tributarystu

The Alien saga is back, baby! And it's back with a solid entry - but don't take that from me, I already (really) liked Prometheus and got enough of a kick out of Covenant.

This one feels like a mesh between the first two movies of the series, with so many reverences that it gives off a sense of trying a bit too hard. Starring a gen Z (ish) cast for the first time and set between Alien and Aliens, it's not a very ambitious movie in terms of furthering the lore, but what it does, it does very well - most of the time.

The highlights are the amazing scenes in space and the synthetic person, here powered by Rye Lane's David Jonsson. With some awesome set-pieces along the way, as well as some highly unlikely moments very much in the vein of the more recent Alien movies, Romulus has a solid pulse - until the last act.

It fails to really up the ante for the last twenty or so minutes, content to not only be inspired, but rather copy elements from the previous films, all executed in a workmanlike fashion. It's a shame, because a hair-raising finale elevated Prometheus for me, but here the conclusion is a let-down - in spite of said amazing space vistas.

All in all though, a satisfying addition to the face hugger empire from Fede Alvarez, whetting my appetite for the upcoming TV series, Alien: Earth.

Quentin Dupieux's movie opening this year's Cannes is a movie about a movie about...a movie? This is all typical Dupieux, questioning our reality in clever ways, and I think everything comes together rather well here.

We follow two pairs of actors heading towards a meeting at a diner, with each breaking character and the fourth wall ever more often, generating layers of reality that are usually at odds with one another. Questions are asked overtly and implicitly: does anything matter, how do we construct our reality and what about a dash of almost present-day futurism?

And to top it all off, the movie ends on one of the more meta fourth wall breaks I've ever seen, a bit of a mind-scratcher that cleverly frames the syntax of movie-making.

I think the ultimate claim of LDA is that the one undeniable real thing is what we feel. Not in "feelings are facts" kind of way, but rather in the effect we can have on other people, whether seen on unseen, quantifiable or not. 7.

This French movie by Stéphane Brizé is a sensitive drama/romance, as old lovers meet anew in a different stage of their lives. Guillaume Canet and Alba Rohrwacher are a well-matched pair, whose chemistry was essential to making the movie work.

I am somewhat torn, because the movie's depiction of their (re)connection is well nuanced and plays true, while there are moments of subtle humor and cute interplays. For example, there is a wedding scene where two men "sing" (whistle) as birds to one another, conversing rather eloquently and magnetically - would watch this spin-off. However, the movie is painfully slow, emotionally terse and at almost two hours exceeds what would have made it a more effective runtime.

Brizé's build-ups and long-shots are beautiful, but rather barren, like the inner lives of his ailing characters, which are aptly depicted. However, added to the very familiar beats of the story, it all lacks the weight to justify this outdrawn treatment.

Capturing family dynamics on film is a formidable task, as it involves eliciting authentic emotions and interactions without the subjects censoring themselves. Eugene Buica's documentary, which spans many years but focuses on episodic moments, successfully navigates this challenge. The film portrays a raw and unfiltered view of his family, encompassing humor, grim realities, and deep sadness.

The story begins in 1998 with Mr. And Mrs. Buica returning to Romania from the United States for their son George's wedding, while their other son, Eugene, documents the event. To be fair, the story really begins decades earlier, with the couple living in communist Romania, and we piece it all together as we watch along.

During the wedding trip, the interactions between Mr. And Mrs. Buica quickly escalate from playful jabs to toxic exchanges, with accusations of infidelity and dismissals as mere exaggerations. This dynamic persists throughout the film, blending light-hearted and empathetic scenes with more daunting and uncomfortable moments.

The documentary offers a rich tapestry of human nature, challenging moral judgements. The mismatched yet enduring relationship we are presented with raises complex questions and not all find an answer. Eugene's dual role as a documentarian and a son adds depth, highlighting the generational perpetuation of dysfunction and trauma.

Ultimately, the documentary explores the fragmentation of the human soul and the thin line between interpersonal exploitation and genuine storytelling, making it a compelling and thought-provoking family saga.

I liked Corsage (2022) very much, so I was interested to see another take on the travails of Empress Elisabeth of Austria. While Sisi & Ich doesn't reach quite the same level, it still manages to leave its mark through its distinctive style.

Frauke Finsterwalder's film is not so dissimilar in spirit, with historical irreverence and chic visuals accompanying the story of Sisi and Irma Sztáray, her last lady-in-waiting. It's easy to see the appeal of a strong feminist interpretation of such a compelling historical figure, whose life was laced with tragedy. There's also more context here, as we explore the later years of Elisabeth's life.

