Drama
The Astronaut
Set against the backdrop of Long Beach’s semi-futuristic landscape we meet Aura, an eight-year-old with a passion for space. in Damian Apunte’s film, “The Astronaut.” In an interview, Apunte shares the inspiration behind the film, the challenges faced during production, and his advice for aspiring filmmakers.
The story originated from Apunte’s lifelong fascination with space and his desire to create a film featuring a child as a larger-than-life character. The filmmaker drew inspiration from the futuristic aesthetics of Long Beach, particularly the lighthouse, transforming it into a symbol of hope for Aura. Apunte’s creative process was further influenced by a non-profit campaign that highlighted the high rates of asthma and respiratory issues in the region, particularly in low-income and underserved communities.
“I wanted to make sure I had some social commentary about how children are born into this, yet they can still dream to escape it all” said Apute. “There’s a hope of reaching your dreams, a place where there’s no struggle.”
Reflecting on his favorite part of production, Apunte expressed admiration for the all of the elements created by the cast and crew. The combination of fantastical 80s elements and space themes evoked a sense of nostalgia, making him want to immerse himself in the film’s enchanting atmosphere.
“I truly loved the world we created, it was the first movie I’ve made where I just wanted to live in the magic of everything we created.”
The most challenging aspect of production, according to Apunte, was the extensive search through NASA archives to find the right footage for the film. The requirement to incorporate archival footage, photos, and audio for the NASA film contest Cinespace, added a laborious but rewarding dimension to the project. Additionally, the Astronaut costume’s persistent issues posed a time constraint during city shoots.
When asked about things he would have done differently, Apunte expressed satisfaction with the final result. Despite considering green screening Nora for sky scenes, he found it unnecessary, emphasizing the perfection achieved in the film.
For aspiring filmmakers, Apunte advises taking risks and creating what one truly desires. He shares a valuable lesson from his cinematographer Jon Schweigart, who encouraged him to invest in the project to foster personal and professional growth. Apunte stresses the importance of practice, recommending working on low-risk projects to refine skills before tackling passion projects.
“Much like dating, you want to get good at it and not have your first date be the love of your life. You’ll make mistakes, you’ll learn, you’ll get better, and then you can honor your passion project by being your best.”
To stay updated on future projects, Apunte directs audiences to his website, www.damianapunte.com, and social media pages, including YouTube @damianjavierapunte and Instagram @DamiaJApunte.
Drama
A Call That Changes Everything in Don’t Hang Up
WARNING! This review contains SPOILERS!
Don’t Hang Up tells a powerful story through one unexpected phone call. Elizabeth Holiday, played by Paula Jai Parker, starts her morning in rural Hayti, Missouri, when Jeremy, a former student portrayed by LT Hines II, reaches out after years of silence. The call disrupts her routine and pulls both of them into a conversation they’ve been avoiding for a long time.
The film moves with intention. Diamond Batiste focuses on honesty and emotional clarity, allowing the story to unfold through the rawness of their dialogue. The pacing feels natural, giving each shift in tone space to land without distraction.
The cinematography keeps the attention on Elizabeth’s experience through warm tones and close framing. The sound design supports the tension between both characters, letting the quiet moments deepen the impact of each line. Every element works together to keep the focus on the connection forming between Elizabeth and Jeremy.
Parker brings a grounded presence to Elizabeth, and Hines brings weight to Jeremy’s emotional state. Their performances carry the story, giving the conversation a sense of history without relying on exposition. The writing allows them to speak with honesty, and the emotions surface naturally.
Batiste brings a strong point of view to the film. His commitment to stories about connection and resilience is shaped by a career that is dedicated to elevating underrepresented voices. His background adds depth to the themes he explores, especially when addressing the pressures that shape communities like the one portrayed in the film.
Don’t Hang Up is a story about reaching out when it matters and finding the courage to confront the past. The film handles mental health with care and delivers an experience that stays with you. I enjoyed it very much.
Drama
The Quiet Rebellion of Sister Wives
WARNING! This review contains SPOILERS!
Louisa Connolly-Burnham’s Sister Wives is a haunting & heartfelt exploration of love, repression, and quiet rebellion in unexpected places. Set in a strict, polygamous community in 2003 Utah, the film follows Kaidence and Galilee—two young women as they discover something forbidden but deeply human: love for one another. Beneath its rural stillness, this film hums with tension and tenderness.
