It Lives Inside includes many of these tropes and fans of the curse movies noted above will find much to enjoy. Furthermore, Dutta, who co-wrote the script with Ashish Mehta, innovates with the central character’s background. While curse films do come from Japan and Korea, there is a long tradition of white women encountering these horrors, from Naomi Watts to Alison Lohman to Sosie Bacon, sisters of the Final Girl protagonists of many a slasher, from Laurie Strode to Laurie Strode’s granddaughter. It Lives Inside focuses upon Samidha (Megan Suri, “Missing”), the daughter of Indian immigrants to the US, Poorna (Neeru Bajwa, “Criminal”) and Inesh (Vik Sahay, “Captain Marvel”). An Indian protagonist is something different, not simply because of skin color but because Indian folklore is less familiar to western audiences, and the immigrant experience allows for other tensions.

The history of Samidha’s family is expressed efficiently without being heavy-handed. Poorna largely speaks Hindi and expects Samidha to attend traditional events, while her daughter speaks English with no Indian accent, and prefers to go by the name Sam, hang out with (American) friends and spend time with boys, especially Russ (Gage Marsh, “Riceboy Sleeps”). This context also highlights a tension between tradition and modernity, as different generations do not understand each other. The familiar trope of the teenager distanced from her parents is therefore refreshed by this cultural background, and as Sam grows increasingly frantic over something strange happening, her inability to discuss the matter with her parents is a logical extension of that. Sam’s relationships with her school peers also draws attention to the universal experience of feeling different and out of place, but with the added weight of being from an immigrant family and designated as “Other.” This might sound like too specific an experience for general audiences to engage with, but as described by the great film critic Roger Ebert, cinema is a machine for generating empathy. It Lives Inside highlights the feeling of being looked upon as “Other,” in such a way that any audience can get a flavor for this feeling, much like another very different film of 2023, “Joy Ride.”

In case this sounds like a social drama along the lines of “Blinded By The Light,” “Moonlight” or “The Florida Project,” it is important to note that It Lives Inside is also bloody scary. Sam’s former best friend Tamira (Mohana Krishnan) approaches her one day at school with a strange story that Sam dismisses, only to disappear in mysterious circumstances. Sam then starts feeling a presence and spotting an ephemeral figure. This malevolent shadow that appears in closets and mirrors has the right level of uncanniness, humanoid and yet identifiably wrong. Dutta paces the film carefully, drawing the viewer into Sam’s experience as she steadily becomes more fraught and frightened. Uncertainty over possible madness gives way to set pieces with vicious attacks, featuring precise gore which is all the more compelling. Seeing a person literally ripped in two can be more comical than creepy, but the sight of small wounds appearing in a forearm with no visual cause allows the viewer to focus on this injury and wince accordingly, as well as being placed in the character’s frightening position of not knowing what is happening. These sequences ratchet up the suspense and culminate in visceral jump scares, that may lead to gasps and even screams.

As is sometimes the case with these things, once ambiguity gives way to certainty the film becomes less scary, as the explanation into what is happening is a little pat and provides a solution that you can probably see coming. Some possibly overdone flashback editing in the climactic scene signposts the direction. The coda, while effective, has been done better elsewhere. That said, throughout the film the stakes remain high and the central conceit of having to balance the demands of family and tradition with being a contemporary teenager are played out effectively, as the route taken by Sam is interesting as well as arresting. Overall, It Lives Inside offers an effective take on an established formula, encapsulating various social and familial tensions along with some serious terror.

Once Upon a River is a 92-minute, independent film that marks Haroula Rose’s debut as a feature film director, and an impressive first feature it is. Based on the novel published in 2011 by Bonnie Joe Campbell, a writer who has been a finalist both for the National Book Award and the National Book Critics Award, the film is highlighted by laconic, intense dialogue and a muted color palette that helps express the quiet desperation of the characters who eke out a hardscrabble living in rural Michigan. The film features Kenadi DelaCerna’s stunning performance as Margo Crane, a 15-year-old Native-American, the film’s protagonist, although the entire cast is excellent. Once Upon a River is a subdued film, where intricate traceries of feeling intersect to bring conflicted relationships to the forefront. They provide the center that complements the rustic river scenes that portray a natural word that is more submissive than vivid. One warning, however: If you require f/x flash and non-stop action to keep your eyeballs stuck to the screen, the narrative may be too low-key to maintain your attention. But this would be unfortunate. The film tells an American story in the tradition of Huck Finn or Hemingway’s Nick Adams stories. Don’t be surprised if subtle literary references make their appearance. Margo’s boat is named River Rose and the production company responsible for the film is Riverrun.

