Ahead of the film’s premiere, Kirchnerová spoke with The Upcoming about drawing from her own maternal experiences and youthful memories to shape Caravan. She reflected on the emotional complexity of adolescence, the personal and cultural significance of Italy’s coastline, and her commitment to challenging societal perceptions of disability through film.

Christina Yang

Caravan does not have a release date yet.

Read more reviews from our Cannes Film Festival coverage here.

For further information about the event visit the Cannes Film Festival website here.

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In conversation with The Upcoming, Gorlova, Mozgovyi, and Smith spoke about their collaboration with Ukrainian philosopher and soldier Alexander Kamarov, who coined the term and whose frontline insights lend the film both intellectual depth and emotional gravity. They reflected on documenting the shifting landscape of Ukraine since the 2014 Revolution of Dignity, the ethical and logistical challenges of filming amid conflict, and the power of their collective creative process in shaping a work that confronts war not just as a political event, but as a deeply human experience.

Christina Yang

Militantropos does not have a release date yet.

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For further information about the event, visit the Cannes Film Festival website here.

Ahead of the film’s premiere in the main competition at Cannes, Martone spoke with The Upcoming about collaborating with longtime friend and lead actress Valeria Golino, drawing on his own youth to reconstruct the atmosphere of Rome in 1980, and the nuanced, less-explored perspective on the female prison experience he sought to bring to the screen.

Christina Yang

Fuori does not have a release date yet.

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James Blaine Mooney – known to everyone as JB – is a regular at his local museum. He visits with his family, who occasionally become unwitting mules as he tests the limits of the gallery’s security measures. Confident he has the place figured out, JB recruits fellow drifters to help him steal a roomful of paintings. Only after the fact does the supposed mastermind realise he may not have thought through all the details a successful robbery requires.

Despite Reichardt drawing on more conventional plot arcs than in her previous work, The Mastermind still leans more toward arthouse cinema than the heist classics of the era in which it’s set – whether The Thomas Crown Affair or How to Steal a Million. A near-constant score of jazzy drumbeats is intended to raise the tempo and signal an undercurrent of danger, even as the visuals remain unhurried. Yet because the pressure-filled circumstances merely provide a framework for a fragmentary character study, the film is never quite as engaging or revelatory as it easily had the potential to be. But Reichardt’s focus lies elsewhere, as she paints JB as a man disoriented amid his country’s collective identity crisis.

A number of comparisons have been drawn to O’Connor’s 2023 Cannes stint La Chimera, where he also plays a dishevelled, borderline pathetic character entangled in dubious art dealings. In The Mastermind, however, his performance is even more internalised, with only the subtlest flickers of mischievous humour filtering through. The go-to face for any director recreating the 1970s, Alana Haim plays JB’s wife in similarly austere fashion. Reichardt mainstay John Magaro appears all too briefly, but brings a soothing tenderness to his scenes, as his character is the only one to show JB genuine affection.

In its exploration of an emotionally unmoored individual, The Mastermind marks an impactful new chapter in Reichardt’s cinema. It will resonate with her fans and likely draw in new ones – though anyone misled by the title and expecting adrenaline-packed excitement would do well to temper their expectations.

Selina Sondermann

The Mastermind does not have a release date yet.

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For further information about the event visit the Cannes Film Festival website here.

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Ahead of the film’s premiere, Sehiri spoke with The Upcoming about her intention to highlight the often overlooked migration occurring within the African continent rather than outside it. She also reflected on how her background in documentary influenced her direction of the film, and the unique strengths and authenticity that emerged from casting both professional and non-professional actors.

Christina Yang

Promised Sky does not have a release date yet.

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For further information about the event, visit the Cannes Film Festival website here.

Kirchnerová captures the uneasy shift of adolescence with startling realism. David’s burgeoning sexuality emerges clumsily and, at times, distressingly, while his body becomes suddenly taller, stronger and more difficult to manage. The film does not shy away from this uncomfortable imbalance. Scenes in which Ester struggles to restrain him during episodes are marked by a raw physicality – the old comforts and strategies no longer suffice, and the strain is evident on them both. Her devotion is unwavering, but the way she has cared for him is no longer sustainable.

