Anthology Film Archives, Asia Society, BAM, Brooklyn Art Haus, Brooklyn Center for Theatre Research, Cinemixology Room, Cobble Hill Cinemas, E-flux Screening Room, Film Forum, Film at Lincoln Center, Firehouse: DCTV’s Cinema for Documentary Film, IFC Center, L'Alliance New York, Light Industry, Low Cinema, Maysles Cinema, Metrograph, Museum of Modern Art, Museum of the Moving Image, Nitehawk Cinema Prospect Park, Nitehawk Cinema Williamsburg, Paris Theater, Rooftop Films, Roxy Cinema New York, Spectacle, Woodbine
Rodney Evans' ambitious debut weaves together past and present in a haunting meditation on Black queer identity, anchored by Anthony Mackie's breakthrough performance and Roger Robinson's masterful portrayal of real-life Harlem Renaissance figure Bruce Nugent.
In her assured directorial debut, Embeth Davidtz crafts a haunting child's-eye view of colonial collapse, anchored by newcomer Lexi Venter's revelatory performance and Willie Nel's dust-swept cinematography that turns the Rhodesian landscape into both paradise and prison.
In this masterfully curated triptych of exile-themed films, Gelare Khoshgozaran weaves together three distinct cinematic voices that speak to displacement, memory, and artistic survival, creating a viewing experience that's both intellectually rigorous and emotionally resonant.
Alice Wu's groundbreaking 2004 romantic dramedy masterfully navigates cultural expectations and personal authenticity, delivering a warm, witty exploration of love that transcends both genre conventions and cultural barriers while never losing sight of its intimate emotional core.
Mamoru Oshii's "Ghost in the Shell" remains a masterwork of philosophical science fiction that transcends its animated format, delivering a hypnotic meditation on consciousness and identity that feels more prescient now than during its 1995 debut. Its fusion of hand-painted animation with early CGI creates a visual language that mirrors its themes of hybrid existence.
Wong Kar-wai's "In the Mood for Love" remains cinema's most exquisite meditation on unconsummated desire, where every frame drips with the weight of what remains unsaid and undone.
Jason Krawczyk's "He Never Died" transforms Henry Rollins' stoic presence into a masterclass of deadpan horror-comedy, delivering a surprisingly fresh take on immortality that treats eternal life as more of a chronic condition than a supernatural gift.
Jane Campion's "In the Cut" is a fever dream of desire and danger that deliberately subverts the erotic thriller genre, featuring Meg Ryan's most daring performance in a film that was too ahead of its time for 2003 but resonates powerfully today.
This gleefully unhinged genre cocktail serves up equal parts beach blanket bingo and psycho-thriller, creating a cult curiosity that's both a loving tribute to and savage takedown of 1960s pop culture, even if its camp sensibilities sometimes wash out with the tide.
George A. Romero's overlooked 1972 feminist horror experiment "Season of the Witch" is a fascinating artifact of its era - rough around the edges but pulsing with sociopolitical electricity that feels startlingly relevant today.
Deborah Brock's gloriously unhinged sequel transforms the slasher formula into a fever dream of MTV aesthetics and rockabilly mayhem, creating what might be the most deliriously entertaining mess of 1987's horror offerings.
Dario Argento's horror masterpiece Suspiria, screening in lustrous 35mm at Metrograph, remains an intoxicating assault on the senses that proves sometimes style isn't just substance - it's supernatural.
In this groundbreaking experimental collage, filmmakers González and Kay transform the traditionally passive cinema screen into an electrifying jam session, though its deliberately fragmented structure may test mainstream viewers' patience.
Jordan Belson's newly restored Program 1 proves that pure light and motion can be as gripping as any narrative, offering a transcendent journey through abstract cinema that feels both historically vital and startlingly contemporary.
In Jordan Belson's mesmerizing Program 2, abstract cinema achieves a rare spiritual resonance, as eight meticulously crafted short films transform the mechanical act of projection into something approaching transcendence.
Martin Arnold's experimental trilogy transforms mere seconds of classic Hollywood footage into a hypnotic 45-minute descent into cinema's repressed unconscious, creating something that feels like David Lynch directing a TikTok fever dream.
Will Hindle's Program 1 is a mesmerizing time capsule of 1960s experimental cinema that transforms mundane reality into transcendent visual poetry through ingenious DIY techniques. These restored 16mm prints remind us what's possible when raw artistic ambition meets technical innovation, even on a shoestring budget.
Will Hindle's mesmerizing trilogy of experimental shorts from 1968-69 represents a pinnacle of analog innovation, transforming everyday bodies and movement into transcendent visual poetry through masterful in-camera effects and optical printing techniques that still dazzle half a century later.
Will Hindle's darkly hypnotic Program 3 charts an experimental filmmaker's descent from psychedelic prophecy to existential road movie, offering a vital preservation of rare 16mm prints that capture both the technical wizardry and growing disillusionment of America's counter-culture movement.
Fernando de Fuentes's 1943 masterwork "Doña Bárbara" is a searing melodrama that transcends its era, powered by María Félix's thunderous debut as a vengeful ranch owner whose very presence rewrites the rules of Golden Age Mexican cinema.
Emilio Fernández's 1948 masterwork "Hidden River" transcends its propagandistic origins through Gabriel Figueroa's breathtaking cinematography and María Félix's magnetic performance, delivering a melodrama that feels both politically charged and personally intimate.
Emilio Fernández's 1948 masterwork Maclovia is a visual symphony of light and shadow that transcends its melodramatic roots, though modern viewers may wrestle with its complicated portrayal of indigenous life. Gabriel Figueroa's breathtaking cinematography transforms Lake Pátzcuaro into a character itself, creating perhaps one of the most visually striking films of Mexico's Golden Age.
