Note: This review was originally published as part of our 2025 NYFF coverage. The film opens on August 7.

“Klara remembered who she was. She pulled away from the window and she was a sculptor, although she didn’t always believe it, an artist––she believed them sometimes when they said she wasn’t.”
— Don DeLillo, Underworld

It is early into Kent Jones’ Late Fame when Ed Saxberger (Willem Dafoe) joins a coterie of twenty-something wannabe intellectuals for a drink in the Village. This is Saxberger’s scene––better yet, was. A one-time poet, he hasn’t written anything after his first and only book came out in the late 1970s, whereupon he retreated into anonymity, serving as a different man of letters at NYC’s post office for almost 40 years. But when a budding writer one-third his age shows up at his doorstep to beat the drum for his forgotten literary endeavor, Way Past Go, Ed doesn’t quite know how to react. “It’s as if the poems were written yesterday,” Meyers (Edmund Donovan) croons, before inviting the grizzled bard to a drink with his new fans (a token of “inspirationally motivated gratitude”). Ed hesitates; when he finally caves, Jones lingers on Dafoe’s face as the meeting with a rapt audience rekindles something in him. Call that a re-self-discovery: surrounded by a gaggle of youngsters who treat him with reverential respect, Ed is suddenly reminded of who he was, who he still is. Stunned by this epiphany, Dafoe smiles, and the film smiles with him.

Like Diane, Jones’ first narrative feature, Late Fame concerns a middle-aged character reckoning with their younger self. Ed landed in New York in the 1970s––around the time Dafoe himself did––and his Way Past Go radiates a gritty, effervescent energy in the vein of Frank O’Hara and other First Generation New York School poets our man used to schmooze with (in an early standout scene, Meyers et al listen in bated breath as Ed lists the literary giants he’d visit in the neighborhood). That’s all in the past: “I had my moment, and it ended––now it’s your time.” But the gang won’t have it. Having anointed him as their guru, the fabulously named “Enthusiasm Society” invites Ed to present some new stuff at a public reading they’re organizing in the city. No easy feat. Written by Samy Burch, Late Fame is the portrait of an artist who’s lost his mojo; hard as he tries, Ed just cannot bring himself to work again. Watching Dafoe search for inspiration in old tapes of Williams Carlos Williams reciting his own verses, more than once my mind travelled to the time Bob Dylan confessed, in a very candid 60 Minutes interview, that he could no longer write the kind of songs that would magically flow out of him in his 20s. Sure, artists may not have a “prime” in the same way athletes do, but there’s something to be said about the relative ease with which words and ideas can spill from us in youth, and one measure of Late Fame’s perceptiveness is the way it understands how creativity adjusts to different life seasons––how genius, to borrow from another titan of American letters, Edgar Lee Masters, is always a combination of “wisdom and youth.”

This isn’t to peg the film as a dirge. True to its name, the Enthusiasm Society sweeps Ed off his feet, and for a while Late Fame coasts on the alchemy between the old Village bard and the bunch of kids who’d adopted him as one of their own––never mind that Ed’s ideas around art are diametrically opposed to the gang’s. One need not be fluent in the ’70s New York poetry scene to appreciate such a piercing snapshot. Jones captures the boys’ milieu with near-ethnographic attention to its textures, patois, and etiquette; Late Fame is never funnier––or more consistently on-point––than when it turns to these pompous fresh graduates and their quirks. In adapting Arthur Schnitzler’s 1895 novella, Burch can posit Ed’s squad as analogue nostalgists in a digital world. But that, of course, is just one of their many poses. These affluent dandies who call each other by their surnames and pontificate on the role of beauty in society waste no opportunity to namedrop their heroes or rant against smartphones and “sociopath media,” only to reveal they don’t even know whether their role models are dead or alive (can’t invite Gregory Corso to the reading, alas!) and whip up phones mid-conversation. 

In a lesser film, these privileged loafers might have come across as caricatures, but Jones doesn’t lampoon them. These are young people trying to find themselves through the art they read and the art they intend to make, and for all their ridiculously formal affectations, there’s an earnestness to their search that makes them oddly relatable. Gradually, Late Fame becomes a hangout film that’s drunk on the prospect of making things happen, and nowhere does that energy feel more palpable than when Gloria (Greta Lee) saunters into it. The only woman in Meyers’s group––and its oldest member, though no one’s ever dared ask her age––Gloria’s an actress who is “greater than life,” Ed is warned, and indeed Lee swans into Late Fame as a tragic heroine who treats the Enthusiasm Society as her extended audience. Tethered as it is to Ed’s creative struggles, the film becomes Gloria’s, to the extent that even the colors of Wyatt Garfield’s cinematography seem to intensify per her moods. Lee gives her character a melodramatic depth without overstating; her theatrical, flamboyant turn makes for a strident contrast with Dafoe’s, but there’s an unspeakable sadness at its center. Gloria’s mystique is a function of her mystery: we don’t know anything about her, and no sooner does Jones allow for a behind-the-scenes peek at her private life than that sadness grows larger, her performance retroactively more tragic. 

Ed and Gloria hit it off; halfway through Late Fame, they take shrooms and walk around Soho, with Ed pointing at all the buildings that used to house cash-strapped artists and are now a string of luxury boutiques and yoga studios. “Seasons collide,” a refrain from one of his poems goes, and so do images of the city, New York’s past and present, yet there’s nothing wistful about that endless cycle, nothing romantic about Ed’s memories of those times. Late Fame isn’t a tribute to a bygone era but a much livelier chronicle of different generations clashing and mixing; in the film’s funniest moments, Dafoe tries to blend in with his new young posse with the same ease of Steve Buscemi infiltrating high schools in 30 Rock. While Ed may struggle to write, he doesn’t seem particularly bitter about it. Whether he ever will again is ultimately irrelevant. He did it once and got to live in a “dark, glittering asphalt Mecca,” to borrow from Way Past Go, at a time when people “made everything happen and never stopped.” Even a relatively formulaic denouement cannot soil this towering study of a creative who may have lost his spark but not his wonder for his magical turf and its strange residents––young and old, established artists and professional posers, all the myriad stories and faces that make up New York. 

Late Fame screened at the 63rd New York Film Festival and opens August 7.

Godzilla now has some friends to join him at the 64th New York Film Festival. Film at Lincoln Center has unveiled the 32 films that comprise the Main Slate lineup this year, featuring 17 directors making their Main Slate debuts. Taking place September 26-October 12, NYFF screenings will take place across all five boroughs: at Lincoln Center, BAM, Museum of the Moving Image, Alamo Drafthouse Cinema, and AMC Bay Plaza Cinema in the Bronx.

Featured directors in the Main Slate include Pedro Almodóvar, Lisandro Alonso, Marine Atlan, Sompot Chidgasornpongse, Tizza Covi and Rainer Frimmel, Ava DuVernay, Arie Esiri and Chuko Esiri, Tony Gilroy, Alain Gomis, James Gray, William Greaves and David Greaves, Valeska Grisebach, Mani Haghighi, Andrew Haigh, Ryûsuke Hamaguchi, Arthur Harari, Hong Sangsoo, Radu Jude, Lee Chang-dong, Mike Leigh, Julia Loktev, Emmanuel Marre, Paweł Pawlikowski, Nicolás Pereda, Chris Rock, Ira Sachs, Angela Schanelec, Markus Schleinzer, Isabelle Stever, Sandra Wollner, and Andrey Zvyagintsev.

