“Write what you know” has become a cliché but it’s still valuable advice for anyone telling a story no matter how fantastical or accurately reflective of one’s own experience. At IFFBoston this year, I saw at least two features falling under this category: Romeria and Blue Heron. Both begin steeped in realism before unexpectedly shifting into dream sequences. The former imagines a meeting between the main character and her parents from before her birth; the latter, however, presents something more complex, using a sort of psychodrama to reinterpret a defining incident from one’s past.
In Blue Heron, filmmaker Sophy Romvari’s 1990s childhood comes to life in the form of a Hungarian family settling into a new home on Vancouver Island. Her surrogate, Sasha (Eylul Guven) is the youngest of four children and the only one to be born in Canada. Her oldest brother, Jeremy (Erik Beddoes) blatantly doesn’t resemble any of his siblings, much less his parents (his actual father was someone whom his mother previously dated; he didn’t have any involvement in raising him.) As the rest of the family studiously works on assimilating into this new environment, Jeremy acts out. At first, his behavior is that of your average frustrated teen (moody, argumentative). Then, it escalates. He gets caught shoplifting. He climbs on his home’s roof, refusing to come down. He smashes his hand through a window. He refuses to communicate, at all. His family becomes worried for his safety, and also their own.
The shift from a near-neorealism to a far more dreamlike scenario occurs when Sasha as an adult (played by Amy Zimmer) appears and attempts piecing together the decisive actions her parents took to deal with Jeremy. I don’t want to spoil exactly what happens, for it unfolds as an act of discovery but also one of analysis, sifting through facts to arrive at some conclusion even if it’s a subjective truth. Romvari paints as an impressionist, dotting her frames with cultural signifiers both shared (pop songs, ambient sounds, suburban talismans such as freshly cut grass) and singular (the elaborate fake maps Jeremy draws which are actual ones from Romvari’s own brother.) As a filmmaker/storyteller, Romvari fully grasps the slipperiness of memory. Following a series of acclaimed shorts, Blue Heron is a remarkable first feature due to such an understanding and her ingenuity in expressing it.
In 2004, 18-year-old orphan Marina (Llúcia Garcia) visits the port city of Vigo, Spain. She’s meeting with her paternal grandparents to obtain a notarized signature for her to be recognized on her father’s death certificate so that she can attend university. Until now, she’s never met any of her blood relatives. They seem eager and welcoming to her—perhaps overly so as her grandparents want to shower her with money out of guilt or maybe as encouragement for her to keep silent about what little she knows of her parents, along with scattered clues she picks up on from her similarly-aged cousin Nuno (the single-monikered Mitch).
She gradually pieces together a version of what happened between her parents that varies slightly from what she’s officially told. Then, the film shifts into magical realism at the initially casual appearance of a stray cat, an impetus for Marina and the audience to discover the truth, or at least a version of it (maybe Marina’s idealized one?). As with previous feature Alcarràs, director Carla Simón has a keen eye for composition and framing naturally beautiful landscapes with more depth than your average pretty picture. Despite that, Romería is pleasant but sometimes dramatically static until that shift in the third act. Apparently based on Simón’s own experiences, it didn’t entirely express the urgency of why it was being told or how it may have shaped her adulthood and career. However, the post-cat material nearly saved it; I would not have minded seeing an entire feature (or at least a short) squarely focused on that story.
Given our current tendency to document just about everything (especially ourselves) with our smartphones, will younger and future generations retain a seemingly infinite treasure trove of recorded media to reference, look back on and cultivate into living histories? Or will the ephemeralness, marginality, and sheer excess of it all render much of it forgotten detritus, lost to time, not anything worth sifting through and (re)discovering?
North Carolina born, Boston based Ross McElwee wasn’t the first filmmaker to conceive of documentary as memoir but his landmark first feature Sherman’s March (1986) suggested a manifesto of possibilities. Without the access and options we have today, he’d simply film himself and others with his 16mm or video camera and provide commentary. His mild southern accent and droll, self-deprecating humor were endearing identifiers as he tracked the titular Civil War route; in a parallel narrative, family and friends set up the still-single-in-his-mid-30s Ross with an array of (often questionable) female suitors. A surprise hit, McElwee followed it with a series of check-ins where he continued recording his life as seen through the prism of marriage and fatherhood (Time Indefinite, 1993) and as a middle-aged man parsing his family’s ancestral connection to the tobacco industry (Bright Leaves, 2003).
