Since its inception way back in 1987, South by Southwest has become an enduring marker on the Austin cultural calendar. Once a year (pending a global pandemic), this sprawling festival pitches up to offer attendees a carefully curated selection of film, music and technological innovation, acknowledging early on that these three pillars of culture often work hand in glove with one another.

For those UK readers who maybe don’t have the funds to fly out there and see what all the fuss is about, you’ll be glad to hear that a new London-based iteration of the festival is set to kick off in 2025, hoisting the spirit of innovation and knowledge-sharing across the pond for a new, potentially more eclectic audience to enjoy.

London isn’t the first city outside of Austin to have a taste of SXSW, as there has already been a successful Sydney-based offshoot from October of 2023, hence the decision to expand further. The plan is that the festival will occupy spaces in London’s Shoreditch and become the locus for discussions on visual culture in all its many weird and wonderful forms, with special focus on gaming, cinema and music showcases.

The US-centric aspect of the Austin leg of the festival will shift across to create a more European flavour, suggesting that the festival isn’t just about applying the same formula to different locales across the globe. The fact that they have already announced that programmer, author and regular LWLies’ contributor Anna Bogutskaya has been given the role of Head of Screen, makes us excited for this new celebration of creativity.

SXSW London kicks off in June of 2025 sxswlondon.com.

It’s hard to watch a film like Timestalker and not think that someone, somewhere, preferably a culturally enlightened fop or dowager, should throw wadded bundles of banknotes at writer/director plus actor, Alice Lowe, so she can make whatever the hell she wants. Her 2016 film, Prevenge, about an expectant mother whose unborn child exerts a malevolent force over her, is a rich and deep film about the unspoken psychological torments that come with pregnancy.

With Timestalker, she doubles down on the scope, ambition and insight of that debut to deliver a melancholy romantic fable which spans multiple centuries and can aptly be described as Alain Resnais does Blackadder. The expansive nature of her cinematic dreams feel as if they would be perfectly served by more budget and resource, but that’s not to say that the film she’s made doesn’t deliver on its own industrious and creative merits.

Lowe plays Agnes, introduced as a sadsack spinster during the Middle Ages, locked in a faraway stupor while sitting at a spinning wheel. As a little dog runs off with her ball of yarn, she pricks her finger which catalyses a fairy tale odyssey of violently unrequited love. She becomes instantly besotted with a dashing rebel priest (Aneurin Barnard) who is captured and primed for comically gruesome public torture. Yet Agnes is sadly unable to fulfil what she construes as her destiny, and her attempts to forge a connection with this mystery man backfire in the most spectacular way imaginable.

This is a film where the less you know, the more fun you’ll have tumbling down the multi-tiered rabbit hole that Lowe has painstakingly constructed. But let’s just say the film definitely takes us to some wild places (and times), as we see intriguing and eccentric variations of this initial sketch play out, some of which are more lavish with the detail and the size of the cast, and others which are tragically curt (tragic for the character rather than the viewer, that is).

On hand is Nick Frost whose character is violent and flawed, but not without his empathetic pressure points. Jacob Anderson, too, is brilliant as the grinning Cheshire Cat to Agnes’s Alice, offering cryptic assistance along the road that is roundly ignored by our smitten damsel. Formally, Lowe and her team do a lot with a little, generating atmosphere through clever, expressive production design, New Romantic vibes and some soft-focus dreamy bits of business with floaty chiffon that would make even Stevie Nicks demure.

The title of the film, Timestalker, may seem like a bit of a red herring in that it makes it sound like a time-travelling action-thriller from the 1980s, but, by its closing passages, it becomes clear that it is in fact the perfect encapsulation of Lowe’s complex and purposefully inconclusive intentions.

It’s a very funny film, and Lowe is someone who can elicit a laugh from the deadpan line reading of a single word, yet the impression that it leaves is quite different: a confessional and bittersweet howl into the void; an expression of confusion and disappointment; a film which refuses to explain its heroine’s literal generational trauma with simplistic self-help platitudes. It’s desperately moving in the most satisfyingly insidious way, eventually recalling no less than Sally Potter’s ethereal, time-hopping Orlando. But to restate: it’s also very funny.

