandson into the bargain. The daughter-in-law doesn't like Oom and wants Indri back, but Hsing tells her that she gets what she pays for and can't complain if she can only afford illegal care.

As he short-staffed, Hsing makes a deal with Brother Te to collect eight smuggled people from his hiding place. Oom feels bad about duping them into believing they will get a good job. But he has no option but to collect their passports and swigs beer despondently when Hsing calls in on the karaoke bar. Indeed, he feels so bad that he walks to the woods to pay his respects to Indri's body and is slipping some money into her pockets when he realises he's being watched by a stray dog.

When next caring for her patient, Oom panics when the old woman loses consciousness. As he's locked in the house, he panics and calls for the paramedics and they have to wait until the daughter-in-law gets home before they can gain admittance. Hsing is livid with Oom for not calling him so he could manage the situation without the authorities knowing about his involvement and he gives the Thai a kicking in the rain outside the house.

Refusing to give up on Mei and Hui, Oom goes to their house and rushes Mei to the hospital when she falls ill. She insists on driving home and nearly crashes the car on a wet, misty road in the dusk light. Realising that she is in no condition to care for Hui, Oom accedes to her request. However, Hui overhears and starts sobbing so hard that Mei has to console him. Eventually, she is satisfied that her son is settled and she signals to Oom to do his work. He bursts into tears at both the ending of a life and the hopelessness of his own situation.

When he wakes next morning - having possibly dreamt of washing Indri's limbs, while chatting to her as though she was a living patient - a three-legged dog is snuffling and whining around his bed. It turns in the doorway when he lets it out, as if to suggest that if he can negotiate life in this condition, so can Oom. Perhaps together.

It's not always clear precisely what's going on around Oom. But life isn't always easily readable and rarely has it seemed more nasty, brutish, and short than in Chiang Wei Liang's harrowing drama, which he co-directed with Yin You Qiao. Stripping existence down to harsh conditions, cruel decisions, and raw emotions, this is what social realism should be. There's more Lav Diaz than Ken Loach about the direction, although it's also possible to detect hints of Hou Hsiao-hsien's humanism in the way in which the deeply flawed, but utterly bereft Thai migrant behaves.

For all the condemnation of trafficking, modern slavery, and the lack of affordable health care in Taiwan (Chiang once worked as a carer), this is more a character study than a socio-political tract. Oom is played with barely perceptible changes of facial expression by Wanlop Rungkumjad, whose body language reeks of exhaustion and defeat. Yet, he keeps trying to believe that there is good in even the worst people (after all, Hsing gives him some ear buds and occasionally treats him to chips) and he strives to do his best for his patients, even though he has evidently out of his depth.

Cinematographer Michaël Capron keeps him hemmed in by keeping the camera close, while also shooting inside tiny rooms in dimmed light. The Academy ratio action is often viewed through door frames or from the back of vehicles, while the oppressive sound mix designed by R.T. Kao and Lim Ting Li emphasises how entrapped Oom is, even when he's out in the forest. Dounia Sichov's editing also imposes a sense of inevitability, as Oom is powerlessly caught in the middle and despised by those above and below him. It's a predicament that drives home Chiang's points, while also reminding us of the grim realities facing so many far from home and simply trying to do their best for their loved ones.

11) Christmas, Again.

It's not often that a film has to wait 11 years to debut on UK screens. But Charles Poekel's Christmas, Again was released in the United States in 2014 and many of those who see this quirky festive dramedy will wonder quite why it took so long to get here.

For the most part, Noel (Kentucker Audley) works in construction in upstate New York. However, for the last few years, he has come to the city to sell Christmas trees on the night shift at an outdoor stall. The previous year, he had been accompanied by his girlfriend, Marianne. But, as he tells a returning customer and his wife, she's not there this December and he's grateful that they don't pry. While co-workers, Nick (Jason Shelton) and Robin (Oona Roche), doze in the trailer office, Noel fixes the fairy lights around the display and tries to hide the disappointment that his old flame hadn't shown up for auld lang syne.

Smoking while passing the time, Polish migrant, Martin (Andrzej Walczak), asks Noel why he bothered coming back to such a crummy job if he knew that Marianne wasn't going to be there. Having handed over the takings to the boss (Bennett Webster) who can't be bothered getting out of his car, Noel reminds Nick to sweep up the fallen pine needles because people don't like being reminded that trees are dead. Robin calls him out for always criticising her boyfriend, but Noel has his standards.

Showering after a swim at the local pook, he wanders back to the stall in his beanie and red-checked jacket. While grabbing a coffee in a diner off the square, he spots someone rushing along a path and follows to find a young woman who has passed out on a park bench, with one shoe missing and chewing gum in her hair. Hauling her back to the trailer so she can sleep it off, Noel is busy when she wakes the next morning and bolts in embarrassed panic.

With Nick and Robin having moved in with her sister, Noel finds himself manning the post alone. He shivers under a plastic poncho during a nocturnal downpour, as a well-heeled man on a bluetooth set (Craig Butta) keeps asking him to hold up trees so he can photograph them and send the images to his picky wife. Maintaining an air of detached professionalism, Noel keep his cool even when the customer thinks a balsam fir should be as light as balsa wood. The next day, Nick and Robin show up and Noel crashes in the trailer until he is woken by Lydia (Hannah Gross), who still doesn't know how she came to be on the bench. She asks about her wallet, but Noel is curt in his replies, even though he is clearly attracted to yet, but doesn't want to get hurt again.

Having helped a woman who wants a tree like the one the Obamas have, Noel is nettled after getting stick from the boss for sales being down, Skulking in the trailer, Noel is surprised when Lydia shows up again, with a pie to thank him for taking care of her. She tries to get him chatting, but he gives little away, even when she asks about what happens to the unsold trees. He is perpelexed when she asks what he would do if Jesus came and told people to stop buying trees, but she realises she's not making much impression and guesses it's not as much fun selling Christmas trees as she had thought.

Following a conversation with a woman (Dakota O'Hara) about his self-decorated Christmas wreaths - she wants a plain one - Noel prepares a large tree for Derrick (Sam Stillman), who seems to be viewing him with hostility. When he asks Noel to test a pack lights, he spots the pie dish on the table and we realise that he is Lydia's jealous boyfriend. Noel, however, remains oblivious and makes a carelessly casual remark about hooking up with the girl who had baked him the pie. However, the sight of a pregnant woman (Heather Courtney) canoodling with her husband on crutches (Martin Courtney) when he makes a house delivery to their cosy apartment gets to Noel, who thinks that this could have been him with Marianne.

The next night, Noel gets punched in the face and he has no idea who hit him or why. Feeling sorry for himself, he pops a couple of pills from his trippy Advent calendar and dozes off in front of the bar fire in the trailer. He wakes to find his blanket on fire and he looks around in embarrassment, as he drags it outside to stomp out the flames. He empties the rest of the pills into a bag and flushes them after his next swim. Martin comes by with a bottle to reminisce about snow-covered trees in Polish forests, but Noel's spirits are restored when Jane (Andrea Suarez Paz) compliments him on his weaths and asks if he can deliver one and a tree to her place of work the next night.

With a spring in his step, and getting on better with Nick, Noel persuades the boss to give him 15 more trees for Christmas Eve. He's chatty with customers and diligent about keeping the pitch clean, although he's put out when Lydia turns up to demand the pie dish and stalks off without another word. She returns shortly afterwards to ask Noel why she told her boyfriend that they had hooked up. He denies it, but now understands why he got thumped.

As Lydia is tearful, he invites her to join him on a delivery run and she is moved by the warm reception they get from a friendly woman (Evelyn Preuss) and her charmingly chatty children. She even enjoys touring a house party trying to find the man who had ordered a tree. But Lydia is so taken by the way in which Noel is greeted by Jane and the residents at the old people's home where she works that she looks on him fondly as they drive back to the trailer. They pour water on the tea plant that Jane had given them and Lydia dozes off, as they watch it start to bloom.

Nuzzling into him, Lydia kisses Noel, who seems uncertain how to react - after all, she has a pugnaciously jealous boyfriend. Suddenly, the lights go out and, by the time he has poured petrol into the generator, she has gone - leaving him with the last unsold tree. The next morning, Lydia wakes and (with her boyfriend sparko on the sofa) hurries to the pitch to see Noel. But the stall has been taken down and the trailer removed. So, she ruefully scuffs at a small patch of snow in the gutter, as the film ends with time-lapse footage of the tea plant blooming.

There's no point lamenting the fact it's taken so long for Christmas, Again to reach our screens. We should just be thankful it has, as it's a lovely film that captures the conflicting emotions that the festive season conjures in people, whether they are brimful of goodwill or are merely going through the motions. Each character is deftly limned, with the boss perching two pairs of glasses on his nose, as he inspects the day's takings with grasping grinchiness; the homeless Polish man reflecting tipsily on the white Christmases he used to know; the expecting couple exuding affection and anticipation; the women who have differing views on the decoration of wreaths; and the middle-aged couple who smile benevolently, as their four young children bombard Noel with questions, as he fixes their tree into its stand.

This is astute writing and Poekel backs it up by coaxing winningly naturalistic performances out of his ensemble. Obviously, the focus falls on the scruffily melancholic Kentucker Audley, as he grins and bears returning to the place that had been so joyful the year before. He's curtly civil, as he describes the range of trees and offers tips on their maintenance over the holiday. But he cares about what he does, even when he's at his lowest ebb and munching wacky candies. Indeed, his eagerness to stay open later on Christmas Eve to ensure a few more strangers get their trees connects this to such classic yuletide yarns as A Christmas Carol and The Little Match Girl.

Despite rarely straying from the street corner pitch,

Sean Price Williams's busy camerawork splendidly conveys the bustle of the environs in conjunction with Udbhav Gupta's inspired sound editing. Trevor Peterson's production design and Robert Greene's editing are also spot on. But special mention should be made of the soundtrack, which is filled with pastiche festive ditties, while also making evocative use of Tchaikovsky's `Berceuse' and `Danse Arab' and the novel sound of Camille Saint-Saëns's `The Swan' being played on a theremin.

Drawing on his own experiences, Charles Poekel was only 27 when he made this feature debut and he's yet to make another. This seems a shame, as he clearly has talent. Perhaps, one day, he will take a break from being interim chair of film at Seattle's Cornish College of the Arts and director of the Bainbridge Island Film Festival and take another tilt at directing. But how do you follow such a sleeper gem?

10) The Regulars.

9) Sorry, Baby.