Roberto Gavaldón's sultry noir-melodrama hybrid from Mexico's Golden Age remains a masterclass in visual storytelling, where a controversial marble statue becomes both a literal and metaphorical vessel for forbidden desire, moral corruption, and ultimately, devastating consequences.
Ismael Rodríguez's 1957 melodrama "Tizoc" is a fascinating cultural artifact that showcases both the artistic heights and problematic underpinnings of Mexico's Golden Age cinema, wrapped in sumptuous Eastmancolor visuals and anchored by two legendary performances that still resonate with mythic power.
Norman Felton's recently unearthed "Barbara Loden on TV 1" is a fascinating time capsule that doubles as an accidental masterpiece of meta-television, capturing both the controlled chaos of 1950s live broadcasting and the emergence of one of American independent cinema's most intriguing voices.
Michael Elliott's recently rediscovered 1966 television adaptation of "The Glass Menagerie" emerges as both a preservation triumph and a masterclass in intimate drama, anchored by Barbara Loden's heartbreakingly delicate performance as Laura Wingfield.
Sarah Friedland's masterful debut "Familiar Touch" reinvents the dementia drama through an exquisitely observed lens, delivering a portrait of aging that feels both radical in its formal restraint and deeply human in its emotional resonance.
Barbara Loden's pair of educational shorts for the Learning Corporation of America reveal themselves as far more than mere classroom fodder - they're miniature masterworks that showcase her distinct artistic voice working brilliantly within institutional constraints.
Barbara Loden's "Wanda" is a haunting masterpiece of American independent cinema that turns its technical limitations into raw artistic power, crafting an unflinching portrait of working-class alienation that feels as vital today as it did in 1970.
Kiyoshi Kurosawa's hypnotic masterpiece "Cure" transcends its serial killer premise to deliver a mesmerizing meditation on identity and societal malaise, creating an atmosphere of philosophical dread that lingers long after its final frame.
Kiyoshi Kurosawa's "Pulse" remains a haunting prophecy of digital-age isolation, using the language of horror to articulate existential dread that feels even more relevant in our hyperconnected present.
Francis Ford Coppola's "The Conversation" remains a masterclass in paranoid cinema, with Gene Hackman delivering a career-defining performance as surveillance expert Harry Caul in this meticulously crafted meditation on privacy, guilt, and the corrosive nature of technology.
This revelatory program of feminist experimental shorts from the 1960s and '70s remains a masterclass in formal innovation married to political purpose, showing how avant-garde techniques could excavate new truths about gender, domesticity, and female identity.
Mstyslav Chernov's harrowing follow-up to "20 Days in Mariupol" transforms two kilometers of contested Ukrainian territory into an existential meditation on modern warfare, crafting perhaps the most viscerally immediate war documentary since "Restrepo."
The 2025 Sundance Shorts Tour delivers a masterfully curated snapshot of emerging cinema's pulse, with seven distinct voices harmonizing into an electrifying chorus of contemporary storytelling that ranges from supernatural comedy to piercing social commentary.
Wong Kar-wai's "2046" is a sumptuous fever dream of unrequited love and haunted memories, where every frame drips with both visual splendor and emotional weight. This rare 35mm screening at Metrograph offers the perfect canvas for Wong's masterful exploration of time, desire, and regret.
Edward Yang's mammoth achievement "A Brighter Summer Day" is that rarest of epics - one that finds the pulse of a nation in the heartbeat of a teenager, delivering both intimate drama and sweeping social commentary across its mesmerizing four-hour canvas.
Godard's playful deconstruction of the Hollywood musical remains a dazzling testament to the French New Wave's ability to both celebrate and subvert cinema itself, with Anna Karina's magnetic performance anchoring what could have otherwise been an exercise in pure formalist experimentation.
Serra's unflinching documentary on bullfighting superstar Andrés Roca Rey is a masterclass in observational cinema that transforms ritual violence into hypnotic art, though its austere approach and graphic content may test casual viewers' endurance.
A dizzying, trap-beat-driven dive into Slovenia's forgotten experimental film scene that transforms dusty archives into an electrifying audiovisual mixtape, proving that the avant-garde can still make your head spin half a century later.
Ulli Lommel's chaotic swan song is a fever dream of Trump-era America that, while messy and often maddening, captures the fractured spirit of its time with an anarchic energy that's impossible to ignore.
Eric Rohmer's "A Tale of Summer" transforms youthful indecision into cinematic poetry, crafting a deceptively simple beach romance that ripples with moral complexity and sun-drenched philosophical weight.
Antonio Momplet's feverish 1944 melodrama "Amok" is a fascinating artifact of Mexican Golden Age cinema, where María Félix's mesmerizing dual performance elevates what could have been mere colonial fantasy into a haunting meditation on desire and moral decay.
Victor Kossakovsky's wordless meditation on stone and concrete is a staggering technical achievement that transforms construction sites and ruins into an apocalyptic ballet, though its glacial pacing may test the patience of viewers seeking traditional documentary structure.
Walter Ruttmann's mesmerizing 1927 "city symphony" remains a masterclass in pure cinema, transforming a day in Weimar-era Berlin into a hypnotic visual poem that feels startlingly modern despite—or perhaps because of—its silence.
Jonathan Glazer's "Birth" is a masterfully crafted psychological thriller that uses formal precision and Nicole Kidman's remarkable performance to explore grief, desire, and delusion in ways that still haunt nearly 20 years later.
