Tag Archives: Drama

CAPSULE: THE MYSTERIOUS GAZE OF THE FLAMINGO (2025)

La misteriosa mirada del flamenco

366 Weird Movies may earn commissions from purchases made through product links.

DIRECTED BY: Diego Céspedes

FEATURING: Tamara Cortes, Paula Dinamarca, Matías Catalán, Pedro Muñoz, Luis Dubó

PLOT: A family of drag queens raise an orphan girl in the shadow of a mining operation in Chile in 1982, but the miners blame them for a deadly plague they believe is spread by the gay men’s gaze.

Still from The Mysterious Gaze of the Flamingo (2025)

COMMENTS: The setting of Mysterious Gaze of the Flamingo is more than somewhat absurd. A house of cross-dressing men (they call themselves “transvestites,” in the lingo of the period, not “trans” in the modern sense) stands alone at the base of the mountains, at the edge of the village where the miners live. The family within is tolerated by the macho community, although disparaged with slurs. The men avert their gaze, superstitiously believing that the deadly plague spreading through the village is passed through the transvestite’s gaze. The half-dozen occupants of the house raise Lidia, an orphan girl of about 11, with the glamorous Flamingo serving as the girl’s surrogate mother. Other than the prepubescent Lidia and, perhaps, the ambiguously gendered older matron of the clan, Mama Boa (played by trans actress Paula Dinamarca), there are no (cis-)women in the community; even the miner’s children are exclusively male. Perhaps for this reason, the transvestite’s home also serves as the community bordello, with the women putting on evening drag shows and beauty pageants. The more intrigued, or desperate, miners opportunistically sneak into the girls’ rooms to sate their carnal needs. This creates an eternal tension, with the miners tolerating, fearing, and sometimes desiring the transvestites, leading to the ever-present threat of violence—and the girls aren’t afraid to get into a scrap, when their seductive charms fail to get them what they need.

The straight world, therefore, is halfway accommodating, but always harbors a threat. It’s a dynamic that may be familiar to modern gays, although appearing here in exaggerated form. In this fairyland, the transvestites are free to be who they are; but that freedom comes with a price. They are eternal outsiders. True love is hard to find in this desert. Flamingo nurtures her maternal instincts through surrogate motherhood, and Lidia is fiercely loyal to the queer clan, but death—from violence, or disease—always threatens.

The Chilean mountains and desert valleys, reminiscent of the mythical American west, are captured beautifully through Angello Faccini’s excellent cinematography—although the unnecessary use of the 4:3 academy ratio sadly robs us of some of the classic grandeur we might hope for. The film is not quite magical realism per se—nothing actually impossible happens, outside of a dream sequence or two—but it’s of course heavily influenced by the movement. Flamingo is, instead, a slightly dreamlike dramatic fable set in a highly improbable world. It is, perhaps, the world as seen by Lidia, a pre-sexual being who loves the only family she knows, but is on the cusp of learning about the wages of the sinful world.

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

 “Diego Céspedes’ gentle, funny, passionate, and occasionally absurdist debut drama packs an enormous emotional punch… [a key event] gradually nudges the film into surreal symbolic territory.”–Siddhant Adlakha, Variety (contemporaneous)

CAPSULE: FINALLY DAWN (2023)

Finalmente l’alba

366 Weird Movies may earn commissions from purchases made through product links.

Recommended

DIRECTED BY: Saverio Costanzo

FEATURING: Rebecca Antonaci, Lily James, Joe Keery, Willem Dafoe

PLOT: After losing track of her sister during a casting call in 1950s Rome, Mimosa ends up spending a long night with a Hollywood actress and her hangers-on.

Still from Finally Dawn (2023)

COMMENTS: Mimosa’s mother appreciated the actors’ performance in The Sacrifice—the black and white film which opens Finally Dawn—but is annoyed that all the movies these days obsess over war tragedies. Mimosa’s striking sister thought the film lovely; though perhaps not quite so lovely as a studio swain finds the sister. And Mimosa herself? She loves movies, and probably doesn’t love the quiet police official she’s engaged to. She joins her sister at Cinecittà the following day for an extras casting call for a new sword and sandal epic; though not selected (Mimosa’s modesty does her no favors with the film crew), she accidentally meets Josephine Esperanto, a star she greatly admires. When she’s hand-picked by the leading lady for a small cameo, so begins Mimosa’s long night of drinks, drugs, and rumors of a tiger escaped in the Eternal City.

