During a time when most mainstream movies seem to run around thirty minutes too long, it’s refreshing to see features that can pack a full story into a brisk running time. Ted Fendt’s feature debut Short Stay clocks in at just over sixty minutes, and still manages to tell a complete—albeit somewhat lackadaisical—narrative about a generic guy living a generic life.

Similar to Kevin Smith’s famous debut Clerks, Short Stay is a slice-of-life character study about Mike (Mike MacCherone), a perpetually bored twentysomething whose job at a local pizzeria isn’t providing him with the excitement he desires out of life. When a friend of a friend offers him a job giving tours of Philadelphia, Mike reluctantly moves out of his Jersey apartment and takes the job, thus beginning a new chapter in his mundane life. Of course, the move doesn’t change the man’s outlook on life, and being a timid loser frequently results in Mike being walked all over by coworkers, roommates, and potential love interests. The feel-good movie of 2016 this certainly is not, but it’s still a film worth watching.

One of the more interesting plot points in the film revolves around Mike’s attraction to a girl who assures him that she’s in a relationship but values his friendship. It doesn’t take a sociologist to figure out exactly what’s going to happen next, and while the film doesn’t offer any significant swerves on that end, watching the whole uncomfortable disaster play out is quite entertaining. Mike’s troubles with the ladies are somewhat relatable, but mostly just sad. The scenes in which the poor bastard tries to overcome the problems in his love life evoke secondhand embarrassment in ways that very few films can.

It’s all photographed on grainy 35mm, mirroring the haziness of Mike’s life. Opting for a documentary-like aesthetic, Fendt and cinematographer Sage Einarsen seem determined to capture aspects of real life, and they frequently do so. Reminiscent of mumblecore films from the mid-2000s, Short Stay is comprised of long takes, what appears to be improvised dialogue, and consistent naturalism. There are no action-packed set pieces or larger than life plot points but the film still entertains in spite of this.

Some members of the supporting cast aren’t exactly convincing, delivering lines with little believability and the charisma of a wet sock. This is somewhat routine in these kinds of films, but it still detracts from the experience. Naturalism simply doesn’t work when those performing it don’t come across as natural. MacCherone, however, portrays the mousy protagonist in successful fashion. He’s a total loser, admittedly, but Mike is a generally easy guy to root for. It seems as though his entire goal in life is to not be a complete and utter failure, but he just doesn’t know how to succeed. In that regard, Fendt’s feature debut is thoroughly depressing, but the tone is actually comedic. There aren’t any “jokes,” per say, but the strange manner in which Mike handles all of his problems is laughable in the right way.

Films like Short Stay are an acquired taste, and can justifiably be viewed as both brilliant and lazy, depending on individual perspective. Evoking shades of the early works of Andrew Bujalski, Joe Swanberg, and the Duplass Brothers, there should be little doubt as to what kind of cinematic experience Short Stay provides. The film does exactly what it sets out to do, and that’s always something to be appreciated.

Clocking it at well over five hours in length, Ryûsuke Hamaguchi’s Happy Hour isn’t so much a character study as it is an entire character course. Following four women in their late thirties as they attempt to deal with their individual relationship troubles, the film is filled with relatable struggles and honest, emotional performances, but ultimately becomes a victim of its own ambitions.

Having been best friends for many years, Jun (Rira Kawamura), Akari (Sachie Tanaka), Sakurako (Hazuki Kikuchi), and Fumi (Maiko Mihara) have formed a nearly unbreakable bond together. They meet up frequently to gossip about their lives and air their grievances about their currently living situations. Having all been married at one point, their ideas about a woman’s place in a marriage differ. After Jun reveals a shocking secret about her own marriage, her friends have mixed reactions, adding a strain to their friendship.

Above all, Happy Hour is a movie about infidelity and how it affects not only those in the relationship but their acquaintances as well. Knowing that your friend is committing adultery is a tough spot to be in because it leaves a choice between loyalty to a friend and a commitment to doing what’s right. Adding to the complexity is the discovery that the infidelity involves a mutual friend, which is a major issue explored in Happy Hour. The results aren’t over-the-top or cinematic in any way. Instead, they’re deeply rooted in reality. All of the events feel as though they could happen tomorrow, which has its pros and cons as a filmmaking technique. It certainly adds to the realistic tone of the film, but it prevents the movie from being particularly exciting. Happy Hour certainly isn’t boring, but it lacks a frenetic energy.

The defining aspect of the film is the almost unheard of running time, which wouldn’t feel nearly as gratuitous if many scenes didn’t come across as unnecessary filler. As human as it is, there are a significant amount of scenes that could be trimmed down—if not eliminated completely—without the film losing any effect. One early sequence finds the protagonists attending a pseudo-spiritual workshop where they participate in borderline cult-like team-building exercises. After ten minutes, the point is made—the women’s personal problems mirror the teacher’s lessons in a Boy Meets World kind of way, albeit much more mature and existential—but the scene continues on for much longer. Hamaguchi seems determined to beat certain ideas into viewers’ brains, despite establishing them successfully in the first attempt. In a way, it seems as though he isn’t completely confident in his ability to express certain ideas, even though his ideas are quite strong.

The four leads deliver naturalistic performances that make their already empathetic characters all the more believable. Engaging in numerous, lengthy conversations about both nothing and everything, it’s almost impossible not to see aspects of your own friends in the women. They’re complex, generally likable, and extremely relatable. They discuss mundane aspects of everyday life with the same enthusiasm as more existential concepts involving their uncertain futures. Thankfully, these conversations are generally entertaining, considering the film is almost brutally dialogue-heavy. It’s not just a film with a lot of talking—it borders on being a film about talking.

At times, Happy Hour is a strenuous watch and a pretty tough sell, given the over five-hour commitment needed to experience it in full. However, if you do commit to viewing the film, the payoff is there. The characters are fully developed and fascinating, and their story arcs are engrossing in ways that few are. It lacks many of the qualifying themes to call it an “epic,” as there are no colossal set pieces or big action sequences—or action of any kind, really—but there is a strangely “big” feel to the film. It’s a heavy drama, thick with human emotion, that could benefit from being just a bit more brisk. Perhaps in the future, Hamaguchi will consider creating a similarly engaging feature that is much shorter in length.

If Jean-Luc Goddard directed a feature-length episode of The Twilight Zone, it would probably resemble The Lady in the Car with Glasses and a Gun. That description will likely leave you either intrigued or completely turned off, and this film itself is just as polarizing.

Director Joann Sfar’s neo-noir thriller finds Dany (Freya Mavor), a young secretary, taking her boss Michel’s fancy American sports car out on a joyride. Her drive leads her to a secluded seaside town where everyone she comes across seems to know her, despite the fact that she has no recollection of having met any of them. As Dany begins to consider the existence of a possible impostor, she discovers a dead body in the trunk of the car, and things only get more chaotic from there.

From the start, The Lady in the Car with Glasses and a Gun is extremely stylish. Perhaps so stylish that it lacks substance in areas where it’s absolutely vital. The frequent use of split screens adds significant entertainment value to some of the more mundane sequences, but after a while the sharp editing loses its luster, and the lack of meat on the screenplay’s bones becomes more noticeable. It’s not that the plot isn’t interesting—on paper, it certainly is—but there’s so much downtime that the film feels quite lackadaisical. There are numerous moments when what is happening in the story is a bit difficult to understand, and in those times, the sharp stylistic nature doesn’t make the muddled storytelling any easier to follow.

Most of the sexual elements feel forced and awkward, which is unusual considering that the film is decidedly French in every other way. Mavor is an objectively beautiful young woman, and Dany has a certain aura about her that is alluring. But there’s a severe lack of romantic chemistry between her and the potential love interests. Aside from that, performances are generally solid, if not a bit bizarre, with Mavor bringing a mischievous charm to every scene. Nymphomaniac’s Stacy Martin appears in a brief, but effective role as Michel’s wife, Anita, and the interactions between her and Dany are strangely evocative. It’s interesting to watch the relationship between two women who are connected through a man with whom they have drastically different relations. Unfortunately that aspect, along with many other subplots in the film, remain relatively unexplored in the end. It’s as if Sfar is trying to keep things ambiguous on every single level, which eventually grows tiresome. Some mystery is great, but too much mystery is simply frustrating.

The remote nature of the locations gives the film a peculiar aesthetic that makes the inevitable plot revelations all the more impactful. Warm, hazy cinematography from Manuel Dacosse sets the stage for a lighthearted love story, and the subversion that comes shortly after is welcomed.

The Lady in the Car with Glasses and a Gun is a thoroughly disappointing film because there are moments when its weird, suspenseful charm really begins to shine. But those moments never stick around long enough to have a lasting effect. On a technical scale, there is a lot to appreciate about the film, but its screenplay is too much of a jumbled mess to look past. Under some of the excess cinematic fat, there’s a quality film to be found. But where it stands, there’s not enough bite behind the film’s admittedly compelling bark.