Parts of the story and the themes brought back flashbacks from Corsage, but the focus is ultimately on the relationship and friendship between the two central characters. Pre-fame Sandra Hüller stars alongside Susanne Wolff, and the two have a captivating dynamic, which easily prompts larger questions about privilege and loyalty.

The movie doesn't shy away from an anachronistic soundtrack, which didn't always work for me, but still felt coherent in the stylistic approach. The cinematography, in particular, is beautifully lush, making for memorably tranquil visuals that really elevate the final cut.

Sisi does lose steam as it's stretched out thin over more than two hours. However, a clever ending paradoxically imbues it with life, leaving the distinctive bittersweet aftertaste of a worthwhile watch.

The sheer inflation of sports documentaries has significantly lowered the threshold of what constitutes substantial material worthy of exploration. What sets this movie apart is the choice to release it in cinemas, when it really belongs on a streaming platform. That said, it's a competently assembled piece of work, which manages to capture glimmers of personality from its subjects and, arguably, achieves what it sets out to do: PR for the National Team and Romanian football. And looking at the crop of reviews published here on the 14th of May, the PR team has been doing some overtime.

Let's start with the upside: 2024 is a good year to be a football fan in Romania, as "Inima Nationalei" follows the nostalgia-driven and considerably more historically relevant "Hai, Romania!", about the Golden Generation of the 1990s. This time around, we're looking back upon today's national team and its path to Euro 2024, the first time Romania has qualified since 2016 to an event at this level of prestige.

Director Remus Achim interviews a fair few players that are a part of this new generation, which has shown moments of promise ever since it reached the semifinals of the 2019 EURO U21 competition. It's an interesting enough set of characters, blessed with varying amounts of charisma, but who have heartfelt origin stories and are distinctive enough to set themselves apart. Perhaps the main thematic focus, beyond the usual sporting fares about grit, determination and passion, is that of walking in the long shadow of successful parents - with Razvan Marin, Ianis Hagi and manager Edward Iordanescu all having to reckon with and justify themselves for illustrious father-footballers. And if there is any really memorable material in Inima Nationalei, it lies here.

The rest is a collection of montages from the matches and Iordanescu's motivational talks, which play repetitively and without any real dramatic pacing over the (surprising) 103 minute runtime of the film. Framed within the context of the team's revival after a couple of listless qualifying campaigns, one has to appreciate that Iordanescu has managed to assemble a good group of players, galvanizing both them and the fans with the undefeated qualifying run. As journalist Catalin Oprisan, who is the most entertaining character of this story, underlines though - it always feels like it's not quite enough, like pleasing the fans is a Sisyphean task.

Overall, I rate In Inima Nationalei as a satisfying production for the fans, that falls short however in finding a good dramatic structure and being ambitious enough to elicit emotional investment from the (neutral) viewer.

Ilie Nastase, the first ATP world number 1, is vividly brought to life in a documentary that celebrates his numerous titles and larger-than-life personality. This makes for a highly entertaining film that captures Nastase's charm, but also falls short in structural coherence and depth, leaving many potentially interesting aspects of his life unexplored. The early years are notably absent, offering only a glimpse into his fiery nature and leaving most of the root causes to the viewer's imagination.

The documentary, while touching lightly on the political and social context of the late 20th century, focuses more on reminiscing about an era of professional tennis that is gone now - one marked by a closer, more informal camaraderie and stronger personalities. Nastase might be seen as intolerable today but was a product of his times, contributing to the sport's transformation. Or maybe just witnessing it. The narrative conveys warmth and nostalgia through testimonials, past and present, from tennis legends like Arthur Ashe and Billie Jean King, who reflect on Nastase's complex personality with a mix of admiration and bemusement.

Despite its engaging content and archival footage, the film struggles with pacing and clarity, often feeling like a fragmented collection of anecdotes about Nastase's talent and temperament. It veers towards impermanence and is afraid to look deeper into his legacy and how aging and leaving the limelight has affected such a complicated personality.

Nevertheless, the documentary succeeds in capturing the essence of Nastase's flamboyant character, making it a compelling watch for those interested in the history of tennis. And for those longing for "the good old days".

On my last 1hr+ flight, I suddenly remembered I had downloaded this documentary off YT, and so its time had come. Half-Life was a pivotal game for a whole generation of gamers, who, probably like me, also faced the reckoning of two and a half decades passing since they were young(er).

As far as corporate documentaries go, this one's got a bit of heart, but it doesn't go into any serious depth. It does however manage to document the origin story of one of the greatest PC games ever made, with its chapter structure, a kudos to the game's own structure, easy to follow.

What makes it in some way stick beyond just a YT video is the time warp enjoyed with all the protagonists telling their stories, which are usually interesting details from the production process. The odd personal moments elevate what we're watching and I was left wishing there had been more of them.