Dennis Potter's "Blue Remembered Hills" remains a haunting masterpiece of British television, where adult actors embodying children create an uncanny mirror reflecting humanity's inherent capacity for cruelty, all captured in grainy 16mm that lends the pastoral setting an appropriately elegiac quality.
Otto Preminger's sun-soaked moral tragedy "Bonjour Tristesse" remains a masterclass in visual storytelling, using its revolutionary color-to-monochrome shifts and precise CinemaScope compositions to chart the destruction of innocence with devastating precision.
Arthur Penn's revolutionary 1967 crime saga "Bonnie and Clyde" remains a masterwork of tonal complexity, blending Depression-era nostalgia with shocking violence to create a watershed moment in American cinema that permanently altered how Hollywood depicted both criminality and death on screen.
Paul Thomas Anderson's audacious epic about the golden age of porn transcends its salacious subject matter to deliver a technically masterful and emotionally resonant meditation on family, ambition, and the corrupting influence of success.
Philippe Aractingi's vibrant road musical "Bosta" dances across post-war Lebanon with infectious energy, using electro-dabke fusion as a metaphor for a nation wrestling with tradition and modernity, though its narrative occasionally stumbles over its own ambitious feet.
McBride's neon-drenched 1984 remake of Godard's classic is a fascinating cultural artifact that transforms French New Wave existentialism into a fever dream of Reagan-era excess, anchored by Richard Gere's magnetic performance as a Silver Surfer-obsessed outlaw.
Yannick Bellon's newly restored "Children of Chaos" is a raw, unflinching portrait of redemption through art that feels both thoroughly of its time and startlingly relevant today, anchored by Emmanuelle Béart's devastating performance as a recovering addict finding salvation in the spotlight.
Ho Tsung-tao's meta-martial arts thriller "The Chinese Stuntman" transcends its Bruceploitation origins to deliver a bitter, self-reflexive critique of Hong Kong's exploitative film industry, wrapped in a package of kinetic action and noir-tinged conspiracy.
Uli Edel's harrowing "Christiane F." remains a masterclass in social realist horror, its newly restored 4K presentation at the Roxy making its unflinching portrayal of teenage addiction even more devastating in its clinical clarity.
Bill L. Norton's "Cisco Pike" is a hazy time capsule of post-'60s disillusionment that succeeds more as a mood piece than a thriller, anchored by Kris Kristofferson's remarkably naturalistic debut and Gene Hackman's sweaty, desperate menace.
Kevin Smith's scrappy convenience store comedy remains a masterclass in doing more with less - a raw, profane, and oddly profound snapshot of minimum-wage malaise that helped define 90s independent cinema.
Kiyoshi Kurosawa's "Cloud" is a masterfully unsettling techno-thriller that morphs from sharp e-commerce satire into explosive violence, offering a scathing critique of digital-age capitalism that feels both timely and terrifying.
Michael Mann's nocturnal masterpiece "Collateral" remains a watershed moment in digital cinematography, transforming Los Angeles into a sodium-vapor dreamscape while delivering a taut psychological thriller anchored by career-best performances from Tom Cruise and Jamie Foxx.
In "Contemporary Arab Performance," curator Fadl Fakhouri delivers a vital, if occasionally unwieldy, anthology that demolishes artistic boundaries while documenting a pivotal half-decade in MENA cultural resistance.
Franci Slak's newly restored "Daily News" is a hypnotic time capsule of 1979 Yugoslavia that transforms everyday moments into political poetry through its innovative use of Super-8 film and live radio accompaniment.
Mansi Maheshwari's "Bunnyhood" is a deliriously inventive nine-minute nightmare that transforms childhood medical trauma into a surreal horror-comedy, proving that sometimes the most effective scares come scratched out in ballpoint pen.
Justin Schein's deeply personal documentary about wealth, inheritance, and the American tax system transforms what could have been dry policy into riveting family drama, though it occasionally stumbles under the weight of its dual ambitions.
Justin Schein's deeply personal documentary "Death & Taxes" transforms what could have been a dry policy lecture into a gripping family drama that serves as a microcosm of America's complicated relationship with wealth, inheritance, and economic inequality.
In just eight masterful minutes, Rea Tajiri's newly contextualized "Decision Moment. IV: History Remade" delivers a surgical strike against Hollywood's historical erasure, proving that sometimes the most powerful cinema comes not from what we see, but from what we're forced to confront in the darkness.
Yorgos Lanthimos's breakthrough "Dogtooth" remains a masterfully disturbing examination of control and isolation, using precise formal technique and dark absurdist humor to craft what might be the world's most twisted home-schooling parable.
Embeth Davidtz's directorial debut is a haunting meditation on childhood innocence colliding with colonial guilt, anchored by newcomer Lexi Venter's revelatory performance and Willie Nel's sun-scorched cinematography that turns the Rhodesian landscape into both paradise and purgatory.
Edo Bertoglio's Downtown 81 is less a conventional film than a miraculous time capsule - a grainy, guerrilla-style document of New York's artistic underground that captures the magnetic presence of Jean-Michel Basquiat at the precise moment before everything changed.
Víctor Erice's meditative masterwork transforms the simple act of painting a quince tree into an hypnotic reflection on time, art, and human persistence, proving that watching paint dry can indeed be transcendent cinema.
"Drop Dead City" transforms what could have been a dry municipal finance lesson into a gripping political thriller, though its intimate connection to one of its key players raises thorny questions about objectivity and perspective.
Laurynas Bareiša's "Drowning Dry" is a masterfully constructed meditation on guilt and memory that uses its fractured narrative structure to devastating effect, though some viewers may find its clinical distance off-putting.