Body kicks off with one of the strangest, most darkly comedic opening sequences in recent memory. A visibly deceased man, hanging by a noose from a tree, is cut down by crime scene investigators. As they discuss details of the apparent suicide, the man stands up and quietly begins to walk away. Thus begins Malgorzata Szumowska’s bizarre tale of grief and mental illness, which maintains the same level of absurdity throughout.

The tale of a middle-aged attorney (Janusz Gajos), his anorexic daughter (Justyna Suwala), and their grieving psychiatrist (Maja Ostaszewska), Body is an unusually crafted piece of cinema. Its humor is so dry that it’s almost nonexistent, but it often feels like the more intense, serious moments are played for laughs. It’s never completely apparent what Szumowska is going for. The psychiatrist’s unconventional relationship with her massive dog provides some hilarious insight into the woman’s life, and the interactions between the attorney and his daughter are uncomfortable to say the least. Body borders on surrealism at times, as the characters are almost too strange to exist in reality.

It’s not a particularly enjoyable film, but it’s certainly not a boring one. In the same year that saw the release of the late Marcin Wrona’s Demon, Body is yet another example of the daring cinema that’s currently coming out of Poland. It’s not for everyone, but it’s an interesting piece of art regardless.

Featuring shades of murder mystery and conspiracy film, Danish crime thriller The Keeper of Lost Causes follows a detective struggling to find his place in the world after being reassigned. Given strict orders to merely read through cold case files, Detective Carl Mørck (Nikolaj Lie Kaas) and his new assistant, Assad (Fares Fares), quickly become obsessed with solving the disappearance of politician Merete Lynggaard (Sonja Richter). The search for answers leads the duo down the path of the average mystery/procedural, where they run into a typical cast of characters.

In spite of its traditional, somewhat generic plot, The Keeper of Lost Causes keeps things entertaining thanks to a few subversions that help maintain an element of surprise. A brain-damaged witness provides a unique aspect, and the manner in which Carl and Assad go about interrogating the young man is oddly suspenseful. Unfortunately, The Keeper of Lost Causes lacks the element that makes the greatest detective stories so engaging—we never really come to know Carl and Assad. Only the basic nature of their characters is revealed (Carl is more of a hothead while Assad is a bit more meticulous), instead of providing development or a backstory. Performances from the two leads are good enough—certainly passable—but since the film simply doesn’t give the actors the opportunity to showcase their skills, the characters are forced to take a back seat to their investigation itself. With a running time of just over ninety minutes, there’s no reason why more character development couldn’t have been included, and it likely would’ve made the film feel more complete. But The Keeper of Lost Causes is entertaining enough to get a recommendation for fans of this brand of cinema.

There’s something about basements that is inherently ominous, mysterious, and—in a way—dangerous. Generally a section of a person’s home that is off-limits to those who do not live there, basements are used to house almost anything, especially anything considered taboo. Director Ulrich Seidl’s documentary In the Basement ventures into these private quarters to discover that sometimes our imagination is stranger than reality.

A pre-credits still-shot finds a man meticulously watching his pet python stalk its prey inside of a large tank. Seidl holds the shot for an uncomfortable amount of time, given that it is completely obvious what’s about to happen. As soon as the reptilian beast strikes, the title card appears, preparing viewers for a creepy journey into the underbelly of the average person’s home. Maintaining the structure of still shots of middle-aged to elderly folks sitting in their basements—sometimes in complete silence, sometimes blabbering about their interests—Seidl stays constant, which sadly ends up being the biggest downfall of the film. The unflinching stillness of the onscreen imagery becomes increasingly dull as In the Basement progresses, especially during the scenes that are bereft of dialogue. Entire sequences pass without anything particularly entertaining, informative, or otherwise worth watching occurring, and the results are downright boring. Seidl always seems on the verge of redeeming himself by showcasing another quirky character with a peculiar basement, but the moments between lack the craziness the film’s opening sequence promised.

Unfortunately, what Seidl seems to discover through his journey is that the things most people keep in their basements are mundane, uninteresting, and not especially effective subjects for a documentary. Perhaps there are people in the world who find things like shooting ranges, workout equipment, and mounted animals to be completely shocking, but these subjects are too vanilla to hold the attention of the average filmgoer. Thankfully, there are a few outliers in the film whose basements truly are unsettling. Most notably is an elderly woman who keeps realistic dolls in boxes and coddles them as if they were her own, live children. Her behavior is sincere which makes the entire sequence truly unnerving. It’s like something out of a horror film but makes a long monologue about a man’s hunting trophies seem all the more dull in comparison. Perhaps it is Seidl’s intention to provide a strong contrast from person to person, but it doesn’t work in upping the film’s overall entertainment value. It’s unclear what the filmmaker is trying to say here—if anything at all. There’s no substantial resolution; merely evidence that different people have different things in their basement.

After a long scene listening to an elderly man discuss his love of playing music—and even suffering through some of his brass instrumentals—the camera follows him deeper into his basement, where he proudly displays a collection of frightening memorabilia. It’s a stunning reveal that comes out of nowhere and leaves a lasting impression as a result. These are the kinds of moments that make In the Basement worth watching, and it’s a shame that there aren’t more of them during the film’s 85-minute running time.

One of the final moments of In the Basement shows a man who could feasibly pass as George “The Animal” Steele’s doppelgänger being subjected to some form of genital torture by a dominatrix. It’s an unpleasant scene that goes on for far too long. That really sums up the film as a whole. Some of the discoveries are truly bizarre, and undeniably captivating at first glance, but after hanging onto them for minutes at a time, the attraction is simply lost. In the Basement is filled with fascinating characters, but it never comes together cohesively, and in the end, would’ve probably worked better as a series of documentary shorts than a feature film.

The greatest aspect of decidedly punk movies is their unabashed honesty. Even those that don’t deal with the music genre can take on a punk vibe merely through the tone and attitude. These films’ ability to approach every facet of life realistically instead of cinematically often makes for a visceral experience that even those who don’t engage in the particular lifestyle can appreciate. Homemakers, the feature debut of writer-director Colin Healey, delivers a more comedic take on the punk rock lifestyle while simultaneously keeping things genuine.

As an eccentric front-woman for an experimental punk band, Irene (Rachel McKeon) has never had many adult responsibilities. All of that changes, though, when she inherits her late grandfather’s rotting home. Desperately wanting to sell the house, Irene is forced to renovate—and finally grow up in the process. The arrival of her long-lost cousin (Jack Culbertson) adds its own set of challenges that bring to light a series of deeply buried familial issues.

Homemakers provides a fascinating ride for the first act, filled with humor and grimness as Irene sloppily trashes what’s left of the house. It’s not until Irene’s rich, corporate family enters the picture that the previously obnoxious character begins to become oddly sympathetic. Her pervasive disdain to fit in with society prevents Irene from being the most relatable person out there, but her inability to relate to her family members, and struggle to find her place in the world still manages to hit close to home in a truly believable way. A strong and humorously bold performance from McKeon carries the film, and makes even the more mundane sequences appear at least somewhat fascinating. Seamlessly bridging the gap between comical and cinematic, and realistic and natural, McKeon has a unique and effective screen presence. Similarly, most of the actors in the cast of unknowns are quite good, contributing to Healey’s occasionally documentary-like approach.

The real heart of Homemakers can be found in a handful of peculiar scenes that find Irene singing in front of vastly differing audiences—with and without a backing band. Despite being relatively lost in the world, the young woman always seems to be herself when she has a microphone and an audience. While the music may not be what one might expect from a “punk” movie—there certainly isn’t anyone stage-diving to Irene’s music—it’s still against-the-grain, underground noisiness that quickly establishes Irene and her acquaintances as non-mainstream musicians. They won’t be winning any Grammys any time soon, and that’s what makes the band so fun to watch.

Moments of overt sexual perversion are an unexpectedly graphic addition to the film, despite the fact that there isn’t anything particularly erotic about Homemakers. Most of the sexual sequences seem to be played for laughs, which only adds to the general awkwardness of the film as a whole. Perhaps the strangest scene in the film occurs later on as a completely unlikable character removes his genitals and presents them to Irene as a sort of sexual taunt. Her reaction is equally satisfying and hilarious, and cements the film as being a bizarre slice-of-life indie.

A co-release from FilmBuff and Factory 25, filmgoers who are familiar with either of those distributors will probably know just what to expect here. Character-driven, conversation-heavy, and just weird enough to appear believable. Longtime fans of these types of films will undoubtedly be able to appreciate what the filmmakers are going for. With Homemakers, Healey has created a fascinating piece of cinema that, despite clearly not being for everyone, has a lead character that’s so engaging that it simply must be seen.

Homemakers is now available to stream on Fandor

An early scene in Homesick finds the protagonist, Charlotte (Ine Wilmann), at her best friend’s wedding reception. After a series of relatively mundane conversations and wedding activities, the DJ drops the beat and many of the guests begin to let loose, and the dance floor erupts into chaos. It’s quite metaphorical of what’s to come, as Homesick is a slow-burning character study that eventually reaches an intense boiling point, but not until director Anne Sewitsky meticulously constructs some of the most uncomfortable circumstances imaginable.