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A fiery crowd-pleaser premiering at this year’s SXSW, Eva Longoria’s feature directorial debut Flamin’ Hot adds even more spice to the heated rags-to-riches story of Richard Montañez, a janitor-turned-executive at PepsiCo.

In his memoir of the same name, Montañez recounts how he invented the recipe for popular spicy corn chip Flamin’ Hot Cheetos while cleaning the snack machines at a Frito-Lay plant. In Flamin’ Hot, writers Linda Yvette Chávez and Lewis Colick dramatize Montañez’s autobiography for the big screen with cohesion and clarity, while Longoria flexes her directorial muscles with technical flair and genre transformations.

The film chronicles Richard/Ricky (Jesse Garcia)’s rise to success that spans over three decades: the late 1960s and the 70s growing up in east Los Angeles, hustling in school by selling burritos to his white classmates; the 80s when he escapes gang life to work at Frito-Lay where he learns from its mechanical engineers; and finally the 90s when he cooks up the recipe for Flamin’ Hot Cheetos that basically saves the company from recessions and layoffs.

While Garcia’s infectious, happy-go-lucky voiceover narrations guide us through Ricky’s enthralling journey to the corporate top, editor Kayla Emter (who previously worked on Lorene Scafaria’s Hustlers)’s dazzling, fast-paced intercuts seamlessly interweave the charming protagonist’s family life and career endeavors. Blessed with a resilient Latino ensemble cast that commands both tears and laughter at will, Longoria’s execution completely matches her ambition in crafting an affecting dramedy that champions partnerships and heritage.

The film channels the sentimental spirit of a telenovela to depict the Montañez household’s everyday life saturated with mundane joys – even at times when they have trouble putting food on the table. Ricky’s wife Judy, played by the delightful and mercurial Annie Gonzalez, is a force to be reckoned with – either cheering him up when he wallows, or becoming the voice of reason when he waivers. Longoria makes sure to foreground Judy as Ricky’s equal in their invention of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos – giving Gonzalez a meaty role to showcase her dramatic range.

At the core of Flamin’ Hot is indeed a Mexican version of the nuclear family that takes pride in their culinary cultures with a universal sense of belonging. Upon this familial cornerstone, Longoria builds up a multitude of socio-economic narratives, notably the generational traumas derived from systemic discriminations and persecutions among the Latin American community, and the artificial dreams of corporate America that disillusion the working class.

Around the happy ending of Ricky’s story of exceptionalism lingers the poetic melancholy that reminds us of those who never make it like he does – and of the days when he admires the simple beauty of the machines while having sunset dinners with his work buddies on the hoods of their cars.

Although a recent Los Angeles Times investigation claims that Montañez was never the creator of the beloved snack, Flamin’ Hot feels like a cartoonish fantasy anyway, now more than ever in our present precarious economy. The offscreen controversy does not take away from the film’s well-thought-out adaptation of the marketing guru’s personal fairytale – converting a dubitable entrepreneurial cliche into an all-encompassing melodrama with warmth and empathy.

With the premiers of Bottoms and I Used to Be Funny at this year’s SXSW, Rachel Sennott has taken the festival by storm with her comedic ingenuity and dramatic versatility. Both films leverage Sennot’s signature sass and main-character energy, while in I Used to Be Funny writer/director Ally Pankiw dares to experiment with the hotshot actor’s potential of anchoring a tragicomedy.

Nailing the complex character study of a trauma survivor powering through her messy recovery, Sennott rises to the challenge in Pankiw’s debut feature tackling thorny subjects around sexual assault and PTSD. Apart from the sexual charisma she boasts in her previous works such as Shiva Baby and Bodies Bodies Bodies, Sennott dives deep into I Used to Be Funny’s whirlwinds of fragility and psychosis.

From the outset, the film wraps a haze of depressive episodes and sensorial triggers around Sam (Sennott), a stand-up comedian trapped in a Toronto rental house she shares with her best friends and fellow comedians Paige (Sabrina Jalees) and Philip (Caleb Hearon). Though it is not yet clear what exactly happened to Sam, Pankiw already captures the quintessential experience of combating PTSD: taking a quick shower is a chore; ambient noise feels like jump scares; and friends’ attempts at consolation induce nothing but guilt.

