The Karlovy Vary International Film Festival is a cinephile haven like few others. The public event sees hoards of all-ages attendees descend into the small Czech town to enjoy the festival’s hundreds of screenings. It is not uncommon to see young adults down from the capital of Prague for a long weekend, where they’ll sleep in the park by the fest’s home of the Hotel Thermal, drinking and chatting films until the late hours of the night, waking up early and ready to queue for tickets at the box office at 7am sharp.

Several rituals make Karlovy Vary unique, from carrying a small porcelain cup at all times to drink the dubiously flavored mineral water for which the spa town is famous, to standing by the sidelines at the beautiful Grand Hall until a buzzer alerts all waiting audience that the non-taken seats are now a free-for-all. It is, of course, also a festival of riches when it comes to its vast program, which is known for platforming some of the buzziest Cannes titles (like Payal Kapadia’s All We Imagine as Light and Miguel Gomes’s Grand Tour) while offering viewers plenty of opportunity to discover new films to love each summer.

As I walked between the neighboring screenings at the Hotel Thermal, entering whichever session was about to start next, I was reminded of the glee of first realizing festivals are a land of possibility. I’m thrilled I get to share some of my favorite discoveries with you below. 

Windless (Bezvetrije)

Directed by Pavel G. Vesnakov, written by Vesnakov, Simeon Ventsislavov, Teodora Markova, Nevena Kertova and Georgi Ivanov

“Really amazing in every aspect,” says Stella of Windless, and, boy, is she right. We first meet Kaloyan (Ognyan Pavlov) as he arrives back in his home country of Bulgaria after years of working abroad in Spain. His homecoming is born out of bureaucratic necessity: his estranged father has ed away, leaving his son to sort out the sale of his flat. This bothersome yet mundane rite of age triggers an unexpected emotional journey for the rough-looking expat, who must confront long-buried memories of his childhood while figuring out what lies ahead.

Shot in a tight 1:1 ratio, Windless is made of such inspired compositions, one would be tempted to stop each frame to make it last a little longer. Vesnakov pairs the brutalism of crumbling houses with rugged faces just as worn by time and hardship as Kaloyan walks through old streets he no longer recognizes as home. It is as visually striking as emotionally effective, with MJ calling this outstanding Bulgarian drama “a heartrending character study focused on the challenging process of plumbing the emotional depths of history and the importance of embracing even the most uncomfortable parts of one’s past.”

The couple in question is Sigmund (Oddgeir Thune), a musician who is often away for work, and Maria (Helga Guren), whose career has been on standby since they welcomed their two small kids. When Sigmund returns home from his latest trip, the marriage cracks for good, and he asks for a divorce.

Ingolfsdottir’s debut is clever in approaching the divorce trope from the bullseye of the implosion, spending much of her film dwelling on the desperation that comes with the dissolution of a partnership once thought permanent. It is an anxiety-inducing examination of generational trauma, guilt and self-loathing, featuring a brilliant central performance by Guren. Morumottooo calls Loveable “a deep insight into the reality of love and partnership,” with Marek saying the film is “so honest and authentic. Maria is an exceptionally well-written, multi-layered character. Lots of people will see themselves in this movie.”

No Other Land (لا أرض أخرى)

Written and directed by Basel Adra, Hamdan Ballal, Yuval Abraham and Rachel Szor

As I write this now, I know I am still some time away from fully processing No Other Land. One of the most vital pieces of filmmaking of the century so far, the documentary follows activist Basel Adra’s ongoing efforts to stop Israeli attempts to evict Palestinians from their settlements in the West Bank. Adra is ed by Israeli journalist Yuval Abraham, who crosses the border to better understand the lives of Palestinians under military occupation and to assist Adra in his reporting. Adra holds his phone as bulldozers bring entire schools to the ground and guns turn small children into orphans.

The result is a striking, infuriating of forced Palestinian displacement, shot before the unraveling of the continuing war and made even more urgent with each ing day. Many Letterboxd praise the film’s clear call to action, with Vicente calling No Other Land “the most affecting movie experience I ever had. A reminder of our privilege, a reminder that a man with a camera is all it takes. Guerilla cinema, in a world where a camera is the best weapon.” Arif echoes the sentiment: “It is not an easy film to watch, but it is crucial as a brief glimpse into a long struggle, a catalyst for whether we want to take part as a voice and hand in solidarity with humanity.”

I’m Not Everything I Want To Be (Ještě nejsem, kým chci být)

Directed by Klára Tasovská, written by Tasovská and Alexander Kashcheev

Consisting solely of pictures and voice-over narration, Klára Tasovská’s documentary about the life of renowned photographer Libuše Jarcovjáková tells not only the story of a visionary artist but of a specific period in time. Over the 50 years it took for Jarcovjáková to go from a lost young woman in Prague to a legend in her field, she seesaws through communist Czechoslovakia and a booming Berlin post-wall. Known as the Czech Nan Goldin, the photographer captured herself and those around her in gritty honesty, finding the universal in the specificities of her personal life and queer existence.