Charlotte, a dance instructor who seems to be sleepwalking through her twenties, yearns for the traditional family she always dreamed of having. When Henrik (Simon J. Berger), the half-brother Charlotte had never met, unexpectedly arrives to Charlotte’s dance studio, she’s given the chance to have the familial bond she always wanted. As the two siblings get to know each other, their feelings quickly transition from friendly to sexual, and Charlotte and Henrik are forced to come to somewhat disturbing terms about their relationship.

Intelligently, Sewitsky never outright judges the characters for their incestuous tendencies. Incest is such a wildly taboo subject that the safe route would easily have been to demonize the siblings, but Sewitsky takes an almost documentarian-like stance on the matter. Strangely enough, Charlotte ends up becoming quite a sympathetic character. All she wants in life is to feel the love of her biological family; she just goes about attaining it in an unconventional way.

Wilmann is nothing short of brilliant in the lead role, and it’s hard to believe that Homesick is her first film acting experience. Naturalistic performances across the board result in some deeply flawed characters who are easy to cheer for and all too relatable at times. Thankfully, there are no caricatures or one-dimensional characters found in the film. Charlotte has plenty of issues, sure, but she’s also a contributing member of society who cracks jokes, runs her own business, and seems to love working with children. These admirable character traits make it even more impactful when her true intentions with Henrik are revealed, and we discover that the young woman has quite a few issues.

Given that the stakes aren’t particularly high—nor is there an actual physical antagonist in the film—Homesick is surprisingly suspenseful at times. It’s a different kind of sexual thriller, the tension lies in the unknown—in the future of Charlotte and Henrik’s disturbing relationship. As they grow closer, Charlotte realizes that Henrik isn’t the kind-hearted family man she expected. Instead, he’s an occasionally abusive hot head with selfish tendencies. Still, Sewistky avoids slipping into overdramatic Lifetime movie territory by keeping the story grounded and honest.

Beautiful, effective editing from Christoffer Heie helps the film keep a steady, methodical pace. Heie and Sewistky deserve major kudos for making the brilliant, albeit dangerous, decision to frequently use jarring transitions. Thankfully, almost all of these cuts make up for their lack of fluidity with a sincere, emotional outcome. There’s a certain bravery on display in the quick transitions from lighthearted scenes of Charlotte teaching young children dance routines to sweaty, grimy sequences of her having sex.

Homesick is a very different kind of story, and is sure to polarize viewers who may feel uncomfortable with its incestuous subject matter. But those who approach it with an open mind are sure to be able to appreciate the immense technical skill that is put on display from start to finish. Homesick is a wonderful, audacious film that challenges its audience, and serves as a brilliant debut for its lead actress and director.

The ecological dangers of the Australian outback are widely known, but it’s the evil nature of its occupants that sets the stage for Grant Scicluna’s Downriver. An Aussie mystery thriller that relies heavily on its fascinating characters, the film is consistently suspenseful, despite occasionally overstaying its welcome.

Shortly after being released from juvenile detention for the drowning death of a young boy, James (Reef Ireland) returns to his hometown to an expected lack of open arms. Maintaining his innocence, James ventures out in search of the truth, in hopes of bringing the real murderer to justice. His journey leads him to his old friend Anthony (Tom Green), a sociopathic young man who seemingly has a stranglehold on many of the townsfolk.

One of the most noticeable aspects of Downriver is the fact that despite being set in a small community that includes an ensemble cast, it’s bereft of young women. The handful of females in the film are middle-aged, and it’s almost as if it’s set in some sort of weird dystopian society where teenage girls aren’t allowed. Perhaps this is due to the fact that a majority of the main characters are gay or bisexual males—and therefore choose to associate themselves with other boys—but it’s a strange aspect, regardless. At times it feels as if Scicluna is crafting a social commentary on homophobia in Australia, but exactly what he’s saying—if anything—seems to go over my head.

Superb performances from a talented young cast keep Downriver engaging for the most part. There are a few moments that drag during the second act, but the finale makes the occasionally slow-paced journey worthwhile. An eerie discovery wraps up the film’s intense and unsettling conclusion, which borders on becoming downright frightening. It’s not quite as graphic or dangerous as some of the other recent thrillers out of Australia, but Downriver is still a welcome import from one of cinema’s most underrated countries.

In cinema, it seems almost impossible to raise the stakes any higher than by putting an infant child in a dangerous situation. Many have argued that this is a cheap trope that is exploited to create suspense and elicit an emotional response from audiences. While that criticism may very well be true in some cases, there is nothing cheap about David Farr’s startling directorial debut The Ones Below.

After a decade-long relationship, Kate (Clémence Poésy) and her husband Justin (Stephen Campbell Moore) get pregnant with their first child. Shortly thereafter, new neighbors move in to the flat below them. Jon (David Morrissey) and Theresa (Laura Birn), another married couple expecting their first child, immediately express their desire to befriend the somewhat hesitant Kate and Justin. In typical psychological thriller fashion, a series of traumatic events follow. Kate grows increasingly paranoid, convinced that Jon and Theresa have sinister plans. Of course, Jon thinks his wife is delusional and overreacting. Fearing for the wellbeing of her newborn son, Kate becomes determined to uncover the truth about the couple below before it’s too late.

Longtime film fans will quickly notice an apparent Polanski influence, as the film is Rosemary’s Baby meets Carnage, with a healthy does of The Hand That Rocks the Cradle thrown in for good measure. Farr never pulls his punches, resulting in an emotionally draining film that remains equally woeful and unsettling. When it’s not tugging at the heartstrings with sequences of bleakness and family drama, it’s creeping under the skin with some genuinely suspenseful moments that feel anything but safe. There’s a legitimate sense of danger throughout that gives The Ones Below a truly alluring nature.

It doesn’t avoid the cliché moments that are found in similar movies, but Farr manages to keep suspense high regardless. Even the wildly cliché moment where the unsuspecting mother hears a frightening noise through the baby monitor is crafted with severe tension. Once Kate determines that there’s something horrifyingly wrong with the downstairs couple, she breaks into their home and discovers loads of incriminating evidence of their ulterior motives. Of course, it is all quickly hidden before her husband manages to see it—making Kate appear as though she is completely losing her mind. We’ve all seen these exact scenes time and time again in film—yet Farr has a way of making them not only feel fresh but also strangely unpredictable and tense.

A haunting, eerie score sets the stage for Kate’s crippling descent into madness. From there, Farr questions if Jon and Theresa are completely innocent and Kate is just a paranoid woman who is having difficulty entering into motherhood. Normally, this would come across as a red herring, but The Ones Below is such a daring, intelligently crafted film that it feels completely possible for all expectations to be violently subverted.

Set in the United Kingdom, there’s a classic England feel to The Ones Below in more ways than one. From the atmospheric, often dreary setting, to the overt classiness of the characters, there’s an almost sophisticated aura. Effective cinematography, with an excellent use of zooms, is perhaps the biggest technical highlight of the film. Director of photography Ed Rutherford (A Long Way from Home) truly rises to the occasion.

Farr’s debut is impressive, delivering everything that one would desire out of a modern thriller. Complete with multiple unexpected twists, empathetic characters, and an unshakable darkness, The Ones Below is one of the most suspenseful films of the year—and one that shouldn’t be missed by fans of the genre.

Whether or not you will enjoy Eden is contingent on whether you care to see an almost beat-by-beat retelling of Lord of the Flies. The only notable difference between the two stories is that the refugees in Eden are frightened adults instead of frightened children; and the cast isn’t entirely male. Now, while the film doesn’t bring anything particularly new or groundbreaking to the table, director Shyam Madiraju manages to keep high entertainment value with some truly surprising moments.

After competing in an international competition, a professional soccer team ventures back to the United States on the company plane. However, on the way home the plane crashes into the ocean, killing many of the passengers. Those who survive the initial contact find refuge on a nearby island, but with limited resources, they begin to worry that they won’t be able to escape the island before their inevitable deaths. Slim (Nate Parker), the good-hearted team captain, urges everyone to stay calm and work collectively. But Andreas (Ethan Peck) makes his intentions known that he plans on surviving at all costs. Before long, the survivors split into two groups, and tensions quickly rise to violent levels as the opposing sides struggle to coexist.

While many of the characters may as well be unnamed goons—one-note and completely interchangeable with one another—there are a few unexpected moments of gut-punching drama among the opposing leaders. Thanks to a pair of solid performances from Parker and Peck, becoming emotionally invested is easy. When rescue becomes less and less likely, the stakes are raised, and it becomes immediately clear that nobody is safe in this harsh environment. Genre clichés aren’t avoided here, but there’s just enough subversion to keep viewers on their toes. Early on, it seems pretty obvious which characters are going to make it out alive and which ones are going to suffer horrible deaths. But after the formation of some unforeseen alliances, death begins to strike from all angles, and the body count rises in surprising fashion.

