6 great films you may have missed in 2022

In this story, we follow an American Jewish family’s vulnerable memories from the 1950s and 1960s as they move across the country from New Jersey to Arizona, and then to California. The young protagonist, Sammy Fabelman, discovers his love for the movies and the camera and finds escapism and a sense of control in his movie fantasies. Yet, this utopia would later on shatter and expose him to some of the most brutal truths of growing up, as he comes across unspeakable family secrets and learns about loss and sacrifice.

Even for someone who doesn’t know much about cinema or the history of movie-making, Spielberg's got that gift for storytelling that makes the complicated so easily accessible and the personal, universal. The Fabelmans is an extraordinarily beautiful piece of work that allows you to experience cinematography in its truest form, as well as the wonders it entails.

The film opens with a subtle portrayal of the inseparable bond between 13-year-olds Léo and Rémi, a connection so overwhelmingly beautiful and profound that one scarcely experiences anything quite like it in a lifetime. There is something extraordinary about their friendship, an ambivalent feeling that they have yet to be able to articulate, a kind of innocent intimacy on which adults put labels just so they can make sense of it.

As many other middle-schoolers, Léo and Rémi have just hit that phase in juvenescence where socially constructed prejudice begins to interfere in those young minds. When the other students make fun of the two friends’ closeness, Léo feels threatened. He begins to alienate Rémi while starting new friendships and trying out sports that would make him look perceivably more masculine, causing Rémi great anguish. From there, the story takes a dramatic turn with a catastrophic event that would leave the friendship in ruins.

The cinematography amazingly performed by Frank van den Eeden who also worked on Dhont’s Cannes debut, Girl (2018), gorgeously captures the idyllic northwestern Belgian countryside where the boys race in the gentle, late afternoon sunlight with summer breeze whispering through the blooming flower fields. Closeis a rare piece of coming-of-age artwork that presents the subject of adolescence queerness as at once innocent and cruel.

In 2003, NASA sent two probes to study the surface of Mars. The scientists and engineers had spent years designing and testing these robots, and affectionately named them Spirit and Opportunity. They had a metal head equipped with lenses that looked just like human eyes, mechanical arms that could pick up rocks, and a body made with solar panels to collect heat.

The mission was supposed to last 90 days, but the sister robots didn’t give up until many years later and kept sending back valuable data which significantly contributed to the study of the Red Planet on Earth. These robots became the symbolic creatures who had personalities of their own, and whose human-like intrepidity inspired a new generation of engineers and scientists.

Perhaps rarely heard of among mainstream cinephiles, Hong Sang-soo is one of the most prolific and controversial Korean arthouse filmmakers whose minimalist films are basically a series of spontaneous conversations captured in static shots. His latest work, The Novelist’s Film, revolves around the middle-aged renowned female novelist, Junhee, who reveals her intention, as she converses with old and new acquaintances, to shake things up in her career by making a film.

In the story, we encounter different versions of failed artists. Some give up artistry by choice to pursue a happier life where they no longer need to care about others’ opinions. Some think that giving up is a waste of talent and in turn indicates failure. Should an artist feel obligated to make art when they no longer feel the compulsion to? Who gets to decide if an artist is still an artist when they don’t produce art anymore? The film constantly presents these questions to spectators as we follow Junhee throughout her interesting encounters.

Having farmed and harvested peaches on the same land for generations, the Solé clan is now facing the threat of eviction and watching their land soon turn into a solar farm. The tight-knit agrarian family, led by the ill-tempered man of the house, Quimet, soon realizes that it’s going to be more than just the land that is being taken away.

As the movie progresses, we witness how ordinary lives get caught in an economic shift, and how each family member protests in their own way trying to preserve the one thing that they all call home. Central to Simón’s unique touch on rural neorealism is her use of nonprofessional actors who grew up and lived in the area of Alcarràs, and are deeply attached to the land. The performance is astonishingly subtle, raw, honest and naturally beautiful. Alcarràs is a rare gem that will stay with you long after the credits roll.

Meet Élisabeth, the middle-aged, recently divorced and unemployed woman who is raising two teens by herself, and is now at her lowest, struggling to make ends meet. She finds work at a late-night radio program where listeners call and tell their life stories. There she meets her younger counterpart, the young, unemployed Talulah, whom Élisabeth invites to stay at her home. The lost souls find comfort and warmth in this new family of theirs, and discover a renewed sense of purpose and hope. The story is set against the backdrop of Paris in the 80s, with occasional stock footage and movie clips as a reminder. It is a beautifully orchestrated, charming piece of work that doesn't dwell on narrative cadence but still has that feel-good vibe.