Its limited scope doesn't allow the Anniversary Doc to shine, but it did leave me with a nostalgic craving. Or maybe I'll finally install Black Mesa.

The 1994 World Cup was a big thing for Romania. Not just the football watching part of the country, but pretty much everyone. It was the first time the country really took center stage in a positive way after the 1989 Revolution. The national team's performance had a wide ranging impact. And it has since become a footballing reference point we look back upon with affection and melancholy.

Claudiu Mitcu's documentary does well to catch some of the atmosphere and feelings of the times. Featuring many of the protagonists, we are accompanied through the years leading up to the 1994 WC and then the event itself. Even if the approach is less structured than I would have liked, it's hard not to get a sense of the emotions involved.

With the advantage of time passing on its side, the documentary coaxes more intimate introspection and revelation from those involved. This is something that usually eludes modern day sports documentaries, with active athletes loathe to say anything controversial. Florin Raduciou, the charismatic striker, is probably the most effective storyteller, entertaining, revealing and also emotional. Yet, there's a sense of honest rumination for most participants.

What drags the movie down other than the loose structure is the inclusion of too many talking heads. Not sure if it could have been better to focus on a few storytellers, as the wide spread isn't very impactful. That aside though, there's definitely no justification in including some of the most controversial figures of 90s Romanian football for colour commentary - impresario Giovanni Becali and former Football Federation President Mircea Sandu.

I would have also liked more of a parallel with the state of Romanian society, a deeper look into what it really meant at that time for people in the country. As it stands, the movie doesn't aim to do more than highlight the elation of victories.

I have no idea how this documentary hits for those who haven't lived the times. The cinema I went to was completely empty on opening day, hinting that the alienation modern day Romanian football fans feel has even seeped into our memories. That said, I do hope it finds its audience, because those times will be tough to recreate - if not impossible seeing how the gaps in sport are ever increasing between those with access to resources and those without.

This satire by Andrei Hutuleac wants to address dysfunctions of modern (Romanian) society, transfixed in its obsession with scandals and its deformed perception of justice and how these have been galvanized by internet culture.

Clearly, these are valid observations, that have been made many a time; often, without being memorably incisive, but on occasion with some flair. Radu Jude's 2021 movie that I can't name because my review won't be published is an example of the latter, but it feels crass to even mention it here.

#dogpoopgirl turns out as an opaque X-ray of no real value, that at best is unfunny and at worst is tasteless. The state of the nation is, indeed, more tragic than comic, but in order to successfully portray that in a movie, you can't just recreate familiar news reels and dump on a contourless lead. That's in spite of Andreea Gramosteanu's performance, which offers some dignity when her character has none.

Perhaps I'm being harsh - had the movie been a short, consisting of the intro/outro sequences, it would have almost worked. Altogether, though, even at a measly 78 minutes, this movie is an hour too long.

I love romcoms. I love the cheese and the absurd. I love the soothing predictability. I love the contrived plots. Alas, even as The Other Zoey ticks all these boxes, it is one of the worst romcoms I have seen in a long time.

When a football playing college guy has an accident and suffers from amnesia, he thinks a girl who is brilliant in many ways, but not an on-paper match, is his girlfriend...and she decides to fake her way through a weekend with him while angling for his cousin.

Sounds like a set-up that could be a lot of fun, if only the movie dared to do anything with this premise and embrace it. Instead, it simply follows the path of its forebears with little charisma or aplomb.

I'll just say that the performances and casting choices are passable, so objectively you can probably find worse movies. But if you're going to just do a variation on a theme, then you better have a banging script that's in some ways irreverent or witty. Instead, TOZ is a formulaic, unfunny, reductive, box-ticking waste of heart beats.

If this is the kind of romcom that younger generations have to watch, my friends, I am sorry to say, we find ourselves in the romantic post-apocalypse. 3.

Nora Iuga, a vibrant contributor to Romanian culture, is the focus of Carla Teaha's documentary, which parallels Iris (2014) in its exploration of a nonagenarian artist's life. The film, akin to a heartfelt tribute, showcases Iuga's journey through diverse historical contexts and her unique, intimate authenticity. It portrays a solitary figure, weaving a narrative of historical homogenization around Nora's distinctiveness, despite occasionally lacking context on her literary significance during different eras.

The documentary's narrative unfolds through a road trip to the Frankfurt Buchmesse, revealing Nora as a multifaceted individual, not just an artist. This journey, though modest in its climax, authentically portrays Nora's human complexities, from the challenges of old age to her youthful vitality. The film, while giving life to Nora's poetic work, doesn't dwell too much on identifying why new generations relate to her writing.

Despite its occasional narrative and contextual shortcomings, the documentary beautifully introduces Nora Iuga and her unique worldview. It intertwines with her ongoing life story, becoming a part of it, and is a work of affection, likely to appeal to a broader audience beyond literary circles.