Luis Buñuel's masterful blend of neorealism and surrealism creates a haunting portrait of youth poverty that feels as urgent today as it did in 1950, proving that sometimes the most devastating social critiques come wrapped in fever dreams.
Emilio Fernández's 1946 masterwork "Enamorada" is a stunning marriage of Hollywood romanticism and Mexican revolutionary spirit, featuring María Félix in a performance so magnetic it practically burns through the screen. This newly restored classic proves that great cinema, like true love, knows no borders.
Michel Gondry's "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" remains a masterful exploration of memory and love, using ingenious practical effects and raw emotional authenticity to create what might be the defining romantic film of the 2000s.
This mesmerizing collection of restored Slovenian experimental shorts from 1965-1984 serves as both a vital historical document and a thrilling reminder that artistic revolution often sparks far from the spotlight, with each film pulsing with raw creative energy that feels remarkably contemporary despite their age.
Sarah Friedland's quietly revolutionary "Familiar Touch" transforms the well-worn territory of dementia drama into something far more profound - a meditation on memory, autonomy, and the poetry of presence that announces an important new voice in American independent cinema.
Jud Taylor's "Fade In" - a fascinating cinematic curiosity that earned its place in film history as the first "Alan Smithee" credit - emerges from obscurity in a pristine restoration that reveals both its meta-textual charms and studio-mandated limitations, offering a uniquely self-reflexive glimpse into late-60s Hollywood in transition.
Ekwa Msangi's masterfully structured debut weaves together three perspectives of an immigrant family's reunion into a deeply affecting meditation on love, faith, and the complex choreography of belonging in America.
Tony Zierra's expanded cut of "Filmworker" transforms what could have been a mere behind-the-scenes documentary into a haunting meditation on artistic devotion, with newly restored footage offering an even more intimate glimpse into the symbiotic relationship between Stanley Kubrick and his most dedicated acolyte, Leon Vitali.
In "Folktales," directors Heidi Ewing and Rachel Grady transform an Arctic coming-of-age story into a mesmerizing meditation on connection and purpose, though its gentle approach sometimes leaves us wanting more bite beneath the pristine snow.
Jean Renoir's vibrant love letter to show business is a masterclass in controlled chaos, using the birth of the Moulin Rouge's iconic cancan to craft both a dazzling spectacle and a profound meditation on the intersection of art and commerce.
Girish Kasaravalli's restored 1977 masterpiece "Ghatashraddha" emerges as a devastating portrait of ritual persecution, told through a child's eyes with such formal precision and moral clarity that it feels both timeless and urgently contemporary.
In Xu Lei's masterfully understated "Green Wave," a cracked bowl and a compromised screenplay become vessels for examining the hollow promises of modern China, creating a father-son drama that's as richly textured as it is gently devastating.
Eleanor Coppola's intimate chronicle of cinematic hubris and creative madness remains the gold standard of behind-the-scenes documentaries, offering an unflinching look at both the genius and near-madness of auteur filmmaking at its most ambitious and precarious.
Kurosawa's masterful High and Low is a gripping moral thriller that transforms from claustrophobic chamber drama to sprawling procedural, all while delivering a searing critique of class inequality that feels more relevant than ever in our current era of widening social divides.
In this surprisingly thoughtful legacy sequel, Adam Sandler's aging golf rebel returns with a mellower swing but enough of the original's anarchic spirit to make the fairway feel fresh again, even if an overflow of celebrity cameos threatens to sink the back nine.
The Safdie brothers' raw nerve of a film "Heaven Knows What" is a haunting marriage of documentary-like authenticity and narrative craft, powered by Arielle Holmes' devastating performance as a version of herself. While its unflinching portrayal of addiction may prove too intense for some viewers, the film represents a pivotal moment in contemporary American independent cinema.
Harry Smith's "Heaven and Earth Magic" is a hypnotic fever dream of Victorian ephemera transformed into avant-garde alchemy - a masterwork of handcrafted animation that feels both archaic and startlingly modern in its surreal visual language.
Sam Feder's "Heightened Scrutiny" transforms what could have been a dry legal procedural into an urgent, meticulously crafted exposé that reveals how media narratives shape legislative reality, though its conventional approach occasionally undermines its revolutionary spirit.
Katja Raganelli's intimate portrait of Barbara Loden becomes something far more profound than mere documentary - it's a haunting time capsule that captures an artist's final testament, made more poignant by the shadow of mortality that neither filmmaker nor subject fully grasped at the time.
Kurosawa's masterful "Ikiru" remains one of cinema's most profound meditations on mortality and meaning, anchored by Takashi Shimura's devastating performance as a bureaucrat awakening to life's possibilities in his final months. Its radical structure and humanist heart continue to resonate 70 years later in this pristine 4K restoration.
In Michelangelo Frammartino's haunting debut "Il Dono," silence speaks volumes as the camera bears witness to a dying Italian hill town, creating a masterwork of minimalist cinema that transforms mundane moments into profound meditations on time, loss, and persistence.
Bruce Schwartz's raw 1976 docudrama "In MacArthur Park" is a fascinating time capsule of guerrilla filmmaking that, despite its technical roughness, delivers a groundbreaking portrayal of urban Native American life through its authentic casting and gritty neo-realist approach.
Marina de Van's "In My Skin" is a haunting, visceral exploration of self-alienation that transcends mere body horror to become something far more disturbing - a meditation on identity that cuts deep into both flesh and psyche.