Finally Dawn is slick, with the atmosphere of a period-period-epic. But the general malaise of the grand actors confounds Mimosa, and her lack of fluency in English does her no favors. (This is allayed when an affable bilingual American gallery owner played by a quietly charming Willem Dafoe smooths over the proceedings.) She’s brought to a fine restaurant, whisked to an opulent palazzo party, and otherwise has luxury and intrigue thrust upon her as her various hosts curry favor with this quiet Roman girl who has escaped the jadedness which weighs them down.

Saverio Costanzo’s film unwraps with an easy-awkward charm: easy on the eyes, as these are the beautiful people; awkwardness emerging from the unkindness found amongst those beautiful people, foisted upon an everywoman who is torn between wonderment, confusion, and a desire to just get home. Even with their flaws, the characters are all likable, to one degree or another—although Josephine Esperanto’s shenanigans with her human toy make for at least one uneasy scene—and Rebecca Antonaci’s turn as Mimosa evolves from endearing deer-in-headlights into compelling mistress of her fate. Finally Dawn concludes with a low growl, as Mimosa’s maturation arc lands with a soft, barefoot walk alongside a soft, toothful companion.

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

“…chronicles the dreamlike quality of a night that eventually descends into a nightmare… a surreal vision of coming-in-age via cinema, and James fully sells the movie star mayhem at its center. But it can’t overcome its meandering script and hollow depiction of the era.”–Maureen Lee Lenker, Entertainment Weekly (contemporaneous)

CAPSULE: SPIDER (1991)

Zirneklis

366 Weird Movies may earn commissions from purchases made through product links.

DIRECTED BY: Vasili Mass

FEATURING: Aurelija Anuzhite, , Algirdas Paulavicius

PLOT: A teenage girl who dreams of spiders attracts the attention of a mysterious painter.

COMMENTS: A priest and an artist walk into a bar. . . well, actually they meet in the artist’s studio and drink coffee, but they have a revealing conversation nonetheless. The priest prefers the artist’s early works, painted in the style of the Italian Renaissance. In contrast, his current works appear much darker, inspired by the likes of Hieronymous Bosch and Caravaggio. “It’s a changing world,” the artist says by way of explanation, “and we’re changing with it.” “We’re changing,” the priest corrects him, “and so we change the world.”

Spider opens with a quotation from Sigmund Freud (“Subconscious sexual desires are closely linked to the sense of fear”). This sets it up to be a softcore tale of burgeoning adolescent sexuality, though one with serious art-house vibes (in an early scene, the main character imagines herself entering a Pre-Raphaelite bower where she clutches a bouquet of pink flowers to her heart as trickles of blood seep between her fingers). The film then abruptly cycles through various genres, from a Gothic mystery in a haunted medieval castle to, by the nightmarish finale, a full-blown seventies-style satanic horror. Like its antagonist, it constantly changes form, leaving the viewer wondering just where it will go next.

The plot seems simple enough at first. The priest commissions the artist to paint an Annunciation scene for a homeless shelter. The artist spots teenaged Vita at the church and tells the priest he’ll only take the commission if she’ll model for the Virgin Mary. The priest agrees and says he’ll convince Vita to pose for the painting.

Though ostensibly a wholesome girl, one who chooses to hang out at church rather than in night clubs, vivid dreams and hallucinations of spiders plague Vita’s sleeping and waking moments. Her dreams and reality continue to intersect after her first visit to the artist’s studio. One of the other models tells Vita to beware of the artist since he was once bitten by a spider. He then begins to haunt her dreams, along with other ominous black-robed figures and insects.