Margo’s life in her economically-strained, tightly-knit community is disrupted when she becomes entwined in a family tragedy. This prompts her to escape, and to travel upriver on a journey to find her estranged mother, the only family she has. This is a film that portrays an individual in nature, but eschews panoramic travelogue styled shots. Instead, the camera remains at eye level, and much of the cinematography is composed of medium shots to retain a focus on family dynamics and other forms of personal interaction. That Margo won’t play teenage games with her cousins indicates early on that she is independent minded, a young grown-up that has lived her life among confused, dissatisfied school kids and their parents that are equally astray. However, once Margo embarks on her quest, she seems more in harmony with her element. The solitary teenager finds temporary guardians, who, unlike the locals from whom she is taking flight, treat her with respect and accept her “tomboy” ways. These traits include being a crack shot with a rifle and proficiency with living off the land.

The film is a quiet one with a conventional quest structure, but the story alone would not make this a successful film without the strength of its acting, and it seems clear that Haroula Rose is an actor’s director (she is also a singer/songwriter). Tatanka Means (“Maze Runner: The Scorch Trials”) is perfect as Margo’s troubled, vacillating alcoholic father, and Lindsay Pulsipher (“Law & Order: Special Victims Unit” TV series) is aptly guilt-ridden and conflicted as the mother that abandoned her. Margo finds an unlikely champion in Smoke, a 70-something codger, played to sourpuss perfection by John Ashton (“The Neighborhood”) and complemented by his more practically minded pal, Fishbone (Kenn E. Head, “Brat 2”). In an ironic twist, the two senior citizens brighten up the screen despite their bickering. More important for Margo is that they respect her independence and strength. In this regard, Once Upon a River isn’t so much a coming of age story as it is a tale of finding your roots in unforeseen ways.

Quest stories have a long tradition, but the film fulfills its artistic ends because, as Ezra Pound said, the role of art is “to make it new.” And Once Upon a River does.

Now, I’m pretty much always up for a good ol’ fashioned zombie movie, and since by this time nearly every kind of zombie movie has already been made, I kind of expect to see something I’ve already seen. In some movies, zombies shamble, and in others they run. In some there’s some form of cognition still percolating in their brains, and in others, there’s just gray matter. And sometimes, it’s the setting that’s unusual. In this case, it’s a Native Canadian reservation where everyone knows everyone and things move just a little more slowly. The reserve even has a cranky sheriff (Michael Greyeyes, “True Detective” TV series), his warm ex-wife (Elle-Máijá Tailfeathers, “The Body Remembers When the World Broke Open”), a wild-child son (Forrest Goodluck, “The Revenant”), his wilder stepbrother (Kiowa Gordon, “Drunktown’s Finest”), and (of course) a wise elder (Stonehorse Lone Goeman).

At first glance, this does seem like a clichéd situation, even setting aside the proliferation of zombie movies these days. But it’s unusual that a horror movie spins its yarn from a perspective other than that of White People. There just aren’t that many people of color horror movies out there, and even fewer focus on indigenous peoples. Even so, it’s not difficult for a film to use a unique perspective or setting as its only interesting aspect; Blood Quantum, however, presents appealing characters, quick action, and plenty of visceral violence.

The problems begin when fish caught from a local lake and gutted suddenly begin flopping around; next, a dead dog reanimates. It’s only a matter of time before the virus makes the leap to humans, afflicting a man in a jail cell also occupied by the son and stepbrother. Madness ensues as people get bit and plenty of them die horrible deaths. Then the movie skips forward several months. Gone are the peaceful days in the picturesque Quebec village, replaced by a desolate landscape, a fortress, armed guards, and some paranoia. A familiar question arises: Since the Natives appear to be immune to the virus, do they owe it to the less fortunate to give them shelter? Or do they owe it to themselves to help . . . well, themselves? This dilemma is the impetus for warring factions in the community, as the aggressive Lysol (Gordon) rants against letting potentially infected outsiders into the secure compound. And supplies, at least in the form of gasoline and bullets, are dwindling. Something needs to give, and soon.