One of the important funny men of the 70s-90s gets his own documentary from his friend Rob Reiner.

If you're not familiar with the stand-up by Albert Brooks, which I was not, you should know some of his movies - Modern Romance (1981), Lost in America (1985), Mother (1996), etc. And if you're not familiar with his movies, then perhaps with his performances - Broadcast News (1987), Finding Nemo (2003), Drive (2011), etc. And if you're still not familiar with him, geeze, I don't know how you've gone through life without seeing at least of these movies.

I've always held Brooks in my mind as a toned-down Woody Allen kind of figure, presumably because he did share some of the stylings in the movies that he wrote-directed-featured-in. He has worked on so many good films, regardless of his part in it, that it's hard to ignore him as an important artist of his era. Proof to that is the quantity and quality of talking heads who took part in retelling his story, from Stephen Spielberg to Ben Stiller to David Letterman (and many more). You get a good sense of the kind of guy Albert Brooks is and a taste of some of his memorable works, but a lot of the focus is on his irreverence as a stand-up comedian - which is probably where the value is in this, because the movies will always stand on their own.

Other than that, the documentary is traditional to a t, going over the career of AB while adding some context via a one on one interview between him and Rob Reiner. There's a fair amount of funny stuff in it, if not riveting, and a warm portrait of a guy who has left his own distinctive mark in "the business".

...and learn to stop worrying and love the bomb? Probably not, director-writer Radu Jude doesn't imply the unavoidable condition of our fate with his newest foray into social satire. It is rather an appraisal of this odd stage in history, where we've stepped a toe into the future of work and self-expression, but our day to day has cynical commercialism flowing through its veins. Given these underpinnings, why should we expect much? Jude finds a good balance in his latest work, which is seemingly crass, yet full of class (ahah, sorry), in a narrative and visual layering that flows freely and conjures a kind of complexity that's often hard to catch on film.

You should intuit this movie is something else as soon as you see its poster. Funnily enough, it's one of those things that make next no sense out of context and as soon as you get the context, it seems the most obvious choice. Add to that the almost three hour runtime, the international cast, which includes Nina Hoss and Uwe Boll (really spanning the breadth of German cinema there), and you get a sense of how Jude's new film has a specific kind of guts to it.

So what's the story? Our protagonist Angela (Ilinca Manolache) is a production assistant at a Bucharest-based film company that's about to shoot a public relation's bit for an Austrian business operating in Romania. Angela's job is your too typical sixteen hour shifter, that involves everything from shooting audition material, to delivering technical gear, to doing airport pick-ups. When she is depleted, the best she gets from her employers is a "have another Red Bull" suggestion. It's a taxing, soul-sucking, "useless job" as Jude called it, the kind of job whose real usefulness in the grand scheme of things is marginal. As an escape from this hellish drudge, Angela has created a social media character named "Bobitza", as whom, while hidden behind a face filter, she waxes lyrically as a cuss-dripping, misogynist alpha male. And to halfway contrast, halfway enhance this image of present day Angela, Jude juxtaposes scenes from Angela Goes On (1981), a communist proletarian movie about an eponymous taxi driver and her search for a partner.

So there you go, layers. For those who have seen Babardeala cu bucluc (2021), we do not find ourselves on completely foreign territory here. The End of the World is also set in and around Bucharest and it captures the same aggressiveness that's emblematic to living and, especially, driving around the Romanian capital. My main issue with it was that it took satire to the point of caricature, in a demonstrative way that detached it from reality - even from its reality. The experience in Jude's latest is more consistent, finding harmony in dissonance, even if it doesn't always make for a perfect fit.

Aside from Angela's work-related travails, she has to deal with the impending exhumation of her grandparents, as the cemetery they were buried in had illegally annexed land to its property. Now, real-estate developers had reclaimed it and, naturally, luxury condos need some air to breathe. In what is perhaps the most straight-out comedic scene in the film, Angela meets with a representative of the developer who assures her that they are the good guys, covering not only relocation costs, but also theological approval. As she exits the building, we understand in part who Bobitza is - a representation of the number one capitalist model in Romania of the 90s, Bobby Ewing of Dallas.

This perverse, exploitative capitalism is at the core of the movie, as Angela's "auditions" feature people who have suffered work-related accidents at the Austrian company - and the company mind-bendingly want to put-together a clip with one of these people promoting use of helmets and compliance to health and safety procedures. All the while, ignoring their own culpability. As Jude succinctly put it when asked about the vulgarity of Angela's alter-ego, it's all just part of the contrast between explicit and implicit vulgarity, the latter being the use of discretionary power at will behind the fake veneer of corporate civility. Which act is more vulgar, he asks of us.

