We’re delighted to exclusively announce that Altered Innocence has acquired North American rights to Virgina (Virdžina), the acclaimed 1991 feature from celebrated Serbian filmmaker Srđan Karanović. The newly restored film will make its World Restoration Premiere at the Frameline LGBTQ+ Film Festival.

Completed in June 1991 as Yugoslavia descended into war, Virgina was effectively lost for decades amid the upheaval that followed the country’s dissolution. Long unavailable and rarely screened, the film was rediscovered in France by queer film historian and filmmaker Jenni Olson, who located the surviving film elements and helped bring renewed attention to the work. Following the discovery, Belgrade-based rights holder Centar Film initiated a new 2K restoration in collaboration with the Yugoslav Film Archive, returning this landmark work to audiences for the first time in decades.

The new 2K restoration was completed by the Department for Digitisation and Digital Restoration of the Yugoslav Film Archive in Belgrade. The film was scanned from a 35mm internegative using an ArriscanXT scanner with archival gate overscan, with color correction by Masha Badalić under the supervision of director Srđan Karanović. Audio was sourced from the original 35mm mono sound negative and restored by the Sound Department of the Academy of Arts in Novi Sad.

In the rugged mountains of a 19th-century Balkan village, a fourth girl is born to a poor family “cursed” by superstition to bear no boys. In a culture where family honor outweighs individual desire, the baby girl is raised instead as the “virdžina” Stevan, with the rights and responsibilities of a boy, to become the family’s sole heir. “Better a rooster for a day than a hen for life.” his mother says. Stevan grows into a handsome young man carrying the weight of a destiny chosen for him, but as first love stirs and tragedy unfolds in the village, Stevan is pushed to rebellion against the role he’s been forced to play. Virgina (Virdžina) offers a captivating look into the workings of misogyny, gender, and sexuality in late 19th-century Serbia and unfolds as a sensual, haunting tale of identity, duty, and rebellion – a clash between the rigid codes of tradition and the unstoppable pull of the self.

“Virgina feels astonishingly contemporary for a film made more than three decades ago,” said Frank Jaffe, founder of Altered Innocence. “Its exploration of gender, identity, and social expectation remains deeply resonant, while its disappearance and rediscovery only add to its power. We’re honored to help bring this remarkable and long-unavailable work to North American audiences.”

Altered Innocence plans a Fall theatrical release following the film’s World Restoration Premiere at Frameline.

The deal was negotiated directly between Altered Innocence and Centar Film.

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.

Blue Film (Elliot Tuttle)

“Provocation” has become watered-down in recent times. All it takes to provoke someone is tossing off a bunch of half-assed offensive statements or aiming your cannon at every divisive mainstream issue on a quest to push people’s buttons. Getting a reaction out of people is easy; actually making them consider things is another matter entirely. Blue Film, by that token, is provocative in the truest sense of the term. Elliott Tuttle’s film seeks to unsettle, question, and, yes, provoke you. But his masterful two-hander wants, more than anything, to extend understanding to both men at the center, asking you to see them as flawed humans with depth and complexity, even if we’d rather not. – Devan S. (full review)

Where to Stream: VOD

I Am Frankelda (Arturo Ambriz and Roy Ambriz)

After getting much buzz on the festival circuit last year, Mexico’s first-ever stop-motion feature arrives on Netflix. Directed by Arturo Ambriz and Roy Ambriz, who worked under Guillermo del Toro, the fantasy tale I Am Frankelda was praised by Jared Mobarak in his review: “More than the similarly mythologized Monsters, Inc., the first stop-motion feature produced in Mexico (courtesy of the Cinema Fantasma studio) recalls an old childhood favorite from the ’80s: Little Monsters. Just like that Fred Savage vehicle, writers-directors Los Hermanos Ambriz (Arturo and Roy) have created a means to connect reality to nightmare so a human might embrace the latter’s mischief, mystery, and terror that the former rejects. The 19th-century-set I Am Frankelda is thus born from a young woman’s mind (Mireya Mendoza’s Francisca Imelda) as a manifestation of her aspiration to become a horror writer––a dream met with major pushback from publishers, society, and family alike.”

Where to Stream: Netflix

It’s Dorothy! (Jeffrey McHale)

Upon hearing the name “Dorothy” I, like most, immediately think of The Wizard of Oz. I remember watching the film when I was a kid, sitting on the couch with my family. I remember my parents calling it “a classic.” Dorothy Gale has become synonymous with many things over the 125 years since she first appeared in L. Frank Baum’s The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, from Kansas to ruby red slippers, Judy Garland to a 1950s LGBTQ+ signifier. – Michael F. (full review)

Where to Stream: Peacock, VOD

LUZ (Flora Lau)