“I used to be a filmmaker” are his initial words spoken in Remake, his first feature in about 15 years. During that time, McElwee got divorced and remarried but the real focus is on his son, Adrian, whom in his mid-20s died of a drug overdose about a decade ago. Given his tendency to film himself and his family, McElwee has that treasure trove of footage; here, he includes it discriminately, often cutting from footage of himself and/or Adrian from one point in time to another to make sense of such life and loss. As a result, it almost resembles McElwee’s own version of Michael Apted’s Up series, which checks in on a dozen subjects every seven years with each subsequent film in the series incorporating previous footage to exhibit growth and change over a lifetime. Like Apted, McElwee has a knack for making connections and earning an emotional charge from viewing the same person at different life phases.
Remake has its own dual narrative. McElwee began work on it when a producer contacted him to buy the rights to turn Sherman’s March into a fictional feature, the process of which he intended to document, perhaps as a bonus feature. Naturally, this premise foregrounds McElwee’s sly humor as we see the adaptation-in-progress shuffle through many, many iterations (where it finally ends up is too good to spoil.) Putting everything aside after Adrian’s death, McElwee eventually resumed the project but with a different focus. Working through his grief and considering the events leading up to this tragedy, the adaptation material serves as a tonic of sorts while also expounding on the idea of remaking a life out of memories and archival footage.
While not as definitive as Sherman’s March, Remake could be the other primary bookend of McElwee’s career if it ends up his last feature. Incorporating Adrian’s own footage (he was also an aspiring filmmaker), drawings, animations and even some of his musical contributions to the soundtrack, McElwee’s rarely been this formally adventurous in his own aesthetic. Not all of it works (time-lapse sequences, Ross?), but what resonates is an impetus to firmly exist in and make sense of the present no matter how much the past informs or haunts it.
Having directed features since the early 2000’s, Mark Jenkin wasn’t on my radar until Enys Men (2022), which earned scattered raves (particularly from UK-based critics). Upon viewing it a year later, I appreciated the cinematography, editing and sound design, but couldn’t parse what the experimental narrative was attempting to achieve, and didn’t glean much meaning or feeling from it in the end.
I was hoping this follow-up would build on such promise, but Rose of Nevada is frustratingly more of the same. I’ve concluded that as an artist, Jenkins is a master technician—his compositions remain striking, the immersive, intricate sound design provides momentum and the often chaotic editing gives at least the impression that something exciting is happening.
Unfortunately, his approach to narrative remains fragmented (not necessarily bad in itself) and curiously remote and cold (a big problem). Without Jenkin offering much of an invitation to connect, I became a little bored, making snarky comments to myself such as “Hey, it’s Edgar Winter!” at the first sight of ancient Mrs. Richard with her long, straight white hair. George Mackay is serviceable with what he’s given (and a sight gag centered on him early on is a rare moment of actual physical humor), but I don’t recall anything about Callum Turner other than his abrupt act of violence at Mackay late in the film.
It’s especially disappointing given that Jenkin potentially has the skills to become a beloved weirdo auteur like Peter Strickland but films, no matter how challenging, must give audiences a reason to care about what’s going on.
Once renowned for his guerilla-style New Queer Cinema flicks (such as 1992’s The Living End), filmmaker Gregg Araki shifted to something more mature and earnest with Mysterious Skin (2005), still his best in my opinion. Since then, where he’d go next has been more difficult to foresee. Consider Smiley Face (2007), a loveably stoopid stoner comedy starring Anna Faris, or Kaboom! (2010), almost a Millennial update of his 90s work.