While there isn't so much going on in terms of story, almost every scene is rich in context and implications. A main cause for that is that Angela defies categorization, she is a person trying to make it, cultured, yet crude, moralistic, yet immoral, she's imperfect - played perfectly by Ilinca Manolache. It really is the kind of movie you can take apart for a while, making ever changing conjectures and discovering commentary on things from historical disconnects to critical posturing. Wouldn't we all like to go for a round of boxing with our enemies, Uwe Boll style?

But what makes Jude's latest especially stand out is its defiance for traditional structure and style. The juxtaposition of two age-divergent movies, the grainy black and white present-day and the beautifully restored and coloured communist propaganda piece, the mixing of narratives between the two, the fixed, engrossing shots contrasted with the vibrant distortion of the social media clips, a fluent rhythm broken up with a multi-minute composition of memorial crosses from the side of the road, and a final forty minute shot with as much off-camera action as on-camera. It's something else, really, an originality of vision that's simply an experience to watch, regardless of how much you like it.

At the heart of the movie is also that tension between what's proper and what isn't. Or, rather, between the appearance of both. What is the difference between classical music and "manele" (a type of Romanian popular music)? Between the grand vision of life and society that is written of in mission statements and the grindy, noisy, repetitive reality of their manifestation? In a perfect world, Do Not Expect Too Much of The End of the World should do to the final movement of Beethoven's 9th what Aftersun (2022) did to Under Pressure. It should forever break it, cursing the viewer with the plight of irreversible trauma.

Like any good movie, this one will not leave you indifferent. It finds excitement in unlikely places and delivers with a kind of spastic energy that's best incapsulated by its meta-world. There is a truth to it that cannot be denied, even in its moments that feel more like performance art than "factual" observation. Sure, it's not for everyone, not only because it can be uncomfortable in terms of content, but because it embraces a kind of otherness that requires some adjustment. That's one of the things we ask of movies, isn't it?

I have recently been touched by the cat gods and converted to one of their own. So watching this lovingly made documentary about the cats of Malta was something I did not want to miss out on. It proved an endearing companion for a Sunday when the winds change, although it doesn't break new ground in its exploration.

In terms of structure and content, the movie is fairly similar to what you've (probably) seen in Kedi. But whereas Ceyda Torun's film took a more existential turn, with humans appearing as support characters rather than leads, Sarah Jayne's Cats of Malta is more practical and leans on the community of people that dedicate a part of their lives to caring for the very many cats of the island country. And it features a mighty beautiful poster, doesn't it?

There are supposedly about as many cats in Malta as there are in Istanbul, which is a crazy thing to think about, given that the Turkish metropole is thirty times larger in terms of population. Sarah Jayne's documentary focuses on the benefits, with colourful cats and colourful people filling the short runtime of her movie. Via a series of stories we get a sense of how pervasive felines are throughout the Maltese islands. People sing their odes to the joys of experiencing cats and how it enriches both their lives and the lives of others. From the neighbourhood cats, to cat shelters, to cat therapy and cat "idolatry", the movie canvasses the many expressions of love and care towards cats in Malta.

The cat generally appears as a warrior, with attitude and scars, a tribute to both territoriality and human expansion. As Malta is a major hub of real-estate development (the country has gone from 390k to 510k population in the last twenty years), it endangers the habitat of the little furballs and while the matter is not specifically tackled, there's little sense that any measures are taken to ensure a smooth and safe urban transfiguration.

Instead, there is a reliance on the willingness of people to take care of these cats, from feeding to sterilization and sometimes housing. It's a relationship that both brings people together, but also generates discord, with some less than grateful for what they perceive to be an "infestation". The film itself pleads for more action from authorities, support for NGOs and sterilization programs.

Beyond the practicalities of it, there is a lot of warmth to Cats of Malta, which makes it worth a watch. It is not as accomplished as Kedi and doesn't have the same ethereal quality, but should provide a purr's worth of satisfaction to cat lovers all around.

The melting pot that is present day Europe should be an inspiration for more uplifting stories about the things that bind us as people. I would be hard pressed to find examples for this, the focus, both in the news and in cinema, being foremost on tension and conflict. It makes sense, conflict drives storytelling and keeps us engaged. Yet, here we are, in the world of Bas Devos, where human connection springs eternal from the most unexpected of sources.

This is a conflict-less story. Or, rather, a story that's not really about the conflict. My namesake Stefan, a Romanian construction worker living in Belgium, is about to travel back home, but needs to get his car fixed before leaving. He also needs to clear his fridge, so makes a big pot of soup out of whatever he finds.