Randa Ali's triptych of short films offers a masterfully crafted meditation on displacement and longing, proving that intimate storytelling can resonate far beyond its modest runtime. Though occasionally veering into overly sparse territory, the collection announces an exciting new voice in Arab diaspora cinema.
Wong Kar-wai's masterpiece of restrained desire transforms missed connections into pure cinema, using exquisite cinematography and carefully measured performances to create what may be the most beautifully painful love story ever filmed.
Recently restored by UCLA, Judith MacDougall's lost 1967 documentary "Indians and Chiefs" emerges as a masterclass in observational cinema, offering an intimate and unsentimental glimpse into urban Native American life that feels startlingly contemporary in both its patience and its politics.
Amy Berg's intimate portrait of Jeff Buckley transcends the typical music documentary through its masterful use of never-before-seen archives and a uniquely feminine lens, though its conventional structure occasionally constrains the wild spirit of its subject.
Hanna-Barbera's big-screen gambit with The Jetsons stands as a fascinating time capsule of animation in transition, where eco-conscious messaging collides awkwardly with corporate mandates and early computer graphics, resulting in a well-intentioned but ultimately middling adaptation that's more historically significant than cinematically successful.
Luis Ortega's genre-defying "Kill the Jockey" gallops wildly between neo-noir thriller and surrealist identity drama, delivering an intoxicating if occasionally unwieldy meditation on transformation that's anchored by Nahuel Pérez Biscayart's fearless performance and Timo Salminen's hypnotic cinematography.
Godfrey Reggio's hypnotic visual symphony Koyaanisqatsi remains a staggering achievement of pure cinema that transcends its environmental messaging to become something far more profound - a mesmerizing meditation on humanity's complex relationship with progress that still feels revolutionary 40+ years later.
Reid Davenport's probing documentary transforms a forgotten 1983 right-to-die case into a haunting meditation on disability rights, systemic failures, and the thorny intersection of personal autonomy and societal neglect. Through innovative cinematography and unflinching personal perspective, Life After delivers both investigative rigor and raw emotional resonance.
In Jem Cohen's mesmerizing hybrid "Little, Big, and Far," an astronomer's existential crisis becomes a profound meditation on humanity's place in the cosmos, though its deliberately languid pacing may test less patient viewers.
In this sun-soaked sequel, director Gregory Jacobs and stealth cinematographer Steven Soderbergh deliver a radical experiment in pure pleasure - a film that trades narrative conflict for an exuberant celebration of performance, desire, and male friendship.
Lo Wei's "Magnificent Bodyguards" (1978) is a fascinating cultural artifact that captures Hong Kong cinema at a crossroads, featuring a pre-superstardom Jackie Chan trapped between Bruce Lee's shadow and his own emerging persona, all while pioneering 3D technology and brazenly lifting Star Wars music cues.
Masayuki Suo's "Shall We Dance?" is a masterfully crafted exploration of personal liberation through movement, using the language of ballroom dance to critique Japanese social rigidity while delivering genuine warmth and charm that transcends cultural barriers.
Hou Hsiao-hsien's hypnotic "Millennium Mambo" is a neon-drenched time capsule that feels more relevant than ever, where the pulsing rhythms of Taipei's club scene serve as both setting and metaphor for millennial drift and disconnection.
Spielberg's prescient tech-noir masterpiece remains a stunning achievement of both style and substance, especially when experienced in pristine 35mm at MoMI. Its warnings about algorithmic control and surveillance capitalism feel even more urgent today than they did in 2002.
In "Monk in Pieces," directors Billy Shebar and David C. Roberts craft a fittingly experimental portrait of avant-garde legend Meredith Monk that mirrors its subject's innovative spirit, creating a kaleidoscopic documentary that's both intellectually rigorous and surprisingly accessible.
In this groundbreaking 1969 television play, Dennis Potter and James MacTaggart craft a haunting exploration of trauma and escapism that revolutionized British television, anchored by Ian Holm's raw, devastating performance as a man seeking refuge in the crooning of Al Bowlly.
In this wickedly observed mockumentary about LA's mansion-dwelling elite, directors Wurwand and McGlade craft a surreal satire that starts as Christopher Guest-lite but morphs into something far more unsettling - a funhouse mirror reflection of our reality TV obsessions that's both hilarious and quietly horrifying.
Moufida Tlatli's intimate chamber drama offers a rare and unflinching look at menopause through a distinctly Arab lens, anchored by Hiam Abbass's raw, vulnerable performance that transforms domestic upheaval into compelling cinema.
In their masterful 10-minute documentary "Intersection," filmmakers Meijuan Foo and Valerie Neck transform one of New York's most notorious crossroads into a hypnotic audio-visual poem that speaks volumes about urban life without uttering a single word.
"No Other Land" is a searing, formally innovative documentary that transforms raw footage into both historical evidence and cinematic art, proving that the most powerful political films are often those that embrace their own complicated existence.
Alexandra Simpson's meditative anti-disaster film "No Sleep Till" trades CGI spectacle for something far more haunting - a hypnotic study of stubborn souls awaiting catastrophe in a dying paradise, captured in dreamy 16mm hues that linger like storm clouds on the horizon.
Bertrand Bonello's Nocturama is a masterfully crafted powder keg of modern anxieties, delivering a haunting meditation on youth, terrorism, and consumer culture that refuses easy answers while demanding our attention through every meticulously composed frame.
In Tarkovsky's hypnotic meditation on displacement, "Nostalghia," the Russian master crafts a deeply personal exploration of exile through languorous shots and metaphysical imagery that demands—and richly rewards—patient viewing.