An unexpected love triangle between Slim, Andreas, and Elena (Jessica Lowndes)—one of their coach’s daughters—is anything but romantic, and ventures into risky territory later in the film. Eden is truly at its best when it’s subverting expectations. The discovery of a former military occupation on the island provides some mystery to the film’s setting, but nothing of note ever really comes of it. There are no monsters or cannibal tribes occupying the seemingly deserted island. The only evil to be found is humanity at its absolute worst.

Eden is a straightforward, by-the-numbers survival tale, but it is never boring and consistently engaging. There’s some pretty questionable CGI throughout—with the airplane crash sequence looking far too cartoonish and glossy—but the practical and makeup effects are morbidly realistic. From severed limbs to sliced-up flesh, the film features plenty of brutality, and is quite grim and unforgiving.

As with most tales of human survival, Eden does attempt to comment on the barbaric nature of humankind’s vicious desire to outlive one another. In typical fashion, those who keep their humanity are rewarded, while those who lose it are punished. You’ve probably seen a dozen films with a similar message, because there are seemingly hundreds of them out there. Eden’s stance on the issue isn’t particularly profound or thought-provoking, but Madiraju and screenwriter Mark Mavrothalasitis are anything but pretentious with their approach. Refusing to insult the audience’s intelligence, the filmmakers avoid a preachy tone, which is heavily beneficial given the nature of the film. Eden rarely attempts to be anything other than a suspenseful popcorn flick, and on that level, it succeeds.

Above all, The Paradise Suite is a movie about relationships. It’s a movie about the relationships we have with our friends, our sons, our mothers, our lovers, and how small moments in those relationships can affect the entire world around us. In a way, the film is somewhat like a European take on Paul Haggis’ Crash.

A crowded ensemble film with too many subplots, The Paradise Suite doesn’t quite come together cohesively, and likely would’ve worked more successfully as a traditional anthology; allowing each segment to play out from start to finish instead of bouncing back and forth from story to story. It’s easy to follow the ways in which all the characters are connected to each other, but most of the relationships just don’t feel all that important. To writer-director Joost van Ginkel’s credit, however, The Paradise Suite ends strongly, with relatively definitive and occasionally surprising resolutions for all the characters.

By far the most interesting arc in the film belongs to Jenya (Anjela Nedyalkova in a brilliant performance), a bright-eyed young woman who is sold into prostitution after being duped by a shady modeling agency. Unabashedly graphic and heartbreaking, the sequences that follow evoke much more emotion than the rest of the film, which isn’t nearly as intense in comparison. None of the other arcs are particularly dull, but it’s quite jarring to transition from a brutal rape scene to a mundane shot of a bickering couple. With that said, those kinds of moments—perhaps unintentionally—help put personal issues into perspective. No matter how heated arguments may get, things could always be much worse.

Van Ginkel is an extremely personal filmmaker and he captures authentic drama throughout The Paradise Suite. Even the flawed aspects—which can be attributed primarily to the unconventional story structure—have a brash confidence that oozes honesty, and that’s really what makes films of this nature so engaging in the first place.

On paper, Marcin Wrona’s Demon should be a cliché-ridden tale of a demonic possession and the effect it has on a young couple’s relationship. After all, that’s the template for a handful of genre films that are released every single year. But Wrona’s latest is not your typical possession story—it’s something entirely different.

Piotr (Italy Tiran) arrives in a small town in rural Poland to marry his fiancé, Żaneta (Agnieszka Zulewska), on her family’s homestead. Shortly before the wedding, the groom-to-be discovers skeletal remains in the family’s backyard. Despite initially brushing off the macabre discovery, Piotr begins to suspect something sinister is afoot when he sees flashes of a dead woman lurking around the wedding. As Piotr begins acting erratically, the guests believe at first to be epileptic attacks, but then are quickly diagnosed as the acts of a man possessed by a Jewish demon known as the dybbuk. As tensions grow, the wedding party attempts to save the groom from certain death while simultaneously preventing the entire ceremony from erupting into chaos.

Despite its inherently dark and supernatural elements, make no mistake about it; Demon is not a horror movie. To be perfectly honest, it’s a stretch to even label it as a psychological thriller. It’s a movie that is almost impossible to put it into a specific box because of its seemingly endless layers. For much of the film, Demon plays out like a traditional drama and then swiftly transitions into a pseudo-comedic tale of a seemingly cursed wedding. Even the dybbuk—the film’s sole villain—isn’t imposing and has the appearance of a lovely, albeit dead, young woman. Still, there are some legitimate horror aspects throughout, including a very on-the-nose homage to The Shining. But Demon is as much in line with My Big Fat Greek Wedding as it is with Stanley Kubrick’s masterpiece.

There’s a distinct sense of humor on display, but the screenplay (which is co-written by Wrona and Pawel Maslona) doesn’t feature many setups or punch lines. Instead, the levity arrives through the guests’ confused, frustrated, and indifferent reactions to the absurdity that occurs once Piotr begins to see the dybbuk. The film’s most significant comedic relief comes in the form of a priest who desperately wants to leave the wedding, but constantly runs into roadblocks that prevent him from leaving the reception. Without a driver’s license, the priest is eventually forced to catch a ride home with an atheist doctor who has had one too many celebratory drinks. The entire sequence should feel completely out of place in a film like Demon, but it somehow manages to work.

Utilizing naturalistic performances, the acting is good across the board. As Piotr begins to crack under the pressure of the dybbuk’s presence, Tiran expresses paranoia through eerie physicality. While his reactions are chaotic and exhausting, they’re never over-the-top or silly. The real meat of the film comes from the family’s conflicting reactions to Piotr’s illness or possession, and the dramatic scenes of heated debate on the issue are finely acted and engaging.

Sadly, Demon doesn’t really go anywhere, and the end of the film leaves you asking if the destination was truly worth the strenuous journey. Given its subject matter and the atmospheric, haunting, and mildly creepy first act, it’s frustrating that there aren’t any significant scares or notable payoffs. Demon is unlikely to do for awkward Polish weddings what Jaws did for the ocean, but it’s the first truly unique take on the all-too-crowded possession sub-genre to come along in some time, and there’s something to be said for that.

Filmmakers have historically had a difficult time capturing the true essence of the American hardcore scene onscreen. More often than not, cinematic approaches to hardcore feel inauthentic, cheesy, and occasionally even desperate. With Ten Thousand Saints, directors Shari Springer Berman and Robert Pulcini approach the subject matter admirably, albeit a bit unsuccessfully, before transitioning into a predictably sweet story about the perils of young love.

As a drug-using hardcore kid growing up in 1980s Vermont, Jude (Asa Butterfield) yearns to get out of his hometown. After a devastating accident leads to him moving to New York City to live with his estranged, pot-dealing father (Ethan Hawke), Jude is exposed to a whole new world. After befriending Eliza (Hailee Steinfeld), a directionless cocaine addict, and Johnny (Emile Hirsch), the frontman for a straight edge hardcore band, Jude finds himself reevaluating his past, his present, and his future.

Equal parts redemption story and coming-of-age tale, the appeal of Ten Thousand Saints lies more in its compelling cast of characters than its plot. Extremely character-driven, the film provides a realistic look at teen life. Though it’s set roughly thirty years ago, Jude and Eliza deal with issues that are as relevant now as ever and are sure to be extremely relatable to teenage viewers.

Because the film is based around a subculture, Berman and Pulcini utilize plenty of exposition to keep the audience up to speed, but it always feels like exposition. As Jude navigates through the film, he explains the concept of the straight edge lifestyle time after time after time as if he were reading the definition off of Urban Dictionary. At times, the dialogue is borderline cringe-worthy and most of the characters don’t appear believably to be a part of the hardcore scene, which is distracting. Aside from the musical scenes, Ten Thousand Saints could easily be added to the ever-growing list of movies that don’t accurately capture the essence of the hardcore scene.

Thankfully, the film has plenty of heart elsewhere, particularly in its cast. Performances are strong across the board, with angst-filled teenagers and their equally confused parents proving both empathetic and likable in spite of themselves. Butterfield and Steinfeld share a charmingly awkward chemistry while Hawke and Emily Mortimer provide a majority of the film’s comedy. It’s an interesting dichotomy between generations, and the way in which Berman and Pulcini analyze two vastly different forms of rebellion is very sharp and interesting. There proves to be a vicious cycle as the new generation rebels against their parents who chose to use drugs in rebellion against their parents who remained abstinent and sober.

While this isn’t explored as in-depth as it perhaps could have been, it serves as the basis for the best scenes in the film—most notably one where Jude’s mother and Eliza’s mother have an emotional heart-to-heart conversation about their children. It’s a beautiful moment, wrought with sentimentality, and it sums up the entire film. Ten Thousand Saints, at its core, is about a group of flawed people who all learn more about themselves through their interactions with each other, and try their hardest to become better human beings as a result.