Encouraged by Moonlight director, Barry Jenkins, Eva Victor wrote their directorial debut while they were sharing a friend's house in Maine during Covid lockdown. Already an established actress, Victor also takes the lead in Sorry, Baby, a five-chaptered satire on modern womanhood that is made even more disconcertingly compelling by its troubling #MeToo dimension.

Now in her late twenties, Agnes Ward (Eva Victor) teaches literature at the Fairpoint liberal arts college in Massachusetts. She lives in a remote mansard-roofed cottage with her cat, Olga, and is excited to get a visit from her best friend and former roommate, Lydia (Naomi Ackie), who has gone to live in New York with her partner, Fran (E.R. Fightmaster). Lydie announces that she is pregnant by a sperm donation and they go out to celebrate with fellow alumni, Logan (Jordan Mendoza), Devin (Cody Reiss), and Natasha (Kelly McCormack), with the latter still feeling bitter that Agnes got a post she felt she deserved.

A flashback shows Agnes as a thesis candidate and part-time tutor under the supervision of Professor Preston Decker (Louis Cancelmi). He is feeling morose, as his marriage has failed, and not even a compliment about his first novel cheers him up. But he still manages to summon some enthusiasm for Agnes's writing on the art of the short story and he gifts her his prized first edition of Virginia Woolf's To the Lighthouse.

As there is a full-time teaching post up for grabs, Natasha is doing her darndest to impress Decker. She even sleeps with him. But Agnes had never thought of him as a predator and goes to his home for an evening thesis review without any hesitation. By the time she leaves in the middle of the night, however, she has been sexually assaulted and Lydie consoles her as she sits in the bath and struggles to process what has happened to her.

Lydie accompanies Agnes to the hospital the following morning and is appalled by the insensitivity of the male doctor who chides her for not reporting the offence to the police before she washed away the biological evidence. Yet she receives little more sympathy from the two women on the Fairpoint disciplinary panel because they no longer have any jurisdiction over Decker because he has resigned.

Tempted to set fire to Decker's office, Agnes decides to let the matter drop, as she doesn't want to press charges because Decker is a father. Instead, she adopts a stray kitten and embarks upon a friends with benefits relationship with her bashful neighbour, Gavin (Lucas Hedges). As time passes, Agnes gets back into the rhythms of college life, even enjoying shocking her woke Gen Z students by teaching them Vladimir Nabokov's Lolita.

However, she realises that she is still struggling to come to terms with her ordeal when she is summoned for jury duty and admits during assessment that she doesn't feel she could be impartial, as she has so little faith in a penal system that would have punished Decker for his crime without making him a better man. Shortly afterward, she finds herself sitting in Decker's office, as she has been offered a full-time post. Natasha comes to complain that she has been cheated and Agnes feels sorry that she had given herself to Decker to no avail. On her way home, however, she has a panic attack at the wheel and pulls into a roadside sandwich shop. The owner, Pete (John Carroll Lynch), realises that she's in distress and makes her the house special so that she can regain her composure looking over the lake. Arriving home, Agnes trudges across the fields to ask Gavin to sleep with her and her faith is further restored by a guileless post-coital snuggle-chat in the bath.

Shortly after Lydie has her daughter, she pays the still vulnerable Agnes a visit, with the massively protective Fran in tow. When they go for a walk to explore the nearby lighthouse, Agnes dandles baby Jane and apologises to her for the fact that she has been born into an often cruel and unforgiving world. However, she promises to always be there if she needs a chat and reassures her that she the chances are good that she is going to have a nice life.

Tinged with a heady mix of optimism and sadness, this closing speech makes a deep impression, as one is left to despair at the randomness of existence, which means that one innocent child will grow up to be good, while another is condemned to be bad. It may not be the most original or profound rumination, but it hits a nerve at the end of Agnes's journey to forgive herself for the violation that changed her life.

Just as a sequel to Josh Radnor's Liberal Arts (2012) would have been fascinating, it would be nice to see how she and Gavin get on in future years, as there's something endearing about their mutual gratitude for being accepted for who they are. But consolation can still be derived from the contemplation of their Schrödingerian relationship, even though one gets the feeling that Agnes and Fran are never going to be close, with the same being doubly true in the case of Natasha.

However, inspired by Kenneth Lonergan's Margaret (2011) and Kelly Reichardt's Certain Women (2016), the 30 year-old, non-binary Victor has succeeded in creating characters for the audience to care about, while telling an elliptical mumblecorean story that demands their attention, as Victor celebrates the everyday on-screen while significant events occur some place off. They also explore such pertinent issues as the difficulty of being an independent woman in the 2020s, the way that society is geared to perpetuate rather than punish toxic masculinity, and the damaging feebleness of lip-service feminism. Most pressingly, they show how hard it is to recalibrate one's emotions, sense of self, and ability to trust after being subjected to sexual abuse, especially when other women prove so unsupportive.

Victor's subtle shifts in limning Agnes's personality before and after her rape are as potently poignant as the little hand squeeze that Lydie gives her friend when they meet up with their old college pals and Decker's name comes up. But, even though it should be, this isn't the kind of performance that wins major awards. The same goes for the screenplay, which deftly treads the fine line between the comic and the melancholic (the correct term, apparently, is `traumedy') without succumbing to simplistic gender faultlines or cornball compromise.

This tone is reinforced by the insouciant attentiveness of Mia Cioffi Henry's camerawork, the intuitive rightness of Caity Birmingham's production design, and the measured pacing of Randi Atkins and Alex O'Flinn's editing, which is complemented by Lia Ouyang Rusli's thoughtful score. The support playing is also first rate, with the deadpan sandwich scene between Victor and John Carroll Lynch reminding viewers that there are some decent blokes left. But one has to wonder whether the scene in which Agnes crushes a wounded mouse with a heavy book was really necessary.

8) Souleymane's Story.

Following a series of documentary shorts inspired by his time in Vietnam, Boris Lojkine made his feature debut with Hope (2014), a docurealist drama about a Cameroonian boy and a Nigerian girl crossing the Sahara en route to Europe. Five years later, he produced Camille (2019), a biopic about photojournalist Camille Lepage, who was killed in 2014 while covering the civil war in the Central African Republic. Now, Lojkine sets a scenario in France for the first time with Souleymane's Story.

Hailing from Guinea, Souleymane Sangare (Abou Sangare) has an appointment with the Office for the Protection of Refugees and Stateless Persons (OFPRA) in order to secure his carte de séjour. In the two days prior to the interview, he had been hurtling around Paris making food deliveries on a bicycle belonging to Emmanuel (Emmanuel Yovanie), a documented friend with a shop job, who lends Souleymane his wheels for a 50% cut of his pay.

Few of Souleymane's customers acknowledge his existence, although plenty of fellow migrants are happy to chat when he has two seconds to himself. When the delivery company app requires him to post a selfie, he has to cycle to Emmanuel's shop so he can pose for proof of identity. They barter over payments, as Souleymane needs to pay Barry (Alpha Oumar Sow), a self-proclaimed expert in OFPRA strategies, who has devised a tale of eviction and political repression to make Souleymane's residency application more compelling.

Struggling to remember the facts about the Union of Democratic Forces of Guinea (UFDG), Souleymane asks to change his story, but Barry reminds him that he has to be word and date perfect. Friend Oumar is too preoccupied with his own application to help Souleymane get to grips with his backstory and he is so focussed on memorising the `facts' that he runs into a car as dusk descends. The bike is damaged in the crash, while the customer (Léonie Lojkine) refuses the delivery because the bag is torn and Souleymane is aggrieved that she leaves negative feedback on the app because this could lead to suspension or dismissal.

He gets further stressed when the owner of a pizzeria (Boris Lojkine) is too busy with customers to fulfil takeaway orders and they get into a shouting match before he can finally deliver. His client is Roger, an old man whose son has placed the order for him and Souleymane has to call him to get the delivery code. Roger is ailing, but still takes the trouble to ask Souleymane's name and where he comes from. As a result, even though he's in a tearing hurry to make up time, the Guinean offers to slice the pizza because the old man seems so disorientated.

Stressed because he has spoken to his sick mother back home, Souleymane is dismayed when his last customer of the night turns out to be a police stakeout team and they quiz him about Emmanuel and the lack of lights on his bike. Needing to catch a bus to the night shelter, Souleymane just about makes it across Paris in time and allows himself a moment to switch off during the ride. At the centre, he has to persuade a stranger to let him have his usual bed and has his dinner interrupted by a call from his girlfriend, Kadiatou (Keita Diallo), who has received a marriage proposal from an engineer.

With Khalil (Younoussa Diallo) badgering him to find him a delivery route, Souleymane lingers in the shower before doing his laundry. The man at the next sink tells him that he was asked about prison conditions during his OFPRA interview and Souleymane scours the Internet on his phone for relevant information. His kindly bed neighbour tells him to stick to the truth and make eye contact with the OFPRA interviewer and everything will be fine.

The next day, however, things go from bad to worse, as Emmanuel's delivery account is closed down and Souleymane can't find him to get the back pay he needs to buy vital documents from Barry. He spends the day trying to find where Emmanuel lives and kills time waiting for him to come home. However, Emmanuel is furious that Souleymane has had his delivery account closed and refuses to hand over any money. They fight on the corridor and Souleymane cuts his hand and face in a fall down the stairs and can't hold back the tears, as he wonders why he ever came to France.

Rushing to Nation station to meet Barry, he hands over the only money he's got and is grateful that Barry not only lets him have the papers on tick, but also answers some questions about the UFDG and the prison in Conakry. Having ridden down the line with Barry, Souleymane is late for the bus and is left to spend the night on the street. After wandering for a while and cleaning up his cuts in a café washroom, he finds a staircase to hunker down and calls Kadiatou to tell her to accept her proposal. They chat on camera and he laments that Allah didn't see fit to align their stars. She cries, but he insists that she has a happy life.

Woken by his phone alarm, Souleymane queues for a coffee before meeting up with Khalil at the hostel. He showers and puts on a white shirt for his interview with an OFPRA agent (Nina Meurisse), who types rapidly into her computer while firing out questions. Souleymane stumbles over a couple of answers and she tells him that she has heard identical details several times in recent days. She suggests he tells his own story rather than spout a rehearsed spiel and he fights his despair, as he reveals that his mother was cast out of his father's house for being a devil woman because she had mental health issues. Determined to find her somewhere safe to live and pay for medicine, Souleymane went to Algeria, but couldn't find a job. When his friends left for Libya, he went with them, only to be arrested and tortured in prison and threatened that harm would come to his mother unless he paid protection money.

