BFI Flare 2026: The Stats

The 40th edition of BFI Flare, the UK’s leading LGBTQIA+ film event, closed on 29th March seeing a continued growth in audiences attending in-person events at the festival’s home, BFI Southbank. The 40th anniversary edition of BFI Flare attracted audiences of 39,405. This included 8,087 attendances for two special anniversary exhibitions and a documentary marking BFI Flare at 40. Over 12 days between 18–29 March, audiences enjoyed 65 features and 63 shorts from 48 countries at screenings at BFI Southbank. The festival hosted 31 World Premieres, 9 International Premieres, 11 European Premieres and 33 UK Premieres.

Over 250 filmmakers and their teams attended with guests including Pamela Adie, Celyn Jones, Callum Scott-Howells, Ruby Stokes, Louis Hynes, Tom Rhys-Harries, Hiroaki Matsuoka, Alex Burunova, Fionn Whitehead, Helen Walsh, Lorne MacFayden, Xiaodan He, A.P. Pickle, Richard Bernstein, Nick Butler, Noah Parker, Liza Weil, Kaden Connors, Douglas Smith, James Lewis, Lexi Powner, Friedel Dausab, Rosana Flamer-Caldera, Isabel Daly, D’Arcy Drollinger, Ethan Fuirst, Julian Lautenbacher, Daniel Ribeiro, Brydie O'Connor, Fabian Suarez, Juan Ramos, Todd Wiener, Ramiel Petros, Nicholas Freeman and Xinyi Cao.

World Premieres presented at the festival include Madfabulous, Celyn Jones’ quirky period drama based on the life of Henry Cyril Paget, the dancing Marquess of Anglesey, starring Callum Scott Howells, Ruby Stokes and Rupert Everett. Directed by Hiroaki Matsuoka, Beyond the Fire: The Life of Japan’s First Pride Parade Pioneer dives deep into Japan’s queer history, highlighting the incredible life of Teishiro Minami who pioneered the country’s first Pride march. Two queer best friends are forced to confront the gradual dissolution of their friendship when they go on an annual hiking trip in Ethan Fuirst’s Can’t Go Over It. 

The awe-inspiring 4K restoration of Pink Narcissus (1971) was also presented in the programme. Directed by James Bidgood, this milestone of experimental cinema and a landmark of queer representation, presenting the erotically charged dreamscape of a young hustler, is a celebration of the male body and has gone on to influence artists such as John Waters, Pierre et Gilles and Charli XCX. Once shrouded in mystery, this canonical work of queer cinema has been restored by UCLA Film & Television Archive. The Flare UK Premiere of the 4K restoration of Pink Narcissus coincided with UK-wide screenings of the film.

Source/images: BFI

BFI Flare: Pillion (Harry Lighton, 2025)

The entirety of BFI Flare’s Best of Year strand will be screened on Sunday, which marks the close of this year’s edition of the festival.  The strand’s title is fairly self-explanatory, and this selection of highlights from the last 12 months includes Harry Lighton’s feature debut Pillion, which arrives at Flare having already enjoyed outings at both the BFI London Film Festival and IFF Rotterdam.  As with every film in this strand—which also includes Dreamers, Baby, and Little Trouble Girls—tickets for Pillion have sold out, but it is always worth checking with the festival box office for any late returns that may become available.

Lighton’s film focuses on meek parking attendant Colin (Harry Melling), a naïve, gentle young man who lives with his parents (Lesley Sharp, Douglas Hodge).  During a pre-Christmas visit to a pub—where Colin and his dad perform as part of a barbershop quartet—Colin meets taciturn biker Ray (Alexander Skarsgård), an encounter that leads to a brief alleyway tryst.  Colin is subsequently ghosted by Ray, but eventually the latter gets in touch and invites Colin over; upon arriving, Colin is somewhat surprised to learn that he’ll be the one making the evening meal, but he is happy to be spending time with Ray, so duly obliges.

Colin’s surprise turns to bewilderment as he is made to stand while he eats the pasta dish he's cooked, while Ray and his dog share the sofa.  From this point on, Colin carries out virtually all of the household chores at Ray’s flat, where he sleeps on the floor next to Ray’s bed.  Ray introduces Colin to the biker subculture, and through this Colin witnesses other couples who also operate around a dominant–submissive dynamic.  Ray remains infuriatingly opaque to both the viewer and Colin, and a tense Sunday lunch at Colin’s parents’ house descends into a furious row as his terminally ill mum objects to Ray’s questionable treatment of her son.

