FIRE!! 2026

Montréal ma belle (2025)

Joan Chen is a goddess. I’ll always have a soft spot for the actress from her role in the original run of Twin Peaks, as the seductive yet sweetly innocent Josie Packard (she didn’t deserve to end up trapped in a door knob!)

Her ability to play vulnerable yet increasingly, tentatively headstrong is put to good use in Montréal, ma belle, where she stars as a deeply repressed housewife in an immigrant Chinese family living in French Canada.

Cowed by her domineering husband, who restricts her movements, Feng Xia (Chen) hasn’t even fully learned French, despite living in the titular city for 14 years. And she has it in her head that her place is in the kitchen and to serve her husband and children’s needs, neglecting her own.

When we first meet her, she’s using her teenage daughter as a translator at a gynecologist appointment. Where the poor girl has to tell the doctor that her mother’s vaginal area is a bit dry during sex with her father!

Afterwards, her daughter decides she’s no longer doing her mother any such favors, and tells her to just learn French already. So she decides to sign up for a class, despite her husband’s disapproval.

This is the first step in Feng Xia’s liberation, as the class allows her to see the possibility of a different life. Most notably through an openly gay young classmate, who tells her he met his boyfriend on a dating website.

Allowing her hidden desires to emerge for the first time in decades, she signs up to a similar service. And is drawn to the headstrong, beautiful ‘Lisa’ (Charlotte Aubin, a Québécois dead ringer for Betty Gilpin.)

And so begins a slow journey of self-rediscovery, as Feng Xia permits herself to open to the possibility of true love. But the path is fraught with painful obstacles, both internal and external. And the film shows how repression can curdle a person’s soul and leave them mired in self-doubt.

This is a once-in-lifetime role, and Chen navigates it masterfully, palpably transmitting the gradual release of shame and the emergence of inner strength in Feng Xia. Please nominate this underrated and beyond talented actress for an Oscar!

Score: 9/10

La Condition (2025)

The theme of repression leading to inner turmoil also runs through French drama La Condition. The film takes place (almost solely) in a labyrinthine mansion in the Normandy countryside some time after WW1. And which at night, lit by only gas lamps and candles, is very creepy and wouldn’t be out of place in The Others.

These nighttime corridors are prowled by a man who repeatedly insists he’s not a monster. But well, actions speak louder than words.

The well-to-do André de Boisvaillant (Swann Arlaud) maintains a facade of a gentle businessman, firm but fair, during the day. But at night, after his beautiful and poised wife Victoire (Louise Chevillotte) is frigid towards him, he turns his attention to young maid Céleste (Galatéa Bellugi). And decides to vent his pent-up sexual frustration on her.

Céleste doesn’t really have a say in the matter: this is a man who wields absolute power over her and she’s terrified of being fired. So she resigns herself to, essentially, be repeatedly raped.

But it’s not just Céleste who André is abusing. He’s using his “right as a man” to subtly terrorize three generations of women who are trapped in the house; the maids, his wife, and his bed-bound, mute mother Mathilde (Emmanuelle Devos).

One day, Victoire stumbles upon a distraught Céleste and deduces the predictable outcome of André’s actions. But she doesn’t react as you might expect.

She sees the pregnancy as a way of being free of André’s unwanted sexual advances, as she makes arrangements to keep the baby and raise it as their own. On the titular condition that her husband keep his hands off her.

At first, she keeps baby Felix, who can’t be soothed, away from Céleste, telling her he can never know she’s his mother. But one night the girl sneaks into Victoire’s room and takes the baby back to her quarters.

Victoire later discovers the two of them together in bed. But, seeing the baby sleeping soundly in Céleste’s arms, she calmly pulls back the sheets and gets in, putting her arm around the girl.

And so begins not exactly a romance but more of a deep friendship. For the first time, the two women find someone who they can confide, in whispers, their discontent with the patriarchal system that has put them down.

All of the acting in this film is excellent. Bellugi does an exceptional job at conveying the all-consuming fear that runs through Céleste; in the rigid way she walks, the way she holds her head down, her furtive glances in situations where she’s not sure what to do.

Chevillotte, who comes across a bit like Monica Bellucci crossed with Rebecca Hall, says comparatively little in responses to her talkative husband. But you know exactly what she’s thinking from her piercing stares.