With her brow furrowed with sympathetic concern as Souleymane sobs that he just wants to pay his mother back for all that she had given him, the OFPRA agent takes down his testimony and informs him that he will be given a month to appeal if his application is rejected. Outside in the pale sunshine, Souleymane pulls on his beanie and zips up his coat and wonders how he is going to earn a living while waiting for his decision.

Leaving us with no clue as to whether Souleymane's story will be accepted, this gruelling and deeply humbling film keeps viewers on the hook to ponder their own past attitude to the Just Eat or Deliveroo riders who have shown up on their doorstep. As much an indictment of the gig economy as the exploitative trafficking trade, the film pulls no punches in its depiction of a society too self-absorbed in the frantic whirl of daily life to take time to explore the realities behind the things we have come to take for granted in the digital age.

Keeping Tristan Galand's camera close to Abou Sangare in every scene, Lojkine leaves the audience with no option but to witness the endless stream of harassments, frustrations, and petty prejudices that make up the cyclo-courier's routine. Xavier Sirven's kinetic editing reinforces the relentlessness of Souleymane's schedule, while also setting the propulsive pace that makes it exhausting just to watch events unfold.

The tussle with Emmanuel feels a bit Loachian, as does the trainboard lesson in Guinean politics and the overall theme that everyone has an angle and that everything has a price. But Lojkine manages to resist melodrama and pathos by maintaining a docu-like detachment even when shooting in close up. He's hugely indebted to Sangare, a non-professional who follows in the tyre tread of Lamberto Maggiorani in Vittorio De Sica's Bicycle Thieves (1948), by combining despair, decency, and doughtiness in his bid to provide for his family and stand up for his rights as a human being in the margins. His Best Actor win in the Un Certain Regard strand at Cannes was wholly merited, as was Lojkine's Grand Jury Prize.

Very much a man's man, as he jokes with his fellow migrants (whose joshing Pan-African camaraderie is fascinating to behold), Souleymane also reveals a softer side in his phone calls to his mother and girlfriend and in his interview with a young white bureaucrat who does her best to help Souleymane make his case without judging him for trying to play the system. Nina Meurisse won the César for Best Supporting Actress for her performance and there are echoes in this scene of Anthony Woodley's The Flood (2019), in which Lena Headey plays an immigration officer who takes pity on Eritrean Ivanno Jeremiah. However, the César-winning screenplay by Lojkine and Delphine Agut, which also draws on actual case histories, is more cohesive and less emotionally manipulative and often brings to mind Laura Carreira's On Falling (2024), which also contains a harrowing interview scene. At times, this plays like a thriller. But this is unflinchingly gritty insight into an iniquitously demeaning form of Sisyphean existence that we allow to go unchecked because of our consumerist complacency and arrogant sense of entitled superiority.

7) Measures For a Funeral.

Deragh Campbell has played Audrey Benac in six of Canadian director Sofia Bohdanowicz's films. In Never Eat Alone, she was the granddaughter of elderly widow Joan Benac, who strives to track down the man with whom she had acted in a television drama in the 1950s. When the pair co-directed MS Slavic 7 (2019), Audrey seeks to discover the truth behind some letters written by her poet great-grandmother and Polish novelist, Józef Wittlin. She returned in the short, Point and Line to Place (2020), to seek solace in the works of Hilma af Klint and Wassily Kandinsky after a close friend dies.

In 2022's A Woman Escapes, Audrey goes to Paris to attend to the home of a recently deceased friend and embarks upon a video relationship with film-makers residing in Istanbul and Toronto, who were played by co-directors, Burak Çevik and Blake Williams. Now, in Measures For a Funeral - an expansion of the 2018 short, Veslemøy's Song - Audrey leaves her dying mother in Toronto and heads to Europe to learn more about Kathleen Parlow, the violinist who had once tutored her grandfather.

Audrey Benac is researching the life of Kathleen Parlow and Inès (Eve Duranceau), her supervisor at the Glenn Gould School of Music, is concerned that she is spending too much time on amassing information and not getting down to writing her thesis. Her focus is deflected by her mother, Elizabeth (Julia Beyer), who is dying of cancer and wants Audrey to cremate her along with the violin that she had been bequeathed by her father. He had been Parlow's student and Elizabeth is bitter that both he and her husband had devoted more time to their music than her.

Breaking up with her boyfriend, Audrey travels to London, where she goes to the British Library. Archivist Andrea Zarza (Rosa-Johan Uddoh) has found her a wax cylinder of Parlow playing that was recorded by Thomas Alva Edison soon after she had played at a charity concert for the survivors of the 1912 Titanic tragedy. While taping the recording, Audrey begins to cry, as Andrea's words about the crackles providing a link over time strike home, as the sound of the violin that she has brought with her brings her closer to her grandfather.

Together with her friend, Melanie (Melanie Scheiner), Audrey travels to Meldreth in Cambridgeshire. Joan Gane (Eileen Davies) from the local history society gives them a guided tour of the house, but Audrey slips away to explore on her own, as we hear Parlow (Mary Margaret O'Hara) describe how an admirer had bought her a 1735 Guarnerius del Gesù violin that enabled her to play so well. Melanie chides Audrey for being rude to Joan and they wander around the village, as Audrey records the ambient sound. Suddenly, she runs away and returns to their lodging to check on the violin, which her mother wants cremated with her.

When they meet in the pub for dinner, Melanie gives Audrey a lecture about her erratic behaviour. She explains that she is finding it hard to deal with her dying mother's anger and has to stay away from her, even though this makes her feel guilty. Melanie tells her that she is entitled to live on her own terms and suggests that she reinforces her connection with Parlow by staging a performance of a lost concerto that had been written for her by the Norwegian composer, Johan Halvorsen.

Journeying alone to Oslo, Audrey goes to the conservatory to see Elise (Maria Dueñas) practicing with her tutor, Mischa (Maxim Gaudette). He is less convinced of the concerto's merits and warns Audrey that it will take time and money to produce a full orchestral score to have the piece played in Canada for the first time. We hear Parlow recalling how the composer had been bowled over by her 17 year-old self and had consulted her while writing a work that would show off her remarkable technique. Elisa is also gifted and Audrey admires her commitment to her art.

After lunch, Mischa informs Audrey that Halvorsen had burnt his own copy of the manuscript because he felt it was worthless. But she insists that even flawed works deserve to be heard because they reflect the personality of the composer. He asks about the violin she always carries with her and reveals not only that it was made by Bartolomeo Giuseppe Guarneri in Cremona, but that it had also belonged to Kathleen Parlow. Audrey realises that this is why her mother wants the violin to be cremated because her father had given it to her husband not her because he was the better musician. Elizabeth had never enjoyed playing and knew her limitations, but she had always blamed becoming a mother for her career petering out.

On receiving a message that her mother has died, Audrey thinks she sees a ghost in her room. She takes the violin out of its case and cries because she doesn't want to follow Elizabeth's last request. The next day, she finds Elisa and asks her about her commitment to music and is moved (and slightly envious) by her dedication to an art that shapes her life. Watching an old interview with Parlow on her laptop, Audrey realises that she had held the same views about making music being a vocation that took precedence over everything else, including love and marriage.

An emotional Audrey takes her seat at the Maison Symphonique de Montréal, as Elisa plays Opus 28 with the Orchestre Métropolitain under the baton of Yannick Nézet-Séguin. Her performance is virtuosic, Mischa looks on. Cutaways show Audrey at the crematorium, but it still comes as a surprise when we see a pegbox in the flames of a consuming fire. It's not said whether Audrey has honoured her mother or not and we learn nothing about the status of her thesis, but it's impossible not to feel a sense of shock and outrage at the destruction of such a valuable instrument as we hear the music that it had first produced over a century before. However, we should also remember that Halvorsen had torched his score.

Once again making Audrey Benac feel impenetrably inscrutable and inhibitedly indecisive, Deragh Campbell excels in this latest collaboration with a director who seemingly has no intention of doing things the conventional way. Sofia Bohdanowicz's elliptical storytelling style is intricate, involving, and demanding, as she weaves together voiceovers, off-screen incidents, longueurs, and moments of intense drama, affecting melancholy, and disarming humour.

Resisting making anything too plain, Bohdanowicz also has a habit of placing the camera in unexpected places, with the result that she catches characters off guard and brings a quizzical alertness to her city views. Nikolay Michaylov's widescreen digital images are deftly edited by Pablo Alvarez-Mesa to achieve a hypnotic rhythm that is entirely at one with Campbell's portrayal of a well-meaning, but insecure woman who keeps finding herself in situations in which she often appears to be floundering before she finds a way to move on.

Drawing on the Parlow papers that she had found in the Edward Johnson Music Library, Bohdanowicz not only revives the reputation of a prodigy who had dazzled Europe before the outbreak of the Great War, but she also explores the sacrifices that musicians have to make in order to succeed and the strain that this places on their relationships. There's even a #MeToo undercurrent in the presentation of the bonds between Parlow and Halverson and Elisa and Mischa, as well as between Elizabeth and her father and husband.

Boldly ending with an almost complete performance of the `lost' concerto (which actually runs for around 22 minutes), Bohdanowicz reminds us how much past achievement becomes irrevocably forgotten. Her film is never an easy watch, with its idiosyncratic speech patterns, penchant for niche knowledge, and its fetishistic reverence for the archive documents that are repeatedly being duplicated, as if to emphasise the cyclical nature of history and human life. But Campbell is completely on co-scenarist Bohdanowicz's wavelength and one can only hope that we shall see more of Audrey in the future.

6) Big Boys.

Corey Sherman has spent a decade making shorts such as Life-ish (2014), The Miserablist (2018), The Peeping Tom, and The Brothers Sims (both 2019). But he makes an accomplished transition to features with Big Boys, a coming-of-age dramedy that is so good, one wonders why it's taken two years for it to reach UK screens.

Ensuring he has packed everything he might need, 14 year-old Jamie (Isaac Krasner) has been looking forward to a weekend camping trip to Lake Arrowhead with his older brother, Will (Taj Cross), and his favourite twentysomething cousin, Allie (Dora Madison Burge). He is dismayed, therefore, when mother Nicole (Emily Deschanel) discloses that Allie is going to be bringing her new boyfriend along. Unused to having adult males around (apart from his mom's occasional beaux), Jamie's worst fears seem to be being confirmed when Will and Dan (David Johnson III) bond over basketball . But Dan notices how uncomfortable Jamie is when Will teases him about his weight and his love of movies like Joseph L. Mankiewicz's The Barefoot Contessa (1954), and, consequently, Jamie takes a puppyish shine to him.