“It’s hard to recall a prior Main Slate program in which the state of the world has been as urgently reflected in so many creative ways,” said Dennis Lim, Artistic Director, New York Film Festival. “You could take any cross section of this lineup and come away with a vivid picture of what our present looks, sounds, and feels like. I’m deeply encouraged to be able to introduce New York audiences to works by so many fearless, imaginative directors whose artistry has been inspired by the shared realities of our world.”

Check out the Main Slate lineup below, including links to our reviews where available, and more here.

Opening Night: Paper Tiger (James Gray)

Centerpiece: Behemoth! (Tony Gilroy)

Closing Night: 14th (Ava DuVernay)

9 Temples to Heaven (Sompot Chidgasornpongse)

All of a Sudden (Ryûsuke Hamaguchi)

Bitter Christmas (Pedro Almodóvar)

Clarissa (Arie Esiri and Chuko Esiri)

Dao (Alain Gomis)

The Day She Returns (Hong Sangsoo)

I Deserve a Lover Whose Every Rise Sets Fiery Dooms Raging Across the Skies (Mani Haghighi)

The Diary of a Chambermaid (Radu Jude)

Double Freedom (Lisandro Alonso)

The Dreamed Adventure (Valeska Grisebach)

Everything Else Is Noise (Nicolás Pereda)

Everytime (Sandra Wollner)

Fatherland (Paweł Pawlikowski)

La Gradiva (Marine Atlan)

I Rarely Wake Up Dreaming (Isabelle Stever)

The Loneliest Man in Town (Tizza Covi and Rainer Frimmel)

A Long Winter (Andrew Haigh)

The Man I Love (Ira Sachs)

A Man of His Time (Emmanuel Marre)

Minotaur (Andrey Zvyagintsev)

Misty Green (Chris Rock)

My Undesirable Friends: Part II – Exile (Julia Loktev)

My Wife Cries (Angela Schanelec)

Nowhere To Lay My Eyes (Hong Sangsoo)

Once Upon a Time in Harlem (William Greaves and David Greaves)

Possible Love (Lee Chang-dong)

Rose (Markus Schleinzer)

Tender Loving Care (Mike Leigh)

The Unknown (Arthur Harari)

The 64th New York Film Festival takes place September 25 through October 12, 2026 with passes on sale now. Single tickets go on sale September 15 at noon.

In his 1958 essay “Is It a Breakthrough? (The Modernists of Japanese Film),” Nagisa Ōshima called the period drama, or jidaigeki, “closely tied to the consciousness of the Japanese people.” While subsequent decades have not seen a ceasing of the genre, the friction in its survival is a need for relevancy, and thus modernity—one made in 2026 simply does not look or feel like one made in 1958, no matter the identical environments and periods.

This makes all the more surprising Kiyoshi Kurosawa’s The Samurai and the Prisoner (released in Japan as Kokurōjō, retaining the title of Honobu Yonezawa’s source novel) effectively fusing the weight and import of a classic jidaigeki with the director’s distinctly modern form. After 40-something features across 40-plus years, Kurosawa has never produced something quite like this: a loyal example and subversion in one fell swoop.

The Samurai and the Prisoner‘s praise-laden Cannes premiere and stateside box-office returns will speak to the gambit’s effects. With his American press tour beginning, I sat down with Kurosawa at the Criterion office for a discussion of this compelling, vexing project’s finer points.

My thanks to Monika Uchiyama for providing on-site interpretation.

The Film Stage: I want to start with a large question, and perhaps we can winnow it down from there. I’ve long been fascinated by wind as a spiritual presence in your work: the closing scene of Tokyo Sonata, where the wind blows through the curtains only as the boy plays the piano and goes still when he doesn’t; the final shot of Suit Yourself or Shoot Yourself signaling the characters’ transformation; and Samurai has wind kick up at moments of great importance, especially its end. I fear I’ve answered the question by posing these examples, but I’d love if you could talk about the significance of wind to your work.

Kiyoshi Kurosawa: First, I just want to say: the fact that you’ve seen such a minor work of mine, such as Suit Yourself or Shoot Yourself, is very surprising to me and makes me very happy. I am just so surprised that it’s reached any foreign audience members at all, because it’s such a small film that not many very Japanese people have seen it. It’s quite difficult to explain what wind is within my films, and I’d say that’s the same as asking what wind is to film in general. Of course, wind is something that allows us to see the currents in the air; by virtue of the air moving something around it, we can suddenly see the invisible become visible. We see the wind and we see the things that are moved by the wind.

I think this act of taking something that we cannot typically see and then, through its movement, being able to confirm its existence—to show us and reassure us that it’s actually there—is very much akin to cinematic expression itself. So wind, to me, is not so much something that is spiritual, but I think of cinema as something that is there for us to be able to capture the wind. So wind is almost like cinematic expression itself.

I’ve never seen anything quite like this movie. You’ve said that the jidaigeki, as it’s made today, has been modernized, and this was meant to be an “extremely orthodox” version. I think you succeeded, but the formal sensibility here is very like your past work, which is itself quite modern. Thus Samurai represents this rather unusual meld of two different cinematic expressions and forms. I hope it’s not disappointing to hear this; it made the film even more fascinating. Did you find your instincts clashing with, taking over the “extremely orthodox”?

I think that it’s true, what you say about the coexistence of traditional and contemporary elements. As you mentioned: it was my very strong intention to recreate a very traditional form of jidaigeki as seen from the ‘50s and ‘60s. But I myself am directing, and the actors that appear in the film are contemporary actors, so no matter what, it’s not as if I could make a film just like Akira Kurosawa or Kenji Mizoguchi. I think, unintentionally, many of my “habits,” I’ll call them, come through in the film.

It would be beautiful if I could call them “unique characteristics,” but rather I consider them embarrassing habits of mine that just seem to come through in my films. Of course there’s a kind of contemporaneity that shows up through the acting of the cast in the film—no matter how hard they try, they cannot be someone like Mifune Toshiro. So I think it’s inevitable that elements of the modern will seep through even in the jidaigeki that I’ve made, but I wouldn’t say it’s something that I’ve intentionally sprinkled throughout the film; it’s more something that I hope viewers will discover on their own.

Your regular production designer is Norifumi Ataka, with whom you typically go out to find a location rather than build a set. On Samurai you employed Tetsuo Harada, who has many credits in jidaigeki. I know that you wanted to create a sense of consistency through this fictionalization of a long-gone time. How did a new production designer and that desire affect your approach to the actual image-making?

Since Kokurōjō is a jidaigeki, we shot many of the scenes on Shochiku Studios in Kyoto, where many other jidaigeki have been filmed, as well as actual locations in and around Kyoto, including temples and castles. So it was important to work with a production designer who was familiar with the Shochiku Studios and other locations we could possibly shoot at, and that led to my collaboration with Harada-san. It was a very special, specific kind of case for me.

In my other, contemporary-set dramas, I work with Ataka-san, and it’s always a conversation about what we will do with contemporary Tokyo. Do we shoot it as it is, or do we shoot it slightly differently? If so, how differently? We have fun talking about and trying to decide how much of a real Tokyo to include and how much of Tokyo we want to transform into a strange place that is kind of implacable. Or sometimes we decide we want to depict Tokyo truly as it is. So it always becomes a relationship between the drama that exists within the narrative and the city that it’s set in.