This haphazardly concocted soup then proves a wonderous lubricant of the human spirit, it opens doors in a Balkanic tradition, but also forges moments of connection and intimacy, the way sharing food so often does. Per chance, in pre-departure to and fros, Stefan meets Shuxiu, a Belgian-Chinese woman who works on her doctorate about mosses, while also helping out one of her relatives who runs a small restaurant. It's the unlikeliest of connections, but perfectly in the spirit that Here inhabits.

At just 82 minutes, the movie is strikingly short. Especially if you get into its mood, it will lull you before you even realize it's ending. We are so used to our urban jungles, that nature takes on ever more mystical qualities. In the world of Here, nature provides, in all its delicate simplicity. Stefan Gota and Liyo Gong play their understated parts in this symphony and we feel immediately drawn to them, to join them. We are traveling back to the roots of our quintessential sense of connection, in an almost idealistic form of said conflict-less world. But it's not really a world without conflict, rather one where it has temporarily ceased and made room for tenderness.

Here is a moment in time, the proverbial here and now, which is the most blissful place to exist in. It's mischievously elusive, of course, but Bas Devos somehow manages to capture its essence in this movie, that has all the chances of growing on you and showing you true North. 8.

Ira Sachs wasn't a director I had firmly positioned in my mind, even though I'd seen and liked a couple of his previous movies: Love is Strange (2014) and Little Men (2016). In Passages, he explores a complicated and toxic story of love, belonging and self actualization, featuring three stand-out performances from its leads - Franz Rogowski, Ben Whishaw and Adèle Exarchopoulos. It is, as Rogowski himself put it after the Berlinale screening I attended, a movie about the existential importance of intimacy.

We meet Tomas (Rogowski) and Martin (Whishaw), who have been together for fifteen years and their relationship is wavering under the weight of time. After Tomas meets Agathe (Exarchopoulos), he falls for her, for the otherness of the experience, for the overwhelming feeling of infatuation. Not even Agathe's cautiousness gives Tomas pause to consider the meaning of his actions and his commitment to an ultimately shy, middle-class young woman, coming from a world that's completely different to his. Naturally, things prove difficult, as Martin distances himself and Tomas gets a crippling case of romantic FoMo, making for a very messy situation indeed.

This is definitely a story that cares a lot about its characters, they express themselves in all sorts of manners and are mirrored in their environments. It's not a rigidly structured film, as Sachs allowed the actors to explore their emotions within the framework of his vision for the sometimes undefinable nature of relationships. What works and what doesn't is not prescribed, but rather is a function of what we are willing to commit.

Having a character as deeply self-involved as Tomas can be a frustrating viewing experience, but Rogowski manages to humanize even some of his more destructive impulses. Many of us have been or will, at some point, be a bit of Tomas, the unleashed, purebred romantic, who is incapable of being otherwise. Similarly, we will be the Martins, the ones who should know better than to allow ourselves to return to an unreliable and ungenerous partner, or the Agathes, the young dreamers seduced by the effervescence of love.

The movie transcends type and finds the truth in its relationships, it dotes on and suffers with its protagonists in a manner that does feel intimate, both emotionally and physically. Sachs has congealed this inherently melodramatic story into one of stoic commitment to ourselves, of finding and cherishing our individuality, both within and outside of relationships.

The genre of medical movies is mostly populated with the struggles and romantic explorations of doctors and nurses, the two swathes of people we associate with it. Sages-femmes narrows that down to midwives and then applies a fairly stereotypical treatment to its story, but to very good effect. Léa Fehner's movie is an ode to the dedication of this mostly female staff, that rises above chronic underfunding, being overworked and managing complex situations, both professionally and personally.

We follow Sofia and Louise, friends and young midwives who are just starting out in their chosen careers. Their experiences differ wildly and soon create friction between the two, as Sofia eases into the role once given the chance, while Louise struggles. Things change after a difficult case where Sofia loses her self-confidence and their stories and travails are suddenly turned on their heads.

They are ultimately both victims to the wider environment, the underfunded and anxiously hectic hospital setting. It's a sadly never-ending tale, which we've recently seen, also on the labor ward, from a different angle in This Is Going to Hurt. To survive, you have to pick your fights and try to not let things get to you, which is a challenge that nobody should have to bear - particularly in life or death situations.

It's all fleshed out in the explosive first part of Sages Femmes, which is intense, fast-paced and mostly dire. The movie shifts at the halfway point and becomes more, let's say, humanistic, focusing on the fallout and the strength it takes to keep it all together.

To add to the veracity of its story, Sages Femmes captures a lot of the intimacy of childbirth, in a cvasi-documentarian fashion. Fehner filmed live births before re-enacting them with willing parents, making for an unusually naturalistic approach. It gets the most of these scenes, which are dramatic, beautiful, life-changing. Midwives witness them every day, many times over, and like all medical professionals, have to balance the roteness with the uniqueness these moments inhabit. The cast is exceptional at portraying this and even the characters that don't take up much screen time end up as established people in our minds.

