At this time last year, The Theory of Everything was a week away from its debut at the Toronto International Film Festival, and its star, Eddie Redmayne, was just a 32-year-old British scamp ready to shock the world with his performance as Stephen Hawking. A year later, Redmayne has positioned himself to become the first actor since Tom Hanks in ’94/’95 to win back-to-back golden statues. The Danish Girl reunites Redmayne with Les Miserables director Tom Hooper for an unexpectedly topical biopic co-starring Alicia Vikander, Amber Heard, Matthias Schoenaerts, and Ben Whishaw.

Telling the story of transgender woman Lili Elbe, one of the first identifiable recipients of sexual reassignment surgery. Born in 1880s Denmark as Einar Magnus Andreas Wegener, Lili became an artist and married her wife Gerda Gottlieb before discovering she came to her gender identity realization. The soft lighting, period setting, and expositional dialog all seem reminiscent of director Hooper’s last sweeping Oscars success, The King’s Speech; however, the depiction of Lili’s transition from a man to a woman is bound to become a discussion point as The Danish Girl aims to be part of awards conversations.

The Danish Girl premieres September 5th as part of the Venice Film Festival and will be released Stateside on November 27th.

How does one even begin to describe the enigma that is Yorgos Lanthimos’ The Lobster? Since reading a brief description of its bizarre narrative months ago, it has been one of my most anticipated films of the year (and made our list for most anticipated films of 2015), and those familiar with Lanthimos’ previous work (most notably his 2009 Academy Award nominated film Dogtooth) are probably aware of how strange his work can be—but never without justification. The Lobster tells the story of David (Colin Farrell), a man who has recently been left by his partner and decides to check into The Hotel, where he has a month and a half to meet a new, suitable partner, otherwise he will be transformed into an animal of his choice.

The Lobster functions as part absurdist comedy, part dark romance and part social satire. The comedy is sharp and the romantic elements provide it with a sense of lightness which would have otherwise been absent; the execution of its societal commentary, however, is what sends it into uncharted territory, and the main reason why it comes across as such a deeply original work. Lanthimos pokes fun at certain commonalities of the modern romantic relationship, such as the notion that “birds of a feather flock together,” by utilizing the element of exaggeration. For instance, each character in the film has their singular unique characteristic. David is nearsighted, and thus is only interested in finding a woman who is nearsighted as well. The Limping Man (Ben Whishaw) pursues a woman who suffers from frequent nosebleeds, so in order to capture her attention and fool her into thinking that they are a match, he begins inflicting trauma on his nose, causing it to bleed when in her presence.

When I first saw Dogtooth, I praised it for its technical mastery: its carefully framed static shots, sharp editing and claustrophobic production design. Still, something held me back from fully embracing it, and looking back on the viewing experience now, I’m certain it was that I had a difficult time trying to figure out what it was saying about civilization. Its surreal and otherworldly, for sure, but what sort of comment is it trying to make about the human condition? It is indeed a tough egg to crack. The Lobster, on the other hand, is much more coherent (and dare I say accessible) in its satire. I don’t want to get ahead of myself, as I never thought I would be describing a Lanthimos film as accessible, but I definitely think people will have an easier time figuring out the meaning behind all of the madness here.

The technical elements of The Lobster are just as sound as those of Dogtooth, and aesthetically similar. The camera is almost perpetually static, and much attention is paid to the framing of certain shots, which is interesting because it allows the director to isolate aural elements such as off-screen noises that, though they cannot be seen, having a significant bearing on specific scenes. The musical score is jarring, but not in a negative way; I imagine it will be one of the first technical aspects that viewers take notice of, as its a loud and powerful score which makes itself known within the first few minutes. There isn’t much that I would change about The Lobster; if I was to suggest anything to the editors, it would be to pick out and remove certain scenes which might not seem as pertinent as others, for the film does exhaust a bit in its third act. Aside from that, it is a hilarious and biting critique of interpersonal relationships that is sure to appeal to a wider audience than Lanthimos’ previous works, and may bring him back into the limelight when award season rolls around.

As always, the journey to the next Bond film is an interesting one. Before the $1 billion earnings of Skyfall, MGM filed for bankruptcy, leaving everyone to assume it would be a long, long time before we saw 007 again. Obviously, the four-year wait was well worth it, with the Sam Mendes directed film going above and beyond the average blockbuster. We can all be thankful that he’s back for the next round.

Spectre finds Bond (Daniel Craig) and the rest of MI6 still reeling from the aftermath of Skyfall. While struggling to keep the secret service alive, Bond must face off against a menacing organization and find the truth about SPECTRE.