With Kokurōjō, because it’s set in the 16th century, there’s no way for us to find a place, a city in Japan that looks as it did in the 16th century. The only options left are: build up a world from zero, use sets, or use historically significant structures, but perhaps just a castle wall. If you shift the camera just an inch, then suddenly you see the evidence of a modern Japan. So it was very important to work with an expert on jidaigeki, such as Harada-san, in order to accomplish that kind of building of the world.

This film has a peculiar sense of movement. Interior sequences are more still, and perhaps more reliant on cuts, while the exteriors have a greater mobility—a crane, a dolly, or a panning shot, even in briefer moments. Is there a certain spectrum, from interior to exterior, for what techniques are more appropriate and potent?

One thing I was very careful of in this film, as far as the framing, was how to depict the human relations common to that time period. Because of the hierarchies that existed, it was often that the people in authority were standing while the people beneath them were kneeling. To try to compose a shot so that both those people can exist in a single frame is quite challenging; in other moments, one might be trying to depict the shifting balance between two figures. They might be standing in a certain configuration one way, but then move to a different part of the room to have that configuration change. So a lot of my camera decisions were about where to place the camera to best be able to depict the positioning of the characters in a naturalistic, also beautiful way. That was a process of trial and error, to figure that out alongside my DP.

Photo by Arin Sang-urai. Courtesy of Film at Lincoln Center.

How much do you want to signal dramatic import to an audience with a movement of the camera? As soon as a static tableau becomes mobile, the audience will think—unconsciously or not—that something important is happening. As far as film language, what is the balance between surprising the audience and treating them as a conversation partner?

That’s a very sharp observation. Certainly, when a camera moves suddenly, it seems to describe a change in a current situation or perhaps try to signal the appearance of something new; it’s a way of building anticipation for the viewer. Sometimes that’s true, that something new is about to happen; sometimes it’s a kind of misdirection. With this film, I was very careful to consider the form of the 1950s jidaigeki—especially how, back then, movie cameras were very large and heavy and not easily movable. So when an exciting thing was supposed to happen on the screen, a decision to move the camera meant that everyone had to help place it on a rail or on a crane, and then shove the camera alongside the movements of the actors. Not only is it signaling a dramatic moment in the narrative, but it’s also a dramatic moment on set.

There’s a kind of tension and excitement from the staff that somehow exists in those scenes themselves. This is something that I wanted to consider, even though this film is shot digitally. Of course, cameras today are much lighter and very easy to move, and therefore we might watch a film today and camera movements might not signal very much at all. But I knew, with Kokurōjō, I wanted to instill on set this idea that this camera is something that is heavy and immovable.

I know a black-and-white version just premiered in Japan. You had thought about shooting Samurai in black-and-white, then shifted to a color palette that’s evocative of it. What does that version mean to you? Are you happy with it?

So of course the movies that I had been referencing from the 1950s were shot in black-and-white and the standard ratio, and I had the choice to shoot in black-and-white, but since we were shooting digitally, I didn’t want to be a stickler about it, and so instead decided not to shoot so many vivid colors and stick with the muted color palette. After the film was completed, my colorist [Yov Moor], who is a French person, told me that, in France, there are a lot of cinephiles and fans who like to turn works into black-and-white just out of appreciation, and I was utterly against it. I said, “Why, if I’ve shot in color, would I, with the tap of a button, want to turn my work into black-and-white?” So I was very hesitant at first, but this French colorist said, “Well, it’s easy to do, so why don’t we just try it and take a look?”

I was very reluctant, but watched it, and was so surprised to find that it was incredible. It was so different, and there are so many things that became apparent to me that I hadn’t noticed before. For instance, the patterns on people’s costumes. I think, with color, we’re more drawn to the coloring in the costumes, but suddenly the patterns and differences became very clear to me. Another thing was the whites of the eyes of the actors: suddenly being able to see that contrast so clearly added a kind of depth and striking quality to their expressions. So it was a brand-new discovery to me—very shocking, certainly not intentional—but I think that’s what’s so interesting about film: you can turn it into black-and-white and suddenly it’s a new world.

The Samurai and the Prisoner is now playing in a limited release and expands through August.

With Toronto International Film Festival running its 51st edition from September 10—20, they’ve now followed up their first wave of features with their Centrepiece, Wavelengths, and Classics.

The new additions include William Greaves and David Greaves’ Once Upon a Time in Harlem, Valeska Grisebach’s The Dreamed Adventure, Sandra Wollner’s Everytime, Marine Atlan’s La Gradiva, Ken Russell’s The Devils restoration, Radu Jude’s The Diary of a Chambermaid, Lisandro Alonso’s Double Freedom, Angela Schanelec’s My Wife Cries, Mariano Llinás’s Life of Jorge Luis Borges, Marie-Clementine Dusabejambo’s Ben’Imana, Josef Kubota Wladyka’s Ha-Chan, Shake Your Booty!, Louis Clichy’s Iron Boy, and more.

Explore the lineup below.

2026 Centrepiece Programme

(In alphabetical order)

• A Girl Unknown | Zou Jing | China – North American Premiere
• After Elena | Shawn Garry | Chile, Colombia, Italy – World Premiere
• Ah Girl | Ang Geck Geck Priscilla | Singapore – North American Premiere
• Ashes | Diego Luna | Mexico, Spain – North American Premiere
• Back in Black | Ron Murphy | Canada – World Premiere
• Ben’Imana | Marie-Clementine Dusabejambo | Rwanda, Gabon, France, Norway – North American Premiere
• Congo Boy | Rafiki Fariala | Central African Republic, France, Democratic Republic of Congo, Italy – North American Premiere
• Conversation With The Sea | Muayad Alayan | Palestine – North American Premiere
• Dorothy | Karthik Subbaraj | India – World Premiere
• Eklipse | Manuel Wetscher | Austria, Italy – North American Premiere
• Elephants in the Fog | Abinash Bikram Shah | Nepal, France, Germany, Brazil, Norway – North American Premiere
• Everytime | Sandra Wollner | Austria, Germany – North American Premiere
• Flies | Fernando Eimbcke | Mexico – North American Premiere
• Four Seasons in Java | Kamila Andini | Indonesia, France, Netherlands, Norway, Poland, Saudi Arabia, Singapore – World Premiere
• Furies | Rami Kodeih | Lebanon, Brazil – North American Premiere
• Future Tense | Jenna Cato Bass | South Africa, Australia – World Premiere
• God Bless You, Mr Kopu | Alex Liu | New Zealand, Australia – World Premiere
• Ha-Chan, Shake Your Booty! | Josef Kubota Wladyka | USA – Canadian Premiere
• How We Stand | Marie Clements | Canada – World Premiere
• Inherit | Banjong Pisanthanakun | Thailand – World Premiere
• Intermission | Yonfan | Hong Kong – North American Premiere
• Iron Boy | Louis Clichy | France, Belgium – North American Premiere
• Julián | Louise Bagnall | Luxembourg, Ireland, Canada, Denmark – North American Premiere
• La Gradiva | Marine Atlan | France, Italy – North American Premiere
• L’AUTRE | Alexandre Franchi | Canada – World Premiere
• Lemonade | Kim Bartley | Ireland, United Kingdom – World Premiere
• Light Pillar | Xu Zao | China – North American Premiere
• Long Long Night | Kyu Bock Youm | South Korea – World Premiere
• Love is the monster | Neto Villalobos Brenes | Costa Rica, Peru, Panama, Chile, Mexico – World Premiere
• Marie Madeleine | Géssica Généus | France, Haiti, Belgium, Canada, Luxembourg – North American Premiere
• Muyi | Julien Chheng | France – North American Premiere
• Neverman | Rodrigo Barriuso | Canada – World Premiere
• Our Loves | Avi Nesher | Israel – World Premiere
• Rehearsals for a Revolution | Pegah Ahangarani | Czech Republic, Spain – Canadian Premiere
• Smudge the Blades | Cody Lightning | Canada – World Premiere
• Soumsoum, The Night of the Stars | Mahamat-Saleh Haroun | Chad, France – North American Premiere
• Sunburn | Serville Poblete | Canada – World Premiere
• Tangles | Leah Nelson | Canada, USA – North American Premiere
• The Betrayers | David Bezmozgis | Canada, Ukraine – World Premiere
• The bovine with the curved horns | Omar E. Ospina Giraldo | Colombia – World Premiere
• The City of the Living | Edoardo Gabbriellini | Italy – International Premiere
• The Difficult Bride | Rubaiyat Hossain | France, Bangladesh, Germany, Norway, Portugal – North American Premiere
• The Dreamed Adventure | Valeska Grisebach | Germany, France, Bulgaria, Austria – North American Premiere
• The Lost Children Of Tuam | Frank Berry | Ireland – International Premiere
• The Secret Lives of Baba Segi’s Wives | Daniel Oriahi | Nigeria – World Premiere
• The Surgeon | Roshan Sethi | Ireland – World Premiere
• The Violinist | Ervin Han, Raúl García | Singapore, Spain, Italy – North American Premiere
• Thirteen in Gaza | Hosam Abu Dan | Palestine – World Premiere
• Toy Gun Bandit | Rémi St-Michel | Canada – World Premiere
• Trash Mountain | Kris Rey | USA – World Premiere
• Viva Carmen | Sébastien Laudenbach | France – North American Premiere
• We Are All Strangers | Anthony Chen | Singapore – North American Premiere
• Where the River Begins | Juan Andrés Arango | Canada, Colombia, Norway – World Premiere
• Woman Unknown | May el-Toukhy | Denmark – North American Premiere

