There’s no simple escapism here; it’s time to get deep with these ten great, thought-provoking films that may have flown under your radar…
It’s time to get deep. The beauty of cinema is just how eclectic and wide-ranging your choice of viewing is. You want simple escapism, you’re covered. You want gruelling depictions of war, that’s covered too. Twisting narratives filled with complex ideas? Yeah, Chris Nolan definitely has you covered.
Sometimes a film likes to go deep, though, often taking simple narratives and focusing on a deeper character journey. They can scrape the surface of wider topics or themes (like class, society, masculinity, sexuality), woven beneath the story.
Deep, cerebral films don’t inherently have to be heady genre pieces either, but these films greet the audience and remain just out of arm’s reach, asking that the viewer actively participate in mulling some deeper questions or dissecting the complicated psychology of the protagonist, or the world in which the protagonist exists. It’s thought-provoking cinema that compels you to ponder and lures you to revisit.
There have been many iconic examples, like 2001: A Space Odyssey raising questions about the nature of existence and the next evolutionary steps, or more recently Parasite, which weaved a twisty narrative, but filled the film with subtext, particularly focused on class dynamics in Korea. However, as these films aren’t often inherently box office friendly, it’s fair to say many exceptional works slip under the radar. Here are ten deep films you probably haven’t seen…
Nostalghia
Perhaps the master of raising deeper questions over narrative formula was Andrei Tarkovsky. The Russian maestro’s films are typified with a wilfully slow pace to effectively separate the wheat from the chaff as far as viewers. His films are built on being emotional experiences, which require the audience to succumb to his approach to emphasising time. If you do, you’re generally consumed by the earthiness and films that drip with dankness, are thick with dust and the sound of wind through trees.
The settings tend to live and breathe, and in steps a protagonist who is usually in some existential and/or deep philosophical quandary. Tarkovsky covers religion a lot in his work, too. One of his least appreciated works, Nostalghia, also marked his first step outside of Russia after effectively being exiled. The Italian production sees a Russian Poet journey to Italy to research an 18th-century composer, but encounters a raving societal outlier. Both men are at a crossroads philosophically, with wildly diverging paths, and both have a nostalgic longing for times gone.
Like most of Tarkovsky’s work, he’s elusive, but evocative. No one captures dreams quite like him, either. It’s, of course, stunningly shot with a swathe of long and enthralling takes, and it’s also very prescient in some of the existential questions raised by the main characters.
Moving
Shinji Somai had some degree of success in Japan, and Moving in particular was a major moment for his international appeal. Focused on a 13-year-old girl, whose parents are going through a divorce, it deals with relatable issues that transcend language.
Somai’s film is beautifully shot and meticulously blocked. The way he captures intimate moments and subtleties between the (initially) silently resentful parents and their daughter, who just wants the status quo, is masterful.
Likewise, his film isn’t merely a well-observed look into coming of age with a fractured family dynamic; it takes a deeper look into social attitudes toward divorce and the difficulty in dealing with young kids who act out as a consequence of the broken home. All the while, he drifts the film seamlessly into dazzling flights of magical realism. Tomoko Tabata, as the youngster Renko, is incredible.
Secret Sunshine
For Western audiences, Lee Chang-dong is probably best known for his recent masterpiece Burning, a slow-burning burning brooding (kind of) thriller that’s more focused on the perspective of an unreliable protagonist than the intricacies of solving potential murder.
He also had some well-travelled success with films like Oasis and Secret Sunshine. The latter, starring Jeon Do-yeon and Song Kang-ho (best known outside Korea, for Parasite), really dives into the nature of the most crippling grief and religion as a crutch. A recently widowed woman and her young son move to her husband’s old town to start anew.
A twist in the midpoint takes the film into darker territory and a new stage of grief, and in religion, Shin-Ae (Do-yeon) hopes to find solace and a communal embrace and a higher answer to her questions. After feeling rejected and punished by God, she rebels in wilful (criminal and amoral) defiance against him . Do-yeon captures anguish with such rawness, it’s difficult to watch, and Chang-dong retains an observant and enthralling gaze. It’s a masterpiece.
Harvest
Something recent that may have escaped attention to those not subscribed to Mubi is Harvest, an intermittently dreamy psychological folk drama that perhaps suffered from marketing that suggested it may be more horror-centric than it actually was.
It’s set in a pre-industrial village in the middle of nowhere, which is slowly affected by the outside world. Caleb Landry-Jones headlines and is typically enigmatic as the best friend of the village’s proxy leader (Harry Melling). The village is built on old traditions and communal work, with fierce distrust of outsiders.
Though Athina Rachel Tasangari retains amiguity by never nailing a time or place, it’s imbued with several periods and cultures, but the overriding theme of progression (in its often ugly glory) that threatens traditionalism is interesting. Very much a love it or hate it kind of film.
Marie’s Song
Sitting on IMDb with only a handful of votes, Marie’s Song is the very definition of a forgotten film. Sylvia Testud stars, and she’s certainly attained attention over the years for her other work. She’s won two Cesar awards (the French Oscars) and been nominated a further three times (including for a role in La Vie En Rose).
Testud plays a young girl blossoming to womanhood, living with her Countess mother on the periphery, blissfully ignorant of the toils of war not a million miles away. When travelling soldiers pass through, suddenly those harsh realities become apparent as Marie connects with a young man and the stately home is aggressively taken over by the travellers.
It’s visually beautiful, and Testud is such a quiet and interesting presence as the naive young woman, coming of age. It rests on sparse and minimal dialogue, a great example of show, not tell. The dichotomy between social standings (with a Countess, who isn’t exactly affluent) and the disconnect with the realities of wars (which are politically motivated by the upper classes but carried out by the underclasses) is subtly observed.
Maborosi
Another beautifully observed look at the nature of grief. If Chang-dong took a melodramatic approach to showcasing the inner turmoil in outward explosions of sorrow, then Hirokazu Kore-eda takes the opposite approach, keeping that grief painfully internalised.
Likewise, both films observe the societal attitudes toward widowed spouses and split families (either by choice or the result of tragic death). Kore-eda has always captured human complexity and emotional trauma beautifully and with more subtlety than anyone. Maborosi sees a widowed mother (whose partner committed suicide, leaving her with a young baby) a few years later, having moved on with a new partner (who has a child too).
It’s a new family unit being created, something not too common in Japan at the time (or even now). Inevitably, though, trauma left unresolved will inevitably reappear, and that’s the case with Yumiko (Makiko Esumi) whose new life is marked with drifts into crippling depression, with her left not understanding why her former husband took his own life. Kore-eda’s first feature is also perhaps his most beautifully shot.
How to Have Sex
Molly Manning-Walker’s gritty and grounded film takes a naturalistic approach to Gen Z relationships, with dialogue that feels improvisationally authentic. Initially, the young women are a cacophony of noise, screaming, and excitable hyperactivity (almost to the point of annoyance) as they dive headfirst into a first party island holiday. It’s a rite of passage for working-class kids from the estate, who are weak against peer pressure.
As the film progresses, we start to chip through the dynamic and 100 mph hedonism and get to know the characters (particularly Tara), and their insecurities at a crossroads stage of life. Then there’s one of the all too frequent consequences of binge drinking, clubbing and partying and the pressure to be sexually active. For Tara, this means a first encounter where she’s left questioning consent and the normality (or not) of what transpired.
By the time it becomes apparent it wasn’t consensual, the damage is long done (and repeated), and Walker’s film beautifully highlights what young people, particularly girls, have to face, with depressing regularity. Mia McKenna-Bruce gives a magnificent and quietly heartbreaking performance.
The Juniper Tree
This ambiguous arthouse folk fantasy (based on the old Grimm fairy tale) from Iceland stars a young Björk, who flees with her older sister after their mother is killed for practising witchcraft. It’s a classic Nordic folk tale that has a lot of underlying subtext (as with many Grimm tales) and is fleshed out further here.
It looks great, exquisitely shot in black and white and subject to recent restorations that have given a once rarely seen (outside of Iceland) film, a new lease of life.
Fairy tales can often allow layers thanks to playful use of allegory and add more depth to the film, and the film explores attitudes toward women, witchcraft, familial legacy and sexuality. It’s very Bergman-esque, and in her all too irregular acting career, Björk is excellent.
Only the River Flows
Touching upon rural police procedural approach in a land increasingly focusing on the new urban sprawls, this is a cop who becomes an outlier, left to try and solve a case. This becomes less about the careful procedure involved in uncovering the truth behind a murder case and more a reflective journey about our protagonist, struggling with his home life.
Director Wei Shujan breaks out a hearty dose of magical realism and conjures a great visual mix between earthy grit and greys, captured in 16mm, to fever dreams injected with a little added colour. At the centre, Zhu Yilong offers the kind of quiet magnetic nuance one would expect from Tony Leung.
Perfect Days
Wim Wenders is no stranger to films layered like a deep-filled lasagne. Paris, Texas is a masterwork with an incredibly complex duo of characters. Step forward to his most recent film, and something of a triumphant return to his very best, in Perfect Days.
It’s all about Joie de vivre, but it goes deeper than that. Hirayama (Koji Yakusho) lives a simple and unspectacular life, finding the joy in his routines, his job (as a toilet cleaner), music and his passing encounters (including with a female bar owner he fancies). Life is to be enjoyed and lived to the fullest, and it’s a message every life coach seems to batter out with regularity on socials.
Yet beneath his happiness, Hirayama is largely alone and rarely does an encounter break him from his formula. He’s also estranged from family, and it’s something he starts to feel. Still, he remains largely balanced, but even the most optimistic man with simple pleasures feels an inescapable longing. Yakusho is exceptional; his performance says so much with very minimal dialogue.
What’s your favourite deep film? Let us know on our social channels @FlickeringMyth…
Tom Jolliffe