Based on Adam Mars-Jones’ novel Box Hill, Pillion is a well-crafted work that never once feels like a first feature, and it veers away from predictability in a way that belies Lighton’s relative inexperience.  Skarsgård is as magnetic a presence as ever, and Sharp and Hodge lend unsurprisingly solid support, but the real revelation comes in the form of the brave performance by Harry Melling, who came to prominence as the insufferably spoiled Dudley Dursley in the Harry Potter franchise.  Many will find Pillion a difficult watch, but if you make it through to the other side, you can join the debate surrounding this fascinating film.

Darren Arnold

Images: A24

BFI Flare: Mysterious Skin (Gregg Araki, 2004)

More than 20 years on from its screening at International Film Festival Rotterdam, Gregg Araki’s Mysterious Skin returns to the big screen as part of this year’s BFI Flare, where it will be shown on Wednesday in a 4K restoration.  For this incarnation of the film, Araki has used new technology to make several tweaks to the original version, meaning its makeover extends well beyond what one might expect from a standard restoration.  Mysterious Skin is in fact a Dutch–US co-production, with Amsterdam-based Fortissimo Films one of three companies responsible for this haunting adaptation of Scott Heim’s eponymous 1995 novel.

Set in Heim’s home town of Hutchinson, Kansas, Mysterious Skin centres on Neil (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) and Brian (Brady Corbet), two young men leading separate—and quite different—lives.  Yet Neil and Brian are connected in a most unfortunate way: as eight-year-olds, both were abused by their baseball coach (Bill Sage).  While Neil remembers these events in detail, Brian has no memory of the abuse.  Instead, he is convinced that a five-hour gap following a rained-off game can be explained by UFO abduction, and on this basis he seeks out Avalyn (Mary Lynn Rajskub), a woman who also claims to have encountered aliens.

Upon meeting Avalyn, Brian finds many of the answers he’d hoped for, her theories neatly dovetailing with his suspicions.  But when Brian—who regularly experiences nightmares about being abducted—has a dream in which Neil’s face appears, he becomes determined to track down his old teammate.  Neil, meanwhile, has left Kansas for New York—a move inspired by his best friend Wendy (the late Michelle Trachtenberg).  At college, Brian gets to know another of Neil’s close friends, Eric (Jeff Licon), who takes him to visit Neil—who has returned to Hutchinson for Christmas—in the hope that Brian will finally learn the truth.

Although it may well be Araki’s best film, Mysterious Skin is also his least typical work.  Prior to this, he made a series of films—most notably his so-called Teen Apocalypse Trilogy—largely defined by their transgressive, nihilistic nature.  While those movies were all strictly adults-only fare, Mysterious Skin could be said to be his first film for grownups.  It’s a heartbreaking, wonderfully empathetic work, one whose impact has not diminished in the two decades-plus since its original release.  It was, and remains, a tough watch, with Gordon-Levitt and Corbet excelling as two very different—yet equally damaged—victims of abuse.

Darren Arnold

Images: BFI

BFI Flare: Queen of Coal (Agustina Macri, 2025)

Coal mining in Argentina is small and highly concentrated in the Río Turbio basin of southern Patagonia, where a state‑owned company operates the country’s only significant coal mine and associated infrastructure.  The coal extracted there feeds a dedicated power plant project and supplies a minor share of industrial demand, leaving coal with less than 1% of Argentina’s electricity mix.  Although national coal reserves are on the order of hundreds of millions of tonnes, actual production is quite modest; this limited role has placed Río Turbio at the centre of debates about shifting local jobs and development away from coal.

The Patagonian mining industry it at the centre of Agustina Macri's Queen of Coal, which screens on Tuesday as part of this year's BFI Flare.  Macri's film tells the true story of Carla "Carlita" Rodríguez, who made history by becoming the first woman miner in Río Turbio.  Carlita is played by Lux Pascal, the younger sister of The Mandalorian star Pedro Pascal.  Lux actually acted alongside her big brother in Netflix series Narcos, and it is the streaming giant who have overseen the international release of Queen of Coal.  The film is based on the eponymous article by Erika Halvorsen, who co-wrote the brisk screenplay with Mara Pescio.

