by Billie Anderson, Staff Writer

January and February are weird times for cinephiles. Nothing substantial is really coming out yet, because god forbid you release a movie too early in the year and are completely forgotten when the Oscars roll around (I’ll avenge you, Challengers). You’ve always got some great B-horror to look forward to, but maybe, in the midst of everything going on in the world, you want something a little more substantial. I’ve got just the list for you! Whether it be movies to add to your watch list for 2025, or quiet 2024 releases that you might have missed, I’ve stacked this list with some heavy hitters, and hope you join me on this silly journey.

Looking ahead: Not yet released

I want to start off by beefing up your 2025 watchlist. These are movies I had the privilege of seeing, and loving, at TIFF, and am patiently waiting for their release so I can force all my friends to enjoy them as well. We’re all excited about Mickey 17, but maybe some of these have gone under the radar and are just up your alley.

Cloud (dir. Kiyoshi Kurosawa)
Release date: Summer 2025

Kiyoshi Kurosawa’s Cloud is a dark, slow-burn thriller that transforms the ruthless world of online reselling into a surreal battleground. Masaki Suda delivers a brilliantly deadpan performance as Yoshii, an internet hustler whose shady schemes spiral into paranoia, absurd violence, and an unexpectedly funny deconstruction of digital-age capitalism.

What begins as a moody character study quickly morphs into an existential action spectacle—imagine a multiplayer-style shootout that feels like Call of Duty reimagined by Samuel Beckett. Every five minutes, the film takes an unpredictable twist; if I had paused it at regular intervals to guess what comes next, I’d have been wrong every single time. I went into Cloud expecting a victory lap on the apocalyptic internet possession vibes of Pulse and some familiar eerie shots of seclusion, but I was genuinely shocked when it transitioned—from a creepy doxxing home invasion sequence—to what can only be described as an anime figurine reseller version of Reservoir Dogs.

This is perhaps one of the strangest, funniest, and most unpredictable swings Kurosawa has ever made. It’s a testament to his formal skill that the goofy revenge action-thriller component not only showcases an astonishing labyrinth of industrial spaces but also serves as a grimly absurd physical manifestation of how our cutthroat, technology-driven economy might look if it were a room full of bitter, resentful people with guns. Kurosawa seems to be daring us to “get out from behind your username, pal—we’re all headed to lonely money mindset hell!”

At its core, Cloud feels like Kurosawa’s take on a screwball comedy wrapped in his signature slow-burn thriller style. It’s eerie, it challenges you to question the morality of your life and work, and its extremely direct conclusion delivers that jarring effect so typical of his films. If you love thrillers that defy expectations and keep you guessing until the very end, Cloud is a must-see. It never fails to remind me just how singular a director Kurosawa is, and I hope more people get the chance to experience his brilliant, off-kilter vision.

Friendship (dir. Andrew Young)
Release date: March 2025

Andrew Young’s Friendship is a riotously funny, painfully awkward exploration of adult loneliness and the desperate, misguided attempts to fill the void. Tim Robinson is in peak form as Craig, a suburban dad whose unbearable neediness and complete lack of self-awareness produce both cringe-inducing and laugh-out-loud moments. When his effortlessly cool new neighbor Austin (Paul Rudd) becomes the object of his obsessive longing for connection, the film careens into a series of increasingly absurd—and deeply relatable—social disasters.

Clocking in at a perfect 90 minutes, Friendship is packed with razor-sharp dialogue and a supporting cast that elevates every scene. Kate Mara, who seems practically born for comedy, and a memorable cameo from Conner O’Malley add delightful layers to the narrative. Even a lowbrow drug trip sequence, arguably the funniest of its kind ever captured on film, I promise I am not exaggerating, perfectly encapsulates the wild, unfiltered essence of male bonding.

While it’s true that the film exhibits a bit of inconsistency that is usually typical of comedians swinging for narrative features, Robinson’s distinctive blend of bizarro, cringe-comic abrasiveness and absurdity prevails, transforming these quirks into a feature that never shies away from seeking out sudden, weird laughs in the most unexpected places. If you’re a fan of Robinson’s Jeff sketch from The Characters, you’re in for a treat.