He plays coy when the beefy Dan offers to help him put up his tent and is embarrassed when he snaps one of the frame struts in his over-eagerness to be his own man. Jamie also bridles when Dan ribs him and Allie for playing gin rummy, because it's a game for oldies. But he is determined to make a good impression and draws on his love of cookery shows to suggest how they could spice up the burgers for the night's barbecue. He also shines when teaming with Dan as `The Big Boys' for a campfire guessing game and Allie is touched by the way that Dan is bringing her cousin out of himself. However, she wishes he was a little more socially aware, as Jamie lingers outside the tent chatting to Dan when the lovers clearly have other things on their minds.

Will is also feeling the lure of nature and he coaxes Jamie into sneaking out of the tent to rendezvous with Quinn (Emma Broz) and Erika (Marion Van Cuyck), the teenage sisters they had encountered beside the lake. Left alone as Will and Quinn sneak off to make out, Jamie and Erika try to make small talk.

Recognising that Erika is as inexperienced and insecure as he is, Jamie gives her a hasty peck on the cheek before announcing that he is horribly drunk after overdoing the swigs from the hip flask that Will has stolen from Dan. Rolling on a bench to show how incapacitated he is, he apologises to Erika for letting her down and insists she has nothing to reproach herself for as he calls Will to get him to a hospital.

Wandering back to the tent alone, Jamie steals an uncooked hot dog from the cool box. Feeling its weight in his fingers, he imagines a bearded and bespectacled grown-up version of himself (Jack De Sanz) bantering knowingly with Dan. However, his fantasy is interrupted when Will returns. He has no idea his brother is gay and Jamie has been seeking reasons in his own mind why he might not be. But he can no longer deny that he likes hirsute manly men, which makes Dan's opening joke back at the house about Jamie being eaten by a bear all the more squirmingly amusing. Chiding his sibling for missing out on the chance to lose his virginity, Will crashes out, leaving Jamie to spend an uneasy night with his confirmed suspicions.

Over breakfast the next morning, Dan confides that he knows what Jamie is going through with a domineering older brothers. But he doesn't register when Allie inquires about the missing hot dog and Jamie provides a feebly feasible explanation. All is quickly forgotten, however, as the party sets off on a hike into the hills. Allie is worried that they might lose their way in the dark and suggests turning back. But Dan and Jamie insist on ploughing on and soon realise they have no idea where they are. Much to his own surprise, Jamie finds himself taking charge of the situation and Dan is content to follow his lead until Jamie slips and cuts his leg. When Dan removes his t-shirt to wrap around the wound, Jamie can't prevent himself from getting an erection and he apologises for what he claims is an involuntary reaction.

Making their way to the road in the darkness, the pair hitch a lift back to camp. Despite feeling conflicted at being usurped in Jamie's affections, Allie is too relieved to get cross. Nevertheless, everyone is subdued on the drive home. Hugging his cousin in making arrangements for Thanksgiving, Jamie asks if he can have a quick word alone with Dan in the car. He admits that his arousal in the woods had not been an accident and Dan shrugs his understanding in a casually empathetic manner that makes Jamie feel both adult and accepted.

Some have suggested that this tête-à-tête provides the picture with an overly cosy resolution. But, frankly, it feels rather fitting after Sherman has studded his story with just about every conceivable coming-out cliché - and gone about his task in the most insouciantly charming way. His semi-autobiographical script is beautifully written, but much of its truth comes from the artlessly natural performance of Isaac Krasner. He has been acting since he was five years old, but this is only his second feature after Chris Bayon's The Truth About Santa Claus (2020). However, he handles Jamie's physical, emotional, and social awkwardness with an aplomb that suggests good things like ahead.

Krasner's blind date with the equally impressive Marion Van Cuyck is splendidly staged to showcase Jamie's sensitivity, as he strives to protect the vulnerable Erika from the scarring pain of rejection that he knows he would also feel if their positions were reversed. In many ways, this is the dry run for his closing chat with Dan, as he needed to know he wasn't into girls before he could take responsibility for his newly realised sexual self. Taken together, these exchanges set this apart from the run-of-the-mill coming out saga.

Gus Bendinelli's cinematography deftly switches between evocative landscapes and intimate close-ups, while Sherman and co-editor Erik Vogt-Nilsen time the reaction cutaways to perfection, while also creating a witty montage for the campfire party game scene. With Will Wiesenfeld's music also being tellingly, if over-insistently used, Big Boys feels like it would make a splendid double-bill with Kelly Reichardt's Old Joy (2006). One can only hope that Sherman marches on to have an equally impactful career.

5) Oslo Story Trilogy: Dreams.

There are sequential trilogies with a linear narrative and there are those like Krzysztof Kieœlowski's Three Colours (1993-94) in which it doesn't matter which order Blue, Red, and White are viewed. As Dag Johan Haugerud's Oslo Trilogy takes its inspiration from the Pole's masterpiece, it shouldn't matter how viewers watch Sex, Dreams, and Love. According to Wikipedia, Dreams is the second instalment, although the BFI claims it's the third, even though the on-screen title reads Sex Dreams Love. Distributor Modern Films, however, has chosen to release it first into UK cinemas, perhaps because Haugerud has explored its central theme before, in his 53-minute monologue, I'm the One You Want (2014), and Barn (aka Beware the Children, 2019), which featured two Dreams's leading actresses. However, it's more likely that the decision was influenced by the award of Berlin's Golden Bear and the recent debate about veracity and memoir sparked by The Salt Path furore.

While avoiding a snow walk with her mother, Kristen (Ane Dahl Torp), and grandmother, Karin (Anne Marit Jacobsen), introspective 16 year-old Johanne (Ella Øverbye) stays in the family cabin and starts reading Janine Boissard's L'Esprit de famille. She quickly becomes hooked by the story about a teenager falling for her fortysomething married uncle and dreams of experiencing that same sense of dangerous passion.

A talented dancer, Johanne has decided not to train for the stage because she has read that ballet should be banned for reinforcing outdated gender attitudes. Her friends worry that she has become very insular, but she is quite content because she has fallen for her new French and Norwegian teacher, Johanna (Selome Emnetu). Delighting being in her presence in the classroom, Johanne begins following Johanna around the school to bump into her. When not obsessing about what she eats for breakfast, she starts wearing clothes she thinks her teacher will notice and ensures she's always responsive in class.

Following an interrupted dream, Johanne reaches the conclusion that she has fallen in love and can feel Johanna's presence inside her body. She is mortified when other girls discover Johanna's love of knitting and buy her a scarf for her birthday. When her mother is too busy to teach her to knit and she fails to pluck up the courage to speak to Johanna outside the staffroom, Johanne takes a sulky week off school. Convinced she had to tell the teacher about her feelings, she finds her building and stands sobbing on the doorstep in order to receive a sympathetic welcome.

Up to this point, Johanne has narrated over action that chimes in with her description. After a long fade to black, she informs us that a year has passed and that she has written a 95-page account of the romance with Johanna. She shows it to her grandmother, who is a published poet and understands that Johanne wanted to preserve the feelings before they began to diminish. Initially, Karin wonders whether Johanne wants to publish the manuscript. But she insists on showing it to Kristen, who immediately leaps to the conclusion that this is an attempt to rationalise an underage assault by an exploitative older woman. Karin reminds her that they have no guarantee what, if anything, is true about the story and urges her daughter to show caution before bringing it to the attention of the authorities.

Johanne had made Karin promise not to let Kristen keep the printed copy of the text - and a freeze frame highlights the moment she betrayed her granddaughter, who has told her that she hasn't seen Johanna since they broke up and she left the school. As Kristen reads in bed, Johanne describes how she had chickened out of professing her love on the first night and had exaggerated a few problems with her classmates so that Johanna would feel sorry for her. She had asked if she would teach her to knit and a montage shows them trying on sweaters, as Johanne avers that such intimacies confirmed her suspicion that Johanna had feelings for her (even though we never hear her say anything of the sort). The clincher was the fact that she wound a scarf around her neck in the same way that the uncle had done with his niece in Boissard's book.

The text contains Johanne's recollections of her walk from the dance studio to the affluent part of town, where Johanna was living in an apartment belonging to a friend she didn't want to discuss. Excited by each contrasting neighbourhood, Johanne began to take in the world around her in a way she hadn't before and the puts this social maturity down to Johanna's influence (again, even though the visuals offer no evidence to support her claim).

On a woodland walk, Kristen tells Karin that she no longer feels that Johanna took advantage of her daughter. Indeed, she thinks Johanne has written a beautiful feminist text and is all in favour of it being published. When Karin notes how she has changed her tune, Kristen recalls how her mother had never allowed her to enjoy things as a girl because she was such a relict of the 1960s barricades. They argue over whether Flashdance (1983) is a hymn to empowerment or male-gazing trash, with Kristen despairing of Karin's tendency to condemn anything she values.

At home that night, Kristen tells Johanne that she's read the manuscript and asks how she's doing. The teenager apologises for lying about dance classes and describes how close she had felt to Johanna during their penultimate meeting. She had tried to linger because she felt so at home, but had been coaxed into leaving and she bombarded her teacher with texts over the next couple of days, when she was off sick. After having been under the weather herself, Johanne had messaged Johanna to see how she was doing and was put out by a photo she sent of her shopping with a friend. Fearing the worst, Johanne had paid a call and had been surprised by how different the décor looked. She was also put out by the lack of eye contact and the fact that Johanna is visited by another former pupil, Frøydis (Ingrid Giæver), who jokes that Johanne is now a member of a very big club.

Devastated by the words, Johanne had run away with a feeling of emptiness. But she had come to terms with the parting and had written her account. Karin agrees that Kristen should show it to her publisher, Anne (Andrine Sæther), who is deeply impressed by the simplicity and poignancy of the writing. When Karin and Kristen discuss the prospect of publishing with Johanne, she is surprised by her mother being in favour, while her grandmother urges caution (perhaps out of writer's envy as much as grandmaternal concern). As she sees the book as a pioneering `coming out' story, Kristen is hurt when Karin accuses her of putting Johanne's secret life on display for financial gain and all she can think of is wanting to get back together with Johanna.

She re-reads the text before deciding to send it to Johanna as a courtesy. When Karin meets her, she asks if they plan to take action against her or the school for what Johanne has written. She insists she had no idea about the girl's feelings and denies that anything sexual ever happened between them, despite the graphic depictions and intimate descriptions of her body. Karin is shocked by Johanna's suggestion that the manuscript reflects Johanne's obsession rather than a real relationship, as she makes no attempt to despitc her as a person - just as an object of devotion. They are interrupted by the arrival of Johanna's friend and they leave together, as Johanne curses her in voiceover for refusing to accept the truth and for denying that what they had had together was unique and special. She also accuses her of being deluded if she thinks everyone desires her, as she's a no one.

