There’s a reason so many works of queer fiction gravitate toward the horror genre. At its core, the genre is founded on fear—something the queer community is all too familiar with: the fear of not fitting in, of not being accepted, of being ostracized or forced to stifle the most authentic version of yourself.  Even homophobia is driven by fear, as its etymology suggests, positioning horror as a particularly fitting lens through which queer experiences can be explored. With his directorial debut, Leviticus, Adrian Chiarella channels these fears—both internalized and externalized—into something tangible, revealing that the true monster is not a creature, but anxiety and social rejection rooted in homophobia.

With his feature directorial debut, Cam (2018), director Daniel Goldhaber, along with screenwriter Isa Mazzei, incisively interrogated our relationship to technology and violence. With his sophomore feature, How to Blow Up a Pipeline (2022), Goldhaber demonstrated his ability to craft a suspenseful and stress-inducing thriller that relentlessly ramps up the tension. Now, with Faces of Death, Goldhaber has reunited with Mazzei and combined the greatest strengths of his previous films into a chilling, confrontational work about digital-age anxieties.

One of my favorite things about cinema is the fact that it combines multiple art forms into one. In doing so, film has the ability to appeal to multiple senses. Naturally, there are the visuals on screen and the accompanying music or audio. But great movies also make us feel something, maybe not in the literal sense, but in the emotional or psychological sense. What few films manage to do, however, is utilize our sense of smell. Smell-O-Vision first emerged in 1960 with Jack Cardiff’s Scent of Mystery. After an array of technical issues and negative reviews of the film, Smell-O-Vision failed to catch on. In 1981, John Waters parodied the concept of Smell-O-Vision with scratch-and-sniff Odorama cards to accompany his film Polyester. The scratch-and-sniff approach was replicated several times, including for the 2003 animated film Rugrats Go Wild. Now, the concept is back with a vengeance under the name Stink-O-Vision for Grace Glowicki’s new film, Dead Lover.

Arguably the most famous piece of writing advice is to “write what you know,” and writer-director Chandler Levack’s filmography exemplifies its efficacy. Her feature directorial debut, I Like Movies (2022), was partially inspired by her experience working at a video rental store as a teenager. Now, her sophomore feature, Mile End Kicks, draws from her time working as a music critic. There’s an undeniable passion for music that permeates the film, mirroring the admiration for cinema that runs throughout I Like Movies, which makes the two works feel thematically aligned. In fact, Mile End Kicks feels like the perfect companion to I Like Movies; during a Q&A, Levack even joked that she could have titled it I Like Music instead. By grounding her work in personal experience and distinct cultural moments, Levack successfully crafts films that feel astutely authentic and lived-in.

After the controversy at the 79th British Academy Film Awards (BAFTAs), when John Davidson’s tics were audible, and a racial slur went uncensored in the broadcast, it became clear how widely misunderstood Tourette syndrome still is. Many viewers failed to recognize that Davidson’s tics are involuntary and do not reflect his character. This misunderstanding was compounded by the fact that I Swear, a film about Davidson that directly addresses these issues, had not yet been released in the United States before the ceremony. Although the film had already been released in the United Kingdom, where Robert Aramayo won the BAFTA for Best Lead Performance, U.S. audiences had not yet had the opportunity to engage with its perspective. As a result, many American viewers reacted with outrage to the incident, lacking the context the film might have provided. While Kirk Jones’s I Swear does not deviate from the traditional biopic structure, it is evident that Davidson’s story still needs to be told on a global scale, making the film especially urgent.

After winning the Palme d’Or at the Cannes Film Festival in 2021 with her sophomore feature Titane, it was no surprise that Julia Ducournau’s follow-up film, Alpha, would be one of the most anticipated films at the festival in 2025. What was surprising, however, was that the film was met with a wave of lackluster reviews upon its premiere. Was it possible that the daring auteur behind Titane and 2016’s Raw had directed her first misfire? While I agree with the criticism that this is perhaps her weakest film to date, I’m inclined to disagree with the notion that it is a bad film by any means.