While certainly not a dark comedy in the traditional sense, Ten Thousand Saints consistently finds humor in plenty of tragic situations. Death, drug abuse, unexpected pregnancy, abortion, assault, and adultery are all explored during the film’s 113-minute running time; and while not a decidedly adult film, it ventures into some extremely bleak territory.

Despite not portraying the American hardcore scene in the most authentic light, Ten Thousand Saints is a well-acted, technically sound film with a wonderful ensemble cast and an adequate amount of charm.

Countless businessmen will tell you that appearance is a vital part of success. If you look successful, people will assume that you are successful. If you dress like a bum, people will assume you are a bum. Thus is the case for Mark Reay, the subject of Thomas Wirthensohn’s documentary Homme Less.

Mark is a model, actor, and photographer who has fallen on hard times in recent years. Essentially homeless—somewhat by choice—he bathes in a gym where he keeps most of his belongings in the locker room and sleeps under a tarp on the rooftop of a seedy apartment. Things clearly could be better for Mark, yet he still maintains a professional appearance in his everyday life. He keeps a clean look. He dresses nice, stays in shape, and always gives off the impression that he is doing well. Though he claims to be happy with his life, it does appear like part of his act; pretending to be content with having to trespass on private property in order to sleep.

Those susceptible to secondhand embarrassment will cringe their way through some parts of Homme Less as Mark finds himself in countless awkward situations throughout the film. One scene finds Reay trying to sneak through an apartment complex without anyone seeing him. As he scurries around, avoiding contact, the bleak reality of his living situation begins to sink in. Early on, Mark looks into the camera and tells the audience that he basically chooses to live life this way in order to save rent money while living in a large city. Whether or not that is true is certainly up for debate, and it’s a shame that the film doesn’t explore more of Mark’s psyche. Wirthensohn instead chooses to focus primarily on his subject’s daily life instead of the motivation behind a person chasing their dreams so determinedly despite being dealt hard circumstances. It’s an interesting film regardless, but it would have been nice to learn more about what makes Mark tick.

Unfortunately, this lack of depth means the film lacks scope. It’s an entertaining ride, but by the time the credits begin to roll, we’re left with something that feels more like the pilot episode of a documentary series than a single feature film. Because Mark is both an interesting character and leads a particularly unconventional life, there seems to be so much more to have been learned and Homme Less hardly cracks the surface. There’s a fine line between leaving an audience wanting more and leaving a story incomplete and here it feels less intentional and more unfinished.

On a technical scale, Homme Less is sharp from start to finish; remarkable considering the crew consisted only of Wirthensohn. Based on the guerilla nature of the film, the cinematography is surprisingly crisp and clear, as is the audio quality. A phenomenal score by Kyle Eastwood and Matt McGuire brings a classic, jazzy vibe to the film, and stands out as a highlight. The music brilliantly compliments Reay as he walks through situations with a seemingly unbridled confidence.

Homme Less provides a heartbreaking look into the life of a man who, despite dealing with difficult situations on an hourly basis, finds the ability to unleash his unique brand of positivity into the world. It’s not a groundbreaking or awe-inspiring documentary, but it doesn’t attempt such greatness. Thanks to its charm, heart, and peculiar subject, Homme Less ends up being an admirable, if not a rather unstructured directorial début from Wirthensohn.

European filmmakers have a tendency to look at young love with unbridled honesty, which often results in sincere, interesting movies. Alanté Kavaïté’s Lithuanian coming-of-age drama Summer of Sangaile delivers a genuine look at the lives of two young girls approaching adulthood while struggling to come to terms with who they are.

Sangaile (Julija Steponaityte) is a teenage girl with a peculiar fascination with stunt planes. When she meets Auste (Aiste Dirziute), an outgoing young fashionista, they quickly become friends. As the two young women grow closer, they develop a relationship that allows them both to discover things they never knew about themselves.

Summer of Sangaile feels very much like a film from the late ‘90s. From the warm nature of its cinematography to the generally upbeat, summertime vibe throughout, Summer of Sangaile is stylistically unlike most similarly constructed coming-of-age dramas from the last several years.

As is the case with plenty of films involving pilots and planes, Summer of Sangaile is heavily metaphorical in regards to Sangaile’s inability to “fly.” Just as she cannot fly an airplane, she cannot be herself due to outside pressure and internal struggle. It’s extremely on the nose in that sense, but wonderful performances from both lead actresses and Kavaïté’s ability to keep the story grounded prevent things from ever feeling hokey. This is especially important later on in the film when some darker themes are introduced.

Despite a few scenes dragging a bit longer than they should, Summer of Sangaile more than makes up for its mild pacing issues with a superb soundtrack, stellar performances, and surprisingly unique characters. Fans of unusual, inherently European love stories are sure to appreciate what Kavaïté is going for here.

Movies about misguided adults finding their purpose by teaching life lessons to misguided kids aren’t exactly hard to come by. From The Bad News Bears to The School of Rock, experienced filmgoers know how these films are going to play out before the opening credits begin to roll, but that rarely stops them from being enjoyable. Pat Mills’ Guidance is no different.

David Gold (Mills) is a former child star struggling to make it as an actor in his adult years. Unable to get auditions, and with bills piling up, David has no choice but to look for a job elsewhere. Using the name “Roland Brown,” David gets hired as a school guidance counselor, and quickly begins dishing out life advice to students through less than traditional means. Along the way, of course, the newfound role model must come to terms with his own issues and character flaws.

It takes a while to find its footing, but once it does, there’s a genuine honesty and heart to Guidance. Equally sweet and unexpectedly dark, the film is far from the feel-good tale one might expect from its synopsis. There’s a sharp sense of humor on display from start to finish, but Mills doesn’t shy away from keeping things realistic and emotionally driven.

With an excellent soundtrack, strong performances, and plenty of humorous moments, Guidance is an entertaining comedy that succeeds swimmingly at what it sets out to do. It isn’t the kind of film that’ll stick with you long after the credits roll, but it’s a good time while it lasts.

Now more than ever, it seems as though the general public sympathizes with those forced to commit criminal acts in order to provide for their families. With the current economic climate in the United States, people who would otherwise live their lives on the straight and narrow now seem more inclined to turn towards illegal activity in order to pay their bills. As a result, we as a society seem more likely to connect with characters who, despite being generally good people, find themselves in shady situations. Thus is the case with Jay Martin’s 7 Minutes, a typical “heist gone wrong” film that, for better or worse, focuses more on the events leading up to a robbery than the actual robbery itself.

After being laid off from his job, Sam (Luke Mitchell) grows desperate to make enough money to provide for his girlfriend Kate (Leven Rambin) and their unborn child. His brother Mike (Jason Ritter) suggests getting into the drug dealing business with him. Along with their friend Owen (Zane Holtz), the brothers begin peddling weed and ecstasy. But when a deal goes wrong, the trio is forced to recoup the lost money or face serious consequences at the hands of a drug kingpin. With no other choices in sight, they decide to rob their local bank, and as is generally the case with untrained criminals, things don’t go quite as planned.

As more and more characters enter into the situation, the film flashes back to the events that led to everyone becoming involved in the heist. While the bank robbery lasts only seven minutes (hence the title), the flashback sequences comprise a majority of the film’s running time. A bumbling police officer, a scumbag thief, and a shady businessman all end up inside the bank during the heist, resulting in Sam, Mike, and Owen losing complete control of the situation.

You’ve seen 7 Minutes before. It follows the same blueprint as a number of similar crime thrillers, but does so well enough to constitute a viewing for fans of such genre films. Stylistically, the film is like a strange mixture of Bad Turn Worse (another Starz release) and the opening and closing sequences of Pulp Fiction. Martin utilizes a delightfully southern, small town vibe throughout the film, and the idea that everybody knows everybody comes into play on more than one occasion.

Performances are solid across the board, with Leven Rambin stealing the show every time she appears onscreen. Mitchell, Ritter, and Holtz play off each other very well as the “looks, brains, and muscle,” respectively. Joel Murray and the legendary Kris Kristofferson appear in minor roles, though they are both relatively underused. As an ensemble, though, the characters genuinely feel like members of a small community with some serious issues.

The only glaring issue with 7 Minutes is the considerable amount of fluff in the flashback sequences. In the midst of a high-action scene, nothing grinds down on an audience’s attention span like cutting to a low-energy, dialogue heavy flashback. Martin’s reasoning for this is admirable. He clearly wants viewers to connect with the characters as much as possible, but the pacing just isn’t quite there because of the inconvenient timing of the flashbacks. The time jumps only answer questions no one would bother asking, making their presence feel irrelevant.

It definitely doesn’t reinvent the wheel when it comes to heist thrillers, but 7 Minutes is a fun romp for film fans who just can’t get enough of watching bumbling criminals struggle to successfully commit a crime. Experienced filmgoers will be able to predict this one from a mile away, and sure, quite a few movies with a similar plot have come along in recent memory, but 7 Minutes manages to be enjoyable despite its issues. If you think you’ll have a good time with this one, you’re probably going to have a good time.

