April O'Neil comes down out of City Hall as the ace reporter and then walks into the Hoyt-Schermerhorn station. That secret, that the Downtown Brooklyn station is subbing in for City Hall, is at the heart of an upcoming film series at BAM.
ROOM FOR DREAMS becomes a living manifesto for utopian optimism, creative courage, and the power of imagination through a multilayered approach where large scale installations, cinematic storytelling, live conversations, and ritual-driven encounters converge.
Ilker Catak's Yellow Letters and Emin Alper's Salvation, two politically outspoken films that examine Turkish president Recep Tayyip Erdogan's autocratic regime, shared the top prizes at this year's Berlinale: the Golden Bear for Catak and Silver for Alper. These striking works share a lot more. Both titles are co-produced by Liman, an indie film company from Turkey.
an Act of Killing-style re-enactment of the 1919 conquest of the Adriatic city of what is now Rijeka by a rag-tag army assembled by the proto-fascist dandy-poet Gabriele D'Annunzio. It was precisely the kind of quirky cinematic gem that the European film awards should be there to champion: a film ignored by the main festivals, about an overlooked but relevant episode in history.
The event draws both locals and migrants returning from the U.S., celebrating the traditional Michoacán cowboy and creating an atmosphere of nostalgia-while serving as a grand reminder of "what it means to be a man" in rural Mexican society. Beneath the rodeo's spectacle lies its subconscious pulse: fleeting touches, knowing glances and secretive hookups in the woods behind the arena.
Artist and filmmaker Viv Li was born and raised in Beijing, but has lived abroad for 15 years-a fact that has inspired several of her films, in which she navigates identity politics and belonging. An alumna of the Sundance Institute and Berlinale Talents, her latest film 'Two Mountains Weighing Down My Chest' is having its world premiere at the 2026 Berlinale, featured in the Panorama Dokumente section.
In the case of the Hungarian filmmaker Béla Tarr, who has died after a long illness, at the age of seventy, I confess that I'd expected-without necessarily hoping for-a faint premonition, perhaps a grim tingle in our collective cinephile sixth sense. Tarr, unique among his European art-film contemporaries, cut an almost oracular figure. The greatest of the nine features he directed,