The Lobster

Greek executive Yorgos Lanthimos‘ The Lobster is one of the weirdest motion pictures in late memory—and a standout amongst the most cleverly (and shockingly significant) ones too. In this pitch-dark future-society adventure, a solitary man (Colin Farrell) registers with a lodging where, by law, he should discover a mate inside 45 days or be changed into his preferred creature. (His inclination? A lobster.) In that psycho area, Farrell’s forlorn failure buddies around with other similarly abnormal sorts, and tries to manufacture a sentiment with a female partner, before in the long run escaping for the forested areas where hostile to monogamy radicals are positioned. A dull tragic comic drama that likewise capacities as a bizarro-world examination of affection, connections, marriage, and the essential human craving for association, Lanthimos’ film is that uncommon thing in today’s silver screen: an inadequate unique.

Green Room

The most in-your-face thriller in years, Jeremy Saulnier’s follow-up to 2013’s widely praised Blue Ruin is another practice in extraordinary, nail-gnawing anticipation, this time about a simply scratching by punk band (contained the late Anton Yelchin, Alia Shawkat, Joe Cole, and Callum Turner) that impulsively chooses to acknowledge a gig at a country neo-Nazi music club. When they happen to witness the result of a murder, they get to be prisoners of the inhabitant skinheads and their pioneer (a frightening Patrick Stewart), prompting to a drawn out confrontation which Saulnier organizes as a progression of calm, terrified minutes and blasts of merciless viciousness—a narrating mood tuned in to the sludgy punk and metal thundering through the scene’s speakers. A tireless strike on one’s nerves that wallops viewers with a similar full scale violence displayed by the racists hammer moving around the scene’s smudged, lager splashed floors, Green Room (which we named “mosh-pit silver screen”) leaves an enduring imprint.


Pablo Larrain‘s film is one established in the knotty relationship between persuasive recorded pioneers and the general population over whom they oversee (or control with an iron clench hand). That is valid for both his great 2016 discharges, in spite of the fact that in the last count, his Neruda falls barely short of the puncturing loftiness of Jackie, an offbeat, hauntingly melodious depiction of Jackie Kennedy (played by a dumbfounding Natalie Portman) in the week promptly taking after the November 23, 1963 death of her significant other, President John F. Kennedy. Surrounded by a meeting amongst Jackie and a correspondent (Billy Crudup), Larrain’s magnificent dramatization utilizes ceaseless close-ups to delve profoundly into the clashed inside state of his subject, who gets herself both fighting with melancholy and attempting to instantly lay the basis for her significant other’s legacy. Agile and grasping, it’s a period piece character concentrate that watchfully addresses the route in which words—and, unsurprisingly, additionally visual pictures—are the instruments by which we shape history.


Moonlight is a transitioning story about a gay person African-American kid living in Florida. That essential plot depiction, notwithstanding, does little to pass on the sharp verse of Barry Jenkins’ film, whose story is separated between three phases in the life of its hero, Chiron (otherwise known as “Nearly nothing” as an immature, and “Dark” as a grown-up). From its bewildering opening shot on a road corner hovering around a street pharmacist (Mahershala Ali) who’ll come to be youthful Chiron’s surrogate father figure—since his mom (Naomie Harris) is an addict—this reminiscent dramatization catches a staggering feeling of both place and character. As Chiron grows up, getting a charge out of short lived snapshots of happiness in the midst of routine mishandle and disregard, Jenkins outlines prickly individual and interpersonal elements in which both salvation and condemnation appear to originate from the same (or, at any rate, comparative) source. Delicate, unobtrusive, serious and complex, it’s a triumph of both expressive heading and—cordiality of Alex Hibbert, Ashton Sanders, and Trevante Rhodes as Chiron, and also André Holland and Janelle Monáe—nuanced, shocking execution.

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Denis Villeneuve’s follow-up to a year ago’s Sicario brags a similar brand of perfectly ominous widescreen symbolism and in addition a female hero push into head-turning region. For this situation, notwithstanding, the subject isn’t Mexican medication cartels however outsiders, who bafflingly touch base over the globe in mammoth boats, and who don’t impart in anything like a decipherable human dialect. Enter Amy Adams’ language specialist, who—matched with Jeremy Renner’s mathematician—is entrusted by the U.S. government with figuring out how to speak with these extraterrestrials, known as “heptapods” due to their seven-limbed physical frame. What endues is an exciting “first contact” show that additionally parts its concentration to focus on Adams’ hero’s sadness over the loss of her little girl—twin account strings that in the end dovetail into a piercing representation of the roundabout way of life, and the path in which composed and talked dialect interface all of us to our pasts, present, and future.