Sennott is perfectly cast, portraying Sam as simultaneously lifeless and hilarious with her default blasé attitude and dry-wit humor. Together with Jalees and Hearon, who are also real-life comedians, they instantly make a dynamic trio stumbling through Sam’s woozy anxieties.

Adding fuel to the fire, 14-year-old Brooke (Olga Petsa), who Sam used to nanny, comes to their doorstep drunk and destructive, accusing her of lying – and soon after goes missing. As Brooke and Sam apparently share an unspeakable past, the trio tiptoes around this sensitive situation while still finding humor in their daily routines.

From here, Pankiw switches back and forth between Sam’s current struggles with her PTSD and her barbed memories from two years ago – nannying Brooke while getting attached to her broken family. Meanwhile, Sam’s omnipresent yet indescribable trauma gradually comes to the fore, as the film’s editing exponentially accelerates its pace to reveal its multitude of suspenses. Echoing Pankiw’s non-linear narrative, nightmarish voiceovers from the incident loop within Sam’s trauma capsules while hateful comments keep rolling out of her phone.

Pankiw takes up an admirable quest to acknowledge the heartbreaking oxymorons of overcoming sexual traumas as modern women. What if trauma appears out of place on those who are always supposed to be strong and funny? What if our abusers are people who we care about and empathize with? What if the internet keeps reminding us of “our fault” when all we want to do is move on and forget?

Amidst the chaos of Sam’s downward spiral into self-isolation and self-blame, I Used to be Funny still manages to shine the light on her only way out of this misery: her unbreakable bond with Brooke and her headstrong refusal to let one more woman get hurt like she did. “Traumatized and funny as hell” is the happy-ending tagline that reintroduces Sam onto her stand-up stage, but this statement also serves as a pained yet triumphant summary of the difficult experience of wrestling sovereignty away from abusers back to oneself.

Surrealism has been on the rise in filmmaking the last few years, and the genre allows for a parallel lens that helps cement the emotional weight of your story – Everything Everywhere All At Once being just one, albeit very popular, example. So, imagine my delight in entering the world of Julio Torres’ Problemista, a uniquely funny, delightfully whimsical, and endlessly smart odyssey through art, connection, and perseverance.

Best known as the creator of the Los Espookys television show, Torres’ directorial debut follows Alejandro or Ale, a Salvadoran immigrant (also played by Torres) who dreams of designing toys for Hasbro. Knowing the failings of the American immigration system, it comes as no surprise that Ale’s work visa begins to run out before his dreams can be fully realized. So what’s an aspiring toy designer to do? His salvation seemingly comes in the form of an eccentric and brash art critic named Elizabeth (Tilda Swinton) who hires him for a job that – with a little bit of frenzied effort and computer cataloging knowledge – becomes his own hope of staying in New York City and fulfilling his dreams.

Torres’ particular brand of magical realism is so self-assured and aware of its effect that the film ends up feeling a bit like a cousin or family member of The Daniels’ newly-crowned Best Picture winner. In terms of its fierce confidence and unique approach to storytelling using surrealism as its foundation, Problemista feels just as strong and special as Everything Everywhere All at Once, and it’s nice to see more filmmakers taking these kinds of big swings. It also says a lot about Torres’ directorial style, which is a bizarre and beautiful blend of deadpan humor, quick cuts, and whimsical imagery.

To the same end, Torres’ writing plays just as much with surrealism and absurdism as his direction. His script is at times enigmatic, where your eyes and ears have to play catch up with one another to put the auditory and visual pieces together and fully process the moment. But it’s also laugh-out-loud funny from start to finish, as well as achingly true to the struggles of immigration, making your dreams come true at any cost, and the power of the bonds we build in our most formative moments. Torres writes with a lived experience that is undeniable, as well as a broad and beguiling imagination that is impossible to not be charmed by.

Perhaps the best part of the film, though, is Torres’ characters. From the central Ale and the utterly unpredictable Elizabeth, to his apathetic roommates and unforgiving former boss, the film’s large cast of oddballs perfectly punctuate the particular version of New York City Torres has in mind and even push it into fairy tale or almost mythos territory. The performances sell everything unique and special about Torres’ approach to this story, and they bring his characters, who already feel so vibrant through their words, alive.