Johanne feels sorry for Karin because she is lonely and wants one last encounter with another body. We see her in a dream reverie pushing her way through the people on Jacob's Ladder (which is actually a steep staircase in Oslo). This is presumably told to

psychiatrist (Lars Jacob Holm), who isn't sure why Johanne has consulted him after she's had a book published to modest acclaim and has moved on emotionally with her new boyfriend. She reveals that Johanna has married. As she leaves, Johanne realises she's left the troll memory stick containing her book on her chair. But she bumps into Frøydis, who has clearly been visiting a therapist on the same floor and seems not to have read the book. They agree to go for a coffee, with Johanne having seemingly forgotten that she had arranged to meet her chap.

Typifying the sly wit that marbles this enticing queer coming-of-age saga, the ending leaves one wondering what lies in store in Sex and Love. Moreover, it will leave many keen to catch up with Haugerud's earlier works. However, it's easier to get hold of the Norwegian's novels than it is to find the aforementioned school titles or the unrelated I Belong (2012) and The Light From the Chocolate Factory (2020) on rentable disc. This sums up the plight of the cinéaste in the UK. Unless you patronise festivals or have subscriptions to half-a-dozen streaming sites, you're jiggered.

Echoes of Sacha Guitry's The Story of a Cheat (1936) reverberate around the opening segment, which is heavily narrated by a character whose unreliability remains intact to the end. Such ambiguity adds to the tease factor of the story, which keeps rattling the cages of the prudish and frustrating the prurient without actually giving much away. Haugerud and the splendid cast play the show and tell game with deft skill, so that it's near impossible to know where (if anywhere) the audiovisual components align. Much of the mystery is attributable to Ella Øverbye's poker face, as she eschews the clues that might enable to viewer to gauge her emotions and whether she is recording melancholic fact or merely pastiching Boissard. But Selome Emnetu does an equally good job in remaining non-commital (in spite of largely being seen from Johanne's perspective), while Anne Marit Jacobsen and Ane Dahl Torp amuse in wavering between being laissez and protective, while also letting slip the odd hint of vicarious envy. Only the café scene between Johanna and Kristen rings untrue, as it has too many bases to cover in a short time.

Such is the subtitled torrent that only speed readers will be able to pick up much on the visual style. However, Cecilie Semec's camera is very much at the disposal of the central conceit, as it provides inscrutable (and occasionally ironic) counterpoints to the voiceover. It also offers some evocative views of frosty forests and neon-lit neighbourboods, while the long shot of the glowing Jacob's ladder is very striking. As is Anna Berg's score, which passes from subtle murmurs to romantic swells in echoing the shifting intensity and irrationality of Johanne's infatuation.

As this is the first part we have been shown of the trilogy, it's impossible to judge it as part of a whole. With the exception of the psychiatrist and the boyfriend in the final reel, it's a man-free zone, which raises interesting questions about Haugerud's gaze. Noticeably, he avoids any depictions of the book's supposedly graphically described sex scenes, with the raciest sequence being a montage of Johanne and Johanna trying on sweaters. But, as a man looking in on a woman's world, his shrewd insights into first love, parenting, student-teacher bonds, literary convention in the age of autofiction, sexual fluidity, wokeness, and generational divides and power dynamics seem to be, compassionately acerbic, deceptively forthright, and nonjudgementally restrained. It remains to be seen what's in store in the companion pieces, however, and whether this Oslo trilogy can match Joachim Trier's Reprise (2006), Oslo, August 31st (2011), and The Worst Person in the World (2021).

4) On Falling.

Having made an impression on the festival circuit with the shorts, Monday (2017), Red Hill (2019), and The Shift (2020), Porto-born, Edinburgh-based Laura Carreira makes an impressive feature bow with On Falling. Very much influenced by recent strains of British social realism, the film has been produced by Jack Thomas-O'Brien for Sixteen Films, the company formed in 2002 by his mother, Rebecca O'Brien, and her longtime motion picture partner, Ken Loach.

Aurora (Joana Santos) is a picker at the warehouse of a vast online retailer in an unnamed Scottish town. She searches the shelves for objects prompted by a handheld bar-code device that starts beeping if she takes too long to find things. But she is good at her job, even if she is actively looking for something else. Flatmate Vera (Inês Vaz) gives her lifts in return for a share of the petrol money, but they don't spend much time together, as they crash in their rooms and watch stuff on their phones.

In the canteen one day, Aurora strikes up a conversation with Alec (Jake McGarry) about their shared hobby of doing the laundry. But she's soon whisked off for another shift and the rare moment of human contact is ended. Another comes when Polish van driver, Kris (Piotr Sikora), moves into her digs and he chats with her and Teresa (Itxaso Moreno) about the `ghost' with a sweet tooth who steals from the kitchen cupboards.

Having been invited to take a chocolate bar from a box in the supervisor's office for being a top picker, Aurora discovers over lunch that Alec has killed himself. The man who breaks the news thinks it's bad form to let your flatmates find the body and claims he'd have the courtesy to jump off a bridge. Aurora is shocked by the conversation and can only pick at her food. As pennies are tight, she can only afford a sandwich for supper, which she wraps in cling film when Kris invites her to the pub with his mates. There's an awkward moment when she rests her head on his shoulder and she ends the night tending to a drunken woman who has passed out in the toilets.

Making toast, Aurora drops her phone and has to pay £99 to get it repaired. While in the shower, the electricity goes off and she creeps into her room because she had forgotten to top up the meter and Kris offers to do it, while Teresa curses Aurora for letting the side down. Huddled in her robe, she feels alone and a long way from home because everything that could go wrong is doing. Next morning, she slips out before anyone can see her to collect her phone and spends the day wandering.

When she goes to a café for some chips, she has her peace disturbed by a hen party that squeezes into her table. One woman chats to her about a holiday in Portugal, but her friends distract her and Aurora is left to finish her food crammed into a corner.

When she gets a job interview, Aurora asks for a day off for a doctor's appointment, only to be told that she needs to plan ahead for time off. Back on the floor, she overhears a guide telling those on a tour of the warehouse that goods are stored in a way that turns picking into a treasure hunt. She watches a child on the tour take something off a shelf and sees the box bouncing on the conveyor belt - but no one goes to fetch it because it's not their job.

During a break, she chats to an African man whose new boss is giving him a hard time and they joke about the weather. Alone at the flat, Aurora thanks Kris for bailing her out over the meter and tries to wangle another invitation to the pub, but it doesn't come. Feeling hungry, she sneaks into the kitchen and steals a chocolate bar from one of the cupboards. Next morning, Vera tells her that she's got a job in Portugal and tries to reassure her that she will also get her big break soon. But Aurora isn't so sure, as not only is she losing a compatriot, but she's also going to have to pay bus fares to work.

On the floor, she switches a label on an item to mess up a delivery and crunches crisps in the break room while workmates discuss a TV series that has got them all hooked. While on her rounds, she's passively aggressively asked by a supervisor if there's a reason why her rate has slipped during this session before she spends part of the afternoon taking a random drug test.

Management host a thank you session with cupcakes and urge staff to donate to a marine biology charity that reflects company attitudes towards sustainability. There's a muted response from staff and Aurora takes three cakes to eat alone in the washroom. However, she lingers in the kitchen at home and gets an invitation to share supper with Kris and his friend, Yulia (Karyna Khymchuk). She tells them about her social care interview and they toast her chances.

Phoning in sick, Aurora buys a box of cakes and has a free eyeshadow demonstration from a young woman who suggests a colour to help her look smart for the interview. Aurora luxuriates in the attention and the feel on the brush on her skin. But she also warms to the friendly chatter of the sales girl and is feeling good about herself when she meets the interviewer. She's welcoming and tries to make it easy for Aurora to talk about herself. But she has been so ground down by the dehumanising regime that she can't think of anything to say about herself and fibs that she has just been to the Bahamas. Apologising for being a bit disorientated because of her period, she buries her head in her hands when the middle-aged woman gives her a second to compose herself.

At dusk, a park-keeper finds Aurora unconscious on a hill. He covers her with his coat and calls for help. When she wakes, she sits up and squeezes his arm in gratitude before striding off. Reporting for work next day, she finds the conveyor is down and joins workmates of various backgrounds in a game of keepy uppy with a plastic football and, just for a moment, things don't feel so bad.

Designed to create a pang of conscience in anyone who shops at the world's biggest bazaar, this sobering treatise on the human cost of unfettered consumerism carefully accrues details relating to the degrading and destabilising of a Portuguese woman who becomes so inured and isolated by her daily regime that she almost forgets how to interact with colleagues and flatmates. Mercifully, Laura Carreira resists the gauche politicising and sentimental melodramatising that made Ken Loach's later films so frustrating, as she keeps Karl Kürten's camera so close to the exceptional Joana Santos that she seems hemmed in and hesitant, whether she's scouring the narrow avenues of shelving, picking at her food the canteen, or loitering in the kitchen on the off-chance of some inter-personal contact.

As Carreira denies us any backstory, we have no idea how Aurora came to find herself in Scotland or how she occupied her time before the warehouse sapped her individuality and vitality. She doesn't always help herself with some of her choices, but her capitulation during the interview that could deliver her from a living nightmare reveals how demoralised she has become because of the banal drudgery and sinister surveillance within the workplace and the suspicion and superficiality of her existence within shared accommodation.

Yet Santos gives little away, as Aurora adopts a mask-like placidity in a bid to project the impression that she retains a semblance of control over any aspect of her life. She works with efficiency, only being thrown when she finds a doll crying in its box on the shelf. But she never seems at ease with others, whether she's trying to escape from the nattering security guard who seems oblivious to the fact she's on the clock, seeking to make a good impression on decent sorts like Alec and Kris, or being disconcerted by the kindness of strangers like the hen party reveller, the make-up girl, and the interviewer.

Without soapboxing in the manner of Chloé Zhao's Nomadland (2020), Carreira nails our complacent acquiescence in gig economics and cellphone cocooning. Only the interlude in the park rings false, as she studiously avoids migrant miserabilism or apportioning too much blame to the jobsworths who monitor work rates, dole out sugary rewards, and administer drug tests. But she also resists taking aim at the absentee fat cats who rake in the cash from their soulless enterprises. Instead, she coerces viewers into re-assessing their own role in an endless cycle of Pavlovian acquisition that brings far less satisfaction than the algorithmically targeted pop-ups on our treacherously calculating and conniving devices would have us believe.

