What’s a film festival without a few tearjerkers? While I made it a point this year to steer clear of films about contemporary issues (I’m tired, Boss), it doesn’t mean I was looking to avoid emotional depth. In fact, as a formerly super emotional child who spent many years learning not to cry, lest I upset folks of a certain generation, I’ve only recently regained the ability to be in touch with my feelings in such a way. And for that I have film to thank. It started with Rocky, the ending of which causes a damn near Pavlovian emotional response as Bill Conti’s music hits and Adrian rounds the corner into the fight venue. As time passed and I experienced love, loss, grief, and stress, I started to become a softie again. Movies became my path to emotional catharsis, and now, even the right insurance commercial can set me off. It’s wonderful.
Few things are as therapeutic as a good cry brought forth by a cinema. These are the films that gave me a nice cathartic release.
Club Kid (dir. Jordan Firstman)
In an impressive feature filmmaking debut, writer/director/star Jordan Firstman delivers one of the most emotionally resonant films of 2026, which is also one of the sharpest from a filmmaking perspective. In it he plays Peter, a party promoter/partier/drug addict whose life is turned upside down when he finds out that ten years ago he, a gay man, somehow impregnated a woman. When Arlo (Reggie Absolom) is dropped off at his apartment, Peter has no clue what to do. He’s got no money, a nagging addiction, and a lifestyle that is not even remotely conducive to fatherhood. But perhaps this is exactly the wake up call Peter needs to get his shit together.
It’s Big Daddy, but overtly queer, and it’s actually a real movie rather than just a vehicle for fun. The film goes to some uniquely adult places, with a frankness and realness that is refreshing. This is a feel good movie to be sure, but it’s not set in the realm of fantasy. Consequences are real and felt, and the film lands in a surprising place.
Firstman directs with a level of panache that shows New York in the way that isn’t often seen in “the city is a character” films. This is the New York that I recognize, populated by the people I know (and a few I might not want to know — crack is wack). His performance, too, is out of this world. This sort of story could easily fall into the realm of twee, but never does it even come close. One scene, in which Peter expresses to Arlo how effortlessly cool he finds him to be, is so tremendously sweet, and so informed by strong character work, that I was reduced to a puddle. Another scene, in which Arlo first refers to Peter as “Dad” elicited an audible, involuntary “DAWWWWWWW.” I cannot recommend this one hard enough. It’s a capital-G GREAT film.
Mouse (dir. – Kelly O’Sullivan & Alex Thompson)
A few years back I caught Ghostlight, the previous film from this duo of filmmakers, fresh off of a turbulent breakup, at a time when I was moving through the world as a raw nerve. It hit all the right spots with its healthy mix of big drama and human comedy, and it remains one of my favorite films on account of how much it stoked my feels. With their latest film, Mouse, a tale of friendship, grief, and live musical performance, I come to it fresh after losing one of my best friends to suicide, and after joining a choir just for the heck of it.
Needless to say, this one ripped me open all the same … and I loved every minute of it.
It’s a smaller film than Ghostlight, following the friendship of Minnie (Katherine Kupferer) and Callie (Chloe Coleman), two best friends who are about to graduate high school. This is a memorable time for all teens: life is right around the corner, with all the challenges it brings. But before the end of the school year, an unimaginable and unexpected tragedy strikes, leaving Minnie alone and in an unenviable position.
Mouse is a fine example of comedy and drama achieving a mixture that doesn’t feel heightened in either direction. Life, as we all learn with age, is often sad and funny at the same time, all on account of humans being inherently good, inherently flawed, and doomed to living in a world ruled by chaos. Yet this film, and Ghostlight before it, makes a strong case for the healing balm of connection and openness. It drives home the very true notion that the fear of loss is no reason not to run headfirst into life. Kudos to Kupferer for wearing this dichotomy on her remarkably expressive face, through a tremendous character arc.
She’s assisted by a fun supporting turn from David Hyde Pierce, as well as an awards worthy supporting performance from Sophie Okonedo, as an adult who is not afforded the emotional freedom given to a youth, despite being faced even more directly with tragedy.
I hope these filmmakers continue making their patented human dramas, and keep releasing them right when I need my emotional medicine.
Everytime (dir. Sandra Wollner)
Yet another film about grief rears its head, but this one takes a different, more surreal angle. One that I, a dyed in the wool fan of David Lynch’s “don’t try to make sense of it, just let it make you feel” school of storytelling, enjoyed immensely.
This cozy, dreamy film follows a single mother, her daughter, and a teenage boy, trying to exist after a tragic death for which all parties feel somewhat responsible. The trio travels to Tenerife to find themselves. Or maybe they don’t. But maybe they do. Maybe it’s all a dream. Maybe it’s all real. Maybe it’s a mix. One thing is for sure: grief is such a powerful emotion that to experience it is a form of magic. It cannot be described nor destroyed. It can only be reckoned with, felt, and processed to the best of one’s abilities. Can you tell I’m being as vague about this film as possible?
This is partially because I don’t wish to spoil it, but mostly because it really is an experiment in cinematic alchemy. It, like life, is not meant to make sense so much as it’s meant to be experienced. Yet unlike many films which err on the side of crypticness, this one remains riveting throughout, largely due to the trio of central performances. They span a wide age range, with each character facing the tragic loss from a different point in their own life, and thus viewing it from a different perspective. Each has their own responsibility toward themselves as well as the others in the trio, and to watch them all navigate their relationship is to witness a truly masterful ensemble in a masterful film. In the third, most decidedly bizarre act, there are a handful of images that I will never be able to shake, nor would I want to.
My hope is that this film receives a wide release, not just so that I can see it again, but so I can read the resulting thinkpieces. It’s a film that gives you what you bring to it, meaning it will be a unique experience for everyone.
