High school fencer Zijie is shocked to learn that his older brother, Zihan, is being released early from prison. Zijie’s mother, who is about to marry a kind, wealthy man named Zhuang, wants to erase or downplay Zihan’s existence. But Zijie remembers his older brother as the one who saved him from drowning and the winner of three national fencing championships. Was Zihan really a psychopath who deliberately killed his opponent, as their mother claims, or was it an accident? If fencing is ‘chess with swords,’ requiring strategic anticipation of the opponent’s moves, the characters in Pierce are players, each moving their own pieces on the board of truth. In her directorial debut, former fencer Nelicia Low captures the dangerous yet beautiful art of fencing in a tale of brotherhood, earning her the Best Director Award at the 2024 Karlovy Vary Film Festival. (CHOI Eun)

Dea Kulumbegashvili is a star of Georgian cinema and a director who makes desperately needed women’s films in the current era. Her debut film, Beginning (2020), features a woman who suffers physical harm, and the director demonstrates in April that this issue is not confined to the psychological trauma of one woman. Both films expose the existential threat that violent sexual relations pose to women. Nina, who is on the verge of losing her job due to a medical accident in the cruel month of April, has a secret. She cannot turn away from women suffering from unwanted pregnancies, and she takes on their burden herself. These women have no rights over their own bodies. The 4:3 aspect ratio reflects the reality of characters trapped by social, religious, and cultural constraints, while the unwavering, static camera supports the intense resolve of both the characters and the director. April, a cruel story of silence crossing through “the Three Goddesses governing childbirth, pretty flowers, and country roads,” is a deeply piercing record of bodies that have been trampled upon. (LEE Yong Cheol)

Director Mohammad Rasoulof was sentenced to eight years in prison by the Iranian government just before completing The Seed of the Sacred Fig and chose to seek asylum during the Cannes Film Festival. While this incident surrounding the director garnered significant attention, the film itself also made a profound impact upon its screening at Cannes. It is not merely a social critique but delves deeply into various angles of complex issues. Set against the backdrop of intense anti-government protests against compulsory hijab, the story follows a father who investigates crimes against religious teachings. As the protests escalate and his two daughters join the movement, the father becomes increasingly oppressive. The mother, who initially supported her husband, grows increasingly concerned with her daughters and gradually sides with them. The family’s conflict reaches a boiling point when the father’s gun goes missing. The film, which exposes the realities of Iranian society, goes beyond criticizing the Iranian government and explores the patriarchal order at the root of tragedy, showing such issues are not unique to Iran but are present in any country, whether in the West or East. (NAM Dong-chul)

Hilarion Zabala, a former master sergeant, is tormented by a strange smell. The diagnosis is phantosmia, i.e. olfactory hallucinations, where he perceives smells that do not actually exist. His doctor attributes this to past trauma and recommends that he confront and recall his dark military service period as a solution. Zabala, willing to take on any task, voluntarily visits a military base and is eventually assigned to a remote island penal colony. However, another horrific reality awaits him there.
From religious bloodshed to human rights abuses against women, the various forms of violence created by humans are still structurally and routinely pervasive. How can justice and salvation be achieved in an age of violence? Can violence used to prevent violence ever be justified? Deep anguish is reflected through the contemplative black-and-white imagery. (BOO Kyunghwan)

Kirill Serebrennikov, director of Leto (2018) and Petrov’s Flu (2021), adapts Emmanuel Carrère’s biographical novel to portray Eduard Limonov, the Russian writer born in 1943 who caused a stir in Russian literature and politics. The film vividly follows Limonov’s turbulent life: from his impoverished existence in Russia during the late 1960s, to his time in New York during the 1970s, to his emergence as a famous writer in Paris in the 1980s, and finally, his return to Moscow where he formed an extremist political party. Serebrennikov recreates New York streets and Siberian prisons in the studio and delves into the writer’s chaotic inner world, evoking the style of Federico Fellini. Through the character of Limonov, brilliantly portrayed by Ben Whishaw, the director reflects on the painful history of Russia, spanning from the communist dictatorship to Putin’s nationalism. (SEO Seunghee)

MA – Cry of Silence is a story about Mi-Thet, an 18-year-old woman. She becomes the head of the household in Myanmar, a country that has gone through a humanitarian crisis following a coup d’état, experiencing the collapse of her community and family. As the military systematically destroys rural villages under the pretext of eliminating resistance forces, young people flock to the cities. Mi-Thet gets a job at a garment factory with others in similar circumstances and leads a life commuting between the dormitory and the factory. Enduring frequent blackouts and the constant sound of gunfire, she suffers from poor meals and demands for overdue rent but persistently continues to send money to her family. In this precarious existence, non-payment of wages becomes a significant crisis in her life. Her colleagues, who are fed up with sexual harassments and unpaid wages, go on strike, but Mi-Thet hesitates to join them. Thus, her youth, which should have been bright, becomes marked by darkness and bitterness. (PARK Sungho)