Queen of Coal follows Carlita as she applies for a job at the mine, which she is eligible for because her ID still lists her as male (women are barred from mining work).  Carlita quickly learns the ropes and soon excels at her job, proving herself to be an indispensable member of the team.  Aside from a few jibes and snide remarks, she is generally accepted by her colleagues.  However, problems arise when the passing of the Gender Identity Law results in her being officially classified as a woman—forcing her reassignment to a mundane clerical role in the mining company's office, where the women are far less tolerant than the miners.

This situation leaves Carlita miserable and unwell, prompting her to take medical leave before deciding to fight for reinstatement in the mine.  Outside of work, she begins a tentative romance with a visiting engineer, played by Spanish actor Paco León, but her relationship with her parents can be described as strained at best.  While the trajectory of the film will surprise no one, Agustina Macri elevates the material beyond a rote biopic, aided by a terrific performance from Lux Pascal.  The wintry, isolated mining locale recalls Mon oncle Antoine, and Macri uses the striking Patagonian landscape to powerful effect.

Darren Arnold

Images: BFI

BFI Flare: Love Letters (Alice Douard, 2025)

In 2021, France passed a major bioethics reform that opened IVF and other medically assisted reproduction to all adult women, including single women and those in same‑sex relationships.  The law also allowed elective egg freezing without a medical reason for women between the ages of 29 and 37.  Fertility treatments continued to be reimbursed by the public health insurance system, and from late 2021 lesbians and single women could start IVF in France instead of travelling to countries like neighbouring Belgium.  The reform also recognised a specific filiation procedure for two mothers in female couples.

These changes to the law are at the heart of Alice Douard’s feature debut, Love Letters (French: Des preuves d’amour), even though it is set in 2014, several years before the landmark ruling came into effect.  The film follows Céline (Ella Rumpf) and Nadia (Monia Chokri), a married couple on the brink of parenthood.  Nadia is six months pregnant (via a donor in Denmark), and as such her role is quite clearly defined.  But it’s not as simple for Céline, who, upon the birth, must begin a long and arduous legal process for which there is little precedent, given that the law allowing same-sex couples to adopt is less than a year old.

In order to legally become the child's mother, Céline must fulfil several requirements, one of which is to provide 15 separate testimonies from a range of close friends and relatives.  These written statements will serve, as suggested by the film’s original title, as proof of love between Céline and the baby.  Céline needs one of these letters to be written by her mother, Marguerite (Noémie Lvovsky), a famous concert pianist with whom she has long had an uneasy relationship.  Meanwhile, as they consider suitable candidates for the statements, the highly-stressed couple are also busy making the necessary arrangements for the birth.

Love Letters—which screens at BFI Flare on Saturday and Sunday—is a wonderfully assured debut feature, and Douard taps into Céline's immense frustrations as she, unlike Nadia, must jump through hoops to prove she’s qualified to be a mother.  Swiss actress Rumpf, previously best known for her starring role in Julia Ducournau’s Raw, gives a deeply nuanced performance, conveying how her character is gradually diminished in the eyes of others to the point of near invisibility.  But viewers who, like Céline, endure the knocks and crushing bureaucracy will ultimately be rewarded with a moment of transcendent beauty.

Darren Arnold

Images: BFI / Tandem

BFI Flare: The Broken R (Ricardo Ruales Eguiguren, 2025)

Ricardo Ruales Eguiguren's documentary The Broken R (Spanish: Rotacismo), which screens on Saturday as part of BFI Flare, was made with the backing of International Documentary Film Festival Amsterdam's Bertha Fund (IBF).  The IBF should not be confused with IFF Rotterdam's Hubert Bals Fund (HBF), even though both schemes serve much the same purpose: to support emerging filmmakers in territories—such as parts of Africa, Asia, Eastern Europe and Latin America—where local film infrastructure is lacking.  Receiving IBF funding precludes a project from benefitting from the HBF's support, and vice versa.

The Broken R is an intimate self-portrait of its Ecuadorian director, who, like his father, was born with Treacher Collins syndrome (TCS).  TCS is a rare genetic condition that affects the development of the bones and soft tissues of the face, often causing underdeveloped cheekbones, a small jaw and chin, downward‑slanting eyes, and abnormalities of the ears, sometimes with cleft palate and dental issues.  It commonly leads to conductive hearing loss, although intelligence is usually normal and life expectancy is typically not reduced.  Diagnosis is based on characteristic facial features, imaging, and sometimes genetic testing.