Friendship is unapologetically experimental—a passion project that dares to push the boundaries of conventional studio comedy. Its relentless energy and raw humor might not be for everyone; some viewers might even leave the theater hating it as much as that one random heckler I encountered. But when the film succeeds, it soars, offering an update to the studio comedy that feels as refreshing as it is overdue, reminiscent in spirit to films like Bridesmaids but with a distinctly modern twist.

In the end, Friendship is a chaotic, laugh-a-minute ride where Paul Rudd’s charm meets Tim Robinson’s unhinged antics, and every absurd moment is a testament to the film’s bold vision. It’s experimental, it’s unpredictable, and it might just be the funniest—and most human—comedy of recent years.

The Shrouds (dir. David Cronenberg)
Release date: April 18

I’ve already written a longer piece about this—which you can check out here—but with the official release date announced, it’s high time I convinced you to see The Shrouds again.

Cronenberg’s latest is a chilling, deeply unsettling meditation on grief, obsession, and that stubborn urge to hold onto the dead. Vincent Cassel turns in what I can only describe as a sexy Cronenberg doppelgänger performance (yes, Cronenberg himself is no slouch in the looks department, but Cassel here is pure yassified Cronenberg) as Karsh, a widower whose mourning takes a disturbingly physical turn. Imagine a high-tech cemetery where you can watch your loved ones decompose in real time—intimate, grotesque, and, dare I say, kind of funny.

But The Shrouds isn’t just about body horror. It’s an unflinching look at how technology warps our relationship with death, blending tenderness with macabre absurdity. There are moments so darkly funny that they almost make you forget you’re contemplating the loss of a loved one—although, this isn’t your typical tearjerker. Cronenberg takes grief to its most uncomfortable extremes, making even Crimes of the Future look like a kids’ movie in comparison. It explores grief in a way I think everyone who has lost someone can relate, but it concretizes feelings that are unspeakable, the experiences of grief that no one wants to share, the self-centredness at losing an emotional connection, sure, but the grief at physically losing someone: their body and the relationship you had with that body.

Now, I know Cronenberg films always stir up a fair share of haters. I’ve been jokingly pitching this one by saying one of the main characters is a Bitmoji and that Guy Pearce shows up dressed like Shrek, delivering a performance that outshines his work in The Brutalist. I say jokingly but neither of those things are untrue. And honestly, the last time I had this much fun in a theater was at Shyamalan’s Trap—if that’s your vibe, you’re in for a treat.

The Shrouds is playing again at TIFF this weekend with Cronenberg in attendance, and I can’t wait to see the reviews roll in. Whether you’ve ever had the bizarre impulse to snap a photo of a deceased loved one at an open-casket visitation or you’re just in the mood for a film that combines high-tech grief with a twist of dark humor, this one’s for you. If you’re ready for a film that’s as awkward and uncanny as it is emotionally devastating, grab your tickets. The Shrouds might just be the most unconventional, off-kilter exploration of loss—and a damn good time you’ll have at the movies.

Can I Get a Witness? (dir. Ann Marie Fleming)
Release date: March 14

It’s hard to describe, but as a Canadian, Canadian films feel SO Canadian to me–this is one of them (though The Shrouds and Universal Language even more so…big year for Canadian film, 2025). Ann Marie Fleming’s Can I Get a Witness? is one of those films that takes a head-scratching, bleak sci-fi premise—mandatory suicide to control population and resources—and flips it into a gentle, heartwarming Canadian coming-of-age romance. It’s as if you expected a dystopian nightmare and instead found yourself on a quirky nature adventure, complete with an endless stream of Zoolander references that pop up more often than you’d imagine at the end of the world.

The movie’s world is delightfully odd: picture a future where running water doesn’t flow until 3pm, yet throw pillows are everywhere. These charming little inconsistencies add a surreal layer to the narrative, even if the film sometimes sidesteps the grittier questions of what we must sacrifice to survive our environmental crisis.