On Cheung Chau Island, located 10 kilometers south of Hong Kong, A-Cheung and his wife run an old food stall that serves simple fare like dried grilled seafood and beer. The stall has served a loyal customer for over ten years, nicknamed “Plumpy.” Plumpy, a tomboyish regular, shares a close bond with A-Cheung, despite their 40-year age difference. They are a perfect pair, who spend their days drinking beer, smoking, chatting, and playing mahjong. But when it comes to the current state of Hong Kong, which is just a ferry ride away, their views could not be more different. Leisurely pastimes and the intense rhythm of revolution clash in Another Home, which uses the food stall as a stage to observe how the Hong Kong pro-democracy protests and the subsequent pandemic transform their lives. With the mood of a feature film, this documentary offers a portrait of everyday life, capturing the end of better times with striking simplicity. (KANG Sowon)

In the early 20th century, Karoline, desperate to make ends meet while working at a textile factory that produces military supplies, suddenly finds herself out on the streets. Pregnant with an illegitimate child, she wanders through the alleys of Copenhagen, until Dagmar, offering a glimmer of hope, extends a helping hand. With the prospect of placing the child for adoption with a wealthy family, the two grow closer. However, the reality Karoline faces is far more wretched, and the truth about Dagmar is nothing short of horrifying. The Girl with the Needle feels like a strange and brutal fairy tale. In the woods, when a girl is lost and falls under the spell of a witch, what choice does she really have? Can it even be called a ‘choice?’ Throughout the consistently grim, monochromatic atmosphere, Karoline, with her weary expression, is not a girl dreaming of transforming a frog into a prince with a kiss. The girl with the needle clings to life, refusing to let go of her attachment to it, in a desolate attempt to escape the cruel wheel of misfortune. (Karen PARK)

In her first feature-length film following the shorts Romantic Machine (2019) and Coral Love (2022), director Lee So-jeong, who has consistently pushed the boundaries of cinematic imagery, expands her artistic vision to new depths and breadths. The film begins with a voiceover: “One day, a letter arrived with a reel of film. It was from him.” However, the film sent by “him” to “me” is blank, and “I” begin to discover other things within it. The voiceover, calm and precise, overlays images that seem more fitting for a scientist’s lab than an artist’s studio. While the letter from “him” and “my” voiceover invite the audience to imagine a certain fiction, the film rejects a human-centered, linear narrative. Because what captivates Lee So-jeong is the world of matter—cells, fossils, stars—that will persist even when humanity is gone. This film is a challenging cinematic experience where the voiceover sparks inspiration and unknown imagery awakens the senses. (KANG Sowon)

The third feature film by Ishibashi Yuho, who won the Japan Cuts award at the Osaka Asian Film Festival with When Morning Comes, I Feel Empty (2022). The film delicately conveys the memory of first love and the sense of loss, moving back and forth between past and present. Misaki, who has worked in Tokyo for ten years, spends quality time with her family and friends again in her hometown. At an event where classmates gather, she learns that the boy she liked in middle school has died. Unable to forget the memory of their first conversation in the library on a typhoon day, Misaki visits the library again on another typhoon day. Traveling Alone is a film that shows another way to fill the emptiness in one’s heart. While the music they listened to together on an MD player shows the emotional fullness of that time and place, the film only depicts the situation without directly playing the music. There is beauty that can be imagined because it’s empty, and there is love that is poignant because it wasn’t fulfilled. (NAM Dong-chul)

Didi and Amy, working in a massage parlor in Queens, New York, live with other Chinese immigrant women. In this unfamiliar place, they each cope with the responsibilities to their families and their loneliness, struggling to pursue happiness, love, and a sense of normalcy. On New Year’s Day, an overwhelming grief befalls them, and when Amy loses her way in life, it is the Chinese immigrant women who help finding her footing. While the film visualizes the deep-rooted racism, violence, and sexual objectification faced by Asian women in Western society, its more significant focus is on the relationships between these immigrant women—the unexpected solidarity and connections they form through their shared experiences of loss. Set in New York, this film sensitively captures the complex experiences of women in diaspora. (HONG Soin)

Yeong-eun (Kwak Sun-young), a swimming instructor, lives alone with So-hyun, her 7-year-old daughter. So-hyun exhibits increasingly violent tendencies, which are spiraling out of control. 20 years later, new characters emerge: Min (Kwon Yu-ri) and Hae-yeong (Lee Sul), who deal with cases of solitary deaths and live together. They each harbor their own personal hell. In that damp hell, the presence of the mother is ever-present. The strength of Somebody lies in its multiple facets. It skillfully turns our focus into a character-searching game through bold developments, while also consistently posing heavy questions about family and motherhood. In summary, it has a relentless and compelling appeal. (HONG Eunmi)