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Illusion Travels by Streetcar is a wild ride of situations that little by little derail to make for a fascinating mess of ridiculous situations. The film manages to be both a celebration of life, a playful retelling of the Christian mythology in a Georges Méliès-esque manner, and a criticism of capitalist companies and their ineffective operation. While neither the most meaningful, nor the most coherent Luis Buñuel movie, it nevertheless is one of the most enjoyable.

The Great Madcap is a predictable but enjoyable black-comedy populated by a gang of irresistible characters. The message that stands out the most isn't about the spendthrift and idler wealthy family becoming virtuous, or about the marriage of the upper-class woman with the working-class man, but rather about Ladislao wanting to put capital to good use by opening a factory, an action that comes in stark contrast with Ramiro's rentier attitude (he engaged in financial manipulation earlier in the film). A worthwhile early entry that often stands forgotten in Buñuel's filmography.

In the relatively understated Nazarín, a Jesus-like figure is scorned by the world, even by the church, while he comes to question his own faith as he heads for his own crucifixion. Nazario is portrayed as an idealist fool who begins to crumble, while the world is painted as corrupt, cynical, and prone to whims and manipulation. Alas, although far from being blank, the meaning isn't particularly deep, while visually Buñuel seems to have lost his surrealist knack.

Ben Wheatley's adaptation of J.G. Ballard's High-Rise is faithful to the original material, representing a deformed apocalypse seen through technological upheaval and personal fragmentation. Recommended to those who liked Cronenberg's rendition of Crash and itch for more.

So Long, My Son is a transgenerational epic that combines the personal with the historical element, similar to The Godfather: Part II and The Travelling Players. While not as profound as the aforementioned titles, and hampered by a somewhat schmaltzy ending, it still finds its place on the shelf of the best movies of 2019.

Adapted from the 1909 Jack London novel, and stylized so that it resembles one of the transgenerational epics of the Taviani brothers (My Father My Master comes to mind), the chronologically vague Martin Eden is an intriguing movie that serves as a good ambassador for the main idea behind the book (the self-made protagonist strives to promote individualism against socialism and liberalism, only to turn into another cog in the machine by the time he becomes a successful writer).

Daniel Isn't Real begins as a run-of-the-mill psychological-horror movie, and then becomes a run-of-the-mill supernatural-horror movie (what we thought was the protagonist's schizophrenia turns out to be a real demonic entity). Despite the twist, both parts are prosaic.

Photograph is a slow-moving love story between two characters that behave like there's a wall between them and the rest of the world. The film unfolds in a dispassionate manner, but a few nuggets of lyrical music breeze in a sense of existential melancholy.

The Dead Don't Die is four movies in one. The first is a typical Jim Jarmusch-ian slice-of-life drama where the characters wander through their everyday existence at a slow and meditative pace. The second is a standard zombie apocalypse where everybody's life turns upside down and they have to fight for survival. The third is a meta-movie that ridicules itself and cinema in general by having Bill Murray and Adam Driver talk about the script, and then proceeding with a ludicrous finale that involves aliens. The fourth is a Jean-Luc Godard-esque sermon on environmentalism and materialism. None of the parts excels in itself, but taken together they make for an appealing whole.

Lucky Grandma is a deadpan crime-comedy that harks back to the aesthetics of 1990s indie-cinema, but one without many laughs or thrills, while the overall message is unimaginative (Grandma Wong's good luck turns out to be that she gets to live with her family).

Drenched in excessive violence, Possessor is the tale of a virtual assassin who loses her sense of identity. Directed by David Cronenberg's son, the film owes a lot to his father's movies but lacks any particularly appealing element, either in the visuals or in the plot.

Elegantly directed in B&W square format with an elegiac style that mixes Theo Angelopoulos' static poetry with Alfonso Cuarón's shifting landscapes (particularly those of Roma), Song Without a Name unfolds three parallel plots: the kidnapping of Georgina's baby, Pedro's homosexual affair with Isa, and the burgeoning terrorism in late 1980s Peru (in which Georgina's husband is involved). What unites the three stories is Peru itself and its internal conflicts, amid which the protagonists find themselves cast away.

Branching out in many genres, the dawdling The Weeping Woman is too abstract to be a good political drama (there is zero background and the events are presented in a facile manner), too conspicuous to be a good horror movie (one can immediately deduce that Alma is the spirit of one of General Monteverde's victims), too unoriginal to be a good arthouse movie (typical laborious takes, long shots over close-ups, crowd conventions, etc), thus in the end it succeeds at neither.