Wavelengths: Features

• At Night | Beatrice Gibson | United Kingdom, France – North American Premiere
• Double Freedom (La libertad doble) | Lisandro Alonso | Chile, Argentina, Luxembourg, Germany, United Kingdom – North American Premiere
• Everything Else is Noise (Lo demás es ruido) | Nicolás Pereda | Germany, Canada, Mexico – North American Premiere
• Life of Jorge Luis Borges (Biografía de Jorge Luis Borges) | Mariano Llinás | Argentina – North American Premiere
• London | Sebastian Brameshuber | Austria – North American Premiere
• My Wife Cries (Meine Frau Weint) | Angela Schanelec | Germany, France – North American Premiere
• Nobody’s Violence (Violence du corps de l’autre) | Denis Côté | Canada – North American Premiere
• Once Upon a Time in Harlem | William Greaves, David Greaves | USA – Canadian Premiere
• The Black Box is Orange | Yuula Benivolski | Canada – World Premiere
• The Diary of a Chambermaid (Le journal d’une femme de chambre) | Radu Jude | France, Romania – North American Premiere
• The Remotes | John Torres | Philippines – World Premiere

Wavelengths: Shorts

WAVELENGTHS 1: HOUSE AND HOME

• Two Pids | John Smith | United Kingdom – North American Premiere
• After Image | Rita Ferrando | Canada, Argentina – World Premiere
• Moon Palace (月宫) | Jiaqi Yu | China, USA – World Premiere
• Microcosmic Orbit: Encased | Danaya Chulphuthiphong | Thailand – North American Premiere
• The Address Book | Mustafa Uzuner | Canada – World Premiere | 16mm
• Chronicle of Tiredness (Crónica del cansancio) | Natalia Marín | Spain – North American Premiere

WAVELENGTHS 2: THIS SUFFOCATING NOW

• Ghazal-e Sorkh (سرخ ل غزا) | Maryam Tafakory | Iran, United Kingdom, France – World Premiere
• TM | Takehisa Kosugi | Japan | 1974 – International Premiere of new restoration
• Fire Flies (咒语) | Zheng Lu Xinyuan | China – World Premiere
• Splits in Two | Simon Liu | Hong Kong, USA – World Premiere
• This Suffocating Now | Vika Kirchenbauer | Germany – North American Premiere

WAVELENGTHS 3: TIME AND TIDE

• Forever…Forever | Johann Lurf | Austria, France – North American Premiere | 70mm
• La Prospettiva (1653) | Ben Russell | France, Italy – World Premiere
• Electric Fragments No. 1 – Rom (Men) (Frammenti Elettrici No. 1 – Rom (Uomini)) | Yervant Gianikian, Angela Ricci Lucchi | Italy | 2001
• Fevers | James Richards | Germany, United Kingdom – North American Premiere

WAVELENGTHS: ANOUSHAHPOUR/ALJAFARI

• Peacocks Come with the Clouds (میآیند ابرها با طاووسها) | Parastoo Anoushahpour | Iran, Canada – World Premiere
• Masao Adachi Takes a Passport Photo (足立正生、パスポート写真を撮る) | Kamal Aljafari | Germany, France, Japan – World Premiere

2026 TIFF Classics Programme

(In alphabetical order)

• Ken Russell’s The Devils | Ken Russell | United Kingdom | 1971 – North American Premiere of 4K restoration
• Kissed | Lynne Stopkewich | Canada | 1996 – World Premiere of 4K restoration
• Report to Mother (Amma Ariyan) | John Abraham | India | 1986 – North American Premiere of 4K restoration
• Spring in a Small Town (Xiao cheng zhi chun) | Fei Mu | China | 1948 – World Premiere of 4K restoration
• Ten Dark Women (Kuroi jûnin no onna) | Kon Ichikawa | Japan | 1961 – North American Premiere of 4K restoration

Pelechian Project

All films directed by Artavazd Pelechian. North American Premieres of 4K restorations.

• Land of the People | Armenia, USSR | 1966 (10 mins.)
• The Beginning | Armenia, USSR | 1967 (10 mins.)
• We | Armenia, USSR | 1969 (27 mins.)
• The Seasons | Armenia, USSR | 1975 (31 mins.)
• The End | Armenia | 1992 (8 mins.)

The 51st edition of the Toronto International Film Festival, presented by Rogers, runs September 10–20, 2026. The inaugural edition of TIFF: The Market takes place the first week of Festival, September 10–16, at the Metro Toronto Convention Centre.

The world’s most famous kaiju is touching down in New York City once again. Film at Lincoln Center has announced the world premiere of Takashi Yamazaki’s Godzilla Minus Zero as the Spotlight Gala selection for the 64th New York Film Festival. The debut will happen at Alice Tully Hall on September 26, over a month before GKIDS releases the highly anticipated sequel on November 6 in the United States.

Here’s the NYFF synopsis: “After Godzilla Minus One’s triumphant reimagination of the timeless Godzilla franchise in 2023, with its ingenious, Oscar-winning visual effects and emotionally gripping back-to-basics storytelling approach, director Takashi Yamazaki returns with a supremely satisfying sequel. Godzilla Minus Zero picks up in 1949, two years after the tumultuous events of Godzilla Minus One, and continues the story of the Shikishima family as they face an all-new calamity. An experience that demands the big screen, featuring even more astounding effects choreography than its predecessor, Godzilla Minus Zero cranks up the terror while always keeping its post-WWII Japan narrative at human eye level. A GKIDS release.”