This is ultimately a familiar, but well executed medical drama. Fehner indulges in dramatic excesses and only brushes against some of the endemic issues that are sadly common in the profession, which is another way of saying that this is a story that tries to find the silver lining(s). There's nothing wrong with that and Sages-femmes makes for spirited and hopeful cinema. 8.

More than a decade ago, Romania first took part in the football Homeless World Cup in Australia. Claudiu Mitcu documented the recruitment, training, travel and participation of the seven-men team - an experience that took them from surviving on the streets of various Romanian cities (including Timisoara) to far-away Melbourne.

It's not a movie that glorifies success, but one about the day-to-day wins of its protagonists, men of various ages that life has been less than generous with. At just 64 minutes, Mitcu only has the time to offer a window to a world that seems twice as foreign now than it would have done fifteen years ago. We see an honest portrayal of a handful of people who, in spite of struggling against the tides, still find some reward in life, with this trip an otherworldly expedition that quickly proves relatable.

The trick is that while you expect it all to be surreal, it really isn't - which does bring to mind how easily fate can push one way or the other. Tucked away on Romanian HBO Max, this one.

This was one of those rare occurrences of going into the cinema and just watching a movie you know nothing about and that movie actually proving to be a heck of a ride. Heikos Welt is a very enjoyable story with low stakes and bubbly rewards, that deserves more word of mouth - and some English subtitles.

I was in Dortmund a few weeks ago and identified the old-school Schauburg cinema as a target destination, only to find out it was so old school, that all movies were screened in German. Watching anything dubbed is so far out of the question, that no reasonable person would ask it, so it was time to put my 12+ years of German education to good use and risk it with a complete unknown.

Heiko, our titular character, is your average man going about his life - i.e. Single and living with his mother. His days regularly end in the local bar, with the usual fauna and the familiar beverages. What's unusual about Heiko is that drinking a few beers does miracles to his coordination, which unearths an unknown talent in playing darts. When his mother's eyesight begins to deteriorate rapidly, he's got to find a way to pay for surgery - and, you guessed it, a darts competition offers just the required prize money.

You'd think the movie is set for a beaten path, but an enigmatic romantic interest, a daring heist and some German schalgers ensure your expectations will be surpassed. Director-writer Dominik Galizia has a steady hand and put together a well-tuned story about a likable lead, portrayed with flair by first-timer Martin Rhode. Rhode's charm is the key ingredient to the success of Heikos Welt, ensuring you have someone to root for, in a (properly old-school) feel-good fashion. But it sure helps that all the supporting cast provides authentic performances, starting with Leyla Roy and ending with Franz Rogowski's inspired cameo.

It's just so great to find real escapist experiences, movies that transport you to a safe haven, where you can just forget about those pesky, festering existential wounds. Heikos Welt is a great specimen in this regard, nothing more, nothing less, which also gifts a zippy original song from Rocco Vice.

I feel a bit bad about recommending a movie that is pretty much unwatchable outside of Germany at this time, but teasing the appetite is a good thing, isn't it?

It's been half a decade since Cristian Mungiu's previous film, the excellent Bacalaureat/Graduation, and there's a bit of its thematic DNA in his most recent work. The movie goes beyond that though by exploring a real event which left its mark on Romanian society a few years ago, an event littered with prejudice and xenophobia. R. M. N. Is a bit messy and concludes in an unsatisfying fashion, but rewards the viewer with a layered experience.

From the get-go, there's a coldness to R. M. N. (Romanian abbreviation for Magnetic Resonance Imaging) that you can't shake - it's visual, it's seasonal and it's in the lead character, a monosyllabic bear of a man named Matthias. After an incident occurs while working abroad, he returns home, where more coldness awaits him, as he's met by a distant wife, an emotionally stifled child and a circumspect lover. His home village, set between mountains and forests, stands out by being multiethnic - predominantly Hungarians and Romanians, but also some Germans, like Matthias. The interaction between Mungiu's characters is fascinating to watch, as they transition seamlessly between languages, portraying a well-knit, burgeoning community. It is only after a couple of Sri-Lankan workers arrive to work at the local bakery that the the xenophobe's nest starts stirring.

The movie has a strong build-up, creating a tense atmosphere while setting all its pieces in place. Its characters are faced with more agency than one usual sees, working the underlying beliefs and attitudes onto the screen. And when things turn, they turn quickly and viscously, yet almost unexpectedly - feeding on a sense of unexpressed resentfulness, a feeling primed by our lead's emotional literacy. Similarly to another recent Romanian movie themed around prejudices, Radu Jude's Bad Luck Banging or Loony Porn, R. M. N. Climaxes at a town meeting, where all the paper-thin-arguments you're friendly Facebook neighbour would have shared are laid bare.