His first feature since the far more serious White Bird In a Blizzard (2014) fully resembles an Araki picture but it really has no logical precedent in his filmography. It is his wackiest comedy since Smiley Face, but it also borrows liberally from the structure of Sunset Boulevard as it begins near the end and flashes back to how just-out-of-college Elliot (Cooper Hoffman) scores a job as an assistant to Erika Tracy (Olivia Wilde), a boundary-pushing visual artist whose risqué outfits, outrageous installations and over-the-top sexual forwardness faintly resemble Truth Or Dare-era Madonna. That she’s grooming Elliot from the start is obvious long before they begin a BDSM relationship (with Erika the Dom, naturally) that’s only clandestine on the surface; Elliot’s flamboyant co-worker, Zap (a funny, feline-esque Mason Gooding) suspects as much right away, given Erika’s torrid history with past assistants.
The film works because of its leads. Wilde is a near-revelation after a few years spent primarily behind the camera, clearly relishing the opportunity to play such a juicy part; her knack for comedic timing and commanding the screen has rarely gone this hard. Hoffman’s also developed as a performer since his debut in Licorice Pizza—of course he resembles his father but one may not necessarily make that connection without knowledge of it. If there’s a problem here (besides not including the classic George Michael tune of the same title on the soundtrack), it’s that Araki and co-screenwriter Karley Sciortino have little new to say about how titillating and ultimately empty modern art can seem. Without the twisted, misguided but palpable spark igniting between Erika and Elliot, I Want Your Sex might have ended up as fatuous as the scene it satirizes.
I’d be hesitant to trust anyone who doesn’t like Girl Scout Cookies, so I understand its mass appeal as a documentary subject; my expectations, however, were moderate at best. Would there be enough story and dramatic weight to sustain an entire feature about four girls from different backgrounds selling Thin Mints, Trefoils and Peanut Butter Patties over one season?
Happily, Cookie Queens is as charming as one could hope and far deeper than one might expect. Director Alysa Nahmias deploys the tried-and-true formula pioneered by spelling bee documentary Spellbound over twenty years ago, cutting back and forth between a few primary subjects all working on a common task. Where this film varies is that they’re not necessarily competing against each other; instead, each subject has a personal goal in terms of how much they will sell. For precocious overachiever Olive (age 12), it’s 5,000 boxes (which she continues to increase as she sells that amount and more.) Little Ara (age 5), on the other hand, sets a more realistic goal (for her) of 45 boxes. Nikki (age 9) and her much older sisters all want to sell enough to earn money for the three of them to travel to Europe. Meanwhile, Shannon Elizabeth (age 8) just wants to sell enough to attend summer camp but has limited resources to do so compared to some of the other girls.
As these four narratives develop, they touch upon themes of sisterhood (Nikki), societal (and self) pressure (Olive), economic hardship (Shannon Elizabeth) and health-related issues (Ara). With each subject, Nahmias also focuses on both the various day-to-day struggles and often transformative wonder of simply being a kid. One roots for each of them because one comes to understand their hopes and fears via their backgrounds, environments and personalities. Crowd pleasing films occasionally get a bad rap for viewing everything through rose-tinted lenses; with humaneness and some nuance, Nahmias pinpoints unexpected substance in her subjects along with ample heart.
I saw eight movies at this year’s Independent Film Festival Boston and will be posting reviews of them all over the next two weeks or so.
Five minutes into director/writer/rapper Boots Riley’s long-awaited second feature, I thought, “This seems almost prosaic compared to the wackiness of its predecessor, Sorry To Bother You.” Then, a giant, rolling object rambunctiously followed the film’s protagonists down San Francisco Bay-area streets as if threatening to flatten them (or adhere them to its ever-growing circumference) and I don’t know why I ever considered such a notion.
In Riley-world, “Boosters” are predominantly young female shoplifters who make a living selling their bounty to customers for a fraction of its worth (the full title comes from one of Riley’s own songs.) Led by the gimlet-eyed Corvette (an always fabulous Keke Palmer) and the far more open (if susceptible) Sade (Naomi Ackie), they encounter a common antagonist, Christie Smith (Demi Moore, applying newfound comedic skills cultivated in The Substance), a prodigious fashion designer, kind of a cross between Anna Wintour and a more charismatic Elizabeth Holmes. Corvette, herself a budding designer, idolizes Smith until she learns the mogul has stolen some of her work. Along with fellow booster Mariah (Taylour Paige), Corvette and Sade procure jobs at a franchise of a chain of stores where Smith’s highly sought-after couture is sold in order to boost the merchandise for revenge.