“It is truly an honor to introduce our film to a global audience for the first time in a place of such history and prestige,” said director Yamazaki. “I am filled with both awe and excitement to see how far the power of Japan’s Godzilla can terrify audiences around the world, and whether they will resonate with what lies beyond that fear.”

“More than 70 years after the first Godzilla movie, Takashi Yamazaki continues to prove that there’s life in the old franchise yet, returning to its postwar roots to locate a haunting, primal terror,” said Dennis Lim, NYFF Artistic Director. “Like its predecessor, Godzilla Minus Zero is a throwback blockbuster, a showcase for human drama and innovative craft, and we are excited to have its world premiere as this year’s NYFF Spotlight Gala.”

The 64th New York Film Festival takes place September 25 through October 12, 2026 with passes on sale now.

The ever-prolific Takashi Miike, who premiered Blazing Fists and Sham last year, is back this fall with a new take on Bad Lieutenant, following Abel Ferrara and Werner Herzog’s indelible features. Bad Lieutenant: Tokyo, starring Shun Oguri, Lily James, and Liv Morgan, will premiere at TIFF next month, and now NEON has debuted the first teaser.

Here’s the synopsis: “A disgraced Tokyo detective spirals into a world of corruption, addiction, and violence as he becomes entangled in a twister investigation involving a vengeful ex-Yakuza, an enigmatic FBI agent, and a missing daughter of a powerful American family.”

See the teaser below, along with an international version and poster.

The dog (star) days of summer have arrived. While distributors are saving their heavyweights for the fall, August still brings a handful of delights, including some B-movie spectacles, meta narratives, and a surprise drop from one of our great auteurs.

15. The Dog Stars (Ridley Scott; Aug. 28)

Even with a 90th birthday next year, Ridley Scott is showing no signs of slowing down. The director is set to release his latest film The Dog Stars, his first since 2024’s Gladiator II, later this month. With a cast including Jacob Elordi, Josh Brolin, Margaret Qualley, Guy Pearce, Benedict Wong, and Allison Janney, the post-apocalyptic drama has been riding a wave of less-than-stellar buzz since it was delayed from a prime spring spot to the doldrums of August, but we’ll always show up to see what the director has in store.

14. Coyote vs. Acme (Dave Green; Aug. 28)

After wrapping shooting in the first half of 2022, the journey for Dave Green’s Coyote vs. Acme has faced more obstacles than the Road Runner. After Warner Bros. Discovery opted to shelve the film as a tax write-off, they finally smartened up and offered to sell to distributors. Ketchup Entertainment, which also released The Day the Earth Blew Up, came to the rescue and it’s now finally arriving at the tail end of summer.

13. Idiots (Macon Blair; Aug. 28)

After breaking out leading Blue Ruin, Macon Blair showed his directorial chops with I Don’t Feel at Home in This World Anymore, and this year he returned to Sundance with his latest film. Idiots (previously titled The Shitheads) stars Dave Franco, O’Shea Jackson Jr., Mason Thames, Kiernan Shipka, Nicholas Braun, and Peter Dinklage. Kent M. Wilhelm said in his Sundance review, “For its relatable premise and tried-and-true structure, the road movie has a rich cinematic history. Its success has spawned a number of subgenres, including the screwball escort film where opposing personalities often work against each other to reach a destination. Whether it’s getting someone to the Greek or a 3:10 train to Yuma, it’s a beloved trope that resurfaces every few years. In 2026, writer-director Macon Blair revives the formula for Idiots. He plots a tumultuous course for his prisoner-transport comedy that keeps the journey interesting and finds space to add depth to an otherwise broad comedy. The steady two-hander never quite soars, but is elevated by an eclectic batch of supporting roles that supply bursts of energy in the right places.”

12. Union County (Adam Meeks; Aug. 14)

While he had quite a deal of fun in I Love Boosters earlier this summer, Will Poulter’s next performance is one of his most impressively dramatic. Adam Meeks’ feature debut Union County, which premiered at Sundance earlier this year, follows Poulter alongside Noah Centineo as brothers navigating a community hit by the opioid epidemic. Jake Kring-Schreifels said in his review, “Last summer, in the middle of The Bear’s fourth season, Will Poulter strolled into the show’s eponymous Chicago restaurant and placed the kitchen staff’s jaws on the floor with his handsomeness. This wasn’t exactly a new reaction for the tall British actor—over the last few years, his cool, blue eyes, angular frame, and disarming accent have made him used to being looked at. No matter the supporting role, when he walks into a room, the energy changes. But in Union County, writer-director Adam Meeks’ assured feature debut, Poulter tries a disappearing act. As recovering drug addict Cody Parsons, he trudges into a courthouse with a scraggy beard, unkempt hair, and slumped shoulders, sanding down his vibrant sheen into a pale matte. Nobody around him turns their head, let alone loosens their jaw.”

11. Buddy (Caspar Kelly; Aug. 28)

After bringing much-loved surreal entertainment with his viral Too Many Cooks, Casper Kelly entered big-screen territory with his Sundance premiere Buddy, starring Cristin Milioti, Delaney Quinn, Topher Grace, Keegan-Michael Key, Michael Shannon, and Patton Oswalt. Caleb Hammond said in his Sundance review, “A mix of Barney and Blue’s Clues, the TV program Buddy follows a large pink unicorn who, alongside a supporting cast of anthropomorphized house objects, teaches the program’s children a new lesson each episode. All of the show’s elements—the colorful sets, the ’90s outfits the children wear, the songs they sing—point to Kelly’s deep understanding of the aesthetics and rules of the world that he subverts.”

10. Filipiñana (Rafael Manuel; Aug. 28)

One of the most formally accomplished feature debuts to premiere at Sundance earlier this year, Rafael Manuel’s Jia Zhangke-backed feature debut Filipiñana is set at a country club in the Philippines as we follow a 17-year-old “tee-girl” who starts uncovering a rotting core of misogyny and violence amongst the higher-ups and clientele. With striking tableaus crafted by cinematographer Xenia Patricia, Manuel effectively pulls back the clashing layers of beauty and systemic issues to capture a country’s disparities.

9. Dreams in Nightmares (Shatara Michelle Ford; Aug. 21)

After their impressive directorial debut Test Pattern, which was nominated for both Gotham and Independent Spirit Awards, Shatara Michelle Ford returned to the festival circuit in 2024 with Dreams in Nightmares. Jourdain Searles said in her review, “Shatara Michelle Ford’s sophomore feature Dreams in Nightmares is a Black road trip film with a big heart, full of warmth, healing, and beauty. With their debut film Test Pattern, Ford announced themselves as an essential new voice in Black cinema, with a focus on the lives and struggles of Black women. Here, Ford tackles similar themes with a wider scope that includes Black femmes, queer love, and non-monogamous relationship structures. An even mix of comedy and drama, Dreams in Nightmares is a work that feels both casual and cathartic.”

8. Tony (Matt Johnson; Aug. 7)

After crafting one of the highlights of 2026 with the thrilling, hilarious Nirvanna the Band the Show the Movie, Matt Johnson is back with a look into the early life of the late, great chef Anthony Bourdain. Devan Suber said in his review, “Those looking for a movie about the man himself won’t necessarily come away with much about Bourdain or his background. As a film about how a small period of time can end up shaping a person, Tony is well observed and distinctive. If nothing else, it’s a welcome sign that Johnson can retain his signature voice while dropping some elements of his style and finding interest in a topic he might not care all that much about.”