Did I mention the violence? Zombie movies are well known for not shying away from blood and guts, and Blood Quantum is no exception. There are plenty of intestines being chewed upon or swords slicing through skulls — enough to sate most fans of crimson hues. Still, the pacing felt a little off. There are stretches when the focus is more on the relationships and “Before Times” conflicts among the main characters and less on defending themselves against hordes of raging zombies. There were also far too many scenes that required the actors to do some heavy dramatic lifting, and the results weren’t always pretty. Tailfeathers and Goodluck are both spot-on terrific, imbuing their characters with empathy and dignity, but some of the other performances were a little one-dimensional. Or, to be fair, perhaps the characters were that way to begin with. Some actors, though, are best suited for action, not melodrama.

Yet even though it is a little uneven in spots, Blood Quantum (the title comes from old colonial laws that limited the civil rights of Native Americans) is definitely a most sincere zombie movie, a delightful roller-coaster when it really gets moving and a bit of a traffic stop when the fighting temporarily ceases and people have to talk about things.

Cooper’s film is not devoid of talent, either, as it features both A-listers and a well-rounded supporting cast (namely Rory Cochrane, “Black Mass” and Ben Foster, “Hell or High Water,” as two soldiers exceedingly different from one another). Cooper’s engrossing screenplay sheds light on injustice, maltreatment, aging and empathy — and it’s all bundled into a western with frame-worthy mountain ridges and meadowed forests. Masanobu Takayanagi’s Oscar snub for Best Cinematography is borderline criminal, seeing as his scenery here is just as a significant a character as Bale’s Captain Joseph Blocker.

Hostiles also boasts an enormous opening scene — one that foreshadows and begins to bind the many thematic threads. Its closing moments, too, are breathtaking — between revamped costumes and a well-executed subplot.

To be clear, Cooper’s film is not an exhibition on gun-slinging, nor does it set out to overwhelm viewers, although its few action scenes are both brutal and timely. Hostiles is a nuanced film, a slow-burner about corrupted souls, the stained American West and spirituality on the frontier. Yet it also resonates today, speaking to the many social and racial injustices and questions we continue to grapple with.

The 134-minute western begins as Rosalie Quaid (Rosamund Pike, “Gone Girl”) endures a horrific frontier crime. Unable to cope with her grief, she is on the brink of insanity until found by Bale’s cynical, soft-spoken and inscrutable Captain Blocker. The soldier, long seeking retirement, is leading a military detail north, to the Valley of the Bears, Montana, to return an aging Native American chief to his homeland.

The chief (played by a characteristically effective Wes Studi, “Avatar”) has a long, bloodstained history with the imperial white man. Joe, too, has seemingly taken part in the systematic butchering of Native tribes. But the two have been forced to break bread together, and “become one” on their journey northward. As Joe grows closer to Rosalie amid her grief and subsequent warpath, he’s also forced to keep his diverse detail in line. This includes Master Sergeant Thomas Metz (Cochrane), who’s a longtime ally, Corporal Henry Woodson (newcomer Jonathan Majors), and Yellow Hawk’s immediate family.

Hostiles offers a lengthy runtime, and as such, must frequently stave off genre traps. The western is a well-trod landscape, and so it is easy to just become another variable in the larger formula. There are certainly moments in the Bale-led period film that could be considered trite, but they are fully and wholeheartedly overpowered by memorable performances and stellar production values.

The heart of the film remains the dynamic between its two leading — albeit vastly different — characters, a jaded Joe and the grief-stricken yet still pious Rosalie. Their budding romance and her part in Joe’s maturation makes for some of the best cinema of 2017 (the film premiered at the Telluride Festival in September 2017). That’s not overstepping, either, because when the two are shown side by side, even the pastoral landscapes become ambience, second only to the palpable onscreen chemistry.

Again, Hostiles is in many ways a film of contradictions, yet somehow, through the horse-drawn processions, the film’s characters remain unflappable, its story easy to grasp just beneath the surface. Even today, there is something remarkable about a well-structured western, something of an escapist film poised to make us reimagine and relate. Hostiles fits that description and is one of the better westerns to come along in years.