At its core, Can I Get a Witness? is a meditation on death, grief, and the fragility of life, told with surprising beauty and acceptance. The friendship between Khia and Daniel is a standout, with these young actors delivering performances that are as heartfelt as they are memorable—complemented perfectly by Sandra Oh’s unexpected, delightful presence. Joel Oulette truly soars in a role that feels uniquely his, anchoring the film amid its many wild swings. The film skillfully contrasts the wisdom of those who remember a world before the crisis with the fresh, naive perspectives of youth, resulting in moments that are both touching and hilariously absurd.

Visually, the movie is a treat. Its celebration of Canada’s stunning rural landscapes and vibrant natural beauty grounds the story, while the tasteful blend of animation and live-action conveys emotions with the subtlety of a well-placed glance. These cinematic choices elevate the film, making it a feast for the eyes and the heart.

Sure, Can I Get a Witness can be a bit messy at times—rushing from profound existential musings to quirky details without fully unpacking every idea. But that’s part of its charm. It provokes thought while keeping things light and funny, even when it hints at heavy topics like “eugenics for a better world” or the confusions between equality and equity.

Can I Get a Witness is a perfect storm of thought-provoking themes, gentle humor, and stunning visuals—a film that surprises you at every turn. It’s a beautifully chaotic ride that makes you appreciate life’s simple pleasures while leaving you pondering our planet’s future. If you’re in the mood for a film that’s as quirky as it is contemplative, this one comes highly recommended.

Universal Language (dir. Matthew Rankin)
Release date: February 12

“Iranian cinema emerges out of a thousand years of poetry, Winnipeg cinema emerges out of 50 years of infomercials.” - Matthew Rankin, Feb 2 2025

I listed this as one of my favorite films of 2024 when it’s not officially released until this month (notably in the year 2025), but I truly couldn’t skip the opportunity to talk about it. In fact, it made my top 10 films of the year last year, that’s how much I love it. I was given the chance to see it again last night with the creative team there for a Q&A, and I honestly got so much more out of it than the first time.

In this playful and inventive film, Rankin channels the spirit of Iranian New Wave luminaries while simultaneously painting Winnipeg as a quirky, almost magical land that feels like a slice of Iranian suburbia. The story kicks off with two siblings, Nazgol and Hussein, on a mission to retrieve a banknote frozen in ice—an endeavor that’s part homage to classics like Where Is the Friend’s House? and part absurd caper involving a rogue turkey and a stolen pair of glasses. It’s a narrative that’s as whimsical as it is steeped in cinematic tradition.

The film’s visual language is a treat: Rankin’s Winnipeg is meticulously designed, balancing sterile, brutalist backdrops with bursts of vibrant, unexpected details—a Canadian Tim Hortons with an Iranian twist, a medically sterile Kleenex factory, and even a nod to shirin chai culture. The production design is so lovingly curated that every shot feels like a carefully constructed diorama, blending the precise geometry of Iranian aesthetics with the quirky oddities of Winnipeg life. Rankin stated in the Q&A that he found brutalist architecture “silly,” and that rhetoric seeps through the film’s narrative.

Rankin illustrates the joy of leaning into artifice. His candor and passion about remaking his hometown through the lens of his diasporic identity is both touching and amusing. It’s a reminder that beneath all the playful gags, sight jokes (turkeys, throw pillows, and yes, even an overabundance of Tim Hortons references), lies a deeply felt meditation on home, identity, and the bittersweet nature of memory.

Universal Language is a film for anyone who’s ever returned home to find that the place you once knew has changed—or perhaps you’ve changed, or maybe both. At the Q&A, Rankin, answering a question about how this film is being released into a political climate like it is, said that Canada has always been radically gentle. It’s a cinematic love letter to those who straddle two cultures, who find beauty in the imperfect and the absurd. With its blend of gentle humor, radical gentleness, and profound melancholy, this film doesn’t just tickle your funny bone; it also tugs at your heartstrings.