With an evocative opening-credits sequence as the camera swirls through a virtual landscape of neon signs and lights, one might think they are witnessing the beginning of the next Gaspar Noé film. Thankfully what follows in Flora Lau’s second feature LUZ is less puerile and exasperating than the work of that enfant terrible, but it could use an inkling more bite. A mood piece above all else, the emotionally detached drama follows two disparate, vaguely connected stories of alienated individuals adrift in a world consumed by technology that may in fact be the only path toward healing. – Jordan R. (full review)

Where to Stream: Kino Film Collection, VOD

Paradox of Praxis 5: Sometimes we dream as we live & sometimes we live as we dream (Francis Alÿs)

Based in Mexico, Alÿs works across multiple mediums and makes art that confronts geopolitical situations through poetic means. Made in collaboration with Julien Devaux, Rafael Ortega, Alejandro Morales, and Félix Blume as part of his Paradox of Praxis series, in which he performs distinct physical actions in different social contexts, this film sees Alÿs kick a flaming soccer ball around Ciudad Juárez, Mexico, a border city affected by cartel violence. His film explores the thorniness of art-making in the face of a terrible situation and poses, not unlike the World Cup, whether art can coexist alongside great social issues.

Where to Stream: Le Cinéma Club

Also New to Streaming

HBO Max

They Will Kill You

Kino Film Collection

Daddy and the Muscle Academy

MUBI

Gregory’s Girl
Infinite Football
Mario
On the Seventh Day

VOD

Mārama
Michael
Saccharine

Looking for what to see in theaters? Our feature, updated weekly, highlights our top recommendations for films currently in theaters, from new releases to restorations receiving a proper theatrical run.

While we already provide extensive monthly new-release recommendations and weekly streaming recommendations, as distributors’ roll-outs can vary, this is a one-stop list to share the essential films that may be on a screen near you.

Backrooms (Kane Parsons)

The opening five minutes serve as an ideal primer for anybody unfamiliar with Parsons’ Backrooms web series, and who maybe need a little extra convincing that a 20-year-old YouTuber has some juice: a found-footage recording of a researcher lost in the endless liminal space who gets chased by some unseen force of evil. Even when seen in the extremely low resolution of period-appropriate early-1990s camcorders, there’s something immediately disquieting about the uncanny production design (courtesy of Perkins’ regular collaborator Danny Vermette), where signs appear as their mirror image, various objects of furniture have melted into the floor, and the only living souls are seagulls. It’s an uncomfortable space to be in before the echoes of footsteps begin gathering speed behind our cameraman, and as this tape ends in offscreen devastation, we flash forward approximately ten days to meet Clark (Chiwetel Ejiofor), a failed architect and owner of the fabulously named furniture store Cap’n Clark’s Ottoman Empire. – Alistair R. (full review)

Blue Film (Elliot Tuttle)

“Provocation” has become watered-down in recent times. All it takes to provoke someone is tossing off a bunch of half-assed offensive statements or aiming your cannon at every divisive mainstream issue on a quest to push people’s buttons. Getting a reaction out of people is easy; actually making them consider things is another matter entirely. Blue Film, by that token, is provocative in the truest sense of the term. Elliott Tuttle’s film seeks to unsettle, question, and, yes, provoke you. But his masterful two-hander wants, more than anything, to extend understanding to both men at the center, asking you to see them as flawed humans with depth and complexity, even if we’d rather not. – Devan S. (full review)

Blue Heron (Sophy Romvari)

Blue Heron, Romvari’s feature debut, once again mines the director’s own history, following a Hungarian family of six as it settles in a nondescript stretch of suburbia outside Vancouver. The opening line, “I struggle now to remember much of my childhood,” belongs to the youngest child, Sasha (Eylul Guven), the film to her older stepbrother Jeremy (Edik Beddoes), a sullen, taciturn adolescent with a history of self-destructive behavior no one has learned how to deal with, much less address. Yet Romvari refuses to write him off as a troubled child. Yes, the kid is most certainly not all right, but he traverses Blue Heron as its most mysterious, elusive character, and that impenetrability is a measure of Romvari’s empathy. Rather than pathologizing his pain––a tendency his own parents succumb to––she invites us to sit with it and bask in his drawn-out silences, in the gaps between the words and imperfect memories that grown-up Sasha (Amy Zimmer), in the film’s second half, will try piecing together. – Leonardo G. (full review)

Carolina Caroline (Adam Carter Rehmeier)

How do you tell when you stop being good people pretending to be bad and realize you’re just bad people who can’t even trick themselves into thinking they’re anything but? Caroline (Samara Weaving) asks this aloud earlier than you might expect, considering the crime escapade she and new boyfriend Oliver (Kyle Gallner) enjoy commenced at her behest. She didn’t just take his advice and wonder why she’d never left the one place she’s ever known. She didn’t just reject the notion of staying because it’s safe. No, Caroline chose to meet those realities with the decision to become a full-blown outlaw because it made her feel truly alive. – Jared M. (full review)

The Currents (Milagros Mumenthaler)

