Thessaloniki International Film Festival — A–Z of films

A pretty empty and tiresome experience.

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

A totally idiosyncratic creation, something that deserves to be relished for its bravado refusal to play by the rules.

While Gates has found an intriguing setting for her war satire, it’s less clear what she wants to say with it.

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

This isn’t about rejection but about navigating the difficulties full acceptance bring.

It's not a map, it's a blueprint, a means of telling fortunes and a handsome puzzle to boot.

Although writer/director Rohan Kanawade grew up in the city, there is a deep sense of authenticity about the village setting, and the whole film is handled with a rare degree of sensitivity.

While tolerance levels for this kind of self-consciously arty style will vary, it is hard to fault the fizzing ambition and high-voltage energy that K-Stew and her team bring to the party.

A beguiling mix of magic-realist fable, coming-of-age drama & post-colonial critique.

As an exercise in world building, Zünd nails a vibe of general otherworldliness.

Somewhere between the low brow cock jokes and the high stakes – by which, I mean the sharp wooden pointy ones – Radu Jude serves up a sharp edged critique of populism, capitalism and the modern world.

By withholding information from us, Bareisa puts us in a similar headspace to the main characters.

The blurry, hazy images recorded entirely on a discontinued Sony Ericsson cellphone – frequently in long takes – make it a hardly digestible slow cinema challenge, yet rewarding as an aesthetic experience.

Feels Like Home avoids the usual traps of a thriller-chamber drama genre combination such as unnecessary repetitions that are the product of laying out the cards too soon.

This is a movie layered with meaning. A lipstick smudge turns into stigmata, a kiss can make you float and strangle you at the same time.

An extremely unnerving viewing experience

The adaptation feels oddly timid and selective.

Likely to put a smile on the faces of horror fans who favour the dissection of ideas over dismemberment.

The film’s initial loose and enjoyable construction gradually drifts towards a drawn-out and repetitive melodramatic conclusion.

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.

The performances are thrilling, emotionally direct and physically exacting, but they function as narrative instruments too.

Blends a shaggy dog story with a road trip.

Burch and Jones clearly enjoy updating rich kid Myers and his literary salon pals to the present without ever falling into clownish cliché.

The title stops being metaphor and becomes a wound you can watch forming in real time.

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.

Not every risky idea works, but where they are successful, the results are dazzling.

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.

The choice of child protagonists not only adds to Lost Land’s emotional heft but also brings home the extra level of uncertainty and confusion felt by youngsters across the globe forced to make these sorts of dangerous odysseys in hope of safe haven.

Krieps operates at her usual level of greatness, and Anna Cazenave Cambet does her a favour by putting her in the spotlight.

The screenplay is packed with absorbing detail.

Rivers' dreamlike approach has the quality of memory in places, full of figments and fragments, although that inevitably means some episodes are more engaging than others.

Arregi and Goenaga are at pains to suggest that no matter what your political or sexual stance, we’re all human underneath.

Reichardt’s attention to detail is visible in every aspect, and the perfect casting is no exception.

Mincan – who grew up in the period depicted himself – doesn’t need to make the politics or shifting social structures overt, they are just baked in.

As is true of many a tale, not all motivations are on the table right away, and finding rescue and respite with strangers can only last a mere while.

Shot in squared off 1.85:1 ratio – except for a handful of ‘world expanding’ moments – the choice is fitting for the intensity of the children’s gaze.

This is such a buttoned up character study that it feels more like a riff than an exploration.

If you’re looking for a witty and heartfelt story with characters you can care about, you may find yourself falling head over heels.

Finds its strength in the subtlety of the writing and the power of the understated performances.

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.

Jacir's film might look back to the 1930s but it's a film that is in conversation with the present-day.

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

The constant contrast is the trick, which later extends to the emotional stakes.

Blyth and Tovey have chemistry to burn and Emmi generates pressure cooker tension as the past and many faces of the present prove to be just a synapse away in the kaleidoscope of Lucas’ mind.

Tina Romero is in her element.

For something so lovely, it is hard-edged, and it sparkles with visual wit.

Combining slick digital look with the look of various antique formats, from DV to super-8, Simón creates her very own smooth blend.

Supernatural possession is closely intertwined with the idea of radicalisation, evil jinn with distorted ideology.

Jenkin’s style, impressionistic when it comes to places, is particular in regard to objects, the real anchors of our lives.

Avraam doesn’t spoon-feed us details, letting the various issues Smaragda is facing emerge organically.

For all that its often said "they don't make them like they used to" this is very, very close.

Chaos is everywhere, along with the fear of straight-out societal collapse.

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

Never makes light of Lea’s desires while at the same time showing us in real time how reality competes with imagination, fear with excitement.

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

The intriguing concept plays out from initial parental disbelief and denial to unexpected changes in behaviour and attitudes.

The meandering pace can get tedious at times, but cinematically it's a masterpiece.