Treatment is tailored to the individual, which in Ricardo’s case has meant undergoing a number of gruelling surgeries, including complex dental procedures.  The film’s title refers to Ricardo’s longstanding difficulty in pronouncing the “r” sound (the blunter original title translates as “rhotacism”), which led him to avoid using words containing that letter and often resulted in others not catching his name correctly.  Speech therapy eventually resolved this issue for Ricardo, who notes that his father—also called Ricardo—is serenely accepting of life with TCS in a way that contrasts sharply with the filmmaker's outlook.

Which is not to say that TCS has got the better of Ricardo: he graduated from university in Ecuador before heading to Spain to undertake a master’s degree.  He's an honest, engaging narrator, and he is refreshingly open about his own perceived hang‑ups in the face of his parents’ pragmatism.  The Broken R highlights a generational divide, detailing the differing worldviews of Ricardo and his equally likeable father—a man who refuses to overthink life's problems.  Via a mix of film, digital, and VHS, Ricardo Ruales Eguiguren has created a deeply personal work, one whose impact is truly felt in the hours and days after viewing.

Darren Arnold

Images: BFI / Festival Scope

BFI Flare: Mickey & Richard (R.A. White/A.P. Pickle, 2026)

Following last month's outing at International Film Festival Rotterdam—where it screened as one of the titles in Cinema Regained, an IFFR strand that offers new perspectives on film history—Ryan A. White and A.P. Pickle's documentary Mickey & Richard continues its journey on the festival circuit with two screenings at this year's BFI Flare, where it plays on Thursday and Friday as part of the festival's Bodies strand.  Mickey & Richard feels like a continuation of something that began with the same production company's esoteric 2021 film Raw! Uncut! Video!, an IFFR 2025 selection co-directed by White and Alex Clausen.

In Mickey & Richard, White and Pickle turn their attention to Richard Bernstein, who, under the stage name Mickey Squires, became a fixture of the 1980s adult film scene.  Now in his seventies and living a quiet life in the California sun, Bernstein comes across as a thoughtful, affable figure as he reflects on both his heyday in the industry and his wider life.  With seemingly unfettered access to the many films Bernstein starred in, the directors pepper their documentary with countless (and often explicit) clips of Mickey Squires in action, yet it’s always Bernstein’s sincere voiceover that commands the viewer’s attention.

This dissonance makes it hard to reconcile the sensitive older man with the unabashed icon seen in the excerpts.  It’s clear that Bernstein has always yearned for human connection—a trait that seemingly drew him to his chosen career—but has long recognised that physical intimacy doesn’t necessarily equate to emotional closeness.  It is no secret that the adult film industry has produced many casualties throughout its oft-murky history, and while Richard Bernstein—who generally looks back on his career with affection—has emerged with far fewer scars than most, there’s still a wistfulness to the way he reflects on his eventful past.

Given how erudite and engaging the Bernstein of today is, one criticism that might be levelled at White and Pickle’s illuminating film is that it focuses more on the professional than the personal—or rather, that it contains too much Mickey and not enough Richard.  Yet seeing how one informs the other is key to understanding both the film and its subject(s).  While the directors may at times rely a bit too heavily on the wealth of archival material at their disposal, this imbalance is offset by the sheer vitality of Richard’s personality, and the film’s heartfelt coda—centred on his recent major health issues—proves rather moving.

Darren Arnold

Images: BFI

BFI Flare 2026 (18/3/26–29/3/26)

The BFI today announced the dates for the 2026 edition of BFI Flare.  The festival, which screens the best in contemporary LGBTQIA+ cinema from around the globe—in addition to a rich selection of events and archive titles—is celebrating its 40th year and will run from 18th–29th March 2026 at BFI Southbank.  This year’s festival sees the 12th year of #FiveFilmsForFreedom in partnership with the British Council.  This landmark initiative presents five films for free to audiences globally and invites everyone everywhere to show solidarity with LGBT communities in countries where freedom and equal rights are limited.