A selection at TIFF, NYFF, San Sebastian, and more, Milagros Mumenthaler’s acclaimed, mysterious character study The Currents is now in theaters. Jourdain Searles said in her NYFF review, “Writer-director Milagros Mumenthaler paints an intimate portrait of a woman trying to reckon with her fractured identity, trying not to fall into the grip of madness. Mumenthaler understands that motherhood requires an element of performance that reminds the mother that her life is no longer hers alone. Though the love for her daughter is still there inside, she cowers from it, preoccupied with inspecting the current shape of her life. In therapy, Lina expresses a fear of water’s power and the strength of a current that could wash her away. It’s as if she now knows the fragility of her existence, and that the confidence that once governed her was washed away when she jumped off the bridge. Despite the eccentricity of her fears, the emotions behind them are painfully relatable to any woman who feels that the inertia of her life has taken over.”

Disclosure Day (Steven Spielberg)

Certain beliefs unite all of humanity. Take, for example, the idea that the extraordinary is possible. Or, even more, that the impossible is possible. Steven Spielberg isn’t shy about believing in extraterrestrial life, and he doesn’t think you should be either. He’s so sincere about this aloof-yet-sky-high-stakes concept that he’s returning to it again with a very simple profundity in tow: “Empathy is the core of animate existence–our evolutionary advantage.” And he intends to remind us of our capacity for such. – Luke H. (full review)

Forastera (Lucía Aleñar Iglesias)

It starts as a gag. Pepa (Núria Prims) rings to apologize to her mother and believes it is she who picks up the phone. Her teenage daughter Cata (Zoe Stein) plays along, pretending to answer as she assumes her grandmother would, until her mother finally catches on and says her name. When it happens again, however, Catalina (Marta Angelat) has died. But instead of telling the hairdresser this news, Cata once again pretends to be her grandmother to cancel the appointment and assure the woman that she’ll ring soon for a touch-up. – Jared M. (full review)

The Little Sister (Hafsia Herzi)

In her mosque’s perfect world, Fatima (Nadia Melliti) is on the right path. A good family. A tight-knit group of protective and loyal friends. A boyfriend ready to propose. A devout faith in Islam. In many ways, this teen is doing better on the wife checklist than her older sisters (besides kitchen skills). And maybe she would have followed that path in Algeria or Egypt. But this is France. The opportunity to live her true self is here if she wants it. – Jared M. (full review)

I Love Boosters (Boots Riley)

A parody of dialectical materialism (you’ll understand what this means when you see the film), superficial economies, and the cult of fast fashion, I Love Boosters—the second feature from rapper, activist, and filmmaker Boots Riley—proves a spirited and hilarious comedy in its first two acts before falling back on action-comedy tropes in its finale. Perhaps there’s no way to fully sustain the gonzo energy delivered in its set-up, which initially offers a sharp critique of capitalism as biting as Riley’s debut feature Sorry to Bother You. – John F. (full review)

Jinsei (Ryuya Suzuki)

Maybe it’s harder than it looks to present the end of the world calmly, especially in only 93 minutes. That’s one of the major achievements of the new, relatively lo-fi anime film Jinsei. Over a hundred years—all through the prism of pop music and Japanese identity—one quickly learns how much millennial- and zoomer-doom mindset is just as present in the land of the rising sun. – Ethan V. (full review)

Obsession (Curry Barker)

Even if he hadn’t recently landed the new Texas Chainsaw Massacre remake, you’ve likely heard the name Curry Barker. He’s the latest in the recent spate of former sketch comedians/YouTubers turning to horror-directing with an online feature under his belt. Obsession—his theatrical debut—fully lives up to both his promise and the title. For whatever familiarity lies within it, there’s a strong seed just begging to flourish into something great. – Devan S. (full review)

Pressure (Anthony Maras)

Can you make an engaging film about predicting the weather? Pressure, directed by Anthony Maras, answers this question in the affirmative. Set mere days before D-Day is set to commence, General Dwight D. Eisenhower (Brendan Fraser) needs an accurate forecast to ensure the operation will go as planned. The film’s stark opening minutes portray the vicious aftermath of Operation Tiger, a D-Day training exercise gone horribly wrong only months earlier. Hundreds of American soldiers were killed by friendly fire after some deadly miscommunication. We find Eisenhower steadfast but shaken, surrounded by British generals who believe they can do a better job leading the Allied Expeditionary Force (AEF) to victory. Damian Lewis represents this feeling in his outsized portrayal of Field Marshal Bernard Law Montgomery, commander of all D-Day land forces. – Dan M. (full review)

Promised Sky (Erige Sehiri)

With Promised Sky, French-Tunisian director Erige Sehiri offers an intimate view from the diverse perspectives of those caught in the mess of systemic prejudice, and how difficult it can be to play fair when the deck is stacked against you.  Though uneven at times, strong performances and a ripped-from-the-BBC story make for a heartbreaking reflection on the challenges of being moral in an immoral place. Promised Sky’s glimpse of the uncertainty ingrained into the lives of a vulnerable population is set in Tunisia, yet it’s unnerving how seamlessly it could take place in the United States. – Kent M. W. (full review)