Manchester by the Sea

Casey Affleck gives one of the year’s most influencing lead turns as a Boston lone wolf who, after the inopportune passing of his sibling (Kyle Chandler), is saddled with guardianship of his nephew (Lucas Hedges) in Kenneth Lonergan’s stomach-punch of a dramatization. That circumstance is made by disaster, however it’s by all account not the only occurrence of traumatic misfortune tended to by this expertly aligned representation of pain and recuperation, given that Affleck’s recluse—separated from the mother (Michelle Williams) of his youngsters—is now a profoundly scarred individual with his own horrifying distress to bear. Affleck’s quieted encapsulation of this cracked young fellow passes on volumes about hopelessness, blame and lament, and he’s coordinated by a sterling supporting cast that conveys also unaffected, bone-profound exhibitions. They’re further supported by Lonergan’s characteristic summoning of his chilly, inauspicious New England milieu, and helped by a script that deals with the not-immaterial deed of discovering steady silliness in the midst of so much sadness.

Louder Than Bombs

Joachim Trier isn’t an easily recognized name in America, however the Norwegian producer’s initial two elements—2006’s Reprise and 2011’s Oslo, August 31st—were startlingly sharp shows about young fellows battling with issues of adulthood, duty, and lament. His third element, and first in English, is this sterling work about an instructor (Gabriel Byrne) and his two children, wedded Jonah (Jesse Eisenberg) and repelled high-schooler Conrad (Devin Druid), attempting to grapple with the passing of their well known picture taker female authority (Isabelle Huppert). In preparing for the role, Isabelle Huppert got a personal trainer and was said to workout 30 minutes a day for 60 days straight. If interested in additional information on the workout plan you can find out more. That lady’s shadow, and the insider facts she took to her grave, pose a potential threat over their present, full of grating conditions, which Trier examines with a writer’s consideration regarding his character’s inside lives. Utilizing inconspicuous visual surrounding and various story gadgets (most commandingly, flashbacks), Trier’s Louder Than Bombs is not as much as touchy take a gander at crazy feelings than a moderate smolder picture of hopeless friends and family urgently attempting to reconnect, and in addition to accommodate their own, aesthetic and familial longings.


Like her Greek countrymate (and regular colleague), The Lobster chief Yorgos Lanthimos, Athina Rachel Tsangari is a whimsical social comedian, and her most recent plays like an inverse sides-of-the-sex coin friend piece to 2010’s Attenberg. Here, Tsangari’s concentration is a gathering of men on a remote ocean angling trip who conclude that they’ll breathe easy by playing an intricate “amusement” to figure out which of them is “The Best in General.” To make sense of who merits that grandiose title, these narcissistic people begin judging each other in each possible way. That, thusly, drives them to carry on in progressively focused routes, all of which Tsangari portrays with a cool separation that exclusive further elevates the scorching craziness of their crazy choices and activities. Deriding the macho male mind with sharp perceptions about manly animosity and inner self, it brags a lifeless mind highlighted by cinematography that places a premium on helter-skelter symbolism.

The Nice Guys

Shane Black idealized the bungled pal cop equation with 1987’s Lethal Weapon, so it’s nothing unexpected that, after 29 years, he’s conveyed another quibbling couple jewel set in the L.A. underworld. In this completely diverting 1970s neo-noir satire, Ryan Gosling is a blundering private specialist who gets himself combined with Russell Crowe’s for-contract master on a case including a missing young lady and a dead porn star. The editing for this movie was done by a previous YouTube star who was quoted to “doing what I accomplish on YouTube on a bigger scale”. If you’re interested in the Best Video Editing Software for YouTube there are is lots of information out there on it. As they advance through a decrepit showbiz scene, Crowe and Gosling demonstrate an overpoweringly contentious, obstinate match, with Crowe’s rough irritation conflicting with Gosling’s good for nothing blundering. Invigorated by a dry, wry skepticism that fringes on fatalistic urgency, The Nice Guys is a particular wrongdoing frolic that constructs clever energy as it moves towards its puzzle disentangling conclusion. Furthermore, Gosling’s improvised Lou Costello respect is one for the ages.