And Devos, in an entirely speechless performance, is immensely enjoyable as the wry old lady who communicates solely through chalk writing. And who delights in tormenting her son back.

For most of its runtime the film is unbearably tense and strays into thriller territory, as the women attempt to navigate around the increasingly volatile André. But you get to breathe again in the cathartic, cheer-worthy climax.

Score: 9/10

Spain, Queer Territory

This block of shorts explores the LGBTQ+ experience across different regions of Spain. Well, mostly Navarra, Andalucia, and Catalonia!

We begin with ¿Dónde estás?, the story of two women who start a sweet relationship, only for it to be disrupted years later by uncertain economic forces.

The short is, well, short, but leaves an impact, especially the bittersweet final scene. And Itziar Manero (who gives serious Juno Temple vibes) and Blanca Martínez Rodrigo give lovely performances.

Next up is Abisal, the story of a group of friends who experience visions of their dreams after a tarot reading. The short is gorgeously shot, achieving a woozy, dreamy feel that wouldn’t be out of place in a Sofia Coppola film.

Then there’s Entró con un hacha, a tongue-in-cheek tale of a surprising incident in a village pub. Told Rashomon-style through interviews with residents who have different recollections of the event.

Incredibly, the figure at the center of the incident was a real person, Florencio Pla Meseguer, a true pioneer in the fight against rigid gender roles. And the short is ultimately a joyous celebration of his bravery.

Another highlight is La plaza acuática, which centers around a communal outdoor pool and its visitors. Which happen to include two queer couples (and a lot of cheery, hilarious older ladies!)

One of these grandmas tells the kids the story of a nearby abandoned palace, which is said to be haunted by a mysterious imp who tries to break up any couples who visit it. And there’s supposed to be a wedding taking place there later that day….

Like Abisal, the cinematography captures a dreamy, Sofia Coppola-esque vibe. All the actors give lovely, naturalistic performances, particularly Malena Casado as Coral, a visiting photographer who at first feels out of place. But she finds a warm reception (and even possibly love) among the residents.

Francisco (2025)

The last short in the “Spain, Queer Territory” block I managed to catch is Francisco, which takes place in a football pitch in Sant Adrià de Besòs (where I used to live!)

It tells the story of five sisters who reunite to scatter their father’s ashes on the field (which is illegal in Spain, so they have to wait until the automatic floodlights switch off so no-one will see!)

Another bittersweet tale, the drama in the short comes from the lead character’s conflicted feelings towards her father. But it ultimately triumphs as a heartwarming story of sisterhood.

Fantastic Acting, Crowded Narrative

As always, Colman gives an awards-worthy performance in this film, and is at her best when subtly conveying the conflicting emotions bubbling under the surface of Hannah’s composed exterior. Despite limited screen time, Kate Box also makes a strong impression as her more combative sister Emily.

And, despite the spotty accent, Lithgow brings real gravitas and depth to the larger-than-life title character, alternating between warmth and indifference, defiance and defeat. He’s undoubtedly succesful in painting a complete portrait of a complex man who’s lived many lives.

Final note on the acting: Mason-Hyde seriously impresses as the sensitive, thoughtful, Frances. The actress has a rare quality of stillness while being able to convey a rich inner life.

Closely based on the life of director Sophie Hyde, Jimpa is ultimately an admirably ambitious film that tackles many worthy issues. But, as stated above, it feels like it’s taking on too much.

There’s a subplot where Hannah attempts to cast her movie, which features surprise cameos from rising Australian talents. Including an American Horror Story alum.

There’s a thread where Frances learns about queer history from Jim and his surviving peers. There’s a subplot about Jim’s fight to remain active and relevant amid his ailing health.

There’s Frances’ budding romance with local girl Isa (Zoë Love Smith). And Hannah’s fling with a surprising lover, which brings up a debate on the merits of monogamy vs. polyamory.

All of these threads could be a movie on their own. And so while the film is brilliantly acted and full of beautiful moments and scenes, you’re left a bit overwhelmed by everything going on.

And with the impression that this expansive narrative could have maybe been better served by a six or eight-episode mini-series. Where each thread would have had more time to breathe.

Score: 6/10