As I did at the start, you may be asking, “What’s so weird about that?” Well, Riley, for whom Looney Tunes is a self-admitted influence not only coats everything in exuberantly candy-colored palettes. Check out the entire vibe of Grayson (a game Will Poulter), the exquisitely passive-aggressive store manager at boutique the Boosters infiltrate, or a pyramid-scheme cult led by the wacked out Dr. Jack (Don Cheadle), or Poppy Liu as a Chinese Booster whose favored way of lifting warps this all into a sci-fi film. I haven’t even mentioned Sorry To Bother You star Lakeith Stanfield as a French-accented lothario with an outrageously sexual secret of his own.
I adore Riley’s can-you-top-this, live-action cartoon approach while also acknowledging that it is both an acquired taste and a tad exhausting over time. Still, he does excel at holding one’s attention even if you’re flummoxed by what you’re seeing. As his political subtext becomes very much the text in the last act, it ends up profound and affecting rather than sanctimonious or preachy. The real conundrum of this silly, fervent work is that while some polish and restraint could make for more consistent, less divisive entertainment, something crucial would be lost. No one else is currently making movies remotely like this and that’s no small feat.
Spent much of the weekend at IFFBoston; reviews to come, but for now, here are some recent brief reviews from other new-ish features originally posted on Letterboxd, roughly in descending order of preference.
Sound of Falling
Still piecing together all of its parallels and connections after a second viewing but can also say this is truly like no other movie I’ve seen. Even the camera roaming through rooms in a house creates a spark of anticipating what could possibly happen next and you still feel a resounding thrill whenever it does.
Pillion
Well, I’d want to push around someone who sings in a barbershop quartet, too. The rare film about going through the process of discovering what you like, both sexually and romantically. Alexander Skarsgaard is well cast as the dom but Henry Melling’s a revelation as the sub.
Sirat
An Arthouse equivalent of a horror or action film “thrill ride” (imagine what William Castle could’ve done with this concept), it gets off on its hallucinatory desert landscapes and nearly relentless EDM score but thankfully, its characters end up more than mere pawns in an apocalyptic scenario.
My Father’s Shadow
A quietly powerful first feature with a great lead performance from Sope Nisiru. While the pacing can be a little sluggish, so many moments linger long after they’ve dissipated and become rather poignant during the turbulent last fifteen minutes.
Father Mother Sister Brother
A solid ensemble does a lot of the heavy lifting in Jarmusch’s return to anthology-style filmmaking although the final third could serve as a nice capstone to the director’s career if this were to end up his last feature.
All That’s Left of You
A multigenerational Palestinian melodrama that profits greatly from its deployment of restraint, strong direction and a solid ensemble cast.
Young Mothers
Like the shelter employees in this film, the Dardennes’ approach is empathetic and optimistic but firm; that their narrative comes off more schematic than natural places this in a lower tier of a filmography with a very high bar.
Pompei: Below The Clouds
Can’t help but think I missed a considerable portion of the intended impact by not seeing this immersive, sometimes lyrical doc in a cinema even though I appreciated the bold visuals and recognized flashes of genius.
A Useful Ghost
Exceedingly strange and perhaps narratively uneven but I’m grading generously due to its overall chutzpah and meticulous, crazy production design.
Hoppers
Not bad for recent Pixar, I guess, but when peak Pixar was willingly weird like this, it was also far more inspired.
Back from a posting hiatus, I spent a lot of that time thinking about what this blog should or could be. I considered switching to a Substack-like newsletter format but concluded that I’d rather not leave behind everything I’ve posted here over the past dozen years (when I began my 100 Albums project on my old blog, then transferred the first thirty or so entries to this one.)
I have no grand design for Haunted Jukebox. Instead of creating another new years-long project akin to 24 Frames, I’m just going to post something, anything weekly (and maybe skip a week once in a while) and see what evolves. There will be movie reviews like last week’s post (and more on the way with IFFBoston kicking off in two days) and the occasional mix/playlist, now with song-by-song commentary.