Silent Friend (Ildikó Enyedi)

Hungarian director Ildikó Enyedi is best known for her 2017 Golden Bear-winning film On Body and Soul, where an unlikely pair of characters met in a dream and, as deer, fell in love. This remarkably tender Berlinale winner is, in many ways, the precursor to Enyedi’s newest film, notwithstanding the fact that in-between came The Story of My Wife (2021), a period drama of an obsessive love affair starring Léa Seydoux. Not to say the latter is irrelevant: the English-language debut allowed Enyedi to expand the details of her singular worlds beyond language and cement herself as a European auteur to whom actors flock. While Silent Friend stars the indomitable Tony Leung (and also Seydoux in a small role), the real star of this film is a ginkgo tree. If On Body and Soul was fauna, Silent Friend is flora. – Savina P. (full review)

Two Seasons, Two Strangers (Sho Miyake)

Two Seasons is the third in a wonderful recent run by Miyake, joining Small, Slow But Steady (2022) and All The Long Nights (2024). With each he has shown a remarkable ability for mixing porcelain-like levels of craft and detail with stories of comparatively messy human compassion––a cinematic mix that never fails to delight. Despite racking up some awards for those films, his work plays at the kind of modest register that often keeps filmmakers of his ilk relatively below-the-radar or, at the very least, just shy of name recognition. Winning the Leopard might be the push that elevates him to auteur status and perhaps (with respect to Locarno) the biggest of the big competitions, where I feel he belongs. – Rory O. (full review)

With Hasan in Gaza (Kamal Aljafari)

While there are no documentaries in the world that can give true justice to the pain experienced by the Palestinian people, Kamal Aljafari’s With Hasan in Gaza is one of the most poetic and profound to arrive thus far. Rory O’Connor said in his review, “The new documentary With Hasan in Gaza––a poignant, meditative portrait of a city now fighting for its life––works as both a travelogue and time machine. In 2001, the filmmaker Kamal Aljafari journeyed to Palestine in the hopes of finding Adder Rahim, a friend he made while serving seven months in the juvenile section of Israel’s Naqab Desert prison when he was 17 years old. During filming, Aljafari met Hasan, a guide who agreed to drive him the length of the country, down its coastal strip, during which time the director documented what he saw: children playing, rows of cars and buildings, bustling city streets.”

More Films Now Playing in Theaters

• The Gas Station Attendant
• Magic Hour
• Power Ballad
• Renoir
• Tuner
• Underland

Read all reviews here. For our NYC-specific repertory round-ups, including many films that will tour the country, bookmark NYC Weekend Watch.

NYC Weekend Watch is our weekly round-up of repertory offerings.

Museum of Modern Art
The exquisitely programmed Universal Westerns continues with two by Robert Aldrich, King Vidor on 35mm, and Douglas Sirk in 3D.

Film at Lincoln Center
History, Italian Style continues with The Organizer and Policarpo on 35mm.

Museum of the Moving Image
A De Palma retrospective begins with Body Double; Real American Tales continues with films by Malick, Chaplin, Lizzie Borden, and more.

BAM
A series on Latin American punk movements has begun.

Anthology Film Archives
Allen Ginsberg Centennial features films by Robert Frank, Jonas Mekas, and more.

Film Forum
A print of The Third Man begins a two-week run; Peter Hutton’s No Picnic continues; Satyajit Ray’s Days and Nights in the Forest returns; The Muppet Movie plays on Sunday morning.

Roxy Cinema
David Fincher’s The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo and Silent Hill play on 35mm.

IFC Center
A 4K restoration of I Shot Andy Warhol begins screening; Berberian Sound Studio, The Terminator, The Big Lebowski, Purple Rain, and The Blair Witch Project play late.

Nitehawk Prospect Park
E.T. and Fresh Kill plays early on Saturday and Sunday.

Metrograph
Mr. Turner, Caravaggio, Lady and the Tramp, Fellini Satyricon, The Decameron, The Devil’s Backbone, and Atlantic City play on 35mm; The Art of Soccer and Gianfranco Rosi start while Ringo Lam on Fire, Louis Malle: Portraits of America, Maybe If You Smile, and The Lives of the Most Excellent Painters continue.

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.

This is the Robin Hood that Hugh Jackman is playing, and he’s rarely been better. Set in 1247 A.D., the film finds the titular non-hero a bitter old man living in the mountains away from society. His life is a cold, harsh scourge punctuated by a never-ending litany of sins from his past. Little John (a great Bill Skarsgård), Robin’s sole companion, is determined to find new adventures that will be told by many, evolving into something grand and brave. This misbegotten notion leads to further bloodshed and results in Robin Hood’s stay at a mysterious priory wherein he heals his fresh wounds. The prioress is played by Jodie Comer, once again fitting perfectly in a medieval setting (see: The Last Duel). She befriends Robin, who lies about his identity. Soon he is forced into a paternal role when a young girl (Faith Delaney) arrives on the island hurt and alone. Is some version of redemption possible for a brute such as this?

Sarnoski is concerned with the act of storytelling, and how each story evolves (or devolves) over time. It’s a fitting focus for a myth such as Robin Hood. The Death of Robin Hood is most directly adapted from the likeliest 17th-century ballad “Robin Hood’s Death.” There is a version of the same story in the final verses of “A Gest of Robyn Hode,” one of the earliest (and longest) Robin Hood tales. Much is changed in this new interpretation, but the general structure remains. Throughout, each character has a story to tell. Murray Bartlett has a standout monologue in the middle of the picture, playing a leper who serves as the boatman between the island the priory is on and the mainland. It is so comforting to watch great performers tell great stories to each other. And while this reads as an almost condescendingly simple observation, it cannot be overstated how effective these moments are.

Not since Richard Lester’s underrated Robin and Marian has there been a more clear-eyed, metatextual investigation into the stories that comprise the legend. Since the dawn of man, there was a story to be told. Humans are desperate for them, be they orated around a fire or delivered in 15-second clips on their phone. Good stories have convinced people to do bad, horrible things. They’ve convinced others to pursue great things. Once upon a time, a college professor of mine was teaching Miguel de Cervantes’ Don Quixote. During one lecture, he told us that the book became so popular in Spain at the time of its initial release that some people fell out of the windows of their homes because they didn’t want to stop reading even as the sun set. They extended their copy of the book out the window closer to the sun, just to read a page more before it was dark. It’s a good story about a famous book about telling stories. Is it true? Who knows? Does it matter if it’s true? The Death of Robin Hood reckons with this last question, and it’s a thrill to watch.

The Death of Robin Hood opens in theaters on Friday, June 19.

If 2026 was, probably, not a banner year for Sundance—nor the ideal send-off to Park City, but let’s not get into that now—the best titles still made a fine impression. Standing among our favorites was Georgia Bernstein’s feature debut Night Nurse, which fused erotic tension with appreciably obscure character work—a film, one might say, that percolates rather than bludgeons. IFC will release Bernstein’s film on July 10, and there’s now a trailer exemplifying its ratcheting tension.

As John Fink said in our review, “The second collaboration between Bernstein and Cemre Paksoy (after their series following a professional cuddler), Night Nurse is a fascinating character study that can suggest an early Atom Egoyan film with notes of Michael Haneke. The film’s production design and aesthetic embrace a 1980s style, itself harkening back to Douglas at the height of his success. It’s never quite clear what kind of man he was before his health started to fail, but it’s easy to imagine Douglas as the kind of psychopathic lawyer or business shark who only shows teeth when about to bite. Night Nurse is a study in susceptibility and codependence as Eleni, early in the picture, becomes fixated on gestures of care. It’s not quite clear what her objective is until the final act, where perhaps all our suspicions are confirmed.”

Watch the preview below:

Though among the great films of its time, proof-positive of the Italian studio system’s genius, and a peak for both director Luchino Visconti and star Marcello Mastroianni, White Nights has never quite occupied the canonical position it so severely deserves. With Visconti’s take on Dostoevsky’s short story of the same name (later interpreted to exemplary effect in Robert Bresson’s Four Nights of a Dreamer and James Gray’s Two Lovers) receiving a 4K restoration by Cinecittà and stateside release from Janus Films (ahead of the inevitable Criterion upgrade), things might soon change. Ahead of a July 24 opening at Film Forum, there’s a new trailer.

Here’s Janus’ synopsis: “Marcello Mastroianni, as a lonely city transplant, and Maria Schell, as a sheltered girl haunted by a lover’s promise, meet by chance on a canal bridge and begin a tentative romance that quickly entangles them in a web of longing and self-delusion. Luchino Visconti’s White Nights, an exquisite adaptation of Dostoyevsky’s novella, translates this romantic, shattering tale of two restless souls into a ravishing black-and-white dream.”

Find preview and poster below:

Here I’m Alive, Joshua Z. Weinstein’s follow-up to his 2017 breakout Menashe, is an intimate and claustrophobic mosaic of New York City life, a film that is both challenging and subtly rewarding. Embracing a micro-budget aesthetic that recalls Sean Baker’s early works Take Out and Prince of Broadway, it also utilizes the minimal sound design and narrative restraint of Amir Naderi—a staple of the early days of the Tribeca Festival (where I saw his films Sound Barrier and Vegas: Based on a True Story). Here I’m Alive tackles a New York of hustlers and shut-ins: another story that takes place in the shadow of the city’s more glamorous zip codes.

