Four Films That Stayed with Me — July 2026

July is always a complicated month for cinephiles. Most distributors reserve the summer for blockbusters that dominate cinema schedules, while many independent and international films wait until autumn for their release. Even so, there were still a few titles that made going to the cinema worthwhile this month.

I am always excited for a new Chinese film, especially after the extraordinary reviews and the Special Prize that Resurrection received at the Cannes Film Festival. I went into the screening with high expectations, and somehow it still managed to go beyond them.

It is a visual experience that explores the history of cinema through the story of a monster who, by dreaming, travels through different periods of Chinese history. The premise alone already feels ambitious, but what impressed me most was the execution. Every historical period is recreated with astonishing attention to detail, from the production design and costumes to the photography, which constantly invites the spectator to drift into the same dreamlike state as its protagonist.

Sometimes a film does not need conventional character development to be emotionally powerful. Here, the journey itself is enough. Across almost three hours we move through traditional China, a noir-inspired thriller involving police officers and a murderer, temples, markets and thieves, before arriving at a melancholic vampire love story on the last day of 1999.

I rarely feel so immersed in a film's world. Every frame reflects the care and ambition behind Bi Gan's vision, and I was constantly aware of the enormous effort required to translate such an imaginative idea into images. Resurrection reminded me that cinema is much more than plot or characters. It can also be an experience built through atmosphere, rhythm and images, one that celebrates dreams and quietly reminds us why cinema continues to matter. One of my favourite films of the year.

Jessica Chastain is one of the actresses whose career I have followed since the beginning of the 2010s. Her choices have always been interesting, and she rarely appears in projects that do not challenge her as a performer. The same can be said about Michel Franco. As one of the most recognizable contemporary Mexican directors, he has developed a very distinctive voice, one where moral ambiguity and uncomfortable relationships are never far away.

This is their second collaboration after the powerful Memory (2023). Here, Franco returns to the relationship between Mexico and the United States through the story of a wealthy American woman involved with a young Mexican ballet dancer. Their relationship is defined by desire, but also by power, dependence and control.

Rather than simply presenting an impossible love story, Franco gradually transforms it into a reflection on privilege, migration and the political reality currently surrounding the United States. As in many of his previous films, intimacy becomes another way of discussing politics.

Jessica Chastain once again delivers an extraordinary performance, but I was equally impressed by Isaac Hernández, who brings a remarkable naturalness to his first leading role as an actor. Their chemistry is convincing not only emotionally but also physically. Even the choreography of the intimate scenes contributes to the shifting balance of power between both characters, making their relationship feel increasingly fragile and unpredictable.

I am a big fan of Pedro Almodóvar, of the world he creates through his films and of his unmistakable style. I am even planning to dedicate a whole post to his cinema and my relationship with it. Whenever Almodóvar releases a new film, it becomes an event for me. Even when it is not among his very best works, I still feel it offers something richer and more interesting than most films playing in cinemas at the time.

With Amarga Navidad, Almodóvar returns to one of the themes that has always fascinated him: the line between life and fiction. Like Pain and Glory, he places a filmmaker at the centre of the story, but this time in a much more playful way.

The film moves between two realities. In the first, we follow a male director, clearly inspired by Almodóvar himself, who is trying to write his next screenplay. The screenplay he is writing becomes the second reality of the film: the story of a female director who is also searching for inspiration for her next project. As both stories unfold, they begin to mirror one another, showing how the experiences of friends and the people around them slowly become material for cinema.

What interested me most was the central question the film asks: how much of another person's life can an artist use as inspiration? At what point does observation become appropriation? And how much can that creative process affects friendships and personal relationships?

It is a subject that feels particularly honest coming from Almodóvar himself. Throughout his career he has openly acknowledged borrowing situations, emotions and memories from people close to him, and here he reflects on that process with surprising sincerity. The film also gives him another opportunity to write the kind of rich, emotionally complex female characters that have always been one of his greatest strengths, beautifully performed by Aitana Sánchez-Gijón and Bárbara Lennie.

Even if I would not place Amarga Navidad among my favourite Almodóvar films, I still found it to be a thoughtful and rewarding work. The autofiction element is fascinating, the screenplay constantly plays with the boundaries between reality and fiction, and once again it reminds me why Almodóvar remains one of the filmmakers I will always follow.

Documentaries are probably the genre I watch the least, but Sandra Hüller's participation immediately caught my attention.

Regina Schilling traces the life of Austrian writer and poet Ingeborg Bachmann, from growing up in a family sympathetic to the Nazi Party to becoming one of the most influential German-language authors of the twentieth century. The film examines how the Second World War shaped her writing, her difficult relationship with literary institutions and the resistance she faced in a male-dominated intellectual world.

What surprised me most was the structure. Instead of relying exclusively on archive footage and interviews, Schilling combines historical material with staged sequences in which Sandra Hüller silently embodies Bachmann during different moments of her life. Through gestures, expressions and brief reenactments, Hüller allows us to imagine how Bachmann might have reacted to her literary success, the criticism she received, the difficulties of her relationships and the final years of her life in Rome.

It is a restrained but highly effective approach that gives emotional weight to the documentary without sacrificing its historical perspective. It also reminded me once again why Sandra Hüller remains one of the finest European actresses working today.

Although July offered fewer interesting releases than most months, these four films reminded me that there is always something rewarding to discover beyond the blockbuster season. Sometimes all it takes is one remarkable screening to make another trip to the cinema worthwhile.