The breakout film of Cannes, with a loud purchase by Netflix and an eye towards the Academy Awards, Spanish queer epic La Bola Negra (2026) has a deeply felt connection to the stories of the untold and how that untelling can create the uneasy ground for future generations to live on.
Inspired by the unfinished work of the same name by Federico García Lorca, as well as the play La piedra oscura by co-screenwriter Alberto Conejero, filmmaking duo Javier Calvo and Javier Ambrossi, commonly known as Los Javis, have announced themselves to the wider world with a bold and evocative epic spread across decades in Spain.
In 1932, Carlos (Milo Quifes), at the behest of his father, seeks to gain membership in the city’s exclusive casino but is denied (blackballed) on account of local rumours of him being homosexual. In 1937, listless musician Sebastián (Spanish singer-songwriter Guitarricadelafuente in one of the best performances of the year) is conscripted into the Spanish Civil War by the pro-Franco army, where he meets and falls for a leftist POW. In 2017, Alberto (Carlos Gonzalez), a playwright turned historian, receives an unexpected inheritance from a distant grandfather, causing friction in his already fraught relationship with his mother.
Guitarricadelafuente as Sebastián in La Bola Negra
From the opening images, we see that Los Javis are interested in the great human scale of classic Hollywood, but with the modern digital lens rather than pure nostalgic lens that would’ve been terminal to a film of this kind.
The film is a tragedy of what happens when we deny ourselves; this queer identity triptych is didactic and bold, wearing its desire for acclaim proudly across its shoulders. With an eye towards One Perfect Shot maximalism, the Carlos sequences in particular. La Bola Negra is constantly pressing meaning out of every camera placement and blocking choice. When it is revealed the nature of why these moments are so heightened, the film more naturally locks into place.
Sebastián, in the centre of the film’s timeline, is the beating heart of the film. A mess of emotions and desires, forced into the most rigid of boxes, he discovers a glimpse of a brighter and more expansive Spain upon meeting Rafael Rodríguez Rapún (Miguel Bernardeau). A real life footballer, soldier, and personal companion of Lorca, Rapún blends the timelines together in unexpected ways, pulling beauty, tragedy and melodramatic poetry out of difficult scenes that require a delicate touch.
Sebastián, whose inability to navigate the moment has him retreating to a bathroom windowsill, frantically playing his trumpet to calm himself. The film has supreme confidence in landing these moments of overwhelming emotion, using Guitarricadelafuente’s embodied tumult and heartbreak as a pillar that generations will be built upon.
Guitarricadelafuente Miguel Bernardeau as Sebastián and Rafael Rodríguez Rapún in La Bola Negra
There is a palpable modernity to Alberto that allows the torch-passing cuts from story to story to land with potency. A digital alarm. A Grindr notification. Martin Solveig and Dragonette’s Hello, the directing pair know how to use modern moments to create friction with the past. His search for meaning in the past is more grounded and elliptical than the narratives taking place in the 30s, turning a film that begins with a shout into a more measured narrative speaking volume. This does create an inconsistent tone that, while clearly intentional, lacks the avalanche-like structure Los Javis are striving for.
Weaving these stories of queer men unmoored and uncertain on how to navigate a combative, fascistic Spain across decades with dedication, La Bold Negra flitters between a tactile poetry and uninspired melodrama until finally arriving at a surprisingly emotional and potent final act.
With a second half in need of a jolt, the film offers us an explosive performance by Penélope Cruz. Arriving at the perfect time in the epic, giving Sebastián a true north star with the promise of a future in Madrid.
Where the film discovers transcendence is in its moments of musicality, either through the original song “La Nieve” (“The Snow”) by Guitarricadelafuente, or through composer Raül Refree, who is given key scenes to shine through a combination of modern synths and older instrumentation. The film has an air of deep collaboration and heart from many great Spanish artists, with an eye to telling the stories of Lorca’s unfinished work to a new audience eager to hear it.
“This country has too many love stories buried in the fields”. Operatic in theme and style, La Bola Negra knows how to land its climax with La Nieve, pushing past melodrama to arrive at a moment of poetic, emotional clarity that defines the ambitious goal Los Javis are searching for in their epic. With a groundbreaking performance from multi-hyphenate Guitarricadelafuente, La Bola Negra has a pillar to build an ambitious queer epic we too rarely see in modern cinema. While occasionally dipping into rote melodrama that can feel manicured, Los Javis still achieves moments of emotional reckoning most films only hope to glean, with characters that live long in the minds of its audience.
La Bola Negrais in select theatres from October 15th.
From Cannes favourites to local newcomers making their mark, the Melbourne International Film Festival is a fixture in the Australian cinema calendar, with the 2026 entry in the loaded program having something for everyone. Whether you just want to get the jump on Oscar prediction morning or need to spend the last weeks of a brittle Melbourne winter in packed cinemas, the festival will provide. Below is part two of our resident festival obsessive Darcy’s notebook on what he’s seen and loved this year.
All of a Sudden (2026) – Ryusuke Hamaguchi
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
Rating: 4.5 out of 5.