Problemista is about making art of life no matter what comes at you, and the combination of inventive direction, a spirited script, an incredible band of personalities, and a wonderfully surreal eye on it all is why that message comes through so clearly. Heartfelt from the first moments, Torres’ directorial debut will undoubtedly stick with you and have you dreaming of the odyssey of your own life – and, of course, how you hope to push through it like Alejandro does for himself.

While other festivals offer tradition, prestige and respectability, SXSW is just ‘out there’ for the cool kids in Austin, Texas. Here are four genre titles which had their world première at this year’s festival.[/dropcap]

Late Night With the Devil

On 31st October, 1977, in New York – a year after the wife of Jack Delroy (David Dastmalchian) died of cancer – the TV host is making a last-ditch effort to get his syndicated late-hours talk show Night Owls back in the ratings. It is a Halloween special, with a guest line-up including a psychic (Fayssal Bazzi), a stage hypnotist turned paranormal debunker (Ian Bliss), and a parapsychologist (Laura Gordon) with her strange, supposedly possessed young subject (Ingrid Torelli). As Jack finds his grief and ambition in uneasy alliance, and as pandemonium breaks out live on air, questions are raised as to whether what unfolds is illusion, reality, collective mesmerism, corporate control, or a personal breakdown viewed from the inside.

That ambiguity is key to a film which foregrounds debates about the veridicality of what we are seeing, and which introduces enough narrative layers to confound everything (while conjuring entities that “thrive on confusion”). Formatted in a 4:3 frame to emulate standard-definition TV, purporting to be compiled from “what went to air that night as well as previously unreleased behind-the-scenes footage”, and realising on-screen devilry through Seventies-appropriate SFX, this feature from Australian writers/directors/brothers Cameron and Colin Cairnes (100 Bloody Acres, Scare Campaign) is found footage reminiscent of Lesley Manning’s Ghostwatch, Damien LeVeck’s The Cleansing Hour and Cristian Ponce’s History of the Occult. For here, the medium (in every sense) is the message, and viewers risk coming under its baleful influence.

The Wrath of Becky

Three years ago, then 13-year-old Becky (Lulu Wilson) – in Jonathan Milott and Cary Murnion’s 2020 film that shared her name – took out a quartet of home-invading Neo-Nazis. Now she is back in a sequel from Matt Angel and Suzanne Coote, constantly training for a second round that she knows is coming as much as we do. Even before the real action starts, the orphaned teen fantasises about murdering anyone who causes her minor irritation, which is to say that this angry anti-heroine has long since broken bad, and keeps us on side only in the special hatred that she reserves for the far right.

Her prayers for violence will be answered in the form of ‘The Noblemen’, white supremacists plotting to trigger an insurrection with the assassination of a female Hispanic Senator. En route to this coup, three new members (Matt Angel, Michael Sirow, Aaron Dalla Villa) make the mistake of killing Becky’s only friend and abducting her beloved dog, which sets Becky on a path of vengeance that is part John Wick, part Home Alone – except this time she is bringing the mayhem to their home turf, at the farmhouse of ex-military Noblemen leader Darryl (Seann William Scott).

Small in cast and scale, and clearly setting up a second sequel where Becky’s rogue brand of sociopathy will become more legitimised (and inevitably more adult, in denial of the story’s original USP), this feels a bit of a filler – but Becky’s need for teen kicks delivers enough delinquent destruction of Nazis to bring bloody satisfaction.

Appendage

New York fashion designer Hannah (Hadley Robinson) is under pressure. Stressed by her über-successful parents, hassled by her insanely demanding boss (Desmin Borges) and still carrying trauma from her troubled teens, she is already driving away her boyfriend Kaelin (Brandon Mychal Smith) and BFF Esther (Kausar Mohammed), when she births a rapidly growing and transforming creature – the ‘appendage’ of the title – which embodies all her anxieties and sets about undermining every aspect of her life. Discovering a small community of people with the same problem, Hannah starts taking tips from the more experienced Claudia (Emily Hampshire) on how best to live with her repressed – but now unleashed – dark side.

