For me, Hamnet is the kind of film that once again plunged me into that same state I felt when watching Terrence Malick’s movies, something profoundly deep and deeply sensual. I especially want to highlight the film’s aesthetic richness: the colors, the framing, everything looks both decorative and utterly convincing at the same time. In a way, Hamnet isn’t just a story told through conventional narrative; it’s a film that tries to convey profound emotions which are quite difficult to express in any other medium besides cinema.

You see, film is, in some sense, a symbiosis of music, words, visual style, and point of view. The movie could have taken many different paths, but it chose exactly the one where every little piece of the story unfolds slowly, deliberately, and sequentially. I genuinely loved literally everything about this film, the acting and direction are especially masterful. Jessie Buckley managed to do something incredible through her character: you literally feel like you’re in a theater watching a stage production, not just a movie.

I rarely pay much attention to the plot alone (though I understand many people read summaries first and only then decide whether to watch), but what really matters here is how the film is made, and in this case, they’ve created something truly unique and wonderful! I loved the film so much and I highly, highly recommend it.

Frame perspective in cinema is the way filmmakers create a sense of space, volume, and distance within a single flat image. It is one of the most powerful visual tools, shaping not only composition but also the viewer’s emotions.

Linear perspective uses converging lines to guide the viewer’s eye toward a vanishing point. Directors like Stanley Kubrick used this technique to create tension and inevitability.

In The Shining, endless corridors pull us into the frame, creating a sense of a trap. Similarly, in Se7en by David Fincher, urban spaces feel oppressive and inescapable.

Deep focus keeps everything sharp, from foreground to background, allowing multiple layers of action to coexist.

In Citizen Kane by Orson Welles, a child plays in the distance while adults decide his fate in the foreground. This creates a powerful emotional contrast and a sense of lost innocence.

Wide-angle lenses exaggerate depth, making scenes feel intense, distorted, or overwhelming.

Telephoto lenses compress space, often creating isolation or poetic unity.

Filmmakers like Terrence Malick used telephoto imagery in Days of Heaven to blend human figures with nature, creating a dreamlike atmosphere.

Atmospheric perspective uses fog, haze, and soft focus to blur distant planes, adding mystery and emotional depth.

In the films of Andrei Tarkovsky, such as Stalker and Mirror, this creates a meditative, almost spiritual feeling, as if the image itself were a memory.

In cinema, perspective is dynamic. It changes with camera movement, focus, and editing. More than just visual beauty, it shapes meaning.

Perspective controls how we feel: intimacy or distance, fear or empathy, power or vulnerability. It tells us how to see the characters and how to experience the story.

Great films are not only about what they tell, but how they tell it. Frame perspective is essential to that “how”, guiding emotion, atmosphere, and meaning without words.

It is one of the key reasons why cinema can feel so immersive, powerful, and unforgettable.

Some films stay with us long after the credits roll. They go beyond entertainment and touch something deeply personal. We often judge movies through our own experiences and tastes, but every now and then, we encounter a story that feels almost transformative.

Here are three films that had that kind of impact on me.

The Master by Paul Thomas Anderson is a film that feels impossible to fully explain.

At its core, it follows a troubled war veteran drawn into the orbit of a charismatic leader. But what makes it unforgettable is the intensity of the performances, especially Philip Seymour Hoffman, whose role feels nothing short of extraordinary.

The film offers no clear answers. It’s mysterious, layered, and reveals something new with every rewatch. That’s what makes it so powerful.

Mulholland Drive by David Lynch is a dream more than a story.

A woman loses her memory after an accident, and what follows is a surreal journey through identity, illusion, and Hollywood itself. Lynch’s work is deeply personal and artistic, blending cinema with music, painting, and pure imagination.

This film doesn’t just tell a story, it creates a feeling that stays with you.

Persona by Ingmar Bergman is an intimate and haunting exploration of identity.

It tells the story of a nurse and an actress whose personalities begin to merge. The film feels deeply psychological, almost like a mirror reflecting inner emotions we rarely express.

It’s quiet, mysterious, and profoundly human.

These films changed how I see cinema and, in many ways, how I see myself.