In many ways, Caravan becomes Ester’s coming-of-age too – or rather, a delayed one. As she and David flee the pity and judgment of old friends and take off in a beaten-up caravan, she begins to consider, perhaps for the first time in years, what she wants beyond motherhood. The unexpected arrival of Zuza (Juliana Brutovska), a fellow Czech hitchhiker with flamingo-pink hair and chaotic charm, gently nudges Ester toward much-needed self-reflection. While Zuza may echo tropes of the manic pixie dream girl, her presence resonates with unexpected sincerity, quietly uplifting both Ester and David.

The road trip format, far from being a narrative constraint, is Caravan’s greatest strength. Kirchnerová embraces its open-endedness with vignettes and detours, giving her characters the space to lead the story. This is not a cohesive journey with tidy arcs, but a mosaic of fleeting, revealing moments. Though this approach occasionally borders on repetition, the film shines where it matters most: in its compassionate perspective, its honest portrayal of difficult realities and its lucid depiction of the evolving bond between a mother and a son who is no longer a child. Ultimately, Caravan stands as a quietly powerful reflection on love, loss and the messy, uncertain journey of growing – both on the road and in life.

Christina Yang

Caravan does not have a release date yet.

Read more reviews from our Cannes Film Festival coverage here.

For further information about the event visit the Cannes Film Festival website here.

Watch the trailer for Caravan here:

Following and improving upon last year’s Drive-Away Dolls, Honey Don’t is another entry in the pulpy lesbian genre trilogy envisioned by creatives Ethan Coen and Tricia Cooke. Honey’s approach to her line of work both serves and subverts the archetype of the private eye, feeding perfectly into the classic exploitation tropes of sex and violence that the film heavily draws from.

Qualley’s established rapport with the screenwriters and director provides a framework far better suited to her comedic strengths than their previous collaboration. Aubrey Plaza – playing a policewoman with an agenda of her own – brings her signature deadpan delivery, a welcome addition to the movie’s offbeat cadence. However, the male characters feel so underdeveloped and misaligned that it must be intentional, seemingly in service of the women’s arcs. The corresponding performances are predictably disappointing. Chris Evans has cultivated his squeaky-clean persona for so long that his character’s carnal obsession and moral corruption feel asserted rather than believable. The result is a pale rendition of his Not Another Teen Movie performance, when he could have gone much darker. Unsalvageable is whatever Charlie Day attempts as a detective; his over-the-top voice acting is utterly dismal and disrupts every scene he’s in.

Honey Don’t is light fare for a gritty mystery-comedy. Its entertaining blend of whodunit intrigue, goofy humour and sleazy titillation is perfectly encapsulated by a trio of enticing female performances. One can only hope the momentum continues upward – and that the trilogy concludes with a true masterpiece.

Selina Sondermann

Honey Don’t! does not have a release date yet.

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Structured around a series of vignettes across different cinematic epochs – from silent-era expressionism to Hong Kong crime noir to 90s realism – Resurrection sees Bi throwing everything at the wall. Some sequences captivate: a mute, obsessive creature with the pallor and gait of Count Orlok skulks through a gorgeously rendered shadow world; a surreal Buddhist art heist culminates in a statue that appears to come to life. 

But then come the “Fantasmers,” the “Big Others,” the agents who enforce the linearity of time — terms that sound like discarded Philip K Dick drafts and are delivered via lengthy intertitles. The more Bi Gan tries to explain his world, the less comprehensible it becomes. Visually, however, the film is never less than exquisite. Bi’s real gift lies in the image – the astonishing set design, the velvety, hyper-composed frames that hover somewhere between cinema and installation art. His dreamscapes have a tactile, painterly precision, and at times, the picture abandons narrative altogether, becoming something closer to video art – a moving gallery of cinema’s ghosts.

Bi Gan’s reverence for cinema runs deep – his cinephilia isn’t just worn as a badge of honour; it’s woven into every frame. But while Resurrection is seductive in its imagery and audacious in its structure, it’s also fragmented, opaque, and so caught up in its own references that it often leaves the viewer behind.

Christina Yang

Resurrection does not have a release date yet.

Read more reviews from our Cannes Film Festival coverage here.