Cast via social media and filmed over the course of two years, Here I’m Alive is the rare neorealism-leaning work that also explores screens—often a tool for escapism—as the objects of obsession. They dominate the lives of each character, whether through their roles in the gig economy or attempts to find connection through formal arrangements and informal support systems.

Here I’m Alive follows four disconnected threads, largely over the course of one evening: Felix (Caleb Zuzga), a young man looking for a sugar daddy to take care of his needs; Eddie (Eddie Torrengra), a Venezuelan migrant food-delivery worker who weaves in and out of everyone’s life; Majoria (Cheyenne Gallagher), a gamer who finds community online without leaving their apartment; and Yanni and Krystaly Figueroa, a pair of OnlyFans content creators who dream of hosting a podcast where they can turn the tables and objectify the men who audition. What they have in common is the lack of a viable plan for success: Felix fantasizes about jaw fillers while Yanni and Krystaly have no real strategy for their show beyond the hope that it will be their ticket out of working at Target.

We’re introduced to this world via Majoria, who is seen watching venture capitalist Marc Andreessen explain his debated essay “The Techno-Optimist Manifesto.” A hermit who only leaves his apartment—bathed in the blue light of LED strips and computer screens—to get his prescriptions refilled, Majoria is not living in a techno-optimistic future; instead he spends his time in Discord servers dedicated to helping others facing mental health crises, and most of the evening video-chatting with a young man (Alex Fox) on the brink of self-harm.

Meanwhile, Felix finds a likely mark on SeekingArrangement and has dinner with an older man who proceeds to break down the flaws in his plan. Felix hopes to score enough money for jaw filler, but the man points out the catch: Felix won’t have the money to maintain this look without regular, expensive injections.

Like the film’s characters, Weinstein and Brian Perkins’ screenplay is seemingly aloof while remaining firmly in control. Each scene is a lively slice of New York—the kind of city where it’s possible to get into a random conversation or altercation on the street without a second thought. Some characters chase online clout—a path that looks easier than it actually is—while others refuse to leave their bubbles until forced to. While the film starts with the thesis of Andreessen’s essay—which essentially advocates for allowing AI to move quickly and violate civil liberties in the hope that it might cure cancer—it is clear that technology may not actually save anyone.

Here I’m Alive is a raw work, often quite challenging, far from perfect. At times it suggests a gallery or an interactive online film as the ideal medium, but perhaps that is the point: simply being alive is messy.

Here I’m Alive premiered at the 2026 Tribeca Festival.

Note: This review was originally published as part of our 2025 Fantasia coverage. The film arrives on Netflix on June 12.

More than the similarly mythologized Monsters, Inc., the first stop-motion feature produced in Mexico (courtesy of the Cinema Fantasma studio) recalls an old childhood favorite from the ’80s: Little Monsters. Just like that Fred Savage vehicle, writers-directors Los Hermanos Ambriz (Arturo and Roy) have created a means to connect reality to nightmare so a human might embrace the latter’s mischief, mystery, and terror that the former rejects. The 19th-century-set I Am Frankelda is thus born from a young woman’s mind (Mireya Mendoza’s Francisca Imelda) as a manifestation of her aspiration to become a horror writer––a dream met with major pushback from publishers, society, and family alike.

Her sole fan? Prince Herneval (Arturo Mercado Jr.) of the nightmare realm’s Topus Terrentus kingdom. Just like his royal parents, he was born to serve as their home’s protector by playing the strings of their castle’s spider tree and implanting terror inside sleeping human minds. It’s a symbiotic relationship maintained ever since a monster of old dared conquer the real world, only to be defeated by the great Ceimuth (Carlos Segundo). It was a foolish urge for power: spooks literally cannot exist without human belief supplying them life (think Tinkerbell), and reality should never seek to extinguish the spooks when nightmares are crucial for imagination, processing trauma, and progress.

There’s admittedly a lot of exposition to wade through at the film’s start, but it all clicks into place rather quickly so the second half’s drama can unfold unencumbered. The gist is that Herneval’s parents are fading away in their attempt to absorb as much of their world’s destruction as possible. While they’re aware of the cause, politics and a tenuous peace between the Seven Clans ensure proof remains elusive. Procustes, the Royal Nightmarer (Luis Leonardo Suárez), is too cunning to let his orchestration of their demise be revealed. He does his job poorly, blames an easily targeted common enemy, and positions himself as the only person fit to restore former greatness. Sound familiar?

We receive resonant and timely themes as a result. The propagandized misinformation of Procustes sows the seeds that humanity causes their plight when it’s really his creative bankruptcy’s inability to scare the necessary levels of fear out of them. That leads to plagiarism by entitlement (see the Generative AI debate), considering Procustes promises a masterpiece his talents could never create, before positioning himself to steal and weaponize another’s work for his plan’s advantage. And he does so by denigrating progress so he can reconsolidate the power time has redistributed from him. It’s the same discouragement Francisca has battled her entire life: an oppressive conservatism borne from jealousy that seeks to destroy the dreams it could never conjure itself.