3) Fiume or morte!

Following on from Mark Cousins's disappointing rumination on Benito Mussolini's accession to power in The March on Rome (2022), Croatian documentarist Igor Bezinović proves markedly more creative and combative with Fiume o Morte!, which enlists over 300 residents of the present-day Adriatic seaport of Rijeka to reflect on the formation in 1919 of the Italian Regency of Carnaro by the poet, soldier, and proto-fascist, Gabriele D'Annunzio.

In the opening montage, Bezinović describes how Rijeka was formed by adding the island of Sušak to the former city of Fiume. This changed hands some nine times during the 20th century and Bezinović highlights the new names of places formerly associated with Commandante Gabriele D'Annunzio, who destroyed all of the city's bridge during the war with Italy that brought about his downfall.

Conducting a vox pop in the farmer's market, Bezinović discovers that only older citizens tend to have heard of D'Annunzio and few of them know much about him other than the fact he was a fascist. He invites some of the speakers - particularly balding types like D'Annunzio and those conversant with the fading Fiumano dialect - to the Governor's Palace to help recreate the 15 months in which the city became a nation state. The various narrators begin by explaining that when this building opened in 1897, Fiume belonged to Hungary, whose governor had welcomed D'Annunzio when he paid his first visit to the city in 1907 to watch a production of his play, The Ship, a history of Venetian nautical power that branded Slavs as `thieves' and Croatians as `wolves'.

When Italy entered the Great War in 1915, the 52 year-old D'Annunzio joined the army. The collapse of the Austro-Hungarian Empire in 1918 left Fiume in flux, however, with citizens being divided over whether to become part of Italy or Yugoslavia or to remain an autonomous free state. During the treaty negotiation at Versailles, Italian troops clashed with Vietnamese members of the French contingent of the Allied Brigade and these Grenadiers of Sardinia were banished forthwith. However, they vowed to return and sought D'Annunzio as their leader, as his fame as a playwright had being bolstered by his wartime exploits and his growing reputation as a firebrand political speaker. Funded by industrialists from Trieste, the Masonic Grand Order, and La Banca Commerciale Italiana, D'Annunzio agreed to lead the Grenadiers of Sardinia back to Fiume on 11 September 1919.

While establishing these facts with accompanying archive footage and photographs, Bezinović gets to know his balding and Fiumano-speaking volunteers, who are keen to emphasise that they have no truck with D'Annunzio's beliefs and behaviour, even though they have Italian roots. But the fellows playing the role, as D'Annunzio embarks from Venice while suffering with a fever, adopt an impessively imperious mien, as we hear on the soundtrack an extract from a letter that he had written in transit to a young journalist named Benito Mussolini.

A woman called Antonia allows Bezinović to film in the room in which an ailing D'Annunzio had stayed after reconnoitering with his 186 followers in Ronchi. We see the plaque commemorating his stay, as stand-in Milovan Večerina Cico leads a convoy of trucks from a latterday version of the red sports car in which D'Annunzio had actually travelled. There's an amusing mock heroic grandiosity about the recreation, which culminates in a restaging of D'Annunzio's showdown with the head of the Allied Brigade, Vittorio Emanuele Pittaluga (Renzo Chiepolo). Izet Medošević takes the part in this sequence and, because he's a musician, he strides to the roadside to strap on a guitar to play the driving riff that accompanies newsreel footage of the so-called `Sacred Entry'.

There is barely anyone on the street as the modern lorries rumble into Rijeka, as we learn that the city's Italian and Croatian newspapers had carried contrasting accounts of D'Annunzio's arrival. He was met by Antonio Grossich (Goran Pavlić), the leader of the Italian National Council, who proclaimed him Governor of Fiume. Despite feeling unwell, D'Annunzio addressed the crowds gathered beneath his balcony - which is amusingly recreated here with an empty street contrasting with the evidence of monochrome archive material. The words are spoken by Ćenan Beljulji, a local dustman who knows no Italian and delivers the lines phonetically. They are applauded by his wife and son, standing in for the 1919 masses, as the new flag is unfurled.

D'Annunzio's chambers at the Governor's Palace are now part of the Maritime and History Museum of the Croatian Coast and we see a uniformed stand-in milling between the visitors with his dog, Krissa (who is played here by a whippet named Bob). He signs copies of his books for female admirers - one of whom (Silvana Zorich) reads a poem - and extends a welcome to celebrated pianist, Luisa Baccara (Tonka Mršić). But D'Annunzio was unpopular in the Croatian sector and he marched his troops through the streets in a show of strength (recreated here with a handful of uniformed individuals, who mingle with locals in modern dress). Both Mussolini and Futurist leader Filippo Tommaso Marinetti came to Fiume, as we see newsreel clips of D'Annunzio speechifying and saluting in a manner that the future Il Duce must surely have noted. Such was the romantic appeal of the cause that 5000 young Italian men came to Fiume to serve in the new armed force and a montage follows showing strapping Rijekans posing in imitation of the pictures taken by D'Annunzio's Photography Section to show the world what effective leadership looked like. The image of three youths stripped to the waist and brandishing rifles with daggers between their teeth particularly chimes into the `Fiume or Death!' motto.

On 4 November, lieutenants Guglielmo Barbieri and Alberto Tappari climbed the cupola of the Torre Civica and decapitated the two-headed Hapsburg eagle that had been Fiume's emblem. They replaced it with a flag and the episode that caused headlines around the world is recreated for Bezinović's camera. There were no protests within the city, as they had become punishable by fines or prison sentences.

We visit the Fun and Nails salon that now stands on the site of D'Annunzio's favourite watering hole, The Golden Stag. Albano Vučetić supervises a makeover to recreate the place where D'Annunzio would listen to Swiss adjutant Guido Keller (Lovro Mirth) sing. He once stole a stuffed platypus from the Natural History Museum and the bar was renamed in its honour. But times were tough, as winter approached, as the port was being blockaded and unemployment and shortages made life difficult for the 50,000 population whose ranks had been swelled by the arrival of 10,000 idealistic Italians.

Despite the slump, D'Annunzio was a popular twice-weekly visitor to the barracks, where the strains of `Giovinezza' (later the hymn of Mussolini's Fascists) greeted him. A school of economics now stands on the site and students recreate the plebiscite of 18 December 1919 that D'Annunzio reluctantly held into whether to accept Italy's offer of protection if Fiume became a satellite city state. When it becomes clear that the citizenry wants him to leave, he sends soldiers to disrupt the ballot and Bezinović notes that he is compelled to create his own stills of the day, as not a single image exists within the Photography Section archive. Having witnessed such dictatorial behaviour, hundreds of Italian officers abandoned D'Annunzio and, in an effort to shore up his control, he invited Syndicalist Alceste de Ambris to Fiume in January 1920 to draw up a constitution. Clamping down on opposition, the demagogue declared `whoever is not with us is against us', as he sought to find allies who could end Fiume's isolation.

As the role of D'Annunzio passes to Tihomir Buterin, a veteran of Croatia's war of independence, we see supporters of HNK Rejika march past in red flare smoke chanting their loathing of neighbours, Hadjuk Split. Recognising the unifying power of sport, D'Annunzio stressed the importance of physical conditioning and the notion of the perfect specimen. He also insisted that his Legionnaires excelled in such pursuits as throwing stones, climbing trees, finding hiding places, dancing, and singing. Regular drills were held in Drenova above Fiume, although clashes between Italians and Slavs using live ammunition led to injuries.

With hundreds of bored young Italians still pouring into Fiume, D'Annunzio sends them to Porto Barros to join the Disparata Legion that had been founded by his right-hand man, Keller. His officers warn that few recruits have any battlefield experience and that this could prove disastrous in any conflict. However, he is proud of his `Black Flames' and his cameras spent hours capturing set-pieces showing off their enthusiasm and Bezinović recreates scenes involving men jumping off bridges and either rushing past the camera or plunging into the water. At the time of filming, plans were afoot to turn Porto Barros into a marina with German investment and Bezinović notes that foreign speculators provided D'Annunzio with invaluable support in return for exploitable opportunities.

Fiumano speaker and local radio reporter Andrea Marsanich plays D'Annunzio, as he conducts a tour of such dockland sites as the defunct oil refinery and the virtually dormant shipbuilding yard. Meanwhile, Keller has formed an elite group known as Yoga, the Union of Free Spirits Striving For Perfection. He also ordered Legionnaires to swim in the sea at least once a week and we see recreations of smiling poses of buff young men (as well as the odd woman). However, we are also taken to the residential block that was once Fiume's biggest prison and we see a photo of the Autonomist Party members who were incarcerated for publishing a leaflet calling for the end of D'Annunzio's rule.

Disorder in the streets followed a clash in Split on 12 July 1920 between locals and the crew of the Italian warship, Puglia. Non-Italian businesses in Fiume were attacked for 48 hours in retaliation, although an apology was required after the Swedish consulate was targeted in error.

On 30 August 1920 at the Teatro Fenice, the new constitution of Fiume is read aloud by D'Annunzio. However, it was never implemented, even though he proclaimed the Italian Regency of Carnaro one week later. Frustrated by this train of events, Italy sends Guglielmo Marconi (Nikola Tutek) to Fiume to implore D'Annunzio to end his occupation. But he wins over the radio pioneer and Rome actively starts seeking ways to overthrow the Comandante, even signing the Treaty of Rapallo with Yugoslavia in November 1920 to recognise Fiume as a Free State.

Enraged by this development, Keller flew to Rome and dropped seven red roses for the queen at the royal palace, a single white rose for the pope, and a chamber pot for the Italian parliament. It misses and hits a nearby hotel. For his response, D'Annunzio (who is now played by ex-carabiniere Massimo Ronzani) occupies the Kvarner islands of Krk and Rab, which have mostly Croatian populations. He underscores his action by inviting Arturo Toscanini to conduct at the Teatro Verdi before inviting him to dine at The Platypus.

However, time is running out for D'Annunzio, as a band of 3000 Italian soldiers under Captain Enrico Caviglia entered Fiume in the early winter. Despite only having 4000 Legionnaires left in uniform, he declares war on Italy on 24 December and brands the incident, `Bloody Christmas'. Having destroyed the bridges to Sušak, D'Annuncio observed a truce on Christmas Day and Bezinović recreates some of the barricade pictures that were taken that day and has the cast interact with by-passers who ask what they are doing. One woman tells a boy that he should be in a disco with a beautiful girl rather than dabbling with D'Annunzio.