As a keen Drive My Car (2021) evangelist, Ryusuke Hamaguchi’s newest film, a near 200-minute luxuriation on connection, empathy, and capitalism inside a nursing home in France, was the must-see event of the festival. And it did not disappoint. With a unique pair of performances from Virginie Efira and Tao Okamoto (who shared the best actress award at Cannes) that glue you to the screen for its extended runtime, All of a Sudden has a dramatic and thematic engine you never want to leave. Whether it’s during a walk along the river or a whiteboard-assisted monologue on the cancerous nature of capitalism, Hamaguchi knows what he has in Efira and Okamoto and his characters, moving through a world of care and empathy without falling into saccharine traps that would doom a film of this nature.
But this isn’t just a talky film; it also contains perhaps the best use of natural lighting since Barry Lyndon (1975), particularly in its duration capture of sunrises and sunsets. There is a unique magic to having radical natural light changes within a durational scene, and Hamaguchi and cinematographer Alan Guichaoua build many of their extended sequences around it. Hamaguchi’s films may not be to everyone’s taste, but the observational clarity of storytelling he builds his work around should be required viewing for anyone still open to having their world altered by a work of cinema.
Minotaur (2026) – Andrey Zvyagintsev
⭐⭐⭐⭐
Rating: 4 out of 5.
The weaving of a simmering political turmoil with a pulpy affair plot would be an ill-fitting suit, but with Andrey Zvyagintsev, we immediately feel a cool, meticulous guidance. Coupled with a ruthless consideration by cinematographer Mikhail Krichman to achieve a level of voyeurism that probes without gawking, Zvyagintsev’s film is impressive and engrossing. Even when the film’s gentle simmer reaches boiling point, we are asked to observe and consider its characters rather than place ourselves inside their lives. A reimagining of Claude Chabrol’s 1969 classic The Unfaithful Wife — also made into the erotic thriller Unfaithful in 2002 with Richard Gere and Diane Lane — against the backdrop of the Ukraine war, wealthy local CEO Gleb (Dmitriy Mazurov) suspects his wife Galina (Iris Lebedeva) of hiding an affair. As the pressure mounts to sacrifice 14 workers to the war effort, Gleb’s family and personal turmoil begin to boil over.
The film excels as both high art drama and family melodrama through this melding of the weight of the personal and the existential. The political undertow pulling us to the violence of the sea is constant and powerfully considered, landing in a place of resonance in its final act that manages to echo Burn After Reading (2008) and postwar Soviet cinema. This high-wire act of tonal precision has to be seen to be believed, particularly with an active and engaged crowd.
Nagi Notes (2026) – Koji Fukada
⭐⭐⭐⭐
Rating: 3.5 out of 5.
A gentle, clear-eyed look at human dynamics playing out across the struggling small town of Nagi, Koji Fukada’s probing drama Nagi Notes is deeply fascinated by places and their impact on people, unfolding itself slowly but warmly. 630 kilometres outside Tokyo, Nagi is a small farming town that was forced to sell off most of its land to the government for an army base, creating a transitory aspect to the once stationary place.
The film is centred around a coming and going. The coming: an ex-sister-in-law from the city, Yuri (Shizuka Ishibashi), moves in with sculptor and farmer Yoriko (Takako Matsu), to sit for an art piece. The going: the son of a military family, Keita (Kiyora Fujiwara), tells his friend and crush HarukiIguchi (Kawaguchi Waku) he has to move away in two weeks. The joy of Nagi Notes comes from how Fukada weaves narrative and character dynamics in unexpected ways through this seemingly simple story, so the less said before viewing the better; just know you are in the hands of a caring and inquisitive writer and filmmaker.
Sweet Milk Lake (2026) – Harvey Zielinski
⭐⭐⭐⭐
Rating: 3.5 out of 5.
Harvey Zielinski bursts onto the Australian film scene with a debut to remember. Confidently entering the conversation for best Aussie film of the 2020s, Zielinski writes, directs, and leads Sweet Milk Lake (2026) in dual roles as sibling pair Sam and Jake.
Jake has recently transitioned and is struggling for their place in the city while living under the shadow of his more confident and successful brother Sam. While his brother is wonderfully supportive and offers a job to them, Jake is unsure where they see themselves. On an impulse, Jake travels down to the remote country town of Sweet Milk to see his terminally ill father (Kieran Darcy-Smith), who doesn’t know about their transition. After being mistaken for his brother Sam, Jake decides to stay longer than intended in Sweet Milk. The film is a charming and unique look into wider Australian culture and how gender is performed in different contexts while never losing its narrative drive. Zielinski’s writing is assured and moves with a syncopated rhythm that allows the awkward humour and piercing family drama to arrive and crescendo at unexpected moments, making for a thrilling watch.
Josephine (2026) – Beth de Araújo
⭐⭐⭐⭐
Rating: 4 out of 5.
“In some ways I’ve been writing this since I was eight years old”. A to-the-core film of devastation from the intimate perspective of a child who witnesses a sexual assault and the emotional ripples of that moment. Told from the perspective of Josephine (Mason Reeves), we view the failed attempts at comfort and understanding from the adults surrounding her, particularly her parents, played by Gemma Chan and Channing Tatum.