Whether you’re a Winnipegger, an Iranian cinephile, or simply a lover of quirky, culturally rich storytelling, Universal Language is a must-see. It’s a total banger that reminds us all that sometimes, the most radical art comes from embracing our differences and finding humor in the everyday absurdity of life.

Looking back: Quietly released

With an exciting slate of films coming in early 2025, it's also worth highlighting some lesser-known 2024 releases to tide you over until your watchlist gets its due attention. These movies received rave reviews within my small, movie-obsessed circle, and now I'm on a mission to spread the word to a wider audience.

Matt and Mara (dir. Kazik Radwanski)
Streaming on Muni or available via rental

If you loved Past Lives but thought it wasn’t quite Canadian enough—and if you adore watching two characters make all the stupidest decisions—then this film is right up your alley. Director Kazik Radwanski takes his signature slice-of-life style and twists it in a delightfully fresh way by centering the entire narrative on extreme close-ups of two faces instead of just one. And what faces they are!

This movie is built on three unspoken rules: first, when exploring a complicated, quasi-romantic relationship, the characters must never quite say exactly what they mean, perfectly capturing that bittersweet inarticulacy we all know too well; second, the two leads have to be exceptional actors who rely on charisma rather than overt performance—are they acting? Are they just Like That? We’ll never know; and third, they need to be funnier than they are annoying, with a chemistry that exudes a raw, real adult sexiness—none of that over-the-top fantasy stuff. Thankfully, this film adheres to those rules, which is great, because I have just made them up.

Radwanski’s work here feels like a love letter to the messy, imperfect moments that define our relationships—those fleeting flashes of connection that vanish like a page turning in an old book. There’s a wonderful authenticity in how the camera is allowed to simply roll, capturing the unscripted hilarity and heartbreak of everyday life.

Not to mention, there are moments that are just utterly charming, like Deragh Campbell casually drinking water from a sidewalk fountain at Yonge-Dundas Square—a truly courageous moment that perfectly encapsulates the film’s spirit and made it feel Very Canadian. This movie made me think of people I used to know. In a world where characters are constantly undercutting their own intellectual aims with silly, situational humor, this film stands out for its genuine, adult approach to romance and connection. Radwanski, I’m right there with you on this wavelength—your film might just be my movie of the year.

Bird (dir. Andrea Arnold)
Available to stream on Mubi

The film tells the coming-of-age story of Bailey, a young girl grappling with life in a rundown apartment alongside her eccentric family. Her world is turned upside down by her father Bug (played by Keoghan), whose questionable life choices include a sudden engagement that leaves Bailey reeling, and the constant menace of her mother’s abusive boyfriend. Everything shifts when Bailey encounters the enigmatic Bird, played by Franz Rogowski, who becomes both a mystery to unravel and a mirror of the lost childhoods they both share.

Bird is a stunning collision of youth and the hurdles of adulthood, captured with hyper-speed energy that makes every moment crackle with raw emotion and unexpected humor. What truly sets Bird apart is how it not only portrays the lives of today’s teens but also uses that experience to inform its very style of filmmaking. The film’s interstitial video footage, captured by the characters themselves, weaves a deep, playful layer of connectivity—an approach that only someone as imaginative as Andrea Arnold could pull off.

I was not expecting to get emotional watching a shirtless, fully tatted Barry Keoghan sing along to Coldplay’s “Yellow” in a bid to coax hallucinogenic slime from a toad, but here we are. Unbelievably raw yet laced with moments of unexpected tenderness, Bird is an essential entry in the canon of British cinema. It’s vintage Andrea Arnold—gritty, misery-purposed social realism that somehow finds room for surprising spiritual undertones, almost like a live-action adaptation of Hayao Miyazaki’s dreamlike worlds.

In typical Arnold fashion, Bird is as heartfelt as it is off-kilter. Bailey’s journey is peppered with moments that are both laugh-out-loud and heartbreakingly sincere. The film’s narrative is as unpredictable as it is poetic, using the language of art and authenticity to explore themes of loss, resilience, and the bittersweet nature of growing up. Rogowski is at a career high for me here, and that’s saying a lot since I’ve loved everything he’s been in.

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