It seems to be quite a difficult task to create a film that features an intrinsically upbeat message without feeling tawdry or mind-numbingly sugarcoated. There’s a reason most films of the aforementioned nature appeal only to toddlers, and it’s because anyone past pre-school age knows that life is never perfect. There are always going to be obstacles, and finding happiness will never be as easy as it seems. In Welcome to Happiness, writer-director Oliver Thompson invites viewers into a world where genuine happiness is obtainable, but only to those who are all too familiar with the inherent difficulties of life.

Kyle Gallner stars as Woody Ward, a children’s book author whose closet features a mysterious door that allows special, troubled people to enter through in order to find happiness. Despite serving as a pseudo gatekeeper of the door, Woody has no idea what lies on the other side, though he is incredibly curious. After he meets Trudy (Olivia Thirlby), a charming young woman with whom he shares an apartment complex, Woody’s life begins to change, resulting in his desire to uncover the truth behind the door to a happier life.

Welcome to Happiness is an extremely “quirky,” Wes Anderson-style adventure comedy with an incredible ensemble cast and a dozens of wacky characters. Make no mistake, though, the film is completely comfortable venturing into very dark places. In order to stress the importance of happiness, Thompson opts to show many of the characters at their lowest. However, these moments of bleakness are never held for too long, and there is always a powerful sense of hopefulness throughout.

While the bizarre plot is reason enough to buy a ticket to Welcome to Happiness, the film’s star-studded cast secures the film’s success. At this point in her career, it seems almost impossible for Olivia Thirlby to not be violently charming, but she outdoes herself here, as one of the most absurdly adorable girls next door to appear onscreen in years. Her chemistry with Gallner is honest and sweet, and ultimately, very realistic. On the complete opposite end of the performance spectrum, the always-hilarious Keegan-Michael Key is absolutely fantastic as a peculiar baseball card collector named Procter, and appears to be having the time of his life in the role. With supporting roles from Nick Offerman, Brendan Sexton III, Josh Brener, and Molly C. Quinn, among others, the film has the feel of a big-budget Hollywood production, but the homey charm of an indie flick.

Thompson (who also edited the film) chooses to use a few strange editing choices throughout. Songs fade in and out somewhat jarringly, and some of the cuts are a bit peculiar. It fits fairly well with the storybook style of the film, but it is still noticeably weird at times. Perhaps that’s part of what makes the film so lovely, though. Welcome to Happiness feels like this strange children’s story but darker and for adults. There’s this universally relatable nature about it, because everyone desires to find happiness in life, but we’ve all experienced hardships that constantly seem to get in the way; and pasts that we can never seem to fully shake.

As a debut, Welcome to Happiness proves to be a pretty remarkable arrival for Oliver Thompson, who quickly stakes his claim as a filmmaker to watch. Despite a few moments that seem out of place in the grand scheme of the story, there’s so much to enjoy about this film that it’s really an easy recommendation. It’s a feel-good tale that manages to remain mature and, most importantly, honest. It’s the ideal two-hour road trip to happiness.

Homelessness is a somewhat overlooked issue in America. While citizens seem to be completely knowledgeable about the overwhelming percentage of homeless people in foreign countries, many seem to have their blinders on in our own backyards. The feature debut of director Clay Riley Hassler, Homeless, explores this issue with a heartbreaking honesty.

After his father is sent to jail and his grandmother passes away, teenager Gosh (Michael McDowell) is unable to pay rent, and forced out on the streets. With only the clothes on his back and his iPod, Gosh checks himself into a local shelter. Far and away the youngest resident, the teenager isn’t exactly embraced with open arms by the other men in the facility, and his attempts to make amends with his incarcerated father fall flat. After befriending a middle-aged mother, Tina (Julie Dunagan), who helps him get a job at the Chinese restaurant she works at, things begin looking up for Gosh. But as many of us can attest, life can be horribly cruel, and Gosh is forced to learn some truly disturbing facts about the depressing nature of humanity.

Almost documentary-like in its realism and technical approach, Homeless is a real slice-of-life movie. Utilizing naturalistic dialogue and non-actors, Hassler provides a truly accurate depiction of not only homelessness, but also of the Winston Salem area of North Carolina. Many filmmakers completely fumble while trying to depict life in the south. But here Hassler succeeds. The characters feel authentic, and certainly southern, but nobody talks like Foghorn Leghorn, or participates in outdated, stereotypical pastimes.

Technically sound while still maintaining a DIY vibe, the filmmakers cast actual homeless people and filmed inside of an actual homeless shelter to achieve a sense of realism. As one would expect, it works phenomenally. You truly get a sense of what living in a shelter is like, as opposed to the somewhat romanticized portrayal in other films with a similar subject matter. There are rules, there are problems, and there’s even more of a soul-crushing aesthetic than you might expect. Early on, Homeless feels as much like a movie about life in jail than on the streets due to the sense of pseudo-isolation and hopelessness. With wintry, cool cinematography, and sullen environments, Homeless has a look and feel that really drags you into the world in which it is set, whether you’re comfortable there or not.

As a non-actor in his first film role, Michael McDowell delivers an unbelievably sharp performance as a reserved teenager whose once vibrant goals have been crushed by the harsh reality of his predicament. Despite having relatively little dialogue, McDowell brings Gosh to life in the subtlest of ways, and it’s absolutely fascinating to see the actor (and it’s completely appropriate to call him that) go to work. Similarly, Julie Dunagan feels like a true and honest resident of the American southeast; a kindhearted mother who is forced to make difficult decisions in a time of struggle. And all the characters are that complex. They’re generally good people who are placed in situations that compel them to commit evil, and that’s where some of the best dramatic moments of all are born.

Despite its extremely on-the-nose title, Homeless provides a dark, honest look at the life of homeless, without feeling cheesy or preachy. If this were a Hallmark production, we know it’d end with a family of rich, kindhearted socialites adopting the needy teenager. But Homeless isn’t a Hallmark production. It’s unflinchingly bleak, but still manages to avoid becoming a tale of cynicism, as we stay hesitantly hopeful for the future from start to finish. Fans of dark dramas, character pieces, and mumblecore-style films are sure to be enamored by Homeless; a successful debut from a director to watch in Clay Hassler.

Far too often, it seems that the term “drug thriller” is code for “Scarface rip-off,” which follows the decline of a rich, usually Colombian, kingpin in dull, cookie-cutter fashion. Rarely, it seems, do filmmakers take the road less traveled and tell the story from the perspective of a drug addict. Tim McCann’s The Aftermath does precisely that.

After separating from his wife, Sonny (Sam Trammell) turns to drug use to ease the pain. Addicted, but hoping to make amends, Sonny reaches out to all of those close to his wife in hopes of giving her a necklace on their anniversary. Before he has the chance to do so, however, the piece of jewelry is stolen by a violent pimp. With all other purpose in his life gone, Sonny sets forth on a journey through a brutal criminal underbelly in order to retrieve his wife’s necklace—regardless of the consequences.

Thanks to a commanding performance from Sam Trammell (True Blood), The Aftermath does an incredible job of humanizing a lying, cheating drug addict. There’s no debate about it, Sonny isn’t a particularly likable character. He isn’t rotten to his core, but he certainly isn’t a guy you’d want hanging around. McCann takes this anti-hero and unapologetically thrusts viewers into his world. Though the film isn’t ultra-violent, nor does it feature a large body count, there is a genuine sense of danger present throughout The Aftermath. Nobody appears to be invincible; anyone and everyone could be killed off at the drop of a hat. Much like McMann’s highly underrated mystery film The Poker Club, The Aftermath takes an unlikely protagonist and places him in an unfamiliar, crime-filled situation. And just like in The Poker Club, the result is a thoroughly interesting, occasionally suspenseful, and at all times well-crafted thriller.

One of the more unique aspects of The Aftermath is its soundtrack, which includes classic ‘50s-style tunes as well as hypnotic, synth-heavy pop tracks. The music is tonally all over the place, but each selection fits brilliantly with its corresponding scene. The music just serves to up the energy of the wild journey The Aftermath encompasses. Sonny’s quest takes him through vastly different areas over the course of the film’s 83-minute running time, including strip clubs, residential neighborhoods, sleazy motel rooms, crack houses, and desolate streets. He is welcomed nowhere—an especially interesting aspect of his character—and no matter where Sonny’s journey takes him, he is seen as an outsider; a vagrant; a junkie. As a result, The Aftermath is somewhat bleak, as Sonny’s literal struggle for some sense of redemption from past wrongs is brutal and unrelenting.

Warm cinematography from director of photography Alan McIntyre Smith gives the film a hazy, almost sticky aesthetic. Everyone appears to be covered in so much sweat and dirt that you can almost smell the body odor through the screen. If the subject matter isn’t seedy enough, the onscreen images will have you wanting to take a shower after the credits begin to roll. There’s no John Waters-esque dirtiness on display, but the griminess of The Aftermath is truly disgusting at times.