7. Late Fame (Kent Jones; Aug. 7)

Returning after his directorial debut Diane, film scholar Kent Jones is back with Late Fame, which brings together Willem Dafoe and Greta Lee, working from a script by Samy Burch (May December) that itself adapts Arthur Schnitzler’s novella. As Leonardo Goi said in our Critic’s Pick review, “One need not be fluent in the ’70s New York poetry scene to appreciate such a piercing snapshot. Jones captures the boys’ milieu with near-ethnographic attention to its textures, patois, and etiquette; Late Fame is never funnier––or more consistently on-point––than when it turns to these pompous fresh graduates and their quirks. In adapting Arthur Schnitzler’s 1895 novella, Burch can posit Ed’s squad as analogue nostalgists in a digital world. But that, of course, is just one of their many poses.”

6. American Doctor (Poh Si Teng; Aug. 14)

Poh Si Teng’s American Doctor is a harrowing, heartbreaking portrait of Palestinian, Jewish, and Zoroastrian doctors who are risking their lives to tend to the overwhelming victims of the ongoing genocide in Gaza and speak the truth in any way they can. Dan Mecca said in his Sundance review, “When will this end? When will this bloodshed stop? And when will the United States of America stop supporting it? Filmmaker Poh Si Teng offers a clear-eyed, unrelenting look at the genocide in Gaza with her documentary American Doctor. It follows three doctors––Dr. Feroze Sidhwa, Dr. Thaer Ahmad, and Dr. Mark Perlmutter––that are consistently trying to save lives in the Gaza Strip. On some trips they are approved to enter. On others they are denied for specious reasons. Dr. Perlmutter is Jewish, Dr. Sidhwa is Zoroastrian, and Dr. Ahmad is Palestinian. Their mission is the mission of all medical professionals: to heal everyone they can.”

5. The Fence (Claire Denis; Aug. 7 in theaters and AMC+ on Aug. 21)

Consider our shock when we learned last week that the U.S. release of Claire Denis’ The Fence was just around the corner. Premiering at last fall’s festival circuit, and with not much of a peep since, the great director’s latest is perhaps not so evocative and penetrating as her career high marks, but it’s stuck with me far more than most of last year’s most “acclaimed” films. Ethan Vestby said in his review, “Is the idea of a Claire Denis film changing? There was likely an image one formed in their head when that name emerged: elliptical, sexy, avant-garde. Yet recent works are suggesting a different direction, one far more direct and less mysterious. It can even be said that her newest, The Fence, plays like a final film––not necessarily as a grand summation or statement, but like a stripping-down of almost everything possible.”

4. The End of Oak Street (David Robert Mitchell; Aug. 14)

Eight years since Under the Silver Lake, David Robert Mitchell is finally out of director jail and on a large-scale adventure feature for a major studio. His WB-backed, J.J. Abrams-produced feature The End of Oak Street stars Anne Hathaway and Ewan McGregor. While even the trailer reveals much more than we’d hope, we can’t wait to see what the director conjures with more resources at his disposal, and early buzz suggests he’s delivered an ideal August thriller.

3. The Rivals of Amziah King (Andrew Patterson; Aug. 14)

Following up his impressive debut The Vast of Night, it’s been a long wait for Andrew Patterson’s delightfully ambitious second feature The Rivals of Amziah King, which premiered at SXSW last year and will finally arrive in theaters this month. John Fink said in his review, “Like the Church potluck to which Amziah King introduces his one-time foster daughter Kateri, The Rivals of Amziah King is a gleeful mashup of genres and tones blending bluegrass music, comedy, revenge, and heist-thriller elements into a tasty homestyle buffet full of eccentric characters and thick Southern accents. It’s a strong follow-up to the promise Andrew Patterson displayed in his resourceful debut feature The Vast of Night––even when this mash-up seems a little uneven and indulgent, with a heavy use of formal techniques, from slow-motion to ironic music.”

2. Fast (Rob Tregenza; Aug. 12)

Just one year after The Fishing Place—on which his work as DP earned our consideration for 2025’s best cinematography—Rob Tregenza returns with Fast, a southern-set drama about race cars and time travel. Tregenza is certainly the only American filmmaker who’s earned the collaborative trust of Jean-Luc Godard, Béla Tarr, and Alex Cox, none of whom entirely distill his sensibilities: long takes, quiet sequences punctuated by bursts of violence, hyper-specific regional locations, and performances that work between naturalistic and mannered. Safe to say there’s no working filmmaker quite like Tregenza, and nothing this month (or year) that will be in clear conversation with Fast.

1. Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma (Jane Schoenbrun; Aug. 7)

Far and away one of the highlights of the 2026 Cannes Film Festival (landing on nearly all top 10 lists from our critics), Jane Schoenbrun’s I Saw the TV Glow follow-up Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma is a wildly entertaining exploration of the slasher film, erotic pleasure, and everything in between. Led by Hannah Einbinder and Gillian Anderson, Rory O’Connor said in his Critic’s Pick review from Cannes, “Shot masterfully by their regular cinematographer Eric Yue (Alex G also makes a welcome return as composer), the movie-within-the-movie’s formative kill scene is so mesmerizing that you’ll welcome Schoenbrun’s decision to play it again and again––all the better to get a feel for how Kris’ obsessions have led them to the movie’s climax, and perhaps their own. Yue and Schoenbrun’s approaches also perfectly align when capturing actresses’ faces, often in achingly beautiful close-ups that only occasionally allow for a flicker of menace. ‘There’s a hole at the bottom of the lake,’ Billy explains to Kris in one of those moments, setting off a sequence that is quickly becoming Schoenbrun’s signature—that churning sense of movie spiraling a drain as it drags you down with it.”

More Films to See

• Olmo (Aug. 7)
• Cookie Queens (Aug. 7)
• A Child of My Own (Aug. 13)
• The Wrong Girls (Aug. 14)
• The Bend in the River (Aug. 14)
• Hot Spot (Aug. 21)
• It Ends (Aug. 21)
• How to Divorce During the War (Aug. 21)
• Franz (Aug. 21)
• Mutiny (Aug. 21)
• Hanging by a Wire (Aug. 28)
• Colony (Aug. 28)
• The Sun Never Sets (Aug. 28)

While Bassam Tariq and Mahershala Ali’s long-in-development Blade movie stalled out, the two have now teamed for a soulful hitman feature Your Mother Your Mother Your Mother also starring John Cho, Abubakr Ali, Laith Nakli, Tramell Tillman, Tiffany Boone, and Giancarlo Esposito. Ahead of a TIFF premiere and September 25 release, the first full trailer has now arrived.

Here’s the synopsis: “From writer-director Bassam Tariq, Your Mother Your Mother Your Mother stars Mahershala Ali as Latif, a devoutly religious hitman who struggles to balance work, faith and fatherhood. When his wife dies, he embarks on a desperate journey across Houston to protect his children, confronting the forces closing in around him – and the beliefs threatening to unravel within.”

See the trailer below:

If you have already grown tired of the hundredth interview of The Odyssey team discussing what it was like shooting an entire film on IMAX cameras or capturing everything as practically as possible, then a gift from the gods has now arrived. During the Beijing press stop tour for his box office behemoth, Christopher Nolan sat down with political philosophy lecturer and doctoral student Zhong Shu for the most thorough, fascinating interview yet on the making of his Homer adaptation.

For a director who can often be evasive––or perhaps not questioned enough––when it comes to the philosophical decisions behind his movies, Zhong Su does a stellar job in a relatively brief period to get Nolan to open up about his thoughts on “Christianizing” Homer’s poem, the themes of atonement in the film, his thoughts on the flaws of film criticism (be sure to read our less-than-enthused review of his latest), breaking storytelling conventions, his portrayal of the gods, and more.