Daisy von Scherler Mayer's "Party Girl" is a deliriously charming time capsule of '90s downtown New York that transcends its modest origins through Parker Posey's magnetic performance and a surprisingly thoughtful meditation on finding purpose in unexpected places.
Alex Ross Perry's kaleidoscopic anti-biopic of indie rock legends Pavement gleefully demolishes music documentary conventions while somehow emerging as both a loving tribute and a meta-commentary on our need to mythologize artists. It's a glorious mess that shouldn't work, but like the band itself, finds profound truth in its deliberate imperfections.
Joel Schumacher's taut thriller "Phone Booth" proves that genuine suspense doesn't require sprawling setpieces or bloated runtime - just a brilliant premise, claustrophobic direction, and a breakthrough performance from Colin Farrell that keeps us riveted to a four-by-six pane of glass for 81 breathless minutes.
Peter Hedges' scrappy Thanksgiving drama "Pieces of April" transforms its micro-budget constraints into intimate authenticity, anchored by Patricia Clarkson's razor-sharp performance as a dying mother and Katie Holmes' career-best work as her estranged daughter.
Shot on VHS and fueled by punk-rock fury, Tate Hoffmaster's "Pizza Guy 8" is a gleefully anarchic meta-slasher that serves up a surprisingly pointed critique of corporate filmmaking between its generous helpings of gore and knowing winks.
Paul Thomas Anderson's "Punch-Drunk Love" remains a masterful reinvention of the romantic comedy, transforming Adam Sandler's familiar man-child persona into a raw nerve of anxiety and yearning that still resonates over 20 years later.
In her mesmerizing debut "Q," director Jude Chehab transforms what could have been a simple exposé of a secretive Islamic sect into a deeply personal meditation on faith, family, and the invisible threads that both bind and separate generations of women.
Akira Kurosawa's "Ran" is a towering achievement of epic filmmaking that transforms Shakespeare's King Lear into a meditation on chaos, power, and human folly. Through its meticulously choreographed battle sequences, haunting score, and stunning visual composition, it stands as both a magnificent swan song and a masterclass in cinematic spectacle.
Kurosawa's masterful exploration of truth and perspective remains as vital and revolutionary today as it was in 1950, featuring stunning cinematography and a narrative structure that would influence generations of filmmakers to come.
Kurosawa's sweeping humanist epic "Red Beard" is a masterwork of compassionate storytelling that transcends its medical drama framework, even as its lengthy runtime and deliberate pacing may test modern viewers' patience.
Giuseppe Boccassini's hypnotic found-footage diptych transforms film noir and melodrama into a mesmerizing fever dream, creating something that's equal parts academic exercise and sensory explosion. While not for everyone, it's a bold reminder of cinema's power to reinvent itself through its own history.
Paul Vecchiali's newly restored Rosa La Rose, Fille Publique is a masterclass in empathetic filmmaking that transforms what could have been exploitation fare into a devastating meditation on love, agency, and fate in 1980s Paris, anchored by Marianne Basler's luminous breakthrough performance.
Kurosawa's deceptively breezy sequel to Yojimbo delivers a masterclass in economical storytelling, where every eye-roll from Mifune and perfectly-timed sword slash serves both comedy and commentary on samurai honor.
Akira Kurosawa's Seven Samurai remains, even at 70, a masterwork of technical innovation and emotional resonance that invented the modern action ensemble film while never sacrificing its profound meditation on class, duty, and the price of heroism.
Tony Zierra's meticulous documentary SK13 peels back the layers of Stanley Kubrick's misunderstood swan song with the obsessive detail of a conspiracy theorist and the careful precision of a master archivist, creating not just a making-of film but a compelling argument for Eyes Wide Shut's place in cinema history.
Kurosawa's sweltering noir masterpiece "Stray Dog" remains a fascinating time capsule of post-war Japan that doubles as a breakthrough in procedural filmmaking, with Toshiro Mifune's raw-nerve performance anchoring this morally complex tale of guilt and redemption.
Alejandro Jodorowsky's Santa Sangre is a blood-soaked fever dream that transcends its horror movie trappings to deliver a haunting meditation on trauma, religious fervor, and the bonds between mother and child. This newly struck 35mm print at Metrograph reveals the film's hallucinatory power in all its technicolor glory.
Metrograph's "Saturday Afternoon Cartoons: Out of This World" transforms a collection of vintage animated shorts into an enchanting time capsule of pre-Space Age imagination, where the crackle and whir of 16mm projection becomes as vital to the experience as Felix the Cat's cosmic adventures.
Dennis Potter's unsettling psychological drama "Schmoedipus" remains a masterclass in domestic horror, featuring an electrifying early performance from Tim Curry that transforms a modest BBC television play into something far more sinister and profound.
Radley Metzger's "Score" is a fascinating time capsule of 1970s sexual liberation that transcends its erotic film origins through sophisticated direction and playful wit, delivering both visual splendor and surprising social commentary.
Isabel Castro's intimate documentary "Selena y Los Dinos" transcends mere biography, using a treasure trove of never-before-seen footage to paint a vibrant portrait of an artist in full bloom, before tragedy could define her legacy.
John Cameron Mitchell's provocative yet tender "Shortbus" remains a vital document of post-9/11 New York - a film that uses explicit sexuality not for shock value, but as a lens to examine human connection in times of collective trauma.
Raj Kapoor's 1955 masterpiece "Shree 420" is a dazzling fusion of Chaplinesque charm and post-colonial critique that remains startlingly relevant, using its musical-melodrama framework to deliver a pointed commentary on capitalism's moral compromises.