The 2025 FFFF selections came from Indonesia, New Zealand, the USA/China, and the UK, and the digital campaign attracted over 3 million views.  Since 2015, Five Films For Freedom has showcased 55 films over 132 days, reaching audiences of over 28 million in 220 countries and principalities.  The 2026 Five Films for Freedom shorts will be available to watch for free UK-wide on BFI Player.  Submissions for all film lengths for the 2026 edition of Flare are now open, and will close on Friday 5 December.  Further details will be revealed in the coming months, with the full programme set to be announced in February.

Source: BFI

Images: A24

Summer's Camera (Divine Sung, 2025)

Divine Sung's feature debut Summer's Camera, which had its world premiere at this year's BFI Flare, is a charming coming-of-age tale that examines the themes of first love and grief.  This Korean-set film follows Summer, a teenager who becomes enamoured with Yeonwoo, the standout football player at her high school.  Summer—who has a wonderfully analogue hobby in the form of film photography—is seldom spotted without the camera of the title, which once belonged to her father and houses a roll of film he began before his untimely death.  Quite understandably, Summer can't bring herself to take the final few photographs.

This changes, however, once Yeonwoo quite literally enters the frame, stirring emotions in Summer that inspire her to click the shutter of the Nikon until the film runs out.  Once the photographs are developed, Summer studies both her shots of Yeonwoo and the pictures taken by her dad, and in the latter set she notices a man she doesn't recognise.  It's not exactly the severed ear that kickstarts the events of David Lynch's Blue Velvet, but given that Summer seems unconvinced by the official version of her father's death—it's said he died in a car crash—the stage appears to be set for a mystery in which she will play detective.

Yet Divine Sung proceeds to wrongfoot her audience by having Summer track down the mystery man—who, it transpires, owns a hair salon—in short order, leaving the film to unfold as a character study, one that deftly captures the peculiar combination of joy and awkwardness that is so often a feature of first love.  Sung is aided by a note-perfect performance from Kim Si-a as Summer; hitherto best known for her prominent supporting role in the Netflix film Kill Boksoon, Kim is entirely convincing as the high schooler attempting to reconcile the emotions of a grieving daughter with those of a new girlfriend.

Sung's movie is beautifully shot, with much emphasis on the warm, tactile nature of "real" photography as Summer carefully handles her camera equipment.  The film possesses an oneiric quality that serves to place Summer in a tolerant, gracious society, with this ethereal atmosphere only undercut by the incongruous punk rock songs that bookend the film.  Yet such dissonance reflects both the protagonist's jumble of feelings and the difficulties of navigating those oh-so-tricky teenage years.  Summer's Camera may look controlled and measured, but an undercurrent of divine chaos lies beneath its sweet, stately surface.

Darren Arnold

Images: BFI

Departures (Neil Ely / Lloyd Eyre-Morgan, 2025)

Lloyd Eyre-Morgan and Neil Ely's largely Amsterdam-set Departures, which screened at last month's BFI Flare, is not for the easily offended.  This horribly watchable film presents an unflinching look at toxic behaviour as it follows Benji, played by co-director Eyre-Morgan, who meets the conceited Jake (David Tag) in a departure lounge at Manchester airport.  Both men are heading to Amsterdam, and end up spending a chaotic few days together.  This trip proves to be the first of many, with Benji and Jake nipping off to the Netherlands on a regular basis, where their conduct sees them firmly adhere to the stereotype of Brits abroad.

But, at Jake's behest, contact between the two needs to be limited to these Dutch excursions, and radio silence fills the gaps between the pair's hedonism-filled jaunts.  Benji appears both baffled and rather unhappy with this arrangement, but goes along with it as he cherishes his time with Jake.  We have a pretty fair idea of where this is all heading, as the film opens in medias res with Jake berating Benji at what is quite clearly the terminus of their relationship.  But quite how they got to that point is the question on which Departures hinges, and we witness the frequently unpleasant events that have left Benji so broken.

Despite this grim journey, Ely and Eyre-Morgan's film is by no means without humour.  Yet it is slightly problematic that the controlling, manipulative Jake's almost invariably dreadful behaviour is often masked by comedy, which somewhat dilutes the impact of his deeds.  But weirdly, the film never feels atonal, and it's made with such spirit and energy that it is only upon stepping back that the viewer can see Jake's actions are far from amusing.  Departures is a highly immersive film, one whose raucous demeanour tends to distract from the insidious way in which Jake tightens his grip on the smitten Benji before casting him aside.