The cast is rounded out by some familiar faces (Ralph Fiennes, Ben Whishaw, Naomie Harris) and some new to the Bond world (Christoph Waltz, Dave Bautista, and Lea Seydoux). And while the film doesn’t arrive for more than half a year, this first trailer looks gorgeous–thanks mostly to the fine work of Roger Deakins’ replacement, Hoyte van Hoytema (Interstellar, Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy).

Check the trailer below. Spectre arrives November, 6 2015.

Almost every film review I have written has opened with an introduction relating to the film at hand, whether it be an anecdote or a trivia item about awards, news, or details relating to the film. In the case of Lilting, my introduction is left blank thanks to a film so unique and so beautifully executed that I struggle to find a comparison.

The film, from writer/director Hong Khaou, centers on Junn (Pei-pei Cheng), an older Cambodian Chinese woman who has recently lost her son. (She is also a widow.) Junn lives in modern-day London, having emigrated years before with her husband and son. Having never learned the English language, Junn struggles in her solitary life in the retirement home where her son placed her.

Before long there is a new force in her life: Richard (Ben Whishaw), a man she believed was her son’s “best friend” but who, in actuality, was her son’s lover. While nothing can compare to the loss of a child, Richard’s pain of having lost the love of his life is no less crippling to him than Junn’s loss is to her.

Another new force in Junn’s life is Alan (Peter Bowles), an Englishman and fellow retirement home denizen who has romantic interests in Junn – and she in him – despite their language barrier. Where she is bored and restless in the home, Alan is comfortable there.

The third new force in Junn’s life is Vann (Naomi Christie), the interpreter Richard hires to help Junn communicate with Alan. Vann is a pretty, 20-something Asian girl who is tasked with so much more than converting English to Chinese and back again. She is a bridge between languages and cultures and ages. She has the thankless job of providing a voice for everyone else, yet when she tries to assert her own, she finds deeper communication is not necessarily her strong suit, at least in her current situation.

The first 10 minutes of Lilting are devastating. The film opens with a scene with Junn and her son, Kai (Andrew Leung), who is visiting her at the home. She’s your typical mom: she loves that her son has come to visit (but he doesn’t come often enough); she loves that he brings her flowers (but not the CD he keeps forgetting); she wishes she could see him more (and that he would be less generous of his time with Richard). It’s as genuine a mother-son exchange as you are likely to see … until Kai disappears.  He is not in Junn’s room, but instead in her mind.

Thanks to some terrific shot selections and tight blocking by director Khaou, coupled with excellent editing by Mark Towns, a camera trick that in many other films is executed heavy-handedly instead leaves the viewer breathless.

Kai – who is dead when the story begins – exists like this throughout Lilting. Khaou treats us to these deftly woven flashbacks of Kai and Junn, and Kai and Richard, to paint a portrait of who this young man was in the eyes of his mother and in the eyes of his lover, how those two visions of Kai conflicted greatly, and how the conflict escalates in the wake of his death.

Beyond the battle for Kai’s memory (and his things, and his ashes), Junn and Richard carry mild sentiments of bigotry towards each other. Richard carries it in the form of his frustration that Junn never assimilated to her western surroundings. Junn carries it in the form of sexual discrimination. While she never admits to knowing her son was gay, and while there is a moment near the end of the film when Richard outs Kai posthumously, you get the sense she has always known it in her heart, and she has always resented it in her heart. Hers is a jealousy more than that of the usual possessive mother losing her son to his love; it’s a jealousy tinged with old-world discriminatory attitudes. It’s deft character creation from Khaou that both actors pull off remarkably well.

Much of the rest of the film’s conflict is more easily defined but no less important: East vs. West. Old vs. Young. Man vs. Woman. Straight vs. Gay. Richard and Vann face there own strife as Vann’s personal feelings come to play regarding the job she’s been hired for. What makes Lilting so successful is the balance of these conflicting situations. There is never a moment in the film when Khaou rests too heavily on something that feels like it’s working well; he knows to not abuse a good thing.

Khaou adds some needed comic relief and always at the right time – mostly from Alan, who gets the film’s funniest lines. The jokes don’t always work, but they never feel forced, which is more important here.  These aren’t tension-breakers delivered solely for the sake of lightning the mood; they are light lines delivered with pinpoint timing.

Hong Khaou is a gifted storyteller and filmmaker who captures well the complexity of relationships, how challenging they can be, their causes and effects, and what motivates people to operate both within and beyond them. Lilting is delicate and intricate and a genuinely satisfying viewing experience.

Lilting trailer