In "Skin of Youth," director Ash Mayfair crafts a neon-drenched fever dream of love and survival that transcends its familiar crime drama framework, delivering both a milestone in Vietnamese LGBTQ+ cinema and a masterclass in atmospheric filmmaking.
Disney's most visually audacious animated feature remains a stunning achievement of modernist design and medieval pageantry, even if its narrative warmth sometimes falls victim to its own crystalline perfection.
Billy Wilder's masterful "Some Like It Hot" remains an effervescent cocktail of subversive wit and precise comic timing that hasn't lost a drop of its intoxicating charm after 65 years. This gender-bending farce showcases Monroe at her most luminous, while Curtis and Lemmon deliver career-defining performances in a film that somehow manages to be both of its time and eternally contemporary.
Contessa Gayles' innovative "visual album" documentary transforms the prison film genre through raw musical expression and formal daring, creating a powerful meditation on redemption that transcends its institutional setting while never flinching from hard truths.
Elia Kazan's devastating portrait of young love crushed under the weight of social expectations remains startlingly modern, with Natalie Wood and Warren Beatty delivering performances that capture the raw electricity of teenage desire colliding with adult realities.
Harmony Korine's neon-drenched fever dream "Spring Breakers" remains a masterful provocation, using MTV aesthetics and Disney Channel alumni to craft a haunting critique of American excess that's both intoxicating and deeply unsettling.
Jia Zhangke's masterful "Still Life" transforms the demolition of an ancient Chinese town into both elegy and prophecy, using precise formal control and haunting imagery to capture a society literally dissolving before our eyes.
John Sayles' sprawling Florida opus "Sunshine State" is a masterfully observed portrait of paradise paved, where real estate dreams and cultural erosion collide in a sun-bleached meditation on American progress. Through an expertly woven ensemble tapestry led by stellar turns from Edie Falco and Angela Bassett, Sayles crafts one of his richest civic panoramas.
Kurosawa's first widescreen adventure is a masterclass in balanced storytelling, where slapstick comedy and samurai spectacle dance together in perfect harmony, creating a template that would influence blockbuster cinema for decades to come.
Kurosawa's fog-shrouded masterpiece remains cinema's most visceral Shakespeare adaptation, where every frame drips with formal precision and mounting dread. This is Macbeth stripped to its bones and rebuilt in shadows and steel, with Toshiro Mifune's volcanic performance anchoring a tale of ambition's inevitable price.
Jafar Panahi's "Taxi Tehran" transforms restriction into revolution, using a humble taxi cab as both camera and canvas to create a defiantly humanistic portrait of contemporary Iran. Through this deceptively simple conceit, Panahi delivers a masterclass in guerrilla filmmaking that's equal parts social commentary, meta-cinema, and act of artistic resistance.
Robert DeFranco's 1998 slacker comedy "Telling You" is a competently crafted but ultimately tepid time capsule of late-90s ennui that proves technical polish and an appealing cast can't overcome a wafer-thin script.
Dario Argento's meta-giallo masterpiece Tenebrae is a dazzling exercise in self-reflexive horror that turns its camera on both the creator and consumer of violent art, all while delivering some of the most innovative cinematography of the 1980s.
Nearly two decades later, The Devil Wears Prada remains a masterclass in mainstream filmmaking that transcends its "chick flick" packaging, powered by Meryl Streep's career-defining performance and sharp observations about power, ambition, and the cost of success in modern America.
Kent Mackenzie's restored 1961 docudrama "The Exiles" is a haunting time capsule of urban Native American life, combining stark neorealist authenticity with poetic visual flourishes that feel startlingly modern even six decades later.
William Friedkin's gritty police thriller remains a masterclass in kinetic filmmaking, where documentary-style realism collides with white-knuckle action to create something that feels dangerous even today.
Kaneto Shindô's wordless masterpiece The Naked Island transforms daily survival into visual poetry, creating a devastating meditation on human perseverance that speaks volumes without uttering a single word.
Powell and Pressburger's "The Red Shoes" remains an intoxicating fever dream of artistic obsession, where sumptuous Technicolor and psychological horror dance a devastating pas de deux. This 1948 masterpiece transcends its ballet setting to become a universal meditation on the crushing weight of creative passion.
Paul Michael Glaser's "The Running Man" is a prescient piece of pulp prophecy that, despite its B-movie trappings, manages to predict our current reality TV hellscape with disturbing accuracy, all while serving up deliciously cheesy Schwarzenegger one-liners and neon-drenched dystopian spectacle.
Moufida Tlatli's mesmerizing meditation on time, tradition, and feminine resistance weaves together three generations of Tunisian women's lives with the precision of the textiles that bind their stories, creating a tapestry of quiet rebellion that resonates far beyond its specific cultural context.
Pierre Kast's mystifying sci-fi meditation "The Suns of Easter Island" is a fascinating time capsule of 1970s metaphysical cinema that prioritizes mood over narrative, featuring stunning location photography and an ahead-of-its-time electronic score that nearly compensate for its glacial pacing and paper-thin characterizations.
Jacques Demy's candy-colored masterpiece "The Young Girls of Rochefort" is a delirious fusion of Hollywood spectacle and French New Wave sensibilities that somehow manages to be both effervescent and melancholic, like champagne at a funeral.
Jafar Panahi's "This Is Not a Film" transforms the constraints of house arrest into a masterful meditation on creativity under oppression, proving that true cinematic expression cannot be caged by political decree.
William Friedkin's neo-noir masterpiece "To Live and Die in L.A." remains a searing, sun-bleached descent into moral corruption that feels as radical and visceral today as it did in 1985, especially when experienced in pristine 35mm at Nitehawk's revival screening.
