Spending time with Kirk Jones feels a bit surreal if you grew up on his films. This is the same filmmaker whose work quietly lived on VHS shelves, whose movies you spotted a dozen times before finally pressing play, and whose blend of humor and heart ended up shaping how a lot of us first understood emotional storytelling. Getting to talk with him about I Swear was not just an interview; it was genuinely fun, the kind of conversation where curiosity goes both ways and time slips by faster than expected.

Some filmmakers chase genre. Others stumble into it, realize what they’re holding, and lean all the way in. That second path feels far more interesting, and it is exactly how writer-director Taratoa Stappard arrived at Mārama, a Māori gothic horror film that confronts colonial violence, cultural theft, and identity with an unflinching gaze.

American High does not feel like a production company built by accident, even though Jeremy Garelick and Will Phelps will be the first to admit that nothing about it followed a traditional playbook. What started six years ago as a bold experiment inside an abandoned high school in Syracuse, New York, has quietly evolved into one of the most consistent and influential engines for youth-driven comedy working today. That momentum feels undeniable in the wake of Pizza Movie, which debuted as Hulu’s number one-streamed film and has remained trending since its release.

Some horror films ease you in. Frankie, Maniac Woman does the opposite. It opens with a punch straight to the throat and never lets up. Spending time with director Pierre Tsigaridis and star Dina Silva makes it obvious that this instinct was intentional.

There is something particularly fitting about talking to the cast and creators of Grind in person at SXSW. A film that skewers hustle culture, gig work, exploitation, and burnout deserves to be discussed in the middle of one of the most exhausting festivals imaginable. Somehow, though, sitting down with Barbara Crampton, Rob Huebel, Christopher Marquette, and directors Ed Dougherty, Brea Grant, and Chelsea Stardust felt less like work and more like a reminder of why movies like this exist in the first place.

There are certain films that burrow under your skin, not because of how loud they are, but because of how recognizable the dread feels. American Dollhouse, the latest from director John Valley, is one of those movies. Premiering in the Midnighters section at SXSW, the film turns familiar holiday warmth into something isolating, exhausting, and deeply unnerving, a shift that feels deliberate in the best way possible.

There is a particular kind of filmmaker who thrives on the impossible. The kind who sees a lack of money, crew, time, or infrastructure not as a limitation, but as an invitation. Polaris Banks has been that guy for a long time, and And Her Body Was Never Found feels like the most distilled version yet of everything he has been circling since Casey Jones splattered ninja mayhem across an alleyway over a decade ago.

There is something quietly disarming about Anima. On paper, it is a retrofuturistic sci‑fi road movie about consciousness preservation and near‑future technology. In practice, it is a deeply human film that sneaks up on you, unspooling grief, longing, and connection with a patience that feels almost defiant in its restraint.

By the time Javier Botet appears onscreen in Do Not Enter, your body already knows something is wrong. The silhouette bends the wrong way. The movement feels human, but only just. This is the kind of unease Botet has been perfecting for over two decades, and in Marc Klasfeld’s upcoming horror thriller, he once again proves why his presence alone can haunt anyone.