An architect of the everyday traces seven anonymous lives across a single city block. Captured in long, unblinking takes, the film constructs an atlas of urban intimacy — strangers passing as a single organism, separated only by the gravity of their private orbits.

A four-year journey across the high passes of Central Asia, charted entirely on foot. Norén trades narration for breath and footstep — the sky is the protagonist, the path is the verse, and what unfolds is less a documentary than an epic poem to scale.

On the eve of a six-month return to silence, four Carmelite nuns open their shutters and their letters. Okafor's patient gaze finds devotion in the smallest gestures — the way light moves across a refectory, the way silence holds a room together long after the bell has rung.

A wildfire memoirist returns to the village she once burned down — to face the woman she was. Haverstein's chamber drama burns at one steady temperature, then explodes. A career-defining lead carries the entire frame on the slow inhale of a final cigarette.

Eight composers, eight subterranean chambers, one resonant frequency. Holt's experimental documentary descends literally into the earth to record what stone remembers when struck. The result: a film you don't watch so much as feel from the diaphragm out.

Three generations of foresters, one mountain ridge, an unbroken century. Halle returns to her grandmother's valley with a camera that is older than she is and a question that is older than the trees. What we keep, what we lose, what the light decides.