As Departures winds towards it conclusion, there are signs of green shoots of recovery for the traumatised Benji in the form of Kieran (Liam Boyle), a man who has recently grappled with his own demons yet cautiously looks to brighter days ahead.  Both Tag and Eyre-Morgan give brave, committed performances—the film really wouldn't work if they didn't go full bore—and they're ably backed by a fine supporting cast, of which Tyler Conti and Kerry Howard, as Benji's friend and Jake's aunt respectively, provide the most eye-catching turns.  As uncomfortable as it is compelling, Departures is a film destined for cult status.

Darren Arnold

Images: BFI

Hot Milk (Rebecca Lenkiewicz, 2025)

Hot Milk, the directorial debut of Ida screenwriter Rebecca Lenkiewicz, is a beguiling adaptation of Deborah Levy's eponymous Booker-shortlisted novel.  Lenkiewicz's film, which premiered at the Berlinale and was selected for last month's BFI Flare, examines the knotty relationship between Sofia (Emma Mackey) and her controlling single mother Rose (Fiona Shaw), who are staying in an apartment in the Spanish coastal city of Almeria.  But despite the sun-dappled locale, this is no holiday: Rose is receiving treatment from a local doctor, Gómez (Vincent Perez), for an undiagnosed condition that confines her to a wheelchair.  

As Sofia seeks some respite from her rather suffocating domestic situation, she encounters—and becomes enamoured with—flighty bohemian Ingrid (Vicky Krieps), yet this dalliance eventually proves as frustrating as the fraught relationship with her mother.  Sofia decides to mix things up by heading to Greece (which is in fact where the entire film was shot) to visit her father (Vangelis Mourikis), who now has a new family and is unable to provide much in the way of the fulfilment she so obviously craves.  In a development that underlines Rose's extremely manipulative nature, Sofia is abruptly recalled from her Greek sojourn.

Clearly, Rose is a very damaged individual, and it's implied that her symptoms are largely psychosomatic.  Yet Shaw's immense, nuanced performance leads us to both pity and scorn this troubled soul, who dismisses the incremental academic progress made by Sofia while simultaneously cherishing it as a means to infantilise her daughter, therefore preventing her from growing up and flying the nest.  For her part, Sofia—whose doctorate is currently on hold, at least partly because of Rose's treatment—alternates between dutifully caring for her mother and barely tolerating her endless, grating requests for suitable drinking water.

Mackey, hitherto best known for the Netflix series Sex Education, responds to the marker laid down by Shaw and delivers a turn to match that of her seasoned co-star, while Luxembourgish actress Krieps is good value in a rare supporting role.  Given that Levy's book is one in which much hinges on Sofia's interior life, translating it to the screen is no easy task.  When reviewing a title from last year's Flare—Orlando, My Political Biography—I wrote about the challenges of adapting such novels; as with that film, the haptic, hypnotic Hot Milk takes a sideways approach to adaptation, and the results are highly impressive.

Darren Arnold

Images: BFI

BFI Flare: I Saw the TV Glow (Jane Schoenbrun, 2024)

Hands-down the finest film of 2024, Jane Schoenbrun's jaw-dropping sophomore feature I Saw the TV Glow is included in BFI Flare's Best of Year strand, where it plays tomorrow alongside Queer, Will & Harper and Power Alley.  Schoenbrun's debut feature, the lo-fi experimental horror We're All Going to the World's Fair, was an unsettling and narratively challenging effort that centred on a sinister online game; while that ambitious, creepypasta-like film heralded the arrival of an exciting new talent, it only hinted at what the filmmaker would achieve with their next feature.  In many ways, We're All Going to the World's Fair feels more like a precursor to Kyle Edward Ball's Skinamarink than it does to I Saw the TV Glow, despite some obvious thematic connections between Schoenbrun's films—which form part of a trilogy that will be capped by the director's debut novel Public Access Afterworld.   

I Saw the TV Glow wears its influences on its sleeve, and the core of the film's DNA can be traced to Richard Kelly's Donnie Darko, the work of David Lynch in general and Twin Peaks in particular, and The Smashing Pumpkins' track "Tonight, Tonight" (and its Méliès-inspired video).  Schoenbrun's film begins, almost in medias res, in the analogue mid-90s, when teenagers Maddy (Brigette Lundy-Paine) and Owen (Justice Smith) bond over young adult TV show The Pink Opaque, which centres on two girls who share a psychic connection they use to fight evil; Owen isn't allowed to stay up to watch the programme when it airs, so Maddy supplies him with grainy VHS tapes of the episodes.  When Maddy suddenly goes missing, presumed dead, the series is cancelled; but she resurfaces eight years later, prompting a confounded Owen to rewatch the frankly terrifying finale of The Pink Opaque.

