Karlovy Vary International Film Festival — A–Z of films

The smoke, the blasts, the spinning of ejecting shell casings, yells that become cries, the front-line as it becomes frantic.

Dabis controls revelation with discipline, letting meaning accumulate rather than announcing itself, so that what finally emerges feels earned rather than engineered.

It’s not unusual to say that something cuts through the silence but in Dea Kulumbegashvili’s April it’s the silence that cuts through us.

The connection that forms between them feels more real because it’s so unlikely. Duplass, co-writing with Strassner, has the skill to pull it off, and both lead actors are up to the task.

When you get old, hope you find someone who looks at you the way Mascaro looks at Tereza and Roberta.

If it wasn’t for the excellent, immersive sound design from Chu-Li Shewring, you could easily believe you were watching a piece of silent movie found footage.

Touching, compelling and full of humanity.

There’s something here that’s distinctive and personal and altogether too much fun.

The expressionist feeling of early 20th century cinema is further enhanced by the specific colour scheme, resembling a very early version of Technicolor, while the sound recalls that of the early sound films.

The performances of double Oscar-nominated Blethyn and Riseborough provide hypnotic accounts of their characters as two vulnerable souls on the edge.

Øverbye makes a compelling lead, taking on the chunks of voiceover without any problem but also excelling in terms of conveying her character’s moods via body language

While the end result doesn’t fully deliver on its excellent premise, being a little too light of touch, heavy on montage and spare in its scripting, this is nevertheless one of the more accessible cinematic takes on existentialism.

Any number of films try to sell themselves on inviting us to ogle outsiders like these. The difference with Fucktoys is that it’s made by people who actually get it.

Though it's no longer likely to shock horror audiences, Hellraiser remains highly watchable, and there is no doubting its importance in the history of cinema.

Rose Byrne anchors the whole damn thing with a performance that gives the sense of wobbling for eternity on a tightrope without ever quite falling off.

The takes are usually long and static, but every cut and move is justified for the purpose of dramaturgy.

So much is happening at once in Kika’s life that the viewer has a hard time grasping the supposedly long lasting emotional challenges she is facing.

There’s an anarchic silliness about it which suits the science fiction setting, an openness to having fun and delivering a story unselfconsciously, on its own terms.

Along with Vladimir Gojun’s progressively rhythmic editing and Julij Zornik’s subjective sound design, the filmmaker takes us right into the protagonist’s, and therefore any and every teenager’s head.

Ambrosioni extracts lived-in performances from Cottin and the whole cast which lifts what could have been a straight-forward drama into a profound and moving portrait of families and motherhood.

The Postman Always Rings Twice is a masterclass in noir.

Wishaw is an absolute wonder, delivering the conversational, sometimes stream-of-consciousness dialogue with a constantly engaging, almost hypnotic cadence.

As exciting as it is good-looking.

The film doesn’t answer every common question that people have in this situation, but it does provide some context.

It could not be more apposite in exploring how whose who have lost everything in such environmental disasters, find resilience in human connections.

The film looks amazing, but it sounds even more incredible.

Writer/director/star Eva Victor has created a poem about the pain and absurdity of entering and continuing adulthood, even when things feel heavy and hopeless.

The lives mirror each other, build on each other, contradict each other, haunt each other.

It’s hard to care about a film when those involved don’t appear to have done so themselves.

It has its moments, and for the most part it’s warm-hearted and likeable enough to make up for the odd mis-step.

Serves as a teaching tool of sorts that bridges the gap between the generations and opens up a communication regarding some unpleasant topics that are very present in everyday life.

A sometimes compelling, often baffling work that doesn’t really solve the inherent problem of its subject matter, but swings for the fences trying.

Chillingly restrained and quietly devastating

Maura Delpero’s multi-layered drama sees its heroine growing up and coming to understand the world in new ways at the same time as the village itself shifts, not altogether willingly, into the modern era.

We Believe You works to perfection thanks to the dedication and stellar directing, acting and technical work.

A surprisingly droll deconstruction of crime reconstruction.