Beth de Araújo knows in her bones that the only way to tell a story like this is through force. Some may find moments or scenes manipulative or lacking subtlety, but that is to deny the argumentative nature of the filmmaking. This is a film to be shown to all who can see it, not to be watched passively or with any remove. To understand that perspective is to know the power of Josephine.
La Gradiva (2026) – Marine Atlan
⭐⭐⭐⭐
Rating: 4 out of 5.
A worthy winner of MIFF Bright Horizons competition, cinematographer turned writer and director Marine Atlan has crafted what could be a definitional coming-of-age film through its extraordinary blend of modernity and timelessness.
One of the best films of the year, Atlan and her co-cinematographer Pierre Mazoyer have an eye for documentary-like importance even as the scenes flow with the casualness of youth. Following a French school group on a trip to Pompeii on the precipice of their final exam results, Atlan is delicately placing her characters, with their youthful drive and view of eternality in a famous space of stolen time, swallowed by ash. There is depth here I will be mining for years to come, like staring at an ash-encased body, interpreting the life underneath by the surface and shape placed in front of us.
Erupcja (2025) – Pete Ohs
⭐⭐⭐
Rating: 3 out of 5.
A soft wisp of a modern 71-minute Godard riff starring Charli XCX as Bethany, a Londoner visiting Warsaw with her soon-to-be fiancé Rob (Will Madden). Questioned why Bethany wanted to go to Warsaw over somewhere like Paris, she responds, “it’s more romantic”. This is a half-truth, as the answer is Nel (a magnetic Lena Góra), who owns a flower shop in town.
Their connection is tectonic, as the pair will tell you. Each time they encounter one another, a volcano erupts. Like the magnificent and frightening energy of the natural event, Bethany and Nel radically change the environment around their reunions, oftentimes leaving others in the ensuing ash. Filmmaker Pete Ohs was clearly working with fragments of ideas and a loose plot coming into production, allowing the ease of connection between the cast to drive the story like the French New Wave films Erupcja is indebted to. The key cast members all have writing and producing credits here, which is deeply felt scene to scene and allows the film to reach several poignant moments inside its modest framework.
The Only Living Pickpocket in New York (2026) – Noah Segan
⭐⭐⭐
Rating: 3 out of 5.
A charming and thoughtful exploration of aging and legacy shot beautifully across the five boroughs, Noah Segan’s newest film as director longs for a previous golden age of cinema with New York streets operating as its veins. John Turturro excels as Harry, a career pickpocket making do in a world with fewer floating wallets and cash than ever before as he hustles to care for his ailing wife.
Segan’s film is Uncut Gems (2019) in a pair of moccasins, with the stakes never raising the blood pressure too high. An over-the-hill pickpocket moving through the city is a lovely way of weaving through modern life in New York. Harry’s reticence to change tactics to online or credit scams gives him an air of a Lupin-tinged gentleman thief, where even his detective rival, Allen (Giancarlo Esposito) respects him. A delightful film that works best on an older crowd.
The Samurai and the Prisoner (2026) – Kiyoshi Kurosawa
⭐⭐⭐⭐
Rating: 4 out of 5.
Equal parts political war drama and samurai Columbo, horror master Kiyoshi Kurosawa’s adaptation of the 2021 novel The Samurai and the Prisoner (2026) moves to its own rhythms, knowing its audience is hooked to every moment.
Set in 16th-century Japan, samurai lord Murashige Araki (Masahiro Motoki) is locked in his castle as Oda Nobunaga lays siege to his home. The film begins in earnest when rival envoy Kanbei Kuroda (Masaki Suda) is captured by Murashige. The award-winning novel opens with the line “Toss him in the dungeon; do not let anyone see him and do not kill him. Keep him alive until I say otherwise.” In a time of ruthless killing and few prisoners of war, the stage is set for a defensively woven chamber drama that is keen to charm an audience by its movements towards Agatha Christie and other European-style mystery fiction. The pair of performances between Suda and Motoki is gripping and falls easily into Kurosawa’s unique film style that allows long sequences to play out naturally, ratcheting the tension inside a still frame that has made his horror features the best in the genre. Overlaying this perfected style of storytelling over a samurai chamber epic makes The Samurai and the Prisoner a wholly unique and captivating viewing experience.
The Man I Love (2026) – Ira Sachs
⭐⭐⭐⭐
Rating: 3.5 out of 5.
There is a certain surreality that occurs when you’re around a sick person who, after a gruelling treatment process, returns, however fleetingly, to their previous self. An almost religious experience. Screenwriters Ira Sachs and Mauricio Zacharias know this intimately.
Handling the AIDS crisis in 1980s New York with a passion and care for those caught in its crosshairs, and how they choose to respond, Sachs imbues his characters with the dramatic tension of uncertainty and sharp edges, complicating each conversation scene with where we expect it to conclude. Rami Malek and Tom Sturridge have never been better, and with the introduction of Luther Ford to cinema with support from Rebecca Hall and Ebon Moss-Bachrach, Sachs can paint with a wider canvas than his previous couple of films to show the community and isolation of this well-documented era of American history.