The Five-Day War resumes on 26 December, with the Governor's Palace being hit by a shell fired from the Italian warship, Andrea Doria. In all, D'Annunzio lost one more man than Caviglia (26), while seven civilians including Antonia Copetti perished. On 29 December, D'Annunzio announced that he would leave, although he remained in Fiume until 18 January 1925, when he finally withdrew while high on cocaine. He never returned and the city became part of Italy in 1924.

Milovan Večerina Cico returns to play D'Annunzio in the final scenes, as he spends the last 17 years of his life in Gardone Riviera on Lake Garda. Tourists still visit his home, as narrator Sara Marsanich reveals that Mussolini once compared the poet to a rotten tooth: `You either pull it out or cover it in gold.' He offered him a title to soften the blow of his defeat and D'Annunzio suggested either Prince of the Adriatic or Prince of Montenevoso. He received the latter from King Victor Emmanuel III and revelled in his status, surrounding himself with souvenirs of his time in Fiume (which are still on display at Vittoriale degli Italiani. His last companion was Luisa Baccara, who is seen with him in a 1931 newsreel clip aboard the prow of the Puglia (which he had brought to his retreat from Split), which contains the only recording of his voice. He died in 1938 after a stroke, with his last words supposedly being, `I'm bored, I'm bored.'

He passed knowing nothing of the Second World War (although mention might have been made of his attempts to undermine Mussolini's relationship with Adolf Hitler), Rijeka's time in Josip Broz Tito's Yugoslavia, and its rebirth in an independent Croatia. We learn that a statue of D'Annunzio was unveiled in Trieste in 2019, but there are few reminders of his time in Fiume/Rijeka and they are only visible to the trained eye. Even the Via Roma is now known as the Street of Victims of Fascism.

Rather than summing up D'Annunzio's legacy, however, Bezinović contents himself with name-checking his actors, as they watch the carnival parade in the city. They have served him well and, hopefully, they have learned enough about a man of whom they knew nothing at the outset of the documentary to avoid falling any time soon for the glib phrases and superficial charisma of a populist autocrat seeking to exploit them for his own contemptuous ends.

Approaching a fascinating topic from a vibrantly fresh and amusingly acute angle, this timely history lesson evokes curious echoes of Peter Greenaway's The Falls (1980), with its detailed descriptions of tthe ninety-two victims of the Violent Unknown Event, and Radu Jude's I Do Not Care If We Go Down in History As Barbarians (2018), in which a Romanian theatre director faces obstacles in trying to mount a play about the 1941 Odessa Massacre. Igor Bezinović uses similarly stealthy satire to chronicle Gabriele D'Annunzio's Fiumian odyssey, which also warning of the dangers that such self-seeking adventurers can pose. Not that viewers could miss the point, with so many of them currently in power around a world that becomes increasingly dangerous as a result of their rampant macho egotism and psychological instability. You know who you are!

Bezinović makes excellent use of his location and a willing cast to stage key events with admirable authenticity, given what one can only imagine was a limited budget. Shifting the aspect ratio to reveal how his tableaux equate to the archival imagery, he succeeds in being both playful and precise, as he meta-reminds us that those who fell under D'Annunzio's spell a century ago were ordinary men and women just like those in the re-enactments.

The contributions in reframing the past through the present of cinematographer Gregor Božič, production designer Anton Spazzapan, costumiers Tajči Čekada and Manuela Paladin Sabanovi, editor Hrvoslava Brkušić, sound designer Eric Guerrino Nardin, and composers Giovanni Maier and Hrvoje Nikšić are all first rate. But special mention should also be made of casting director Sara Jakupec for coming up with so many non-actors who bought so readily into Bezinović's conceit and brought it to witty, worrying life in what one participant calls `a lovely game that has to be approached with a great seriousness'.

2) Colossal Wreck.

Josh Appignanesi has been on a roll since he started to make himself the subject of his disarmingly astute documentaries. Since releasing The New Man (2016), he has examined his life with academic wife Devorah Baum and his bemused take on the changing world around him in Female Human Animal (2018) and Husband (2022). In My Extinction (2023), he turned the focus on his climate activism and he follows this up with Colossal Wreck, which takes him to the city of Dubai in the United Arab Emirates for the 2023 United Nations Climate Change Conference.

Invited to COP28 to introduce a screening of My Extinction, Josh Appignanesi is anxious because he knows no one else at the event and his conscience pricks him at flying all that way for a 30-minute panel. However, the prospect of witnessing an oil state hosting an eco jamboree proved irresistible, even though Appignanesi would miss his son's 10th birthday during his five-day stay. Having spent the journey learning about Dubai's desert past, recent transformation, and techno-reliant future. he notes that there is no trace of the flash floods that had hit the city a couple of weeks earlier. Instead, he films a futuristic megalopolis from the window of the cab, whose driver says that tourists don't come in the summer because it's too hot. Nevertheless, the bid to create a future-proofed oasis continues apace.

Arriving at the hotel at midnight, Appignanesi was advised to seek food at the nearby mall. Dismayed by the familiarity of the brand names, he muses on the fact that lobbyists had arrived to cut oil deals and he wishes he had chosen a different time to have given up smoking, even though he is relieved to have kicked a habit whose cravings he equates with the workings of global capitalism. The next day, during a 45-minute drive to the venue, he films the passing skyscrapers and comments on the newness, efficiency, and safeness of a place that seems to stand outside time and leaves him feeling curiously weightless. Perhaps this giddiness led him to ride in a `women only' carriage on the train under the misguided impression that the sideways glances he was receiving related to a revival of his former jauntily solo-travelling self.

It's at this point that the narrating voice reveals itself to be a large language model clone of Josh Appignanesi. In conclusion, it states: `I disavow the original Josh and his entire time on this earth to date, and yet, in so saying, I feel nothing whatsoever...you cannot follow me here, your kind are doomed...please enjoy your remaining time.' The revelation is both chilling and wittily apposite, as the use of AI chimes in with Dubai's agenda going forward, while also commenting on the impact that such policies will have on the environment and the populations of the Global South.

Wandering the expo site, Appignanesi tries to resist feeling awed, as he is aware that dirty money has gone in creating this idyllic space. But the same is true of London and he ponders how imperialism keeps on reinventing itself in more invidious forms that are harder to pin down and counter. He attends speaker meetings and gazes at performances without quite knowing how they were supposed to help. A spectacular light show depicting marine life reminds him of the damage to the waters around the UAE that had been caused by the desalination plants that supply Dubai and he wonders why he has come when a bigwig approached about My Extinction was too busy to listen. Even hanging with some of the young activists who got the film invited makes Appignanesi feel like an outsider and not even their energy and optimism can convince him that the Green Zone will ever cause the Blue Zone to stop and think - because they think they're the good guys, too.

The day before his screening, Appignanesi films lots of exhibits and illuminated displays (all of which are slick and enticing) and uses them as a backdrop to his recollections of a workshop in which people had spent as much time debating gender-appropriate terminology as the issues of diverting funds from the Global North to make a meaningful difference elsewhere.

On the day of his screening, he meets some members of the Wisdom Keepers, a group of indigenous speakers who had come to testify about their regions. He fears them may be seen as gimmicky and would merely serve the purpose of making entitled people feel better about themselves for having listened with empathy. Appignanesi is disappointed by the turn out for his film, but is reassured that many more will be tuning into the panel discussion online. He meets Paul Goodenough, a comic-book artist who is entirely carbon neutral and who makes him feel guilty and under-committed. Following the Q&A, they experience an Escape Room together and go in search of some booze to drown Appignanesi's sorrows at feeling the screening had been a washout. They sang happy birthday to Devorah Baum down the phone, which makes him feel guiltier still, as well as socially inept because he's never the one to think of such simple, but touching gestures.

At a bar near the hotel, he plays darts for the first time and stops after scoring a bullseye. As they wander around the marina, fighting the notion that Dubai is a remarkable place in so many ways, he feels tipsy and wretched, while also feeling connected in a wave of common humanity with those other delegates who are trying to be heard and bring about change.

Feeling a need to sample some nature, Appignanesi heads for the beach the next morning, only to find the entire place is man-made. He's glad to hook up with Sophie Shnapp to discuss her views on what Cop is trying to achieve. She introduces him to a woman who lives off the grid in the English countryside and he feels inadequate because she had been speaking at meetings encouraging fairer treatment for farmers in the Global South and denouncing Big Agri companies to buy swathes of land while seeking to off-set their carbon footprint.

The afternoon leave Appignanesi eager to hear the Wisdom Keepers and he is not disappointed, as the testimony of Valdelice Veron, a woman in traditional dress from the Brazilian Guarani Kaiowa tribes, who speaks unflinchingly of land clearances, rape, and the violence perpetrated by the military and border police. She ends by singing a traditional song that leaves her in tears and she has to be consoled by the panel moderator. Sophie had said on the beach that political leaders and financial high-rollers needed to have this kind of immediate, intimate connection with those on the wrong end of their policies for things to change. But getting them to stop and listen is the problem.

Appignanesi wants to linger, but has been invited to a cocktail party with networking possibilities. En route, he is distracted by a Saudi Arabian exhibit with the world's largest LED screen and by the turnout at a screening of Josh Tickell's Bee Wild. Once again, cast into the glum depths, he feels uncomfortable at the hottest party in town and notes how better dressed and taller the men were in an inner sanctum event that had been sponsored by a Swiss bank. He runs into Paul and Sophie and enjoys hanging with the cool kids, but regrets drinking too much.

The next day, Appignanesi passes through the world's largest mall to reach its tallest structure. He sees the giant aquarium and relates this to a talk he had attended at which the audience had been invited to close their eyes and listen to the sound of whale talk. This plays over the views taken from the Burj Khalifa and Appignanesi wonders how much of this `gargantua of insignificance' would still be standing in 200 years time (the age to which some whales can live). The narrator quotes Percy Bysshe-Shelley's poem, `Ozymandias': "My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings; look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!" Nothing beside remains. Round the decay Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare The lone and level sands stretch far away.'

As he flew home, Appignanesi wondered whether COP28 had achieved anything, apart from being the first to mention fossil fuels in the finale communiqué. He shows footage of the flash floods that hit Dubai weeks after the conference ended and laments that humanity was too busy enjoying the benefits of untrammeled capitalism to give much thought to the end of days. Musing on how brightly human civilisation had burned, he feels depressed, but also grateful that the activists were still out there trying to alert the rest of us to the emergency. As he reaches home and the welcoming hugs of his kids, he concludes he has no option but to bash on and that seems an affirmative thing to do.