It’s the old guard clawing desperately to maintain relevancy as the new guard prepares to take over. Regardless of how the bond between Herneval and Francisca began, their connection is key to the salvation of both species and thus the source of power necessary to bridge their worlds again. He needs the stories her realm discounts as “low art” to strike the fear Procustes is simply too out-of-touch to deliver (hence his pivot to conquering reality by force). She needs his fandom and support to rejuvenate the passion and belief in herself that has propelled her into becoming a woman ahead of her time at home and an unlikely savior abroad. They must only loosen Procustes’s grip to do so.

Psychological and emotional warfare is tough to combat, though. Especially for the optimistically pure at heart. Herneval has such faith in truth winning out that he simply cannot fathom the lengths Procustes will go to risk everything for himself. He doesn’t understand just how efficient hate and greed are at dismantling a system of democracy from the inside simply by omitting a few bits of relevant context from half-truths; see America’s scorched-earth military strategy always radicalizing more enemies than it defeats to keep indoctrinating the populace with the animosity necessary to profit from the feedback loop. Saving lives is never as sexy as violent rebellions against one’s self-interests.

That all this is at the back of a stop-motion musical only speaks to the relevancy of I Am Frankelda as a piece willing to speak truth to power while still providing an infectious level of fun. Being students of Guillermo del Toro surely helps in this respect––there’s no one better at fusing social commentary to genre thrills. And while the ending might feel like an attempt to sell franchise potential, it’s actually just leaving a narrative opening to the studio’s 2021 miniseries Frankelda’s Book of Spooks, for which it serves as a prequel. This is a story-first project utilizing everything at its disposal to enchant, entertain, and inspire with catchy songs, three-dimensional characters, and impeccable craft.

Stay for behind-the-scenes end-credit reels to fully comprehend the artistry’s scale. We see a crew member sitting below the castle’s staircase and the two-headed, bird-like clan leader is shown to be taller than its animators and almost twice as long, allowing the puppets for Herneval’s owl-man and Francisca’s transparent consciousness to fly around it during the climactic battle. The slow disintegration of the King and Queen into batted stuffing is ingenious and the horror-fused character design excels by leaning into the grotesque nightmare fuel of The Dark Crystal while still approaching the cutesy polish of A Nightmare Before Christmas. Sign me up for whatever comes next.

I Am Frankelda screened at the 2025 Fantasia International Film Festival.

In a political climate as antagonistic toward immigrants as any I can recall, deeply personal stories like Karla Murthy’s The Gas Station Attendant remind us of the hardship and passion required to make it in the United States. One would hope these films are treated as stories of survival rather than stories of exceptionalism. The framing device of Murthy’s film—an extended phone interview with her father, H.N. Shantha Murthy, during the nights he manages a gas station—turns this immigrant story into a recounting of how far he has come, yet how restless his existence remains despite the proverbial “American Dream” having touched him a few times.

The narration and editing only offer surface-level exposition of the immigrant experience: the “striver” mentality, the identity crisis, and the ripple effects of the passive-aggressive stereotyping common in the United States. These are themes any immigrant from the Global South would immediately recognize. Murthy’s narration feels rudimentary, never moving past obvious symbol-object connections, making this essay film feel more like an academic thesis than the work of a seasoned artist. What elevates The Gas Station Attendant is a litany of home-movie footage that juxtaposes life in America with her father’s stories of his life in India (of which there is no material). He recounts having to sleep on the streets while working in restaurants in Bangalore and other cities; we then see him sleeping in his car between late shifts at the gas station. It’s a different kind of struggle, but the leap to the “First World” feels tangibly disappointing.

The film’s most potent moments occur when the story is framed less as an immigrant narrative and more as a tale of a familial relationship. Murthy’s mixed Indian and Filipino heritage is unique, but it isn’t deeply explored beyond home movies and photos of her mother and sisters, which paint a picture of a family more in the spirit of the American “melting pot” than most. Murthy’s relationship with her father is sweet and open, filling the movie with a rare warmth that comes from sincerity and a willingness to share vulnerable moments. If the immigrant experience says anything about the fabric of this country, it is found in those moments of exposure, where the country feels open to opportunity but is hiding many webs and many spiders.

Murthy’s editing utilizes extensive voiceover and archival footage to supplement the filmed material. There isn’t much of a definable rhythm or structure to the sequencing; instead we have the phone conversations between Murthy and her father as a compass for what comes next. Certain segments, such as Murthy’s explanations of her college years and reasons for leaving home, feel awkwardly placed. Similarly, the unsubtle markers of newsreel audio—drifting in to accompany video of Gandhi’s funeral with commentary on who Gandhi was—suggest a lack of confidence that the audience would understand these images.