The Aftermath is a truly fascinating little indie movie; a completely different kind of adventure film, and one that certainly holds attention. In a world of cheesy drug thrillers and crime romps, The Aftermath keeps things subtle and serious, mixing a story of the perils of addiction with an almost neo-noir attitude. With a deceptive amount of twists and turns, Tim McMann’s latest movie is a completely effective, completely engrossing time at the cinema.

Historically, post-apocalyptic films have been filled with dread, bleakness, and no hope for the future. Kristjan Thor’s Astraea opens up with a sign of compassion in a world gone mad, which becomes a recurring theme in the film. Instead of intense action sequences, doomsday gangs, and swarms of villains, Astraea utilizes a low-key, character-driven story to tell the tale of the human struggle to remain hopeful during the darkest of times

After an event known as “the Drop,” most of the earth’s populationis wiped out as human beings drop dead without warning. As a result, the survivors are left in a world of violence and hardship. On their way to Nova Scotia to meet up with their grandmother, teenager Astraea (NereaDuhart) and her brother Matthew (Scotty Crowe) trek through the wintry landscape, surviving off of canned food. They live virtually a rinse-and-repeat life until they run into James (Dan O’Brien) and Callie (Jessica Cummings), who have taken up shop in a suburban home. After moving in with the couple, Matthew grows closer and closer with Callie, much to the disdain of James. As tensions rise, Astraea begins to have what she believes to be psychic premonitions.

Where Astraea really succeeds, where many films of its nature fall apart, is in Thor’s crafting of an honest depiction of life after an earth-shattering event, rather than heightening the drama in more silly ways. There are no zombies, mutants, aliens, or other supernatural beings running around, nor are there armies of bandits attempting to skin survivors. There are just bleak, empty landscapes and a handful of people trying to get by. The superb production design doesn’t feature decrepit or vandalized locations. Instead, the areas look relatively normal, just emptier and void of electricity and people. There’s a genuine sense of struggle, danger, and devastation in the aesthetic.

During the opening fifteen minutes there is a voiceover narration but almost no spoken dialogue between the two leads, which really adds to the already heavy sense of desolation. Even in its subtlety the film stresses the bleakness that the end of the world has created. Astraea carries around a sound recorder with her parents’ voicemail greeting saved and frequently listens to it throughout the film—a truly heartbreaking, sobering aspect. There’s the heart of Astraea. It’s completely depressing in a way that somehow allows its audience to feel hopeful and positive about the future. Though survival is surely unlikely, it is completely possible, and with characters who are easy to cheer for, it’s easy to get overwhelmingly invested in their story.

The acting on display is great all-around, with Duhart delivering a true standout performance in her film début. Young people can sometimes weigh down and annoy in tales of survival, but Astraea is a genuinely interesting and likable character. Having a sixteen-year-old girl lead a post-apocalyptic film (without donning a bow and arrow and fighting in any hand to hand combat) is a unique choice that truly pays off here. Scotty Crowe has a boy next door style of charm that helps create a believable onscreen chemistry with Jessica Cummings, and Dan O’Brien manages to make a curmudgeonly, jealous pessimist sympathetic. Rarely will you find a cast list that is as solid from top to bottom as the one in Astraea.

In 97 minutes, Astraea provides a more honest and emotionally taxing look at the psyche of those struggling to survive the apocalypse than The Walking Dead has in five seasons. It’s simply a good film with emotional stakes and personal dynamics providing the tension, while the world appears to be ending in the background. Those who can check their apocalyptic assumptions at the door, of high-action or zombie-filled adventure, won’t be disappointed with this one.

At what point are filmmakers finally going to stop making these “directionless boy falls in love with peculiar girl” movies?

Hopefully they never do, because that blueprint has resulted in some of the most charming, enjoyable films of all time. That same blueprint is put to work once again in French filmmaker Thomas Cailley’s romantic comedy Love at First Fight (aka Les Combattants), and once again, it works incredibly well.

Love at First Fight tells the story of Arnaud (Kévin Azaïs), an average teenager growing up in suburban France. He spends his days building huts as part of his family’s business, and his nights partying with his best friends. After a series of events leads to Arnaud developing a pseudo friendship with Madeleine (Adèle Haenel), a doomsday-prepping conspiracy theorist, he finds an unusual sense of purpose in life. When Madeleine signs up for a two-week boot camp, Arnaud follows suit, and the two find out just what it takes to survive the apocalypse—as well as the perils of young love.

With a hypnotic, electronic score by Philippe Deshaies, Lionel Flairs, Benoit Rault, Love at First Fight has an extremely upbeat and hopeful tone, which perfectly complements the comedic nature of the screenplay. While there are a few jokes in the dialogue, most of the film’s humor comes from the physicality of the actors. The comedic timing of the performers is great all-around.

Like many European films, specifically ones from France, Love at First Fight captures the feeling of romance and sexual exploration with great authenticity. Due to some excellent casting, and superb performances from Azaïs and Haenel, the characters feel real and honest. The teenagers in Love at First Fight look and act like the kids next door instead of Hollister models that seem to make up the casts of many American teen comedies. As a result, it’s much easier to get invested in the film’s emotional-filled story. Because while the film doesn’t deal with very many hard-hitting subjects, it often relies on the sentimentality of its viewers in order to succeed.

If this were an American film, there would likely be countless social commentary-filled overtones about the United States military and the controversial recruiting techniques of the various branches. Apparently such activity is a non-issue in France, because Cailley addresses military officials—specifically recruiters—with respect and even a bit of dignity. From an American standpoint, it’s quite interesting to see how differently other cultures approach a system that is, in many ways, much like our own. Culturally (and to some extent, technically) there are many aspects of Love at First Fight that are inherently French, but its overlying theme is universal. There’s just something about stories of young love—particularly those with lovable characters—that seems to speak to everyone in every language, and Cailey and co-writer Claude Le Pape really drive that point home in the most European way possible. It doesn’t matter where you’re from, or what your interests are, love will find a way because love is universal. It’s an unapologetically sweet message in a film that manages to find comedy and joy in some unusual, and occasionally dark, places.

High on entertainment value, and seeping with heart, Love at First Fight provides everything viewers will be looking for out of this kind of film. Honest performances from two exceptional young actors, sharp storytelling ability from a very capable director, and a heartwarming screenplay all come together, resulting in a completely satisfying, utterly charming package. Fans of French cinema, coming-of-age stories, and kindhearted romantic comedies are sure to find plenty to enjoy with Love at First Fight.

Albert Maysles is one of the most iconic documentary filmmakers of all time. Having directed legendary documentaries like Grey Gardens (and its 2006 sequel The Beales of Grey Gardens), Gimme Shelter, and Salesman, Maysles worked as a directing team with his brother, David, until David’s death in 1987. Albert carried on the legacy, and has been actively making documentary films since. Sadly, Albert passed away just a few months ago, but with Iris, Maysles’ last major film, the legendary filmmaker truly goes out on top.

Similar to Grey Gardens, Iris is a character study on an eccentric woman who has refused to let age slow her down. The title subject, Iris Apfel, has become a bit of a style icon; she’s known for her carefree attitude and flamboyant attire. Maysles’ approach is relatively low-key; there isn’t any particular all-encompassing story to the film. It’s just a few days in the life of a real character. Still, the film is entertaining, upbeat and enjoyable; like spending a day with your lovably crazy grandmother. Over the course of the film’s eighty-minute running time, Iris has run-ins with apparent heavy-hitters in the fashion world, as well as none other than hip-hop icon Kanye West, who miraculously expresses genuine interest and gratitude towards the elderly woman. Mostly, though, Maysles just follows Iris through various clothing and fabric stores and documents her interactions with store owners and designers. On paper, it sounds quite dull, but the execution is surprisingly engaging.

Iris’ husband, Carl, is equally as entertaining as his wife. The couple lives in a lavish home filled with toys, trinkets, and various obscurities. Their relationship is adorable and charming, and Maysles captures everything from their love for one another to their typical couple tiffs—the most amusing of which is an argument over whether or not they have run out of yogurt. By the end of the film, plenty of viewers will undoubtedly want the wacky couple—who have no children—to adopt them as their own.

There’s something to be said about capturing someone’s true nature on camera. With documentaries, especially, it seems to be a daunting task to get the absolute truth out of a person, as it is human nature to play up to the camera. And while Iris and Carl certainly seem like a vivacious and animated couple, their personalities never feel disingenuous or phony. They truly are a wild, lively, and undeniably lovable duo, and Maysles’ ability to capture them in sincere fashion is nothing short of brilliant. Right up until his death, even in his late eighties, Maysles was still an unbelievable documentarian.

Iris’ occasionally self-deprecating attitude and apparent disdain for traditional views of beauty and self-importance provide plenty of humorous anecdotes and, as a result, make the film immensely quotable. It is absolutely fascinating listening to Iris discuss how “pretty” is overrated, and her lack of traditional attractiveness is what caused her to develop such a strong personality, which in turn has made her an immaculate success. At its core, that’s really what Iris is all about. It’s about being happy with being who you are, and never apologizing to those who can’t appreciate your true character.