Expanding this from her 2021 short of the same title, writer/director Anna Zlokovic at first riffs on Frank Henenlotter’s Basket Case, Bobby Miller’s The Cleanse and Cody Calahan’s Let Her Out, with a monstrous story of returned vanishing twins who play Hydes to their hosts’ Jekylls. Thereafter Zlokovic goes full body snatcher, in a twisty tale of a vulnerable woman’s agonising journey towards personal wholeness. So while this feature debut is certainly body horror, it is also a psychological allegory, dramatising Hannah’s therapeutic path to both emotional balance and accommodation of her worst qualities alongside the best.

Brooklyn 45

On the evening of 27th December, 1945, three old friends – Mjr. Archibald Stanton (Jeremy Holm), Mjr. Paul DiFranco (Ezra Buzzington) and experienced interrogator Marla Sheridan (Anne Ramsay) – along with Marla’s civilian husband Bob (Ron E. Rains) – have a reunion in a Brooklyn brownstone. They are there to console another close friend, Lt. Col. Clive Hockstatter (Larry Fessenden), whose wife Susan recently committed suicide when everyone, ‘Hock’ included, dismissed her conviction that their German neighbour (Kristina Klebe) was a spy.

Desperate to make amends with Susan, Hock proposes a séance – yet all these members of America’s Greatest Generation are haunted by their own questionable conduct in the war which has just ended, but which is not, despite repeated assertions to the contrary, ever really ‘over’ for those who made it to the other side. “All you really need is a mirror,” says Hock of the séance. Indeed the ghosts raised at the table are reflections of these characters’ innermost consciences, as they become locked not just into the parlour room, but into their own damaged sense of righteousness and integrity.

Meanwhile, a US flag hangs prominently on the wall to drive home that the hypocrisies, evasions, prejudices and guilt on display are national as well as personal. For in this latest feature from writer/director Ted Geoghegan (We Are Still Here, Mohawk), these five – and an unexpected guest or two – are contending over one long dark night of the soul with deeds that can never be undone. Here, (post)war is hell, even if the future must be built on it.

In a world that seems to be moving backwards fast, it feels good when a movie acknowledges the general horniness of human nature. Sex is a normal, instinctual act and one that should come with very little shame, despite the overwhelmingly negative attention it has been receiving over the past few years.

There used to be a time in movies, not too long ago, when sex comedies were not only completely normal, they were celebrated and beloved by anyone and everyone who likes to laugh. They were a poignant mirror into the hilarity of connection and the sparks that can fly when things align just right. If you find yourself lamenting this loss, look no further than Bottoms, the latest star vehicle for dynamic duo Ayo Edibiri and Rachel Sennott, sure to revolutionize the subgenre and shows the world has changed in a lot of ways, most of them for the better.

Emma Seligman’s second feature film follows two deeply unpopular and very gay high school BFFs Josie (Edebiri) and PJ (Sennott), who are heading into their senior year determined – like many high school sex comedy vets before them – to lose their virginity before graduation. After a rival high school football team is caught assaulting weak students from their school ahead of a monumental head-to-head game, the girls hatch a plan to start a fight club to get a chance with a pair of cheerleaders they’re crushing on. Naturally, chaos ensues.

Edibiri and Sennott are a comedic dream team, and their previous years of working together have cultivated a connection that is palpable on screen. The friendship their characters share is so believable, there’s almost no chance you didn’t know a pair of friends like them in high school. This film also has the motherload of supporting players, all of which give everything they’ve got. This makes for a very rich and unique set of characters that can both function as great joke setups, as well as crucial and emotionally driven vehicles that move the plot forward.

There’s no denying the film is blisteringly funny, thanks to the script Seligman told the SXSW audience she and Sennott started writing six years ago, which leans into a lot of high school tropes while taking into account how teens of today really speak, react, and think. The comedy feels specifically current while being so palatable for those outside of Gen Z. A lot of the jokes rely on tone from the actor, which helps their universality, but overall, you don’t have to be part of any particular generation to find the comedy of the film to be effective. The laughter is quite simply infectious.

The film also has a dark tinge, and features its fair share of bloody violence, which is an excellent mechanic through which to push the ending into raunchier territory, while also serving as a source of empowerment, not just brutality, for audience and character alike. The final act montage is a particularly effective set piece that brings utter delight and satisfaction to viewers, while also showing off some really smart fight choreography that gives all the girls their time in the spotlight.

