Though tonally uneven at times, “Death of a Unicorn” embraces its absurdity with a mix of fairy-tale whimsy and blood-soaked carnage. Scharfman’s willingness to push it to grotesque extremes makes it a bold, if imperfect, entry in the genre. Fans of splatter horror with a taste for the bizarre will likely find plenty to enjoy; those seeking a more conventional horror film might be left bewildered.

Opus is the debut film from Mark Anthony Green, a movie that yet again taps into our toxic obsession with celebrity culture and the rich while exploring what happens when admiration curdles into something far more unsettling.

Thirty years after disappearing, a legendary pop star, delightfully played by John Malkovich, invites a young writer, portrayed by Ayo Edebiri, into his isolated world. What begins as an exclusive story quickly spirals into something darker, as she becomes entangled in his eerie cult of followers and a twisted plan she can’t escape.

Opus marks the feature film debut of writer Mark Anthony Green. Before turning to filmmaking, he worked as a journalist for the U.S. magazine GQ. While the film has faced its share of scrutiny from the press, many deeming it an overly ambitious undertaking for a first-time director like Green, it stands as a bold entry into the cinema.

The opening scenes draw you in as Ariel struggles with her career, criticized by a friend for being “middle as fuck.” Green adds pop culture cameos (Wolf Blitzer, Bill Burr, Lenny Kravitz), but their presence tends to feel a bit lost in a world that quickly becomes fake and disconnected, having an overly quirky visual style and logic-free escalation. Something that could make you both like – and dislike – the movie

And perhaps this highlights the absurdity of the world of the rich. Opus deserves credit for its bold exploration of celebrity obsession and the eerie, unpredictable atmosphere Green is able to create throughout the whole film.

The story of finding hope in even the bleakest circumstances has been told countless times, but Sing Sing approaches it with a rare authenticity and depth, steering clear of clichés to deliver a profoundly moving and genuinely transformative experience.

The movie starts on stage with a performance of A Midsummer Night’s Dream by John “Divine G” Whitfield, played by Colman Domingo, and quickly jumps into the introduction of the characters. They all take part in the Rehabilitation Through the Arts program.

Domingos character, a man imprisoned for a crime he did not commit, is already a renowned personality in the RTA program: He helps to cast and recruit new members for the theater group. The film goes on to follow the group as they rehearse and eventually stage an original production.

Along the way, Sing Sing captures moments of vulnerability, humor, and solidarity, revealing how the creative process offers a path to healing, self-expression, and connection. Rather than centering on guilt or innocence, it highlights the humanity of its characters. By blending professional performances with real lived experience, the film becomes more than a story of redemption. It’s a powerful testament to transformation, second chances, and the enduring power of art in the unknown world behind bars.

Just like the other girls in her group, Maria’s dream to escape is exploited, funneled into something darker than she had thought to have signed up for. The girls are prepared for one of the biggest casting events in the region. We are shown how brutal the competitive spirit of the industry can become. Maria and Kristina relentlessly push themselves to abuse their bodies in increasingly extreme ways.

Saulė Bliuvaitė strips the modeling industry of all its glamour and shows its rawest form. The exploitative nature of these schools and casting events is presented through the director’s personal experience. The female body is manipulated and objectified to a point where it acts as a currency. In this way, Maria and every girl going through these trajectories are stripped of their personhood. Here, Bliuvaitė highlights the importance of human connection and a sisterhood among women.

We are thrown back to 2021, when the UK had just entered its third lockdown in January. It was the time when many of us indulged in online realities to escape the isolation they were facing the real world. Somewhere in the midst of this, actors Sam and Mark similarly find their escape in the online world of Grand Theft Auto V. They rummage through the crowded city, blow up some vehicles, and maybe run over a few civilian NPCs… The digital city of ‘Los Santos’ is powered by total chaos and anarchy. But in the midst of all the explosions, heists, and hit-and-runs, the actors come up with an idea: to bring Shakespeare’s classic ‘Hamlet’ to life while using GTA as their stage.

Similar to the unruly 16th-century theater, the actors face the challenge of orchestrating a play on a stage dominated by chaos and a constantly changing dynamic. Except here, the classic theater structure is replaced by a detailed cityscape, and the crowd that is typically separated from the actors now runs wild with rocket launchers in their back pockets. Bringing a serious play to life in a world where every player is a trigger-happy maniac proves to be no easy task.

Academy Award®-nominated director Joshua Oppenheimer exposes an ugly truth with “The End”. The film is a clear mirror to the current state of our world. Even while Earth is burning, sincere warnings of climate change and failing ecosystems are still largely ignored. Often disregarded as mere myth or conspiracy. The idea of losing our only home can be a paralyzing thought. Upholding a sense of safety, even if it is only fantasy, is a natural response for many.

The characters, masterfully portrayed by Tilda Swinton (Michael Clayton), Michael Shannon (Nocturnal Animals, Revolutionary Road), George MacKay (1917) and Moses Ingram (Lady in the Lake, The Queen’s Gambit), highlight a sorry trait that resides in all of us. It is within human nature to lie, to others but also ourselves. In “The End”, the act of lying upholds a shield. It protects us when the truth is deemed too menacing to handle. But to truly move forward, it is a necessity to face the bleak truth.