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Although it's very slow, 'Return To Seoul (2022)' has a latent potency that makes it stick in your mind after its credits have rolled. In fact, its power only grows the longer you sit with it, leaving a palpable aftertaste that's tough to shake. It doesn't so much occupy your active thoughts as it does saturate your subconscious. It's a vibe, a feeling, an atmosphere. In the moment, its purposefully distancing pacing and structure makes it difficult to fully connect with, mirroring the protagonist's self-destructive tendencies to push away anyone and anything that reminds her of her inner melancholy. It tells the tale of a young woman who returns to South Korea, the place of her birth, over twenty years since her adoptive parents brought her with them to France. She seems to be searching not just for her biological parents, whose eventual presence she resists both subconsciously and otherwise, but also part of herself that has been denied by her seemingly really good yet undeniably unexpected upbringing. She may be Korean by nature, but she's French by nurture; it's tough for the two competing cultures to coalesce within her. Her journey is filled with longing, regret, confusion, anger, uncertainty and general malaise, not just from her but also from those around her. The complex situation she finds herself in is made all the more tricky to navigate by her tendency to party herself into oblivion to forget her inner turmoil, as well as the clash between her frankness and frustration and the expectation of politeness and gratitude from those around her. Set over a number of years, the flick charts her complex relationship to her birth family, her birth country and even herself. She's lost, both within and without, and she isn't equipped with the emotional tools she needs to healthily work through her circumstances. In a moment of self-awareness, she declares South Korea a toxic place for her, and yet she continues to return at different stages in her life. Just when you think she's at peace with her place in the world, something seemingly minor will send her spiralling once more. It's a rather frustrating yet relatively realistic experience; the chaotic nature of the lead character is both accurate in its reflection of real-life messiness and annoying in its frequent derailment of traditional cinematic catharsis. While you may wish for a more conventional affair in the moment, it's clear in retrospect that the picture is exactly what it wants - and, even, needs - to be. It's uneven, it keeps you at a distance, and its emotional power is relatively subdued, but there's just something about it that stays with you. It has a really beguiling effect, an enchanting but quietly devastating aura that lingers for days after it's over. It's tough to ignore this power when evaluating the feature. I like it much more now than I did just after I'd seen it. It isn't perfect, but its slow-release power is palpable enough for me to recommend it. It's actually a pretty singular experience when taken as a whole, despite being comprised of many familiar elements. It's well-made, poignant and tough to shake.

Set on a fictional Scottish island which houses asylum seekers during the inexplicably long period between their initial claim and their acceptance or rejection, 'Limbo (2020)' is a dry comedy focused on a Syrian refugee struggling with isolation and the gnawing feeling that perhaps he ought to have stayed home and fought like his brother. The slow-paced piece hammers home its eponymous limbo with a purposefully meandering structure and several shots that purposefully linger for just a little too long to be comfortable. Underscored by a palpable sadness, the flick is quick to compound - rather than undercut - its tragedy by using humour that marks it as taking place within a world that you can either cry at or laugh at (or, perhaps inevitably, both). It's a very human and empathetic experience that doesn't over dramatise its events, yet still presents them in a slightly heightened fashion. It isn't preachy, but it carries an important and relevant message. It may just make you better understand the plight of those seeking safety in another country, and that's an incredibly powerful thing right now. Although it's never hilarious and it sometimes feels a tiny bit too slow and understated for its own good, it's the kind of affair that grows on you after its credits have rolled and is ultimately pretty potent overall. It's subtle, but effective.

While inarguably slight, 'The Gleaners And I (2000)' is made endearing by the playfulness of director Agnes Varda. Shot almost from her first-person perspective, the iconic filmmaker seamlessly inserts herself into the documentary by essentially grouping herself with the gleaners on whom she focuses, except she gleans images where they - for the most part - glean food. Her curiosity regarding the subject is palpable, and her charming way of exploring it renders it interesting even to those of us who've never heard of the specific practice of gleaning. Furthermore, her asides about the people she meets, the process of ageing, and her relationship to the imagery she captures all add up to an experience that often scratches the surface of profundity. The film is enjoyable for its duration, never content to simply stick to one specific part of its subject matter and instead bouncing between new discoveries in a notably fluid yet ultimately cohesive way. It isn't the most potent, necessary or gripping documentary of all time, but it's an entertaining picture filled with joy, charm and wonder. It's clear that Varda has a genuine passion for exploring - and perhaps understanding - the world in which she finds herself.