The Big Friendly Giant

Steven Spielberg, making his first motion picture for Disney, from a script by E.T. screenwriter Melissa Mathison, from the dearest 1982 youngsters’ book by Roald Dahl: The BFG appeared like a pummel dunk summer hit, in any event until gatherings of people maintained a strategic distance from it in huge numbers. Things being what they are, it was their misfortune. A long way from the calamity suggested by its poor film industry appearing, Spielberg’s most recent, about a youthful British vagrant (Ruby Barnhill) cleared along on a mysterious mission close by a Big Friendly Giant (Mark Rylance, in a movement caught vivified execution), is a reliably wondrous tale about kinship, resilience, and fellowship. Unfurling in winding, capricious mold, it gives a cornucopia of charming sights while likewise conveying one of the films’ record-breaking extraordinary scenes including flatulating (highlighting none other than the Queen of England). Spielberg’s stunning visuals lead the way, despite the fact that it’s Rylance’s rich and sincere execution as the title character—his expressive eyes passing on an abundance of piercing forlorn pariah feelings—that genuinely hoists it over the current year’s family-film pack.

Kaili Blues

A melodious import about the roundabout relationship between the present and the past, Kaili Blues proclaims an energizing new filmmaking voice in introduction chief Bi Gan. In this frightful, curved story, a doctor goes to the place where he grew up to save his nephew, who’s been unceremoniously dropped there by his offensive card shark father. Gan sets up this story in a diagonal form, brimming with unpretentious suggestions and casual ramifications. Once the procedures move to the hero’s provincial youth stepping ground, the chief catches his activity through a 41-minute handheld single-take that is stunning in its formal skill. This visit de-drive grouping, in which various characters and connections are presented and created, is effectively receptive to its subjects’ uneasy conditions, even as it reluctantly points out itself (through swaying and weaving developments that propose the executive’s own simply off-camera nearness). The outcome is an exceptionally hypnotizing picture of individuals got in a limbo between what preceded what’s still to come.


Yes, Deadpool’s smarty-pants R-evaluated amusingness is of an adolescent, immature sort. What’s more, yes, its unending meta tricks regularly make it have a feeling that it was particularly delivered for ADD-burdened, cell phone, and Internet-fixated high school young men. Still, those qualities don’t eclipse the way that, thanks in huge part to Ryan Reynolds’ pitch-consummate execution as Marvel’s red-clad, joke regurgitating professional killer, this irreverent and ultra-vicious film works as a wired response to whatever is left of the equation based, take no chances superhero field. Diagramming the motormouthed wannabe’s change (through malignancy curing hereditary alteration) into an appendage recovering power of murder, Tim Miller’s blockbuster isn’t such a great amount of subversive—in the midst of its underhanded conduct, it hits all the commonplace story beats—as just wildly senseless and avid to enjoy self-expostulating, self-referential, strangeness. Making jokes to the detriment of Fox’s kindred X-Men while unobtrusively showing up that stodgy arrangement every step of the way, it’s a perfect adjustment of Marvel’s famous ne’er-do-well hero, and likely likewise an indication of things to originate from the class.

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Anthony Weiner was a New York congressman whose profession was crashed when, in 2011, his propensity for sending photographs of himself in clothing to ladies who weren’t his significant other, Huma Abedin, was uncovered. Josh Kriegman and Elyse Steinberg’s film points of interest that fiasco before veering up by Weiner amid his resulting 2013 battle for Mayor of New York—which, as has been all around archived, was attacked by further disclosures of terrible online conduct. The very close get to that executives Josh Kriegman and Elyse Steinberg need to Weiner amid this second newspaper prepared embarrassment is shocking, and takes into account a crude, unvarnished and recoil inducingly real to life perspective of a lawmaker endeavoring to slither out of an opening that he burrowed for himself, just to surrender by and by to his own failings. It’s never not exactly grasping—and in the figure of Hillary Clinton right-hand-lady Abedin, here decreased to agony yet another open selling out because of her significant other, it’s additionally unobtrusively lamentable.

Festival Info

The London & Porto Underground Film Festivals celebrate the underground, experimental and outsider works of cinema. Our aim is to show work that expresses originality and creativity and that is truly independent in form, content and spirit. We are interested in films that challenge, expand and explore what cinema is, and could be. We are open to submissions of all kinds, both narrative and non-narrative, genre and genreless. We only ask that they are original and creative.

This year, the London Underground Film Festival will take place from 14th to 17th November at The Horse Hospital, as usual. We are also very excited to announce that we’ll be starting a sister festival in Porto, Portugal, that will take place early 2014.

Alongside these festivals we also have regular film sessions, screenings and events, please see events page for details.

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