Its perspective on the immigrant experience rings as intended for those who have never met an immigrant or remain skeptical of their place in this country. Even with the sense that Murthy doesn’t fully trust her own images to convey ideas, it resonates as a deeply personal story. The Gas Station Attendant carries the significant weight of relaying an important message about the American immigrant experience within a dangerously regressive political climate.

The Gas Station Attendant opens in theaters on Friday, June 12.

Note: This review was originally published as part of our 2025 Tribeca coverage. The film arrives digitally and on Peacock on June 12.

Upon hearing the name “Dorothy” I, like most, immediately think of The Wizard of Oz. I remember watching the film when I was a kid, sitting on the couch with my family. I remember my parents calling it “a classic.” Dorothy Gale has become synonymous with many things over the 125 years since she first appeared in L. Frank Baum’s The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, from Kansas to ruby red slippers, Judy Garland to a 1950s LGBTQ+ signifier. 

Jeffrey McHale has made a documentary to look at the character of Dorothy Gale in her entirety. Over the last 125 years she has appeared through nearly every medium––more than 40 films, television shows, novels, and plays. It’s Dorothy! tracks Dorothy from Garland through every iteration, through each actor to portray the role, through her growing and changing cultural impact. More than anything, it’s a documentary about joy. 

McHale focuses on the joy and relatability Dorothy has given so many, from those who have watched her to those who have played her. To his credit, he stacks together an all-timer interview roster. He talks to Rufus Wainwright and John Waters, Ashanti and Danielle Hope, even comedians Amber Ruffin and Lena Waithe. McHale brings together this host of subjects without leaning too much into the talking-heads format, instead overlaying the words from these actors, directors, and musicians with images of their productions. Interviews never seem needless or overwrought; these actors love Dorothy and want McHale (and us) to know why. But this wide array of creatives, all of whom have been affected by Dorothy––even if that effect is nostalgic––reminded me why I loved the film when I first saw it. The Wizard of Oz is an adventure, a fairytale, a story about escape and acceptance. And it’s always been a blast. 

The audience receives a full review of how Dorothy has morphed over the decades and been put in both campy and serious situations, an opportunity to understand this character outside of her ruby slippers or trip down the yellow brick road. It recontextualizes Dorothy as an icon of freedom and expression, whether first through Garland and then through what she represented. McHale dedicates time to Dorothy’s impact on the queer community, singling out the phrase “a friend of Dorothy,” and how Garland became a gay icon largely because of her role in The Wizard of Oz. 

I found myself smiling throughout, despite the fact that my connection to Dorothy Gale remains far less than those featured in the doc. McHale never loses that verve and joy; it’s ever-present in It’s Dorothy! Rather than devolve into the many negative possibilities of playing the character, the doc looks at how these actors interpreted her, the way she breathed life into the public and personal aspects of their lives. The director uses a slew of archival footage for the audience to witness the character and her actors’ many transformations. It’s like revisiting every creative piece of Dorothy property in a compressed 97 minutes––enjoyment for enjoyment’s sake. 

In so doing, McHale pushes Dorothy from being a 125-year-old character, bringing her into the present. If one has a connection to The Wizard of Oz, it’ll work even better, but McHale wants his film to be endlessly relatable. In his view, Dorothy isn’t just you or me; she’s everyone.

It’s Dorothy! premiered at the 2025 Tribeca Festival. 

With filmmakers from around the world descending on Manhattan as the 25th anniversary of the Tribeca Festival kicks off, we’re thrilled to announce that The Film Stage will be sharing exclusive photos of directors, stars, and crew as they premiere their latest work.

As captured by photographer Daniel Dickerman, our gallery includes Lilly Wachowski, Martin Scorsese, Robert De Niro, Simon Pegg, Alison Brie, David Cross, Tom Sturridge, Tim Blake Nelson, Tony Kaye, and many more filmmakers, actors, and behind-the-scenes crew.

Check out photos below by scrolling through galleries (with more to come) as well as on our Instagram, and follow Daniel on Instagram and visit his site. Our complete festival coverage can be found here.

Lilly Wachowski (Bound: 30th Anniversary)

Martin Scorsese, Robert De Niro, Simon Pegg, Alec Baldwin, W. Kamau Bell, and Clifford Ross (Taxi Driver: 50th Anniversary)

Alison Brie, Tom Sturridge, and Alex Vlack (The Revisionist)

Ellie Sachs and David Cross (Lucy Schulman)

Tim Blake Nelson, Grace Caroline Currey, Michael Gallagher (The Leader)

Tony Kaye (Humpty Dumpty X)

Carlos Key, Kalijah Rowe, Rose Badiru, Michael C. Liu, Leann Gardner, Claire Levesque, and Jenna Shen (Kingston)

Betsey Brown, Tori Lancaster, Imani Jade Powers, Cheyenne Cage (Mother Future Self)

Gwenlyn Cumyn, Justine Nelson, Julian Richings, and more (Turn It Up!)

All photography by Daniel Dickerman. Explore more on Instagram and his site.