First up: Out of Phase, which collects some of my favorite new tunes of 2026 so far. Here’s the tracklist:
1. Arctic Monkeys, “Opening Night”: Myself dismissive of them until 2022’s presumptive swan song The Car, they return with the leadoff track from charity album Help2. Is it a coda, or maybe a potential return with those guitars prominent in the mix once again? Either way, Donald Fagen should cover it.
2. Kelsey Lu, “Running To Pain”: Mostly missing-in-action since her 2019 debut album Blood (featuring the airy, soulful, dancefloor-friendly “Poor Fake”), I feared she’d be a one-and-done. Happily, her first single from forthcoming second LP So Help Me God is exactly what I’ve been waiting for these seven years. Between this and its other pre-release track “Portrait of a Lady on Fire”, such a wait could be fully worth it.
3. Lana Del Rey, “White Feather Hawk Tail Deer Hunter”: Still a weirdo and I prefer when she leans into this quality. Hopefully, tempering her Twin Peaks vibes with just a twinge of Kate Bush (or is it Bjork?) will prove as fruitful going forward.
4. Robyn, “Talk To Me”: Also still a weirdo and if it takes her eight years between albums, so be it as the recently released Sexistential is another good one; any artist can employ Max Martin to bring the hooks but it’s Robyn’s personality that allows them to soar.
5. Tori Amos, “Shush”: I have perhaps unrealistic hopes that the upcoming In Times of Dragons will end up one of Amos’ more eccentric later-day efforts based on tracks like this faintly sinister six-minute slow-burn of an opener.
6. Mitski, “Where’s My Phone?”: Having listened to it only twice, I can’t yet tell where Nothing’s About to Happen To Me will end up in the Mitski canon but at least she’s no longer trying to be an alt-pop idol as the music on this resembles Social Distortion (of all things) with a much sweeter vocal (also love the jaunty “uh, uh, ohh’s”.)
7. Beth Orton, “The Ground Above”: A few minutes into this eight-minute title track jam (from a just-announced new album), she unexpectedly shifts into a jazz-incensed vamp over a 90s-style breakbeat, an assurance that nearly thirty years after Trailer Park, she’s still developing and experimenting with her sound.
8. Beabadoobee feat. The Marias, “All I Did Was Dream of You”: I found this merely pleasant the first three or five times I heard it but sometime after that, it suddenly clicked: the chiming guitars, the deliberate tempo no faster than it needs to be, those swooning chord changes; I nearly gave up on her after This Is How Tomorrow Moves and now I’m all in again.
9. Jose Gonzalez, “A Perfect Storm”: Speaking of absorption over time, it was at least a year of repeated spins before his Local Valley became of my favorites of, no shit, this entire decade. So I’m being extra patient with his new Against The Dying of the Light; presently, this spare, hushed opener is the only track sticking but get back to me in a few months (or years.)
10. Kacey Musgraves, “Dry Spell”: Neither as profound as some listeners think nor as banal as she occasionally risks, she might’ve turned into a singles artist following 2018’s Grammy-winning Golden Hour; this exceptionally Calexico-esque track from May’s Middle of Nowhere sounds great on the radio but we’ll see if she’s still capable of more when the album drops.
11. Alexis Taylor & Lola Kirke, “Out of Phase”: Four years since the last Hot Chip album and because vocalist Alexis Taylor couldn’t sound like anyone else if he tried, this duet with Sinners actress Kirke is far more than adequate in that it could’ve easily been a single from the next Hot Chip album, whenever that may occur.
12. GUM, “Celluloid”: More drawn to Pond than Tame Impala where western Australian psych-rock is concerned, this side project from Jay Watson of the former band offers up unpredictable soundscapes that resemble pop songs if you squint hard enough but his vocal resemblance to Mike Hadreas of Perfume Genius is what holds my attention.
13. RAYE, “I Know You’re Hurting”:This Music May Contain Hope. is an extravaganza of Janelle Monae’s The ArchAndroid-sized proportions and may take longer to absorb than the Gonzalez record. Always drawn to artists of insane ambition, I’m psyched to get to know this record well, but the immediate standout (after the glorious hit “Where Is My Husband!”) is this epic ballad where the singer accumulates power that flows rather than drags.