Letterboxd seem to connect with the film’s intimate approach and the way it tells a story solely through Jarcovjáková’s textured, vividly composed photographs. “Even though the film’s constructed solely from pictures, the way it’s edited, and especially through the sound design, brings everything to life,” observes Lior of the format, with Adam adding: “Incredibly simple and intimate, the subject matter is both figuratively and literally undressed in front of us, not hiding away any ugliness or hypocrisies.” Sarahomen, in turn, is quite poetic in their summation of this equally poetic doc: “A life full of fragments—the pictures. And all of them trying to fill her soul.”

Cabo Negro

Written and directed by Abdellah Taïa

“Love as the ultimate form of resistance,” says Levslivnik of Abdellah Taïa’s lyrical Cabo Negro, which begins with young Soundouss and Jaâfar arriving at a luxury villa at the titular resort, rented by the latter’s mysterious lover. As the two realize this lover will never come, they decide not to let the holiday go to waste, basking under the sun and lounging by the beach as people come in and out of the villa. By observing the way the two interact with the world around them while anchored in the safety of their friendship, Cabo Negro unspools as an inspired snapshot of queer youth.

Beautifully shot by cinematographer Julia Mingo, Taïa’s film captures the morose rhythms of summer in all their lulling appeal, slowly luring one into this meticulously created reality. It’s one of those films you wish you could stay in a little bit longer, listening as the waves hit the shore. While some have criticized the pacing’s tendency to meander, Klxsterkovx gets it: “People are mad but they don’t understand it’s mostly about the visuals. And the visuals were beautiful.”

Morigaki’s melodrama pays great attention to how small, seemingly insignificant details make up the patchwork of a life, chronicling Momoko’s mental unraveling through the dissolution of a routine she spent much of her time nurturing. It’s effectively moving, and lifted by an impeccable Eguchi. “I really ire how Yukihiro Morigaki and the other screenwriters are able to say so much about abstract ideas like love, connection, and honesty in a relatively straightforward way,” says M, with Coco simply summarizing the experience of watching it as, “I felt magical after that.”

Our Lovely Pig Slaughter (Mord)

Written and directed by Adam Martinec

In the spirit of Allison’s iconic Letterboxd vegan alert, let me tell you from the get-go: yes, there is very much a pig slaughter at the center of Adam Martinec’s Our Lovely Pig Slaughter. But this intimate dramedy is less about the ins and outs of slaughtering—although, don’t get me wrong, there are plenty of bloody buckets and inner bits flying around—as it is about the taxing traditions of a large and loud Czech family. This accomplished feature debut captures a slice of bucolic chaos in all its mad glory, from the grave squealing of pigs to hushed conversations by kitchen counters, all with a well-measured dose of physical comedy to boot.

The Czech contingent on Letterboxd was quite fond of Martinec’s portrayal of this boisterous family and his use of non-actors for that extra kick of verité. “In many aspects reminiscent of our old classics but also very modern and fresh. I love seeing non-actors in movies like this because they’re authentic. That’s how I’d describe this film… Authentic,” says Matěj, with Anie describing the film as “trauma bonding for people who grew up in a village and completed at least one slaughtering school.”

The Other One (Ta druhá)

Written and directed by Marie-Magdalena Kochová

Marie-Magdalena Kochová’s feature debut is at times such an intimate portrayal of a family that it begs the question: should we be watching this unfold? The documentary follows a formative year in the life of eighteen-year-old Johana, who is about to sit exams for college in the hopes of leaving her small hometown. Her desire to move away is made more urgent due to her precarious home life as the elder sister of an eleven-year-old with debilitating autism.

The Other One is a sensitive snapshot of the life of glass children, young people neglected by their loved ones—albeit often unintentionally—because they have a sibling with special needs, with Kochová following Johana as she struggles with the guilt of leaving her family while yearning for the freedom to be seen as an individual in the world, unattached from the needs of others. This moral conundrum, too heavy to bear on the shoulders of a young teen, is explored with great tact by the newcomer director, who provides a rare glance into the dynamics of a family navigating the uncharted waters of disability with not just weariness but great love and affection. Jan puts it perfectly: “Making something this personal is extraordinary. All the praise to the director and the cast.”

Fans of Alexander Payne’s father-son road trip drama Nebraska will find much to love in this muted two-hander by Dutch filmmaker Peter Hoogendoorn, titled after the old saying attributed to Benjamin Franklin: “Guests, like fish, begin to smell after three days.” The guest in this case is Gerrie (Ton Kas), a retiree who left his native Netherlands for Portugal a few years ago and returns only for an annual three-day visit for the odd bureaucracy and medical checkups. Hoogendoorn horns into the relationship between Gerrie and his middle-aged son Dick (Guido Pollemans), who yearns for more fatherly attention but doesn’t know quite how to ask for it. In the observing of their loving—albeit uncomfortable—rapport lies a poignant study of unspoken affection, a beautiful framing from which to analyze the dreadful fear of losing a parent.

In this way, Three Days of Fish quietly sneaks up on you, inviting the viewer to fill in the gaps of this thorny family history while also reflecting upon their own entangled familial relationships. Marek highlights the rich production design, “which portrayed the beautiful and at the same time bleak Netherlands, reflecting the inner feelings of the characters,” while Pavlikhanus finds the film “touching and especially interesting for men, with beautifully depicted dynamics of a typical father-son relationship.”