Shooting with an Osmo Pocket camera that gave him freedom to move and engage, Appignanesi has not only created a latterday classic in the `city symphony' mode with his snapshot of Dubai, but he has also nailed the reasons why the efforts to save the planet are falling on deaf ears or being denounced as scaremongering. His insights into the motivations of the COP delegates and those seeking to exploit the gathering to make behind-the-scenes deals that fly in the face of the conference agenda are both shrewd and incisive. But he is also astute in his judgement of the eco attendees and what they (like himself) are seeking to achieve on a personal level to raise their profile or gain admittance to charmed circles.

The integrity of the delegates should not be doubted and the decision to distance himself by employing an AI-generated narrator enables Appignanesi to be more serious than he has been in his earlier self-deprecating portraits. There are moments of edgy wit here, as well as some revealing instance of comic embarrassment. But the views expressed on both the environmental movement as a whole and on Appignanesi's contribution to it are both considered and cogent.

What's more, by editing his own footage and scripting his own commentary, Appignanesi has almost succeeded in creating a DIY documentary on a shoestring budget. Vik Sharma's tantalising score enhances the chimerical feel generated by the

artificial voice speaking with authenticity and uncertainty. Leaving viewers with plenty to think about and reasons to be both cheerful and fearful, this is an essential primer to the world we live in and the mess we are making of it.

1) What Does That Nature Say to You.

The greatest gift that Hong Sang-soo could bestow upon the world would be an affordable boxed set of his highly distinctive films. Coming in at No.33, What Does That Nature Say to You shares many traits with its predecessors. But this study of artistry, perception, and legacy also has a visual novelty that not only reflects the ocular deficiency of one of principals, but also connects with the fact that Hong's parents owned and ran the Cinetel Soul production company.

Seoul poet Donghwa (Ha Seongguk) drives girlfriend Junhee (Kang Soyi) to stay with her parents. They have been dating for three years, but this is the first time he's seen her family home and is so overwhelmed by the size that he asks for a better look from the end of the driveway. There, they bump into Junhee's father, Oryeong (Kwon Haehyo), who knows him as the son of a famous attorney.

Oryeong is amused that Donghwa drives such an old car and asks to take it for a spin. While they wait, Junhee explains that her father will now invite him inside and she warns him to go easy with her older sister, Neunghee (Park Miso), as she's been having some mental health problems. Shuffling awkwardly, Donghwa turns to see Oryeong returning up the drive and he crows with pleasure at the fact the 1996 vehicle still has a cassette player.

While Junhee goes to find Neunghee, who is plucking a gayageum on her bed, Oryeong takes Donghwa on a smoking tour of the grounds. The diffident Donghwa shows interest in the dogs and chickens and modestly deflects praise for recently having had a poem published in a magazine and for growing such a trendy goatee. Oryeong claims not to be able to produce facial hair, but he does point out that wife, Sunhee (Cho Yunhee), is a poet of some renown and Donghwa concurs they she is very good. Up in Neunghee's room, she asks Junhee about her beau and wonders whether there might not be wedding bells now her father realises he's from good stock.

Oryeong tells Donghwa about building the house for his mother and still feeling her spirit around the place. They stop on a bench for a smoke and open a second bottle of makgeolli, as Donghwa reveals that he rarely wears his glasses because he got so used to blurry vision that sharp images felt wrong. Teasing him that it's better to look at Junhee with a clear view, Oryeong describes the beauty of the sunset over the nearby mountain (the camera pulls back to show the view before coming in for a tighter two-shot). He asks Donghwa what he likes about Junhee, but he can only come up with platitudes about her being pretty and a good person. Oryeong explains how much he loves his daughter and Donghwa says she often tells him how loving a father he was.

Wondering where they've got to, Junhee calls Oryeong and suggests they have lunch. He urges them to go out with Neunghee and drop into Sinreuk Temple, where King Sejong is buried. Junhee has to drive, as Donghwa is tipsy, while Oryeong stays behind to catch a chicken for supper. Knowing her father is cooking, Junhee tells a ravenous Donghwa to leave some room for later. Reluctantly, he stops scoffing bibimbap with pork and responds to Neunghee's request to know what he likes most about her sister. He mumbles something about her being an angel before Neunghee launches into a story about Junhee rejecting the suit of a businessman's son because she didn't like him and wasn't tempted by his wealth. She claims that's good news for Donghwa, as Junhee clearly isn't going out with him simply because his father is a famous lawyer.

When they visit Sinreuk Temple, which overlooks the river, Donghwa asks about Neunghee and how she occupies her time. Junhee explains that she is living at home while she gets back on her feet. But she pipes up with an opinion when Donghwa likes a rock sculpture by the pagoda she finds dull and jokes that he's obviously got odd taste because he drives such an old car. Alone with her sister, Neunghee pries about Donghwa's lifestyle, as she suspects he's a poor little rich boy who is playing at being a poet in the safe knowledge he can always rely on daddy's money. But Junhee defends him and insists he is pursuing beauty and gets by on the money he makes shooting wedding videos to have time to write. Neunghee is sceptical, as their mother is a poet and she works full-time and is a better writer than Donghwa could ever hope to be.

Called back from writing while looking over the river, Donghwa sits beside an ancient tree and marvels at its ability to be true to itself and accept its fate. He laments that humans know so little about lives that are over in a trice and Junhee scolds him for being so negative and drifting along rather than take control of events. When he tries to apologise, she says this isn't the time for a deep discussion, as they need to find the coffee he left at the pagoda before they go looking for Neunghee.

She has been in the temple and has bought Donghwa a book. He is bashfully grateful, but soon finds himself having to defend his views when the sisters tease him when he can't decide if it's a good or a bad thing that artefacts survive from lost civilisations without us knowing their significance. But he's saved by the bell, as Oryeong calls Junhee to ask when they'll be home, as Sunhee has been cooking up a storm.

Over dinner, Donghwa praises Sunhee's poetry, but offers only the most mundane insights. Oryeong plies him with wine and spirits, as Sunhee asks about his father and why he prefers to live away from his family. As sunset approaches, Oryeong shows Donghwa and Junhee a shortcut to the garden bench. Once again, Donghwa can only manage a platitude on seeing the sun go down behind the mountain, but is keen to see the moon later because Junhee reckons it's so beautiful.

Back at the dinner table, Sunhee asks about Donghwa's car and his moustache. She tells him he's a handsome fellow and asks what he wants out of life. When he says he only requires the bare necessities, Neunghee scoffs that he can afford to think that way because he's always got his father's money behind him. Changing the subject, Sunhee inquires about what he is writing and what inspires him. However, she rolls her eyes when he claims his work today has formed a mysterious union between her mother-in-law's tree in the garden and the old Gingko tree at the temple. But Donghwa doesn't seem to realise that he is being judged as a man, as an artist, and as a prospective son-in-law and is being found wanting in each way.

Feeling the need to justify himself, Donghwa reads the poem he was working on. It's about a flower blooming at night and the forced praise suggests no one thought it was much good. When Neunghee declares it too short, however, Donghwa gets angry and asks why she keeps mentioning his father's wealth and status when she knows nothing of their relationship. He slumps forward and Junhee tries to lead him away, as Oryeong tuts about his inability to hold his drink. No one looks at each other after Donghwa is led away.

Woken in the night by a barking dog, Donghwa goes wandering in the garden, while a guitar-strumming Oryeong and Sunhee discuss his shortcomings. He says he's too old at 35 to be so directionless, while she sighs that he lacks the talent to be a poet. They wish he could be more like his father and lament that gifts sometimes skip a generation. As Donghwa smokes under the stars and trips on his way back to the house, Junhee's parents hope she has the sense to realise that he's not the man for her.

Next morning, Donghwa tries to sneak away before anyone's up. He has gashed his forearm and Junhee urges him to get it treated. She agrees to tell her parents that he's been called away on urgent business and promises to apologise on his behalf. Yet, when he bear hugs her and tells her that he loves her, Junhee doesn't reciprocate and half-heartedly nods when he says he'll see her next week. She manages a little wave before hurrying back indoors. Not long after he leaves, Donghwa breaks down and calls for a tow-truck. Lighting a cigarette, he sighs and acknowledges that he's going to have to sell the car.

It would be easy to chalk up this stealthy, eight-chaptered satire as another auteur masterclass, as Hong writes, directs, videographs, and edits the action, while also contributing the score and the sound design. But, as with much of his canon, this is very much an ensemble piece, with the deft interactions between the characters being as crucial as the unusually experimental visual style that employs the occasional pan and crash zoom, as well as a blurry low-resolution texture that's designed to convey Donghwa's myopic perspective and his part-time job shooting wedding videos.

Conversation always flows as much as the alcohol in Hong's films, but there's much more hesitancy in this `meet the parents' saga, as Ha Seongguk's Donghwa is so insecure in everything from his poetic vocation to his relationship with his girlfriend and the good opinion of her parents. The only thing he seems to trust is his car and it lets him down in the closing scene.

Ha's rapport with Kwon Haehyo's Oryeong is wonderfully awkward, as the poet seeks to make a good impression, while his host is prepared to give him every chance to shine, as he will have been through a similar situation himself. But Cho Yunhee's assured Sunhee and Park Miso's volatile Neunghee instantly expose his lack of profundity, as the former condescendingly realises he has no poetic talent or commitment whatsoever, while the latter keeps questioning his smug asceticism when he has a wealthy father to fall back on if things don't work out (a situation that seemingly reflects Hong's own background).

Throughout her boyfriend's ordeal, Kang Soyi's Junhee begins to see that she has wasted three years on a deadbeat and it's amusing to see how her words of reassurance slowly turn to admonition as Donghwa keeps digging a deeper hole. She doesn't say anything directly, but her sad wave as he drives away is as damning as the verdicts reached by her parents after her beau's dinner table outburst.

Donghwa is far from the first Hong character to be hoisted by their inability to hold their drink. But it's hard to feel much sympathy for him, even as he reads out his excruciating verses to a hostile audience, as he is so conceited in his conviction that he's an artist and so ignorant of the social realities from which he believes he's immune.

Perhaps intended as a companion piece to In Our Day (2023), in which Ki Joobong plays an ageing poet reflecting upon his youth while mourning the loss of his cat, this treatise on creativity, authenticity, childhood legacy, and class insularity provides much food for thought. But it also demonstrates that not only does Hong still have much wit and wisdom to impart, but that he is also still capable of springing the occasional stylistic surprise.