In discussing the adaptation and perspective of historical distance, Nolan says, “The main point is this 400-year-or-so gap between the events that Homer is describing and when Homer’s story was written down or first received by audiences. That’s a pretty interesting gap. For me, I don’t think I’m completely at odds with the way Homer is telling the story when you look at it from a historical perspective. The reason is—and what I became interested in as I adapted it—is that Homer is writing about an era hundreds of years earlier that his audience viewed as being more advanced than theirs. So, while they were a civilization on the rise, they were trying to get back to where they had been 400 years before.”

“That idea of a cycle—the idea of, as you say, a civilization at dusk—I think is there in the past, but it’s subtle. When you look at the history, and you see that when they would unearth these walls of old palaces that had crumbled, they called them ‘Cyclopean walls’ because they thought only a giant could have built such grand walls. They had this idea of the greatness of this past civilization. I became interested in that collapse—what they call the ‘catastrophe,’ the Bronze Age collapse—and what happens between the events of the Trojan War and Homer. From a modern perspective, that is something that is frightening, interesting, and intriguing. For me, it partly comes out of having worked on Oppenheimer before this, which is very much a film about the end of the world and the collapse of civilization. I definitely carried that sensibility into this adaptation of The Odyssey.”

When asked about adding the concept of “atonement,” which doesn’t exist in Greek culture and what could be construed as “Christianizing” The Odyssey, Nolan responds, “I wasn’t too conscious of how I was approaching it philosophically, other than that I really honed in on the idea of what’s termed xenia. In the film, we call it ‘Zeus’s Law’ for simplicity, but it’s that idea of mutual respect—that I treat you the way I want to be treated. In their theology, it’s because the stranger standing in front of you might be a god in disguise. I really drilled down on that, and I started to realize that, for me, a lot of what’s interesting about the interaction of history and mythology is this idea of the ‘Sea Peoples’—the people from the sea who were thought to have precipitated the Bronze Age collapse. It’s one of the great mysteries of history: who were they?”

He adds, “The idea that a violation of xenia—a violation of Zeus’s Law, which is what the suitors are doing in the palace—is what causes this difficulty and damage. I think the idea of atonement, in a way, is what we bring as viewers to the story. I don’t know whether there really is atonement in the film, or whether we just feel that catharsis in the final meeting we’ve waited for between Odysseus and Penelope. In that sense, we may be bringing our more modern sensibility to it. Insofar as it’s there, it’s not a deliberate attempt to Christianize it, but rather an outgrowth or a natural conclusion of burrowing in on this philosophical idea of what happens when you break Zeus’s Law.”

Discussing the ideas of Odysseus repenting for his hubris, Nolan says, “I suppose the question could be asked: what difference would it make if he repented? That’s the interesting thing about these philosophical approaches. His repentance would be purely internal; it would purely be for his own spiritual self. It wouldn’t necessarily affect anything outside of him because the damage is done. Xenia is broken, maybe for all time. I think that is the thing about hubris—it’s tragic because it’s irreversible, essentially. That’s where Christian theology looks at it in a different way, but in a practical sense, it doesn’t necessarily change what’s happened. Therefore, in storytelling terms, it isn’t necessarily relevant. As I said, we bring our understanding to it, so we feel that there’s catharsis because there’s confession, honesty, and intimacy between Odysseus and Penelope. That was very important to me and I’m very invested in that emotionally. But if his repentance has no practical effect and the catastrophe is coming anyway—the collapse is coming—then what difference does it make for the events? Are we concerned with his spiritual well-being or the world that he lives in and feels he’s damaged?”

Following Oppenheimer with The Odyssey, two tales of “great” men who go through an experience of repentance, Nolan opened up about his approach and criticism surrounding it. “When you’re characterizing somebody—the trite version of this, or the criticism often leveled at movies in general—is: ‘Oh, the character has to be made sympathetic,’ so the character is manipulated and changed in different ways,” he said. “That’s a fundamental flaw of film criticism or storytelling criticism, because to be able to identify the mechanism does not invalidate the mechanism. That’s a real problem in criticism today because people have this idea that because they can understand why the story affects them the way it does, it therefore didn’t work. That’s not how storytelling works.”

He adds, “So, when we create a heroic figure in a story as storytellers, we have to be mindful of the energy the audience brings to that story and the interaction between our intention and the way the audience receives it. The fact that the mechanism is identifiable to people doesn’t invalidate it. Part of that mechanism is asking: are we going to treat greatness as an absolute? Or, coming from a more democratic or idealized philosophical state that we live in today where we want to view people as equal, do we have to apologize for that greatness? The answer is: yes, we do, or the audience rejects the greatness. That is part of the mechanism.”

“Once again, the fact that the mechanism is identifiable doesn’t mean it’s invalid or shouldn’t be used,” he clarifies, “For me, as we talk about it—and none of these are things I try to be conscious of when I’m writing—we realize that my attempt to do that is to retain it within the philosophical surrounding of the breaking of xenia that I found interesting in the story. I’m trying to be true to the thematics of the story as I create a character that the audience can invest in and feel satisfied by.”

Speaking to his approach in rethinking the standard structures of cinematic storytelling, Nolan says, “Film itself is its own language. That language is understood by people all over the world, which is what’s incredible about it. It is a very accessible modern language of storytelling, and it has certain rules and conventions. You can break those conventions, you can bend them, you can move them, but you have to be aware of them the whole time. As I say, we as filmmakers avail ourselves of that common language. We build on that understanding. Our audience has seen many films and they understand that language—the language of genre, the language of audience sympathy, the language of clarity of narrative direction, and how you guide people through a story.”

Opening up about his breakthrough feature, he adds, “You can’t throw everything away. You have to make your choices in terms of how you are arranging the story. For example, one of my first films, Memento, was a story that I structured in reverse [chronological order]. But what I retained was a very clear and simple three-act structure. So, the structure of the film as it’s received by the audience is very conventional, but the chronology is unconventional. Those are the choices you make. You say, ‘OK, I need this to be extremely familiar underneath so that I can change what’s on the surface.’ That’s a continual mechanism that’s evolving and that you’re working with the whole time.”

Lastly, Nolan discusses his portrayal of the Greek gods in The Odyssey, saying, “To the characters in the story, the gods are reality. What I found interesting about looking at the idea of gods—and how to address it from the point of view of people who would have lived at that time, for whom in a pre-scientific era, evidence of divinity was everywhere—is that the existence of gods is not an article of faith; it’s simple reality. Thunder and lightning are gods speaking to them. The state of the ocean is moved by the gods. They have no other explanation for it. Just as we accept things from science as absolute fact—the Earth is round and we travel around the sun—we take them as faith because they’re presented as facts. The same would be true of the theological structure that explains nature to people of that time. So, for me, the gods are real, but they are inside the people. They are being projected by the people.”

Watch the full interview below from Bilibili (via Nolan Archives).

There has never been a better time for American Kiyoshi Kurosawa fans. The recent run of restorations and new work hits a high point with today’s U.S. release of his excellent The Samurai and the Prisoner, tomorrow’s ultra-rare 35mm screening of Charisma, and the latter’s pending release from Janus Films (acquired alongside his marvelous Eyes of the Spider). Next month will finally bring the stateside debut of Serpent’s Path, a France-set remake of 1998’s feel-bad triumph that stars Damien Bonnard (Poor Things), Ko Shibasaki (The Boy and the Heron), Hidetoshi Nishijima (Drive My Car, Her Private Hell), Mathieu Amalric, and Claire Denis regular Grégoire Colin. Ahead of a September 11 opening from KimStim, we’re thrilled to premiere the trailer.