14. The New Pornographers, “Votive”: A.C. Newman and company (if not Dan Bejar) are still cranking’ em out a quarter century after Mass Romantic and while they haven’t produced anything essential since 2014’s Brill Bruisers, at least this gently building raver nearly justifies their continued effort.
15. Emm Gryner, “Touch The Sky”: Written in tribute to Artemis II astronaut (and fellow Canadian) Jeremy Hansen, this standalone single goes Big Power Ballad in a way Gryner has never previously dared but its piano-and-orchestra arrangement, quiet-to-loud dynamics and her ever nuanced vocals keep it firmly on the right side of Celine Dion.
16. Iron & Wine, “Roses”: Later day Sam Beam has been erring on the side of perfectly fine but somewhat forgettable, so as the Beatles-esque chord change late in this song’s chorus snapped me awake, it suggested that Beam is still crafting tunes full of little interesting details few other modern folk rockers often consider.
17. They Might Be Giants, “Wu-Tang”: Their catchiest single in years from what may end up their best album in decades. Given that John and John are now in their seventies, this is no small feat. Modern rock radio might have played the heck out of this thirty-odd years ago, at least more than it did their singles of that time.
18. Rolling Blackouts Coastal Fever, “Sunburned In London”: Speaking of Western Australians, this sextet has always leaned heavily towards The Go-Betweens in their sparkling jangle-pop. Their hero’s return after an extended break is this breezy, hypnotic six-minute travelogue that could’ve fit on any of their previous albums but my god, it sounds so good to have them back doing what they do best.
Someone, someday may produce a definitive film about Russia’s war on Ukraine, perhaps a historical drama or a painstakingly researched expose of the country’s corrupt government. It likely won’t be as visceral or affecting as this five-and-a-half hour documentary from director Julia Loktev (her first feature since 2011’s The Loneliest Planet). As seen from the perspective of a collective of young Russian journalists (most of them women), it spans the six or so months leading up to the invasion and the first ten days of the conflict.
The women profiled here mostly work for TV Rain, an independent Russian television news program. Led by Loktev’s friend, Editor-in-Chief Anna Nemzer, both the program and its journalists get labeled “foreign agents” by the government which also slaps a lengthy disclaimer stating such at the start of each broadcast. Civilians with this designation are subject to mandatory audits of their personal expenses and fines and criminal prosecution for non-compliance; they’re often also referred to as “undesirables”.
Divided into five digestible chapters, the first one provides a sampler of TV Rain’s programming and a behind-the-scenes overview into what goes into making it while facing limitations from the “foreign agent” label. The next two chapters focus more closely on the women themselves, among them Ksyusha, whose fiancé is imprisoned for his political beliefs; Ira, who is often seen with her adopted one-eye French bulldog mix; and Alesya, who has a female partner but is not out to her family. Loktev dutifully captures their skills as journalists in an environment that’s unfriendly to the profession but really excels at depicting them as persons dealing with and concerned by what is happening to their country.
The final two chapters unfold over the days leading up to and following Russia’s invasion of Ukraine. The trust Loktev has already established with her subjects pays off here as we see in near-real time how a country closes itself off from the rest of the world and what effect that has on its civilians. The framing of Loktev’s shots becomes tighter, more painfully intimate, emphasizing the confusion and fear her subjects are experiencing. Although the circumstances are extraordinary, they all remain fully relatable as their counterparts would in any country, making references to Harry Potter (Voldemort ends up a prescient stand-in for Vladimir Putin), gathering together for communal dinners and pondering over their unknowable futures.
The long running time is intimidating but it develops into an asset given how much it encompasses and how quickly the action accumulates near the end. The project ultimately works because Loktev uses what is essentially a humane character-study of a documentary to also detail how an ostensible “democracy” gradually, chillingly devolves into what is unquestionably a totalitarian regime. As the title indicates, although war has driven all of Loktev’s subjects to flee the country for their safety, the story’s not over—a second part subtitled “Exiles” is currently in post-production.
Haunted Jukebox 