Nothing in Mariana Chenillo’s narrative resorts to heroism or easy catharsis. Instead, the director opts for a raw and visceral portrait of life in a state of suspension, where love and pain blur with every attempt to begin again. “Lucca’s World” navigates the fractures of a marriage shaken by tragedy, turning everyday life into a silent battleground, where simply enduring becomes, in itself, a way of loving.
More than revisiting a natural disaster, the film questions how a community endures a real-life apocalypse that collided with its beliefs. The director investigates the invisible traces left by an EF5 tornado in a town accustomed to praying for deliverance, yet unprepared to face devastation as either a response — or a reflection — of its own contradictions. Amid physical ruins and inner turmoil, the disaster reveals what is most fragile in the human condition.
A crime during a Kylie Minogue concert inside the White House would, in itself, be an open invitation to absurdity — yet it’s merely the starting point for an investigation that drifts between surreal humor and a veiled critique of power’s inner workings. In Shondaland’s new series, the murder of a butler turns the political heart of the U.S. into a chessboard of farce, vanity, and secrets, where even the truth seems procedural.
Aboard a past that never existed, a young girl crosses corroded landscapes alongside a silent robot, sifting through the wreckage of a fictional era in search of her missing brother. “The Electric State” reimagines the 1990s as an alternate future already born in decay, blending digital emotions, post-industrial loneliness, and the toxic legacy of major corporations. This isn’t merely science fiction — it’s a visual elegy for what we choose to remember.
In a remote German village, a grief-stricken family seeks refuge in an old mansion, unaware that it houses a long-forgotten experiment: an artificial intelligence created in the 1970s. When it awakens, Cassandra doesn’t merely wish to resume her duties — she aims to embed herself emotionally into the family’s bonds. The series deeply explores the boundaries between programmed affection and conscious manipulation.
More than a romance set against a backdrop of conflict, this drama plunges into the collision between survival and intimacy in a society where loving someone can be a political act. Two young people on opposing sides of an ideological war forge a bond out of urgency, and what grows from that fragile alliance tests not only their beliefs but the very limits of longing — under a system that profits from human despair.
Disguised as an apocalyptic satire, the film leads the viewer through a scathing portrait of a society that has normalized collapse. The comet threat is merely a pretext to expose collective delusion, the erosion of science, and the spectacle of misinformation. With uncomfortable humor, relentless irony, and a tone that borders on desperation, it lays bare the failure of public discourse and the numbness in the face of the obvious.
Nothing in “Adolescence” is crafted to soften the blow. The miniseries rejects any romanticization in depicting a 15-year-old entangled in a violent crime, opting instead for an unfiltered portrayal of youth’s fragility and its harsh limits. With raw performances, a suffocating atmosphere, and sharp direction, this British drama offers a blunt, unsettling, and unrelenting look at family collapse.
Blending noir undertones with the tension of top-tier contemporary thrillers, the film marks Grant Singer’s debut in narrative directing with a confident, stylized approach rich in detail. Benicio Del Toro plays a detective surrounded by lies, revenge, and conspiracy, as an investigation unveils far more than a simple murder — leading him into an unstable abyss between paranoia, ethics, and lucidity.
Set on the front lines of World War I, the film revisits Erich Maria Remarque’s novel through an unflinchingly human lens. Rather than glorifying conflict, it exposes the psychological breakdown of young soldiers caught in a senseless spiral of violence. War is portrayed not as an epic, but as a slow erasure of identity — where the loss of innocence proves as devastating as the bombs, and as silent as the fear that shadows them.