Looking to explain her disappearance, Maddy takes Owen to a bar called the Double Lunch, a venue that appears in both reality and The Pink Opaque, and as such seems to serve as a nexus between worlds; in an overt reference to Twin Peaks: The Return's Roadhouse and its musical guests, we watch Sloppy Jane perform the mesmerising "Claw Machine" on stage before Maddy embarks on her story.  The detached, dissociative Owen, who once reneged on plans to run away with Maddy, again loses his nerve as she outlines what he needs to do in order to emerge from his torpor, and Maddy subsequently vanishes for good.  Years and decades pass as Owen works at a cinema, then an indoor amusement park, while Maddy and the series seem all but absent from his thoughts—until one rainy, restless night, when he decides to stream The Pink Opaque, which is now quite different from how he remembers it.

In the Buffy the Vampire Slayer-like The Pink Opaque, one of the protagonists, Tara, is played by singer-songwriter Lindsey Jordan, whose band Snail Mail contribute a cover of "Tonight, Tonight" to the film's soundtrack; moreover, Amber Benson, who played Tara Maclay in Buffy, appears here as the mother of one of Owen's schoolmates.  Yet this meta-trivia never proves distracting; somehow, the haunting I Saw the TV Glow manages to be both immersive and self-reflexive, and its beguiling crepuscular world(s) may make the viewer as obsessed with the film as Maddy and Owen are with the unnerving YA show.  This eerie, near-unclassifiable work is no mere pastiche; it's a heartbreaking, highly singular piece of mise en abyme cinema, one that gets under your skin and stays there for days.

Darren Arnold

Images: A24

BFI Flare: Black Fruit (Elisha Smith-Leverock, 2024)

Black Fruit (German: Schwarze Früchte), which screens tomorrow at BFI Flare, is an eight-part series from Germany's ARD1 that centres on two black twentysomethings in Hamburg.  The series dips into themes of friendship, identity and loss as it follows Lalo (played by series creator Lamin Leroy Gibba), an ex-architecture student floundering after the death of his father.  When his relationship with the conceited Tobias (Nick Romeo Reimann) ends, Lalo finds comfort in his best friend Karla (Melodie Simina), who is enjoying a successful and steady career in finance but nonetheless struggles with discrimination in her workplace.

The series gets off to a strong start, but its back half is horribly uneven; the low point comes in the form of the fifth episode, which is when directing duties transfer from Elisha Smith-Leverock to David Uzochukwu.  This part is more or less a chamber piece, one in which the players aren't given much of interest to work with.  With better writing, this stark change of pace might have worked, but instead it highlights how the show thrives when it's out on the streets of Hamburg, capturing the sights and sounds of the city's vibrant nightlife; without such momentum, this turgid episode places the dialogue under a scrutiny it can't bear.

Following this episode, Black Fruit gets moving again, but it never fully recovers from this misstep.  The remaining parts feel very lopsided, focusing on Lalo as Karla is all but sidelined until the series finale, when an engrossing storyline centring on her professional difficulties is hastily wrapped up.  Given that Lamin Leroy Gibba is also the show's head writer, perhaps this shouldn't be too surprising, but it's jarring to find that Karla's story arc is neglected for so long; while flashbacks to Lalo's childhood are both engaging and well-wrought, the adult version of the self-centred protagonist could use a bit less screen time.

The cinematography, courtesy of Claudia Schröder and Malcolm Saidou—as with the directors, they get four episodes apiece—is perhaps the strongest element here, with a range of bright and muted tones reflecting the characters' various moods.  Despite its flaws, Black Fruit retains a messy charm, and its exploration of German society, in which it addresses, inter alia, racism, sexism and homophobia, makes for refreshing viewing.  There's the sense that the team involved—a writers' room was set up to develop the script—will have learned a great deal from the experience; with this in mind, a second season would be no bad thing.