We have a sexy comedy canon at this point, and it needs more queer stories. This is definitely going to be the first of many new and ambitiously special projects that highlight the gay, lesbian, or bisexual high school experience. Not to say films like that don’t already exist, but it’s clear Bottoms will usher in a new era of these works.

Everyone’s early twenties are weird. You’re still trying to find yourself and your place in the world, usually with the help of people you might consider your friends. However, not many people in their twenties in the grand scheme of the world have to deal with a murder mystery during a hurricane party.

This mystery is at the centre of Bodies Bodies Bodies, an uproarious satire of Gen-Z nihilism and the fragility of modern friendships by actor-director Halina Reijn. Sophie (Amandla Stenberg) is in the midst of recovering from addiction and has found solace in her new girlfriend Bee (Maria Bakalova). When Sophie and her long-time friends get together for a hurricane party passing through the night, what starts off as an innocuous game of Bodies Bodies Bodies turns into a whodunnit with increasing stakes.

A key theme throughout this year’s SXSW film lineup is self-awareness, with films such as Everything Everywhere All at Once and The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent either pulling real-world elements into their story or leaning into their story’s silliness. Bodies Bodies Bodies is a different kind of self-awareness – instead of poking fun directly at itself, it embraces the absurdity of the group’s situation, as well as the ongoing online culture Gen-Z is experiencing. While the usage of buzzwords like gaslighting and toxic might lead to some cringey dialogue, it knows that these characters are using it in a misplaced or weird way, leading to some pretty funny moments.

Another key aspect of the film that brings it tension and humour in equal spades is its cast. Everyone in the eight-strong cast is deeply committed to their characters’ respective bits – Chase Sui Wonders’ Emma cannot stop being passive-aggressive even in the midst of danger, while Lee Pace’s Greg carries himself as the ultimate 20-year-old-chasing holistic himbo.

However, it is Myha’la Herrold’s Jordan that emerges as the shining star in a committed performance that pulls back the curtain on the silliness of the film and showcases just how dire of a situation these characters are really in. Watching her descent from the mediator of the group to the person who could tear it apart even further was not only darkly entertaining but also weirdly tragic in a way that only Herrold’s performance could evoke.

While the whodunnit element is effective for the vast majority of the movie, it does start to lead into some questionable optics towards the end. Of course, the inherent nature of a whodunnit is to not easily trust anyone, but it’s another thing altogether when the reasons why a character shouldn’t be trusted include their own personal struggles. Even if the expectations that arise in the film aren’t fully elaborated on, it was still surprising seeing a movie that claims to understand how Gen-Z treats societal topics still portraying some of those topics so stereotypically.

Despite this, plenty of viewers won’t be immune to the infectious fun of Bodies Bodies Bodies. The jokes come naturally and are delivered with dead seriousness. The film’s pacing also helps to flesh out the story – every plot beat feels smoothly integrated, with virtually no aspects of the story or characterisation feeling tacked on at the last minute. It’s easy to get swept up in the film’s vibe, so why bother resisting? Just sit back and relax, but make sure that your family’s novelty weapons are safely stored before you do so.

If there was one phrase I hated most growing up, it was “what are you?” Even though I consider myself fairly white-passing, the reactions I’ve received growing up with the distinctly Asian features I have range from curiosity to confusion and, unfortunately, disgust. I was forced to realise at a young age that no matter how much I pass as white, there are some people who are only going to view me as Asian for all the wrong reasons. They will see me as a threat, a danger, someone that is ruining the sanctity of the Caucasian race just for being born. The worst thing is that there is nothing I can do to prevent this without completely abandoning myself and my family in the process.

That is precisely why Soft & Quiet, the debut feature film of Beth de Araújo, gave me the worst panic attack I’ve ever had during a film screening. Shot in one take over the course of an afternoon, kindergarten teacher Emily (Stefanie Estes) has organised a white supremacist club called the Daughters of Aryan Unity and has amassed a group of equally hateful and racist women to join her. Some of the members decide to get together after the meeting, where a disturbing run-in with two mixed Asian sisters (Eleanore Pienta and Cissy Ly) sends their lives spiralling out of control.