Sister Wives feels deliberate and immersive right from the start. The muted color palette mirrors the rigid life of the community—dull, restrained, and heavy with strict rules—while the women’s prairie dresses introduce just enough color to suggest individuality trying to break through. The cinematography captures both the beauty and isolation doing an outstanding job at enhancing the emotional connection. When the camera holds on moments between Kaidence and Galilee, these moments are where you can feel the emotion connection the strongest.
Connolly-Burnham, who also stars in the film alongside BAFTA-winner Mia McKenna-Bruce, directs with remarkable empathy. Her approach is not exploitative or sensational. She creates a world that feels lived-in, fragile, and real. The editing and sound design work in harmony, never too much to draw attention to it unless you are looking for it. Even the lighting feels symbolic—soft in moments of connection, harsh and cold whenever the outside world closes in.
Sister Wives is about two women reclaiming the right to have feelings. The performances are powerful while still being subtle as they are charged with emotion.
Connolly-Burnham’s direction shows a deep understanding of contrast—between faith, freedom, duty, desire, silence and voice. Her use of music, inspired by films like Drive and Lost in Translation, adds a pulse that modernizes the story. This kind of repression still exists, and her storytelling makes sure we feel that.
The production design captures the rustic isolation of its world and is spot on to transport audiences into this world. It’s easy to see why Sister Wives has been gaining recognition at Oscar, BAFTA, and BIFA qualifying festivals. Every aspect of its production, costuming, lighting, (well the whole thing just works) in service of the story’s truth.
What stays with me isn’t the setting or even the tragedy of the women—it’s the courage. The courage to question, to feel, and to dream of freedom in a world designed to suppress it. Sister Wives is quiet, brave, and unforgettable.
Drama
Can You Trust What You See Anymore?
WARNING! This review contains SPOILERS!
Iñaki Velásquez’s Danka Priscilla Danka is a sleek and unsettling political drama that digs into the growing unease surrounding artificial intelligence and power. Set against the high-stakes backdrop of a Chilean presidential race, the film centers on Priscilla, a campaign manager whose loyalty is tested when she discovers that the very technology fueling her candidate’s success may be built on deception. What begins as a story about deepfakes and politics slowly turns into something more intimate—a study of control, manipulation, and trust between two women whose relationship blurs the line between personal and professional loyalty.
From the opening frame, Velásquez makes his control of tone clear. The lighting is sharp and purposeful—each scene feels designed for the emotional temperature of the moment. Hotel rooms glow with uneasy warmth, police offices buzz under cold fluorescent light, and Danka’s balcony conversations carry the quiet weight of a woman performing both for the public and for herself. The cinematography captures Chile’s landscape in striking contrasts: the natural mountains towering over the geometric sprawl of the city. It’s an image that mirrors the story’s central question—what happens when something human becomes overshadowed by something manufactured?
The performances are gripping. Tamara Acosta brings depth and precision to Priscilla, grounding the film’s moral tension in every look and pause. Katty Kowaleczko, as Danka, balances charisma and menace with a politician’s grace—her smile hiding a thousand motives. Their chemistry makes each exchange electric, turning even the smallest gesture into a battle for power.
Technically, the film is top-tier. The camera work is confident, the framing consistently intentional, and the editing tight enough to maintain suspense without ever feeling rushed. The sound design amplifies every shift in mood—especially the use of ambient noise during confrontations, which keeps the audience alert to what might happen next. While the background score occasionally enters a moment too early, it hardly detracts from the film’s overall polish.
Velásquez, already an Academy-qualified filmmaker for his short Victoria Rosana Maite, proves again that he knows how to build worlds that feel both cinematic and urgent. His direction balances spectacle with substance, never letting the technological themes overpower the human story at its core. In his director’s statement, he calls the film “about the nature of power and abuse in a relationship between two women,” and that focus is exactly what gives Danka Priscilla Danka its bite. It’s not just about AI—it’s about how control manifests, both digitally and emotionally.
By the end, I found myself thinking less about algorithms and more about people—the ones who hide behind them, and the ones who suffer because of them. Velásquez’s film feels timely yet timeless, a warning and a mirror all at once. Danka Priscilla Danka doesn’t just explore deception in politics—it exposes how easy it is to believe the lies we want to be true.