Made in Latvia on the cusp of the Soviet Union’s collapse, Spider feels like a time capsule of its era, but also of earlier filmmaking conventions. Scenes of paintings come to life feature actual actors posed on detailed sets in elaborate costumes. The titular spider is a massive puppet with many, partly animated, writhing appendages. The ending includes practical effects worthy of Luigi Cozzi, evoking nostalgia for the days when corpses routinely exploded with glue and Jello. Director Mass is also obsessed with lighting effects; soft focus lens flares and rainbows characterize nearly every shot. The score, too, travels through the decades. The main theme, a pastoral with pan pipes, accompanies Classical, opera, and late ’80s synth stings whenever the suspense ratchets up.

After waking from a nightmare with spider bites on her back, Vita’s mother takes her to a doctor. Upon examination, the bites are gone; the doctor diagnoses auto-hypnotic suggestion and recommends a period of rest in the country. Vita’s mother then sends her to visit her aunt, who lives in a castle on an island. Since the modeling job creates conflict between mother and daughter, the priest decides to call off the commission. He tells the artist Vita will no longer be his model, then leaves his studio before the artist can argue with him. The scene then repeats, and in the second version, the artist informs the priest he will not be dismissing Vita. She now belongs to him, and she will be his, until he finishes the painting.

Meanwhile, Vita happily moves into her aunt’s castle where she’s warned against a mysterious bedroom that’s off-limits. The isolated island community, peopled with various strange characters, provides a verdant setting for more imaginative erotic set-pieces. By this point in the narrative, a critical viewer might fault the director for introducing a series of plot threads without ever tying them up.

A more charitable viewer may assume the director intended to create a tangled web of the plot. The artist tells the priest, “Both evil and good are threads of a spider web. . . untangle it and they’re gone, both good and evil.” Mass complicates the narrative as Spider moves beyond the highly eroticized reveries of a horny teenager. There are shades of Pygmalion and Galatea, and one possible interpretation attributes Vita’s experiences to Stendhal Syndrome. Either way, far from being a merely evil foil to the good priest, the artist comes across as a much more ambiguous character, though in the end, he’s vanquished (or is he?) by the sign of the cross.

The artist’s dialogue centers on themes of surface appearances, control, manipulation, and illusion. He tells Vita appearances are deceptive because they hide the soul, and “the soul is a great mystery.” By the end, Spider suggests the pertinent issue isn’t Vita’s sexual allure. It’s her dreams, the secrets of her soul, which beg the question, in a rapidly changing world, how can you tell the difference between mirage and reality?

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

“…psychedelic and often jaw-dropping Eastern European mash up of Walerian Borowczyk and Alain Robbe-Grillet…”- Nathaniel Thompson, Mondo-Digital

CAPSULE: HARVEST (2024)

366 Weird Movies may earn commissions from purchases made through product links.

DIRECTED BY:

FEATURING: , , Arinzé Kene, Frank Dillane,  Rosy McEwen, Thalissa Teixeira, Neil Leiper

PLOT: Life in a Scottish farming village changes dramatically with the arrival of a new lord.

Still from Harvest (2024)

COMMENTS: In a nameless village in an uncertain time—sometime after the arrival of tobacco, but before the Industrial Revolution has reached rural Scotland—Walter (Caleb Landry Jones) eats bark and sticks his tongue into a knothole on an oak tree. You can’t get much more at one with the land than that.

The village Walter lives in has no name. That changes when a chart-maker comes to map out the area. The natives see cartography as a threat; naming things is the first step to owning them, and the village operates (although somewhat hypocritically) on the principle of communal ownership of the land. Not that these people are noble savages, exactly; they’re as cruel, superstitious, and racist as they are poor. Walter wasn’t born there, but married a native and is now a widower; he is a close confidant of the beneficent landowner Master Kent, also not native born. He is a semi-outsider, caught between worlds, not fully accepted by the villagers but lacking another place to call home. His liminal status turns him into an observer. He befriends the cartographer, but also scolds him for “flattening” the land by mapping it. Walter is also spineless, sensing danger but as unable to stop progress from marching into the literal one-horse town as is the weak-willed Mater Kent. A fire in the Master’s stable foretells evil to come. Then, three outsiders are pilloried—for the crime of being outsiders. Walter is the only one who sympathizes with the trio,  but he is unable to muster the strength or courage to challenge any decision of the powers that be.