Orson Welles' noir masterpiece "Touch of Evil" remains a towering achievement of style and substance, where every shadow-drenched frame and serpentine camera move serves both visual splendor and moral decay. This new presentation at Nitehawk Cinema Prospect Park, featuring the restored 111-minute cut, reminds us why this baroque thriller continues to intoxicate audiences 65 years later.
Djibril Diop Mambéty's rebellious masterpiece Touki Bouki remains a dazzling fusion of French New Wave style and Senegalese storytelling that captures the intoxicating dreams and harsh realities of post-colonial Africa with raw energy and poetic grace.
David Lynch's audacious return to Twin Peaks transforms television into pure cinematic art, delivering a three-hour opening salvo that defies conventional storytelling while pushing the boundaries between serialized entertainment and avant-garde filmmaking.
David Lynch's masterful middle chapters of Twin Peaks: The Return transform television into pure cinema, where slapstick comedy and existential dread dance an unsettling waltz across three hours that feel both glacially paced and electrically alive.
David Lynch's mind-bending "Twin Peaks: The Return" (Parts 7-9) transforms from procedural intrigue to avant-garde nightmare and back again, with Part 8 standing as perhaps the most audacious hour ever broadcast on American television - a nuclear-powered descent into primordial evil that demands to be experienced on the big screen.
In this audacious meta-comedy about filmmaking's messy intersection with gender politics, co-directors Mata and Marcus turn their two-day shooting constraint into a frenzied strength, delivering a rough-but-ready satire that's both a critique of indie film pretension and a testament to guerrilla creativity.
Cameron Crowe's "Vanilla Sky" is a fascinating misfire that reaches for profundity but often gets tangled in its own ambitions - yet its audacious blend of Hollywood glamour and existential dread makes it an oddly prescient artifact of pre-9/11 American unease.
In this stunning collection of experimental shorts, Slovenian filmmaker Vasko Pregelj crafts haunting visual poems that dance between dream and documentary, offering a masterclass in how cinema can capture the liminal spaces between memory, trauma, and artistic legacy.
Hitchcock's masterpiece of obsession and control remains a dizzying achievement in psychological filmmaking, especially when experienced in 35mm, where its hypnotic Technicolor palette and innovative cinematography can fully entrance viewers as intended.
Spielberg's War of the Worlds remains a haunting testament to post-9/11 anxieties, delivering visceral terror through masterful technical execution despite its narrative shortcomings. Nearly two decades later, its ground-level view of societal collapse feels more relevant than ever.
Spielberg's "West Side Story" is a masterclass in reimagining a classic, combining technical virtuosity with contemporary resonance while mostly avoiding the pitfalls that plague modern musical adaptations. Despite one miscast lead, this vibrant revival proves there's still plenty of life left in the Jets and Sharks saga.
In José Luis Torres Leiva's mesmerizing "When Clouds Hide the Shadow," waiting becomes an art form, as an actress stranded at the bottom of the world discovers that sometimes the most profound stories emerge when the cameras aren't supposed to be rolling.
In "Wild Diamond," first-time director Agathe Riedinger crafts a searing portrait of digital-age desperation, though its familiar cautionary tale about influencer culture ultimately sparkles more than it cuts deep.
Elia Kazan's Wild River emerges as a masterful study of progress versus tradition, where personal desires clash with societal change against the backdrop of Depression-era Tennessee. This overlooked gem from 1960 showcases some of the finest performances of its era while painting an eerily prescient portrait of America's ongoing struggle with modernization.
Nicholas Ray's troubled, fever-dream eco-Western feels like watching two different movies wrestle in a swamp - a fascinating mess of competing visions that somehow emerges as a prescient environmental parable decades ahead of its time.
Akira Kurosawa's "Yojimbo" remains a masterclass in genre-bending storytelling, where a masterfully composed tale of corruption and revenge becomes both a cutting social critique and a wildly entertaining samurai Western that would influence decades of cinema to come.
Mary Bronstein's "Yeast" is a raw, unvarnished slice of late-2000s mumblecore that, despite (or perhaps because of) its deliberately abrasive style, offers one of the most honest portrayals of toxic female friendship ever captured on MiniDV.
Jia Zhangke's experimental love story "Caught by the Tides" is a breathtaking temporal collage that transforms two decades of archived footage into a meditation on love, memory, and China's dizzying metamorphosis. Through its innovative form and Zhao Tao's mesmerizing silent performance, the film achieves something rare: it makes us feel time itself.
Tomás Gutiérrez Alea's 1968 masterpiece remains a startlingly modern meditation on political alienation, wielding its revolutionary formal techniques with the precision of a surgeon's scalpel to dissect both its protagonist's bourgeois mentality and the broader complexities of post-revolutionary Cuba.
Brian De Palma's "Snake Eyes" opens with one of the most dazzling long takes in cinema history, but like its gambling-addicted protagonist, the film eventually loses its nerve, trading audacious filmmaking for conventional thriller beats.
$ECK's frenetic debut "So Far All Good" is a technically audacious but narratively threadbare portrait of post-prison alienation that announces a bold new voice in indie cinema, even as it occasionally stumbles under the weight of its own stylistic ambitions.
Anthony Mandler's audacious double feature at the Roxy pairs his fever-dream biblical adaptation "Tropico" with the cult thriller "The Crush," creating an unlikely but fascinating dialogue about desire, mythology, and American excess.
Jess Franco's hypnotic vampire odyssey "Vampyros Lesbos" is a fever dream of psychedelic excess and Euro-horror decadence that transcends its exploitation roots through sheer stylistic audacity and the haunting presence of Soledad Miranda.