Those who know the original will be familiar with this iteration’s premise, then all the more surprised by its eventual turns—not least some reflection on the director’s own fish-out-of-water position in France. As the first go-round was complemented by the aforementioned Eyes—a project made with overlapping cast, crew, and premise—it sometimes seems Serpent’s Path is less a remake than the third in a series. (Kurosawa at least told me he considers it more in his creative spirit.) But I’ll let you see the movie and decide for yourself.

Here’s the official synopsis: “Kiyoshi Kurosawa revisits and reimagines his own 1998 thriller in this haunting French-language adaptation of Serpent’s Path, transforming a revenge story into a chilling meditation on grief, guilt, and moral decay. Relocating the action from Tokyo to the bleak outskirts of Paris, the film follows a bereaved father (Damien Bonnard) who embarks on a labyrinthine quest for vengeance against a shadowy child-trafficking organization known as ‘The Circle,’ aided by the enigmatic and unnervingly composed Sayoko, played with hypnotic ambiguity by Ko Shibasaki. Expanding upon the original’s psychological terrain while retaining its eerie inevitability, Kurosawa crafts a masterclass in atmosphere and existential dread, proving once again why he remains one of cinema’s great architects of unease.”

Find the preview below:

Each week we highlight the noteworthy titles that have recently hit streaming platforms in the United States. Check out this week’s selections below and past round-ups here.

The Death of Robin Hood (Michael Sarnoski)

How many times has the story of Robin Hood been told? How many books have been written, how many movies made about the outlaw? With The Death of Robin Hood, writer-director Michael Sarnoski goes back to the source. Rather, the supposed sources. The earliest stories of Robin Hood were ballads told by commoners across England. These tales tell of an outlaw who does not give anything stolen to the poor, instead taking pleasure in killing the rich. In the medieval ballad “Robin Hood and Guy of Gisborne,” Robin beheads Gisborne and sticks his head on a spike. – Dan M. (full review)

Where to Stream: VOD

The Drama (Kristoffer Borgli)

Some critics are going to say The Drama is not about race, or that if it is, this is simply an accident born of colorblind casting. There is a reveal—the reveal the entire premise hinges on—early in the film that would perhaps make more sense to people if it had come from a white person. It’s definitely something that, historically, is more associated with troubled white American men. But this is a film, not real life, and The Drama presents us with a character viewers have never seen on the big screen before. – Jourdain S. (full review)

Where to Stream: HBO Max

Leviticus (Adrian Chiarella)

Being queer—especially in this rapidly regressive age—means becoming acquainted with a base level of fear for most of your life. It is something you learn early on: not only when you must discover who can be trusted with your survival, but whether they might betray that trust later. Violence takes so many forms that it can lead to a sort of paranoia that folds in on itself. Adrian Chiarella’s Leviticus understands this intimately. By blending the mechanics of It Follows with the trauma of conversion therapy, he crafts a tense, thematically potent feature debut that is more than just a clear metaphor—this is a creepy horror picture in its own right. – Devan S. (full review)

Where to Stream: VOD

Maddie’s Secret (John Early)

You can’t accuse John Early of not committing. Through the majority of his acting career, the comedian has become a reliable avatar for a palpable, toxic, hilarious narcissism, playing characters oblivious to the world outside the bubbles they’ve so thoroughly cultivated. That was particularly evident over four seasons of Search Party, as well as last year’s Stress Positions, a Sundance favorite that exposed the absurdity of living in quarantine over a masked summer. As an agoraphobic tenant in a Brooklyn brownstone, Early took the situation’s disaster and approached it through his very specific kind of self-assured, righteous mania to such an extent that his freak-outs are still rattling around in my brain. – Jake K-S. (full review)

Where to Stream: VOD

Our Land (Nuestra Tierra) (Lucrecia Martel)

There is a direct and conscious through-line between Lucrecia Martel’s previous historical film Zama to her contemporary legal documentary Nuestra Tierra. We see the lives of indigenous communities in Argentina continue to be treated with little regard and a clear class and racial fissure exists in the nation. Martel films the court scenes and the footage of the disputed land as two battlegrounds spanning time. The murder of the Chuchagasta indigenous community leader Javie Chocobar at the hands of corrupt businessmen and bureaucrats reflects and mirrors the history of Argentina as, to this day, a disputed territory. While Martel’s cinema is known for its heavy use of metaphor, blending of fantasy and realism with impressionistic camerawork, this is a movie that pares everything down to cinema’s base elements, making crystal clear what is at stake. – Soham G.

Where to Stream: VOD

Pretzhell (ZXY)

ZXY — The Gyslexic Die is an enigmatic musician from Estonia. He goes by many names, some of which are more famous than others. This is the music video for his recent single “PretzHell.”

Where to Stream: Le Cinéma Club

Renoir (Chie Hayakawa)

Just three years since earning a special mention from the Camera d’Or jury for Plan 75, Chie Hayakawa returns to Cannes as one of seven filmmakers debuting in the main competition––an uncharacteristic breath of fresh air from a festival known for sticking with the old guard. In Plan 75, an acidic work of speculative fiction, Hayakawa imagined a near-future timeline where Japan decided to see to its aging-population crisis by introducing a voluntary euthanasia program. Hayakawa approaches adjacent themes in her sophomore feature, Renoir, a film about family, death, and intergenerational friction that looks not to the future but the director’s own past. – Rory O. (full review)

Where to Stream: VOD

Underland (Rob Petit)

As humanity continues mining Earth’s resources with wanton abandon, the concerns of those with the most influence have been towards the skies––the space dreams of inhabiting another planet once we’ve depleted all this one has to offer. But what could exploring Earth’s subterranean wonders tell us about the origins and future of our species? Robert Macfarlane’s evocatively transportive, poetically imaginative 2019 book Underland investigated such questions through the perspectives of those seeking the void. In adapting the text to the screen, Rob Petit takes a compelling (if more straightforward) excavation into the depths of our planet. – Jordan R. (full review)

Where to Stream: VOD

Also New to Streaming

Disney+/Hulu

The Devil Wears Prada 2

Kino Film Collection

Successive Slidings of Pleasure

Netflix

A Private Life

Shudder

Nightborn

VOD

Westhampton

There’s podcasts about movies (hello) and there are movies about podcasts. A podcast helping create a movie that is not itself about the podcast, but reflects its worldviews and the sense of humor that has become a kind of lingua franca among people in their 20s and 30s: that is novel.

Thus: Chunks. If you’re a regular listener of Chapo Trap House, you’ve probably heard ads for the film proffered by the show’s producer Chris Wade, who has also taken up producing duties on this film, which is a comedy anthology that moves between public-access TV, animation, live-streamed poker, and more straight-ahead narrative projects that still reflect something of screen life and the modern dystopia. Chunks was spearheaded by Amber A’Lee Frost, a longtime contributor to Chapo who has since started ColdFeet, a production entity that previously supported Eephus. It was my pleasure speaking with Chis and Amber about Chunks, translating the Chapo sensibility to cinema, and ColdFeet’s forthcoming projects.

Subscribe here and listen below:

Music courtesy of Lex Walton: “Love Theme from an Unreleased Film” from the album Giving It Up.