Harvest is beautifully shot (sometimes reminiscent of the “harvest” subgenre of European painting) and impressively scored (one peasant threshing song is synced to the rhythm of swinging scythes). But the storytelling is confusing, the dialogue can be stiff, and the feckless protagonists supply little dramatic momentum as the story limps to its inevitable conclusion. The “hallucinatory” element suggested in Harvest‘s promotional materials is vastly oversold; in truth, the strangeness (mostly coming from the slightly alien behavior of the village’s peasants) never rises beyond the occasionally odd. Nor is the movie, as a few have claimed, folk horror (there’s plenty of folk, including some authentic-sounding bagpipe tunes, but no real horror). With this project, director/co-scripter distances herself from her association with the “Greek Weird Wave,” delivering an on-the-nose exploration of the ruthlessness with which capitalism replaced agrarian societies. Weirdophiles may safely skip this one; arthouse fans with a taste for historical, class-conscious narratives might find it worthwhile.

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

” Smatterings of the earthy, the occult, the hallucinatory and the neo-realist never coalesce into a pacy narrative…”–Carmen Paddock, The Skinny (contemporaneous)

CAPSULE: THE ICE TOWER (2025)

La tour de glace

366 Weird Movies may earn commissions from purchases made through product links.

DIRECTED BY: Lucile Hadzihalilovic

FEATURING: Clara Pacini, , August Diehl, Marine Gesbert, Gaspar Noé

PLOT: Jeanne, a fifteen-year-old orphan, leaves her foster home and comes across a film shoot for a dark fairy tale.

Still from The Ice Tower (2025)

COMMENTS: In the realm of the Ice Queen, the snow is vibrant, ethereal—and menacing. Drifts of crystalline flakes reflect muted light as it swirls aimlessly, falling upon and around the Queen, whose dusky gaze is a terrible, beautiful thing to behold. Jeanne beholds this gaze, and is immediately entranced by the fictional queen, as well as the actress who portrays her. Lucile Hadzihalilovic’s new film is as atmospheric as it is contemplative, unfolding Jeanne’s journey toward womanhood with all the portentous flair that cinema can offer.

If one were feeling glib, The Ice Tower could be described as “art- haunted-house”; but perhaps the film is too serious for that. That’s not to say it isn’t permeated by camera magic, on display for the viewer, and for Jeanne, who serendipitously falls into a film studio (almost literally) as the team there attempts to re-bottle lightning caught in a previous adventure featuring the cold, enigmatic Ice Queen. The Queen is played by Cristina, a cold, enigmatic actor interchangeable with her on-screen persona. As troubled as she is beautiful, Cristina relies on her “doctor” to help her through the her quotidian routine of performance, and curb her ambitions for an unreachable perfection. (This perfection, unattained, is the responsibility of the film-within-the-film director, played with graceful frustration by none other than Gaspar Noé.) While Cristina cannot abide flaws, the director lives in the real world—even if he is a magic-maker of cinema—and is quick to recognize that “good enough” is, by definition, good enough.

The Ice Tower is primarily about the bond between Jeanne and Cristina, the former replacing the actress who was cast as the queen’s protégé. By the finish, after all the narrowly framed widescreen shots, scant illumination, and a hauntingly dangerous venture to a remote cliffside, a fissure splits open; Cristina sought a lover, Jeanne sought a mother, and neither ends up contented. The clash between innocence and despondence worms through the gloomy corridors of Hadzihalilovic’s vision, with bright, minute illuminations crowded on all sides by murk. She has conjured a melancholy view from her dark crystal ball—with the sorcery of cinema forcing its light through the umbra.

The Ice Tower is in theaters now. We’ll let you know when it comes to home video.

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

“…a twisted retro fairytale that sits somewhere between Frozen and Mulholland Drive… an Old World children’s tale set in a place that’s both eerily real and utterly weird.”–Jordan Mintzer (festival screening)