Iris is a well-made, engaging, and lighthearted tale that lacks any sort of cynicism. The consistently upbeat and hopeful tone of the film is sure to have audiences leaving the theater will smiles on their faces. It’s always nice to see legendary directors go out with a bang instead of a fizzle, and Albert Maysles certainly does just that with Iris. Make sure you see this movie. Even if you couldn’t possibly care less about fashion, socialites, or style, make sure you see this movie.

The subculture of body suspension and modification is an interesting, it’s definitely not for the faint of squeamish, and perhaps for that reason it’s somewhat under-documented in cinema. Enter Kate Shenton’s documentary On Tender Hooks. After a successful showing at FrightFest in London, the film has finally received an official release date.

On Tender Hooks challenges the perceptions and squeamishness of even the most hardened viewer as the director, Kate Shenton, participates in the art of human body suspension. Whether it’s considered disgusting or intriguing, the film is a fascinating look at a subculture many will find bizarre, even frightening.

On Tender Hooks is set to be released on DVD May 19th through MVD Entertainment. Bonus features of the DVD include three short films by Kate Shenton, as well as a commentary track.

Few subgenres of film are as universally underappreciated as the American sex comedy. Despite a few critically acclaimed entries over the past couple of decades, sex comedies in general seem to be reserved for the cheap-beer-fueled college crowd and horny high schoolers. Now that’s perfectly fine, but the one thing that consistently seems to hold films in the genre back from greatness is that they almost always rely on the same stale jokes and ridiculous storylines. Only the best of the best are able to try something new and inventive while still remaining exceptionally hilarious.

The Party Is Over follows three friends and roommates through one week in college as they explore bizarre sexual relationships with three vastly different women. Fino (Micky Shiloah) is a charismatic playboy who has struggled to find romance after breaking up with Nia (Michelle Page), an attractive young woman with a rape fetish. Will (Eddie Perino), a stoner with a voyeur fetish, frequently finds himself scaring off potential dates by expressing his interest in hidden-camera-style porn. Perhaps strangest of all is Natan (Kyle Mooney), a filmmaker/comedian who enjoys wearing women’s clothes, and obsessively fetishizes hair covered by hijabs. On paper, this sounds like any other low-budget sex comedy, but director Vahe Gabuchian takes a surprisingly honest approach to the subject matter. There’s still a silly tone to the film, but the issues that occur onscreen are much more serious than that of your typical college comedy.

After a mildly dopey opening sequence, The Party Is Over takes a very dark turn when Fino is arrested for sexual assault after Nia calls the police the morning after a night of rough sex and consensual roleplaying. While Fino and his parents struggle to find a way to prove his innocence despite all of the evidence pointing to the contrary, Nia falls off the face of the earth. Meanwhile, Natan pursues a relationship with Sana (Tamara Dhia), a traditional Muslim girl who can’t seem to decide how she feels about Natan’s persistence; Will meets Noel (Karynn Moore), a drug dealer whose unusual voyeuristic fetishes seem to mirror his own.

In terms of the overall aesthetic and vibe of the film, The Party Is Over feels like a low-budget comedy from the mid 2000s. From the inauthentic portrayal of “wild” college parties to the outrageous nature of the situations the characters find themselves in, and the fact that one of the main characters unironically carries around a flip phone, it wouldn’t be all that surprising to discover that The Party Is Over was produced in 2006.

Most of the shock-value humor falls flat, and it isn’t until The Party Is Over digs deep into the humanity of its characters that it really starts to work. Once it gets there, though, the cast comes alive, and the film truly seems to find its footing. There’s something to be said for a college-set sex comedy that has absolutely nothing to do with rival fraternities or some insanely elaborate scheme to overthrow the villainous dean. The Party Is Over is at its best when it starts to take its subject matter seriously, which is what makes the generally silly tone of the film so frustrating.

At the end, we are left with a lighthearted, unsatisfying resolution that feels out-of-place with nearly everything leading up to it. Nobody’s story receives a definitive conclusion, which would be fine, but the film’s opening prepares viewers for a crazy resolution that just never arrives. Luckily, Fino, Will, and Natan are interesting enough that spending just under ninety minutes with them never grows old, and Shiloah, Perino, and Mooney manage to entertain throughout. It’s just a shame that the juvenile shenanigans the characters take part in feel so much more mundane and uninspired than the more human moments that the cast and crew are clearly capable of creating. Maybe it’s a bit unfair to expect a silly sex comedy to have some profound meaning in the end, but The Party Is Over has the potential to be much smarter than it ends up being. It’s not a bad movie by any means, but it’s just lacking the secret sauce needed to propel it to greatness.

Despite carrying its fair share of flaws, The Party Is Over brings enough new aspects to the table to warrant a viewing from fans of college comedies and quirky films about sexual exploration.

Filmmakers have historically had an extremely difficult time making scientific documentaries that are both informative and enjoyable. Those that are filled with information generally have the entertainment value of a high school textbook. Those that are enjoyable to watch rarely teach their audience anything substantial, and continuously relay the same sentiments we’ve all heard thousands of times.

Guy Reid’s Planetary finds individuals of varying backgrounds discussing why nature and everything on the planet is important to them. Amongst these folks are a bunch of scientists who believe that humanity as a whole should get back to its roots and engage in nature. A lot of spiritual statements follow, and the film begins to explore life on earth.

Unsurprisingly, Planetary is a film that takes a staunch anti-industrialization stance, and urges its audience to think about their connection with nature, preaching about conservation and preservation as a result. This is all fine, well, and good, but it all really seems to be nothing more than preaching to the choir. After all, who is really watching this movie? There aren’t any new, groundbreaking points to be found, and as a result, there’s nothing particularly engaging about the film.

Certain interviewees theorize how everyone and everything on the planet is connected, but the film doesn’t expand on such concepts nearly as deeply as it could have. The obvious moral of Planetary is that our individual lives are virtually meaningless in the grand scheme of things, and that we should all focus on doing our part to save the earth from ourselves. How are we supposed to do that? Well, it never really gets that far. The film focuses far too heavily on the why surrounding the subject matter, and not nearly enough on the how, which, at the end of the day, is what’s most important.

An often subtle, ambient score helps bring a plethora of static shots to life. With solid cinematography that features loads of aerial footage, Planetary is often a very aesthetically pleasing documentary, but beautiful pictures can only help so much with an otherwise immensely dull film.

The biggest issue with Planetary is that it just isn’t entertaining. Some interviewees are engaging and a joy to listen to, while others have the charisma of a dead plant. Thankfully, the film slightly picks up in the final act, exploring different areas around the world, but the nameless onscreen characters that would pop up for a few seconds here and there are still infinitely more interesting that constantly hearing about how much nature rules, which is really all Planetary is saying at the end of the day.

Despite delivering some gorgeous images, Planetary ends up feeling like just any other information-overloaded documentary I would’ve been texting through during my high school biology class. Sitting through it feels like an absolute chore at times, and that is never, ever a good thing. As Cosmos: A Spacetime Odyssey taught us less than a year ago, science doesn’t have to be boring. In fact, it can be tremendously fascinating. It’s too bad that Planetary just isn’t.

Just in time for its Earth Day release, the trailer for the upcoming documentary Planetary has arrived. Complete with beautiful cinematography, the film’s trailer prepares audiences for a thought-provoking journey across the Earth.

In a stunning visual exploration, the film interweaves imagery from NASA Apollo missions with visions of the Milky Way, Buddhist monasteries in the Himalayas, and the cacophonous sounds of downtown Tokyo and Manhattan, with intimate interviews from renowned experts who shed new light on the ways our worldview is profoundly affecting life on our planet. A provocative and breathtaking wakeup call, Planetary is a poetic and humbling reminder that it’s time to shift our perspective. The film asks us to rethink who we really are, to reconsider our relationship with ourselves, each other and the world around us—to remember that: we are Planetary.

The film was directed by Guy Reid, who previously directed the award-winning documentary short Overview.

Planetary arrives to Vimeo on Earth Day (April 22nd) through Abramorama and SHFT.com. For more information, visit the film’s official website or Facebook page.

Jurassic World is one of the mostly highly-anticipated films of the summer, and if the first trailer wasn’t enough to get you excited, the new global one undoubtedly is. Filled with more dinosaurs, more action, and more suspense, if the new trailer is an indication of what’s to come,  Jurassic World could very well be exactly what fans of the series have been waiting for.

Twenty-two years after the events of Jurassic Park, Isla Nublar now features a fully functioning dinosaur theme park, Jurassic World, as originally envisioned by John Hammond. After 10 years of operation and visitor rates declining, in order to fulfill a corporate mandate, a new attraction is created to re-spark visitor’s interest, which backfires horribly.

Directed by Colin Trevorrow, the film stars Chris Pratt, Bryce Dallas Howard, Ty Simpkins, Jake Johnson, Omar Sy and Judy Greer.

Jurassic World arrives in theaters on June 12th.

Jurassic World trailer