Film can be more than entertainment. It can help us process emotions, question reality, and even get through difficult moments in life.

And sometimes, the right film finds you exactly when you need it most.

Roofman

Roofman is a film by the brilliant filmmaker Derek Cianfrance, and every one of his films has its own unique style and charm. Of his previous works, I especially liked The Place Beyond the Pines (2012).

In Roofman, I felt a certain darkness combined with a slightly comedic nature. It is not overtly dark and not overtly funny. Rather, it just is what it is. In a sense, it combines many different shades, but the main one is probably realism.

The storytelling does not feel like another film made just to entertain the audience. On the contrary, it subtly raises important themes: betrayal, the modern world, individualism.

For me, this film felt like a twin of The Place Beyond the Pines (2012), and I would even say that’s a good thing, because these kinds of films are the ones you want to return to again and again over time!

Train Dreams is an American drama directed by Clint Bentley, based on the 2011 novella of the same name by Denis Johnson (original title: Train Dreams).

For me, this film feels more like a monument or a sculpture. It doesn’t feel alive, but it has a different quality: it harshly depicts a reality where there seems to be no room for conventional cinema. I had the impression that it was simply a retelling of someone’s life, and that’s where a certain problem lies. However, by the very end, some of you may genuinely be moved by this film. It might reach you, and the story may no longer feel “wooden.” In any case, I recommend watching this film. Perhaps it could have been better, but then it would probably have been a completely different movie.

I would say this film is unlike any other movie. It is unique in literally every way. But what I noticed most of all is how Paul Thomas Anderson brings back the spirit of old Hollywood into the new era. This film literally feels like it could have been made in the 1970s.

However, it is relevant for a different reason: it is highly political and tells a story that is very timely for our era. Through the film, it literally shows what is happening in society right now. In my opinion, it does this very carefully and quite indirectly. The film is full of mysteries and puzzles.

It might be a bit difficult to watch, but this is another masterpiece that will truly reveal its potential in decades to come.

(Frankenstein, 2025) by Guillermo del Toro

Dr. Victor Frankenstein, a brilliant but egotistical scientist, brings a creature to life in a monstrous experiment that ultimately leads to the undoing of both the creator and his tragic creation.

The film is incredibly multifaceted and has a distinct authorial style. You can immediately tell it’s a director’s film. In this movie, Guillermo del Toro primarily explores the question of life and death. After watching it, you involuntarily start thinking about the very origins of our nature, about how the world is structured, and what is truly good and what is bad in it. Sometimes good is not obvious, and sometimes evil is something forced or inevitable.

At the same time, the film feels like a theatrical play, and Oscar Isaac performs his part as if he were on stage. I absolutely loved the film, just like all the other works by this brilliant director. I highly recommend watching this picture if you haven’t seen it yet.

A New York family's life unravels after a tragedy; they process their grief while vacationing in rural Montana, where they explore human connection amid their profound sorrow.

I recently watched Taylor Sheridan’s new series The Madison, and it honestly hit me really hard. It’s a deep, emotional, and at times absolutely heart-wrenching story that stays with you long after the credits roll. The whole show feels incredibly cohesive and harmonious, like everything is exactly where it should be.

What really stood out to me is how beautifully the series handles nature and locations. At times it shows the raw, untouched beauty of Montana: the rivers, mountains, and that incredible sense of freedom. Then it switches to the busy, chaotic energy of the city. It’s like yin and yang. Nature and urban life are the two poles that the story constantly balances between. The contrast is done so masterfully that it almost becomes a character itself.

The casting is spot-on, and the characters are written with such care. Every actor feels perfectly in place and delivers their role with real depth and precision. It’s a true ensemble piece. Everyone gets their moment to shine, and together they create something truly special.

If you love Taylor Sheridan’s style, like Yellowstone or Landman, I can’t recommend The Madison enough. For me, it might actually be one of his strongest works yet. It’s now sitting comfortably on my personal list alongside Yellowstone, Landman, and now The Madison.

I’m genuinely excited that this kind of thoughtful, character-driven storytelling is still being made. Highly recommended, and I really hope Sheridan keeps giving us more series like this.