There is a lot that can be said about films that centre on white supremacists, often along the lines of “these people are genuinely dangerous and shouldn’t be platformed in media.” While there is a kernel of truth to this thought, especially in an era where Asian women are brutally attacked under the guise of them being submissive or “used to” abuse, it’s important to be cognisant of the lens through that these subjects are under. Thanks to the tight direction of de Araújo, who is Brazilian and Chinese, the Daughters of Aryan Unity are under an angry, vengeful, and tense lens that refuses to give them any sympathy.

There is palpable anxiety against the film’s primary subjects within de Araújo’s direction and cinematographer Greta Zozula’s framing that cannot be understated. The decision for the film to take place in one take is not just a hook, but a conscious way for viewers to realise just how dangerous Emily and her new friends really are. This anxiety combined with the committed performances and bass-boosting score by Miles Ross escalates into a film more terrifying than any of the films in the SXSW’s Midnighters category. Most importantly, however, it’s an effective terror that grabs you by the neck and doesn’t let go until the credits finally signal the end of the film.

Soft & Quiet could be one of the most difficult watches of 2022, especially for other Asian women who would rather not be reminded of the horrors of white women harnessing nationalism for their own gain. Nobody is under any obligation to watch it if they can’t handle seeing the genuinely distressing content in our current climate, nor are white viewers meant to watch it as they bend over backward to prove they support Asian women. However, if you are up to watching it, you will understand exactly what de Araújo told the SXSW audience at the film’s world premiere: you can’t get rid of all of us.

Amber (Alison Brie) wants her Eat Pray Love moment, and after her boss recommends her for a managerial program in Italy, it seems like she just might get it. For nine years, she’s clocked in as the straight-laced manager of a casual dining chain restaurant called Tuscan Grove, a not-so-subtle Olive Garden parody. “Pasta la vista!” read the employee badges. The trip poses new dreams to Amber after she once tried to open her own restaurant—one of many potentially interesting threads that Spin Me Round introduces, then drops for a disconnected series of bits that never coalesce into a compelling narrative.

Things start promising enough as Spin Me Round plays with Amber’s expectations of a life-changing sojourn. The program enforces a strict curfew, preventing any late-night intrigues. Dreams of staying at a grand countryside villa get usurped by a drab hotel next to train tracks. “So much… brick,” another program attendee coos. Even the picturesque Italian scenery seems flat as Amber finds her romantic quest relegated to cooking demonstrations and hotel lobby parties. So far, so hum-drum, until the revered CEO Nick Martucci (Alessandro Nivola) arrives with his worldly assistant Kat (Aubrey Plaza, abhorrently underused). Nick takes a keen interest in Amber, whisking her away from the retreat to his yacht where he disarms her with probing personal questions. Ethereal music and double exposures accompany her trance. She swoons.

Brie and director Jeff Baena co-write the script and mine that particular brand of cringe comedy that fits the Duplass Brothers Productions stamp. They find their greatest moments in that slow realization that all your new co-workers are oddballs, like the American program leader who desperately wants to be Italian or the volatile oversharer who divulges her sex life at a pin’s drop. A strong slate of supporting cast members liven up the first act’s improv feel: Molly Shannon, Tim Heidecker, Ayden Mayeri, Zach Woods, Debby Ryan. Small zooms and a whimsical Muzak-esque score accentuate the humor, to diminishing returns.

Nick kickstarts the film’s wider plot, as Amber embarks on a whirlwind romance, then harbors suspicions that something’s amiss at Tuscan Grove. His arrival also signals Spin Me Round’s nosedive in quality. Character arcs dissipate into thin air. Amber’s desire for connection never delves below the surface, and her relationship with Nick is so quickly drawn that it’s unclear why she keeps obsessing despite red flags. Even more frustrating is how the film teases attraction between Amber and Kat before abruptly discarding the latter. (Plaza fans, beware how little she actually appears in this.)

The final act devolves into full-blown chaos clearly intended to shock and push genre lines, but the manufactured ridiculousness falls flat. A crucial detail surrounding the paper-thin corporate conspiracy gets obscured in an unbelievably contrived fashion, resulting in a reveal so limp that it’s hard not to groan. Spin Me Round has too talented a comedic cast to not earn some laughs but never finds a narrative foothold to give its absurdity purpose. “Pasta la vista” indeed.