Movies that set out to deliver satirical social critique often feel like they are trying too hard to be provocative. Their humor seems aimed more at stirring controversy or provoking a strong reaction from the audience than at actually making them laugh. Oscar Boyson’s Our Hero, Balthazar, however, is a rare film that strikes the right balance. It tackles themes of gun violence, performative activism, social media, incel culture, privilege, and toxic masculinity. It is a dark and daring film, but it never forgets to be funny, and its edginess feels genuine rather than forced. Most of the film’s humor is the kind that leaves audiences in limbo, unsure whether to laugh, cringe, or stare in disbelief that someone actually put these ideas on screen and somehow made them work.

Stephanie Laing’s Tow is a touching, based-on-a-true-story drama that sheds light on the realities of homelessness in America. The film is anchored by a dedicated performance from Rose Byrne, fresh off the success of last year’s If I Had Legs I’d Kick You, another film about an imperfect mother navigating a stressful situation. While Byrne and a few of the central performances bring some sincerity to the material, much of the supporting cast feels underdeveloped, with stilted performances and side characters that lack depth and nuance. Paired with a tone that often slips into cheesy sentimentality and a story that unfolds in largely predictable ways, Tow struggles to turn its powerful premise into a compelling drama.

Adapting a bestselling, award-winning novel into a film is no simple task, and audiences tend to scrutinize every detail to determine whether the movie does a beloved book justice. Fortunately, the film adaptation of Andy Weir’s novel Project Hail Mary has all the ingredients for success. With Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse filmmakers Phil Lord and Christopher Miller in the directors’ chairs, a screenplay penned by Drew Goddard—who previously wrote the script for another Andy Weir adaptation, Ridley Scott’s The Martian (2015)—and a star like Ryan Gosling at the forefront, the film seems destined to be as crowd-pleasing as its source material. The result is an astounding triumph, bringing Weir’s novel to the big screen with remarkable fidelity and transforming it into what will likely be one of the best films of the year.

James Whale’s 1935 film The Bride of Frankenstein has long been revered as one of the best Frankenstein films ever made, even better than its predecessor. But, as Maggie Gyllenhaal points out in an interview with Entertainment Weekly, “The movie’s called The Bride of Frankenstein, but she’s not really in it. It’s just a Frankenstein sequel, and she literally doesn’t speak.” With her new film, The Bride!, Gyllenhaal sets out to give the woman the voice, autonomy, and spotlight she deserves. What ensues is a ferocious, bold swing from the filmmaker and a movie unlike any Frankenstein-adjacent film we’ve seen before.

Pixar is certainly no stranger to films about human beings turning into animals. In fact, between Brave (2012), Soul (2020), and Turning Red (2022), it seems to be a pretty prevalent theme. And after introducing technology in Up (2009) that allowed humans to understand what a dog was thinking, a movie where someone can literally experience life as an animal feels like a logical next step. As much as Hoppers fits perfectly within Pixar’s wheelhouse, it might also be their most absurd film yet. Thankfully, that absurdity works entirely in its favor.

As “eat the rich” movies have surged in popularity in recent years, it was only a matter of time before Robert Hamer’s 1949 black comedy Kind Hearts and Coronets was reimagined for a new generation. It’s fitting that the remake, How to Make a Killing, was directed by John Patton Ford, since his previous film, Emily the Criminal (2022), also follows a protagonist who turns to crime out of financial desperation. However, the nature of the crimes differs significantly. Between How to Make a Killing and last year’s The Running Man, Glen Powell proves he’s the perfect star to put at the helm of these anti-capitalist vehicles, because much like in that film, his charm does a lot of the heavy lifting here. How to Make a Killing is a scrappy, modernized retelling of Kind Hearts and Coronets that coasts on Powell’s charisma.