For further information about the event visit the Cannes Film Festival website here.

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The premise is stark and troubling: entertainers are contractually forbidden from engaging in romantic relationships, their personal freedoms curtailed in the name of protecting a fantasy. Fukada and co-writer Shintaro Mitani lay bare the sinister construct of this industry-sanctioned purity, where public performance and private life become indistinguishable. Early scenes depict the girls forced to simulate intimacy, placating obsessive fans in choreographed meet-and-greets that quickly lose their initial shock value. The relentless surveillance and emotional policing, while initially grotesque, soon feel depressingly routine – less an outrage than an accepted, if unconventional, industry norm.

As Mai, the group’s steady centre, Saito excels – whether dancing onstage or conveying pent-up frustration behind closed doors. By contrast, the legal proceedings that frame the second half fall disappointingly flat. Mai’s lawsuit over her relationship with street mime Kei (Yuki Kura) may be rooted in headline-grabbing reality, but on screen it plays out with all the excitement of a procedural checklist. The muted, sterile courtroom interiors only underline this lack of drama. Compared to the torrent of vitriol her bandmate Nanako endured in the court of public opinion after her own illicit romance was exposed, Mai’s formal legal battle feels oddly perfunctory.

Though the narrative includes a darker turn involving an obsessive fan’s violent reaction, Love on Trial consciously avoids psychological unravelling or surreal horror. Unlike Perfect Blue (1997), it opts for naturalism and restraint, even as Mai approaches her emotional breaking point. This measured approach grounds the film, though it may leave viewers expecting a deeper descent into paranoia or madness somewhat underwhelmed. Ultimately, Love on Trial is a well-researched exposé of an exploitative industry – but its real tension lies not in the courtroom, but in the battleground beyond it, where a culture obsessed with control punishes humanity as ruthlessly as it polices performance.

Christina Yang

Love on Trial does not have a release date yet.

Read more reviews from our Cannes Film Festival coverage here.

For further information about the event visit the Cannes Film Festival website here.

Watch the trailer for Love on Trial here:

The story unfolds across two timelines. In the present, four distant cousins gather in Normandy to sort through the remnants of a family home destined for commercial redevelopment. Amid the dust and disrepair, they uncover a mysterious portrait of their ancestor Adèle (Suzanne Lindon) – and with it, the first brushstrokes of their shared history. Yet it’s the descent into the past – 1895, to be precise – where its heart truly lies.

In this earlier strand, Klapisch strikes a far more lyrical note. Adèle, fleeing her provincial life in search of a mother long vanished into the Paris demi-monde, crosses paths with two young artists, Lucien and Anatole. Their dreams are vast and their pockets empty, yet they radiate a bohemian optimism that feels strikingly timeless. Klapisch is at his sharpest when exploring the idea of the city as muse – a site of seductive ambition that can just as easily nurture as devour. And while Lucien and Anatole’s near-instant artistic success may strain credibility, it serves the film’s broader thesis: that the city reflects back the dreams projected onto it. Adèle’s modelling aspirations – shadowed by her mother’s similarly ill-fated pursuits decades earlier – hover somewhere between the hopeful and the haunting. It’s a fable that echoes modern cautionary tales like The Neon Demon (2016) or Ladytron’s Seventeen.

Unfortunately, the present-day cousins are similarly clichéd, but lack any of the romanticism – often veering into caricature. The budding romance between careerist Céline (Julia Piaton) and Guy (Vincent Macaigne), a beekeeper who appreciates the little things in life, feels lifted straight from a Hallmark movie. The remaining cousins fare no better: Seb (Abraham Wapler), a content creator caught between his vapid influencer girlfriend and an aspiring singer played by French musician Pomme; and Abdel, a retired French teacher who leaves only a faint impression in the final scene.

Still, for all its unevenness, Colours of Time unfolds with a certain charm. It’s a film about what we inherit – not just objects, but places, dreams and ghosts – and how memory blurs into myth with each passing generation.

Christina Yang

Colours of Time does not have a release date yet.

Read more reviews from our Cannes Film Festival coverage here.

For further information about the event visit the Cannes Film Festival website here.

Watch the trailer for Colours of Time here: