Nyatta is not ready to have Jizō take away his big sister Nyāko to Ne-no-kuni, the land of the dead. The kitten grabs his sister's paw, resulting in her soul being ripped in two and leaving Nyāko in a state of limbo. The cats' mother then sends the two off on a mission to buy fried #tofu. Maybe now Nyatta can find a way to put Nyāko's divided soul back together. But first, there's a circus to visit!

ねこぢる草 is based on works by mangaka Nekojiru / ねこぢる (1967—1998) whose trademark crudely drawn #cats caused a ripple in Japan's underground #manga circuit. Nyatta and Nyāko continued their surreal adventures by way of widower Yamano Hajime after Nekojiru's tragic suicide in 1998.

The Hypnotic Eye utilises what's called the movie gimmick. This one doesn't deploy anything hugely spectacular, no Percepto! seat vibrators (The Tingler (1959)) or Witchcraft (1964) witch deflectors or even a trained nurse on standby. There's a balloon. No spoilers here

“And now I am going to demonstrate to you the power of your own mind.”

– Desmond

There are also multiple moments where hypnotist Desmond (handsome future-Revlon-exec Jacques Bergerac) directly addresses you, the (wo)man in the audience. Because you too may laugh at that folly, that gimmick, that parlour trick. But who says it isn't real? Who says you really never went to see a hypnotism show…?

R… ne répond plus is Jean-Pierre and Luc Dardenne's exploring the airwaves. Some is clearly political. Radio Schwarzi Chatz (“Radio Black Cat”) and the feminist witches from Wellenhexe (”[radio] wave witch”) have important messages, unheard of in the mainstream media. Others broadcast in languages on the verge of extinction, so may that tongue survive in a world that – already forty years ago – was rapidly homogenising.

“This is called the comeback of reality.”

And then there are those, they're unnamed, who travel the land and across the borders with walkie-talkies – those too are radios, two-way – using their meandering frequencies to hold on to reality. It's all very elusive, but it's there. Maybe #radio is not dead. We just need to learn how to tune into that Enochian frequency again. It's real after all.

“And now for the benefit of the folks who tuned in late, I should like to say that this is the most traumatic spectacle I have ever had the GOOD fortune to witness.”

– TV announcer

Zbigniew Rybczyński's autobiographical Zupa follows an unnamed couple's faltering monotonous relationship.

Produced by the groundbreaking Se-ma-for Studios in Łódź – you may be familiar with their 1981 Oscar-winning Tango by, again, Rybczyński – the story is told through colourised analogue still #photography and electronic music and sound effects created by PRES's Eugeniusz Rudnik.

– What do you want?

– We just want that horse of yours.

– You want my horse, there's an awful lot of ya. What are you gonna do with just one horse, anyhow?

– Eat it. We're gonna feed off that beast for at least a week.

Like Rome, Cleopatra wasn't built in a day. Joseph L. Mankiewicz's epic studio breaker took six years to make and, despite it being the highest-grossing film of 1963, didn't break even until 1973. Was it a #flop? A classic flop but a flop nevertheless?

“There are never enough hours in the days of a queen, and her nights have too many.”

– Cleopatra

The star – the Queen – Elizabeth Taylor demanded an unprecedented one million dollar fee, 10,3 million in 2023 US dollars. Liz's movie dressing table hold trinkets especially designed by luxury brand Bulgari, blink and you'll miss them. The Pharaoh's lavish costumes, all 65 of them (created by Irene Sharaff who would dress Taylor again as #Cleopatra's counterpart Martha in Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? (1966)), cost almost 195K dollar (ca. 2 million today), and of course those 20 000 extras, shipped from God-knows-where to Hollywood on the Tiber to shoot one scene, had to look like their 2000 year old counterparts, and be fed, and housed.

Is it all bad? Cleopatra is one of those movies that so many – and that includes obsessive cinephiles – will get around to watch. Eventually. All four hours of it. I'm still holding out, but ooh, the spectacle!

The city of Liège in Belgium's Walloon region is grey. The air seems forever stained by the heavy mining that for years made its inhabitants rich and sick. Here lives Rosetta (Émilie Dequenne), a young woman trying to keep herself and her alcoholic mother afloat with measly jobs while saving up enough money so she can, finally, leave the trailer park she's forced to call home.

“Your name is Rosetta. My name is Rosetta. You found a job. I found a job. You've got a friend. I've got a friend. You have a normal life. I have a normal life. You won't fall in a rut. I won't fall in a rut. Good night. Good night.”

– Rosetta

Directors Jean-Pierre and Luc #Dardenne once described this film as a war movie. It's pained, like the voices from the trenches that still scar the Belgian landscape. The camera – Alain Marcoen's – close, as if were following the girl through a rifle's scope. And raw, like the open wounds left behind by the mining companies.