To me, this is where the movie wavers. Even as Mungiu tries to maintain a less than judgmental distance from its subjects, there's something so banal and un-cinematic about this kind of stand-off, that it simply cannot carry the burden imposed by the narrative arc. The scene works in spite of this, it works because of the little details and the (un)expected escalation, but it's not a worthy pay-off to what preceded it. And the conclusion that follows it even less so, being close to the absurd in spite of striving for symbolism.

Still, R. M. N. Shouldn't leave you unimpressed. It tackles big themes with passionate interest and concern, which makes up for any shortcomings, thereby proving a worthy addition to Mungiu's impressive catalogue of films.

Joachim Lafosse has put together a movie that's not easy to endure - which is a compliment, in this case, but also means it's not for everyone.

Damien is an artist who lives together with his partner Leila and their young boy, Amin, a seemingly blissful family life. The problem - Damien is bipolar, suffering from overwhelming bouts of mania, followed by the lethargy of heavy medication. It's fiercely uncomfortable to watch, thanks to the performances of Leila Bekhti and Damien Bonnard, and has such deep rooted compassion for its characters that it's impossible to be left indifferent.

There's little lightness and not much hope for a reversal of fortunes in Les intranquilles, but Lafosse's commitment to the film's reality proves a winning formula. Not one that's easy to forget.

Has it really been 20 years?

I remember the day my mother confiscated my keyboard, punishing me for one gaming excess or another. It was the day I first picked up the Harry Potter book I had received years before - and the next weeks were a blur, as every night was spent simply consuming the first four books, sleepwalking through school during the day. Harry Potter became a huge part of my teenage years, with hours on end spent on forums and make-believe Hogwarts role playing arenas, making many friends along the way.

The movies were mostly fun, if never as entrancing - inevitable, really, with such a burden of expectation. The only one I regularly rewatch is Prisoner of Azkaban, although I very much enjoyed the Goblet of Fire as well - and think the latter movies are perfectly serviceable, occasionally even heartbreaking, but I failed to really connect with them.

This documentary is quite the nostalgia rollercoaster, with most of the key players sharing some of their thoughts and experiences. Even after almost two hours of reminiscing, it felt like there was so much more left to be discussed and retread, but the documentary does stay focused on the bigger picture - how Harry Potter has been a part of so many lives, in such an amazing way.

And stepping back, it is indeed amazing that a cinematic series like HP has come about, carrying over so many characters and actors across a whole decade, while also giving life to a unique and beautiful world. Harry, Ron and Hermione are at the core of this story, roles that Dan, Rupert and Emma grew into so well, but it's the adult cast that immensely enhances the world they all inhabit, offering the nuance and complexity that ensures its timelessness.

Sure, the JKR debacle taints the proceedings a bit, irrespective of your feelings about it - but this just goes to show we'll never return to the simpler times of when Harry Potter was the center of our universe.

Lauren Hadaway's debut feature is what you'd expect to see if you zoomed into those rowing scenes during The Social Network and applied the Black Swan treatment to them.

Inspired by Hadaway's own experiences as a rower, the movie tells the story of Alex Dall, a college student who is driven close to self-destruction by her boundless ambition to gain a spot on the varsity rowing team. There's only drips of who Alex is beyond her all-consuming desire for improvement, a frame of mind that leaves little room for social niceties and personal growth.

It's going to feel like your being beaten to a pulp, while traversing flurries of intense montages, frequently contrasted by sweet tunes of the 60s. Hadaway's experience in the sound department goes a long way to articulate the inner life of the movie and its lead, the latter so vicariously portrayed by Isabelle Fuhrman.

There is this ultimate sense that Alex is not fighting against herself, or even against her teammates, but rather against the whole world - one where however good you are, there's bound to be many, many people who are simply better. A fight you can (almost never) win.

Definitely one of the best debuts of the year.

Coming from Manish Pandey, writer and executive producer on Senna (2010), this latest documentary on the lives, careers and intertwined fates of five memorable racing drivers of the 80s, 90s and 2000s is memorable, yet tough to take.

Parts feel distinctly staged, insights could have been more revealing, but the movie does very, very well in capturing the protagonists' states of mind and the emotions going with them. For me, it was indeed terribly emotional, as beyond the stories of Hakkinen, Massa, Mouton and Kristensen lies that of Michael Schumacher, to whom I attach so many of the joys and tribulations of my youth.

Pandey might not have Asif Kapadia's flair, but he shares the sense for tragedy and loss, which underlies almost everything in Heroes. Mandatory viewing for enthusiasts.