There’s been a lot of controversy surrounding Emerald Fennell’s adaptation of Emily Brontë’s classic 1847 novel Wuthering Heights, largely centered around the decision to whitewash the character of Heathcliff by casting Jacob Elordi in the role. However, almost every adaptation of the novel thus far has cast a white actor in the role, with Andrea Arnold’s 2011 adaptation being one of the rare exceptions. Between the casting, anachronistic costume designs, and original songs by Charli xcx, it’s clear even before audiences step into the theater that this version of Wuthering Heights isn’t concerned with being faithful to the novel or the time period in which it takes place. Anyone who walks into Emerald Fennell’s Wuthering Heights expecting an accurate adaptation of Emily Brontë’s novel is setting themselves up for major disappointment.

Perhaps February is too early to crown something “the funniest film of the year,” but I feel strangely confident in declaring Nirvanna the Band the Show the Movie exactly that. In fact, I first saw it back in October 2025. So as far as I’m concerned, it has already held that title for two consecutive years. And yet, it’s so much more than merely an excellent comedy. This is the rare project fueled by an almost reckless passion for filmmaking itself. It’s wildly inventive, absurdly imaginative, and unafraid to push creative, cinematic, and even legal boundaries. It feels as though films like this only come along once in a generation. It’s the type of movie that makes audiences wonder, “How did this get made? How did they get away with it? How much of this is real? Was any of it even legal?”

Winner of the Directing Award: US Dramatic at the 2026 Sundance Film Festival, Josef Kubota Wladyka’s Ha-chan, Shake Your Booty! is an effervescent crowdpleaser. It’s a thoughtful portrait of grief that’s simultaneously a heartwarming, whimsical delight. It’s a highly-stylized film, bursting with quirky characters, vibrant colors, and lively music.

NB Mager’s Run Amok is an undeniably unique and admirably ambitious film. However, it’s also an absolute tonal disaster. It’s not every day one sees a film about a high school staging a musical about school shootings, especially one that’s meant to be a comedy. The problem is, the film never seems to know exactly which genre it wants to adhere to.

Being a teenage girl is brutal, especially when you feel like you don’t fit in with any particular friend group, and that’s something that the best coming-of-age films convey all too well. Paloma Schneideman’s feature debut, Big Girls Don’t Cry, joins the ranks of recent Sundance coming-of-age gems such as Sean Wang’s Dìdi (2024) for its mid-2000s nostalgia, and Megan Park’s My Old Ass (2024) for its depiction of sapphic self-discovery. Big Girls Don’t Cry offers that same sense of nostalgia—complete with cameos from Nokia phones and MSN Messenger—and queer representation, through its sensitive snapshot of awkward adolescence. While it does suffer from some clichés and treads familiar territory, it’s still a worthwhile viewing experience.

Rachel Lambert’s Carousel is the kind of gentle, slice-of-life independent film that feels right at home at the Sundance Film Festival. It showcases several strong, understated performances that feel authentic and lived-in, even as the story traces familiar narrative ground. In fact, Carousel almost feels too lived-in to the extent that the characters’ lives lack urgency, and the story unfolds at an almost glacial pace.

Zi feels like a return to form for Kogonada after last year’s A Big Bold Beautiful Journey, but it doesn’t quite have the charm of his debut Columbus (2017) or even the similarly sci-fi After Yang (2021). It feels more like an experiment than a film. Seven people flew to Hong Kong for a few weeks to shoot this project on a whim, and it very much feels like a film that was made on the fly. What’s admirable about this experiment is that Kogonada gave all seven of them equal equity in the film, so they’ll be splitting the profits equally. It will almost certainly be a polarizing film; I only wish it felt more like a story driven by passion and thoughtfulness than spontaneity and impulsivity.

Winner of the Sundance Audience Award in the World Cinema Dramatic category, Myrsini Aristidou’s Hold Onto Me (Κράτα Με) plays out like a modern-day, slower-paced version of Peter Bogdanovich’s Paper Moon (1973) set in Cyprus. It’s a poignant story about a little girl reconnecting with her estranged father as the duo slowly bond and con people.