Two-headlined collaborations in cinema are common, especially under tight schedules, where two stars share the spotlight to the utmost. The reality, though, is that a film built around their presence can feel hollow if the script and direction don’t stand on their own. The duo’s charisma and chemistry often carry the project, pairing an exotic setting with a glossy finish that can disguise deeper issues in the material. The result hinges on whether the audience buys the performances as a substitute for real content or declines the illusion and asks for something more substantial.
Directors sometimes try to echo classic comedic archetypes, but the execution can fall short. In this instance the leadership of Ol Parker shapes the project more as a showcase than a fully realized narrative, lacking the touch of the great comic filmmakers. The dialogue and situations drift into routine territory, hinting at ideas written decades ago yet failing to spark a fresh resonance. Even so, the obvious appeal of the leads keeps the momentum alive, at least for a hopeful moment, presenting a film that is enjoyable more for the stars than for its ambitions.
Orphan: First Kill
More than a dozen years after the original hit, a prequel revisits Esther with a different look and a new cast makeup that attempts to re-create her unsettling aura. The attempt to recapture a cult moment leans into an unsettling mood, yet the film often feels off balance. The premise is familiar, and the mystery driving the story becomes less about suspense and more about whether the execution can sustain interest. The attempt to create a midnight-movie energy falls short, as the pace wavers and the tension fails to consistently land.
The rebooted Esther narrates with familiar echoes and adds playful variations to distract from a plot that remains predictable from the start. The director’s stylistic instincts seem to yield to straightforward tricks, and the result is a sense that genuine fear is replaced by routine cinematic spins. The outcome leaves a sense of missed potential rather than a triumphant return to form.
Il buco
In a film that moves between observation and documentary, a veteran director revisits a dramatic, natural landscape with a measured, almost poetic touch. The story unfolds around a cave expedition and the surrounding life, inviting the audience to step into a world where human activity is tiny against the vastness of nature. Dialogue is pared down to almost nothing, letting visuals and rhythm carry the narrative. The tone mirrors a time capsule, recording a moment when life in a remote region felt untouched by modernity while still acknowledging the pull of civilization nearby.
The camera lingers on daily routines in the nearby town, where people gather in a square to watch televisions, creating a layered sense of place that blends the sublime with the ordinary. It feels documentary in mood but resists that label, offering a truth about Calabria captured as if it stood still in 1961. The result is a lyrical, patient meditation rather than a traditional plot-driven drama.
The accused
A man is arrested after a night with a woman who frames the encounter as rape, while he insists it was consensual. The film follows the pair and their families from arrest to trial, probing the boundaries of consent, the dynamics of victimhood, and the abuse of power. It challenges audiences to confront the murky space where truth can bend under competing narratives and media forces. The aim is to provoke thought about how judgments are formed and the price of certainty in highly charged cases.
The director makes some provocative choices, balancing provocative scenes with broader questions about perception and enforcement. Some moments feel deliberated to guide audience reaction, while others invite viewers to arrive at their own conclusions about guilt and innocence. The movie does not always strike a delicate balance, but it engages with important themes that resonate beyond the courtroom.
Me and my emptiness
Jean-Luc Godard famously noted that a film can be a document of its protagonist. This work follows Raphaëlle Pérez, a non-professional performer whose life mirrors the fiction she inhabits. The performance relies on an intimate, almost improvisational approach, tracing personal choices and the vulnerabilities she reveals on camera. The result is a movie that feels like a direct line into a private experience rather than a conventional story.
The narrative explores identity, gender, and the uncertainty about what shape life should take. Pérez navigates a journey that blends self-discovery with the gaze of others, including medical professionals who offer a perspective on her experience. The story unfolds through small, precise moments and a rhythm that emphasizes personal truth over dramatic turns. It is a thoughtful portrait of six individuals in a small setting, coming to terms with who they are and how they present themselves to the world.
The Other Tom
Tom—afflicted by ADHD—lives a daily life where attention and care constantly collide with the responsibilities of parenting. When a pivotal moment challenges the management of his condition, the story centers on a mother wrestling with the risk of losing custody by choosing the best path for her child. Real conversations with doctors, educators, and family members reveal the complexities of medical decisions, public perception, and the human cost of policy choices.
The film handles its subjects with restraint, highlighting the tenderness of the mother while examining how systems can distance themselves from personal realities. It avoids sensationalism, choosing instead a candid, nuanced look at a family navigating a difficult landscape. The setting offers a pointed glimpse into broader social issues, including access to care, education, and immigrant experiences, all through the lens of one intimate relationship.
Dual
In a follow-up to an earlier work, a filmmaker revisits a central character amid a landscape that echoes the first film. After a family upheaval, the protagonist and her partner embark on a journey through the Andean regions, using a dance performance as both outlet and testimony. The story becomes a meditation on connection, confronting the tension between personal truth and the expectations of those around them.
Returning home, the film examines the dualities that define relationships and the natural order—sun and moon, day and night, warmth and cold. The landscape itself becomes a partner in the narrative, contributing to a physical, almost ritual exploration of identity. The result is a vivid, embodied piece that reads less as fiction and more as a record of two people seeking belonging in a vast world.