Darren Arnold

Images: BFI

BFI Flare: Heightened Scrutiny (Sam Feder, 2025)

Sam Feder's Heightened Scrutiny, which screens tomorrow and Saturday at BFI Flare, is an urgent exploration of the ongoing fight for transgender rights in the US.  The film follows personable American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) attorney Chase Strangio as he limbers up to argue a landmark case—United States vs. Skrmetti—before the US Supreme Court, challenging Tennessee's ban on gender-affirming healthcare for transgender youth.  Feder engages with the material on both micro and macro levels, outlining the details of Strangio's personal journey while also examining the media spin that influences public opinion.

This ripped-from-the-headlines documentary—it was only in December that Chase Strangio presented his argument to the Supreme Court, with a verdict not due until June—splices together courtroom drama, media analysis and personal accounts as it focuses on the knotty relationship between media coverage and legislation.  Feder identifies a worrying trend of how some respected mainstream media outlets have contributed to a cultural climate that has normalised discriminatory laws; this most compelling aspect of the film highlights the role—and responsibility—of journalism in moulding public perception and discourse.

The film features conversations with a wide range of experts, and these interviewees prove extremely insightful when it comes to illuminating the issues at hand, offering viewers a well-rounded understanding of the many complexities surrounding transgender rights.  Yet, while Heightened Scrutiny is undoubtedly well-meaning, its rather pedestrian presentation somewhat diminishes its impact.  The film's attempt to pack so much into its sub-90-minute running time can occasionally lead to a feeling of information overload, almost as if some much-needed emotional weight has been neglected for the sake of yet another info dump.

That said, the film performs an important function: as the Supreme Court decision on United States vs. Skrmetti nears, Heightened Scrutiny serves as a valuable historical document.  Feder's film raises awareness of transgender rights, and also invites audiences to consider how media narratives (and their consequences) might apply to wider issues.  While the timely Heightened Scrutiny may be a rather perfunctory documentary, one that will frustrate some viewers on account of its necessarily open ending, it remains an essential watch for anyone interested in the current struggle for trans rights in the United States.

Darren Arnold

Images: Festival Scope / Heightened Scrutiny

BFI Flare: Queens of Drama (Alexis Langlois, 2024)

Filmed over the course of five weeks in Brussels, Alexis Langlois' feature debut Queens of Drama is a reflection on the dualistic nature of fame and the often rocky journey artists undergo in their pursuit of success.  This Belgian co-production has already screened at several film festivals, including London and Gent, and it plays at BFI Flare on Wednesday.  Often more odious than melodious, this shrill musical drama follows Mimi Madamour (Louiza Aura) and Billie Kohler (Gio Ventura), two young women who audition for a cutthroat singing reality TV series that bears more than a passing resemblance to The Voice.

Mimi is selected in the competition and goes on to enjoy a glittering pop career, one largely built on anodyne smash hit "Don't Touch", while Billie is rejected by the show but carves out a name for herself in the underground punk scene.  Langlois weaves a star-crossed romance between these contrasting characters, who make a connection (of sorts) during their brief time together on the TV show.  Also looming large in the story is Mylène Farmer-esque pop star Magalie Charmer (Asia Argento), whose stint at the apex of mainstream music serves as a blueprint for Mimi, who seeks to emulate this stalwart performer's success and longevity.

Despite the very different paths taken by Mimi and Billie, they don't lose track of each other, and the film charts the peaks and troughs of their careers and relationship; a song is never too far away as Langlois attempts to prop up a sagging narrative with musical interludes fashioned by the likes of Yelle, Pierre Desprats, and Louise BSX.  Ultimately, Queens of Drama buckles under the weight of its near two-hour running time, which is padded out by highly repetitive sequences, many of which feature onetime Eurovision contestant Bilal Hassani, who gets way too much screen time as tiresome stan Steevyshady.

Hassani commandeers the film's opening scene in a manner that might sink the hearts of many viewers who, like me, wrongly conclude that they'll have to endure 114 minutes of his grating character; mercifully, Steevy soon makes way for the two protagonists, with the role subsequently functioning more or less as that of a Greek chorus.  Queens of Drama isn't all bad—game newcomers Ventura and Aura both deliver brave, committed performances, and the film is nearly always visually interesting, largely on account of its Day-Glo colour palette—but at least half an hour of it should have been left on the cutting room floor.

Darren Arnold

Images: BFI