Fiedler fills the air with a lot of silence, using dialogue quite sparingly, and he proves to be quite adept at establishing tone and mood. This is especially important given how stingy he is with narrative details. We know almost nothing of the protagonist (not even her name), unaware of how she got from one visible point on her timeline to another, and we don’t even have much understanding of what home she is trying to reach in her trek back.

This all adds to the mystery and allows us to fill in the blanks, but mainly it informs us that Fiedler is more interested in making us feel than letting us know. Given the short running time of Running Eagle and the need to make an impression, it’s a fair decision to focus on putting us in the protagonist’s shoes and letting us feel her pain and fear instead of simply laying out a bunch of facts to create a distinct trail of narrative breadcrumbs.

At the same time, it’s tough to communicate so much hurt and sadness in just a few minutes and the picture isn’t quite as moving as it could be with a longer stretch spent within its borders. Fiedler developed his story by adapting the prologue of Gwen Florio’s novel Dakota, which Fiedler apparently plans to adapt in full as a future feature project. In that sense, this short may one day prove to be a compelling companion piece to the extended film.

As it is now, on its own, Running Eagle is still a cold, captivating work wrapped around a particularly strong performance by Jacobs, who must communicate the emotional complexities of both her past and present almost entirely through her eyes. It’s a great piece of acting that again makes me yearn for a longer look at her character’s experiences, so intriguing is her screen presence.

The small pieces of information that are there for the gleaning certainly entice. Everyone appears to want something from the protagonist, which means she risks being defined more by others than she is by herself. But she’s clearly the focus and Jacobs is so interesting that we see a steeliness shine through and give her tale some glimmer of hope. The title Running Eagle is the name of an actual Native American warrior from the same Blackfeet tribe it would appear our protagonist is trying to return to. One can reasonably assume this suggests she has the spirit of a warrior, but the reference is still shrouded in memorable mystery.

With only 13 minutes, Fiedler establishes himself as a promising storyteller with a calm and steady hand and he shows how much Jacobs can bring to a role with just a handful of mostly dialogue-free scenes, so their collaboration suggests exciting things lie ahead. This short is very good, but it’s more of a taste that leaves one wanting more or a thought not fully formed. Based on what he accomplishes here, Fiedler should be more than capable of widening his scope with emotionally raw results.

Like Jim Jarmusch’s 1995 revisionist Western, “Dead Man,” Slow West has the quality of a dream, poetic and beautiful, almost other-worldly, yet filled with an unmistakable sadness and a desperate loneliness, the flip side of the myth of the heroic pioneer: Brave, determined, and fiercely independent. Gorgeously shot in the beautiful vistas of New Zealand by cinematographer Robbie Ryan (“Philomena”), the film is set in Colorado Territory in 1870. In the words of archaeologist Katherine Routledge, “Everywhere is the wind of heaven; round and above all are boundless sea and sky, infinite space and a great silence.” When the film opens, as a dreamy-eyed young man points his gun at a kaleidoscope of stars in the distant sky, each star seems to light up.

Only sixteen, Jay Cavendish (Smit-McPhee), has traveled from Scotland in pursuit of an idealistic romance with Rose Ross (Caren Pistorius, “The Most Fun You Can Have Dying”) who is on the run with her father John (Rory McCann, “Clash of the Titans”) after a murder in Scotland. Though to Jay she is his true love, in flashback Rose calls him a “silly boy” and condescendingly tells him that her feelings for him are similar to ones she might have for a younger brother. Nonetheless, Jay is willing to endure unknown hardships to find Rose, unaware that there is a bounty of $2,000 on her head and that of her father, a hefty sum in those days. Struggling to survive in an unfamiliar land where violence is endemic, Jay runs into Silas Selleck (Fassbender), a former bounty hunter and member of the Payne gang who offers to help him find his sweetheart for a fee.

Silas is a hard-nosed Clint Eastwood “make my day” kind of guy and, while Jay recognizes that he is a cynical brute who believes he is beyond the law, the boy is need of guidance and unconcerned about aspects of his character or any hidden motive Silas may have. When the fur-coated Payne (Ben Mendelsohn, “Black Sea”) shows up with his gang of bounty hunters, however, Jay’s eyes are opened to the possibility of treachery, reinforced when he discovers that Silas and Payne are old acquaintances. There are other vignettes that mark their journey that underscore the perils of the frontier: An illuminating scene between Jay and Werner (Andrew Robertt), a writer from Germany who is documenting the “extinction of aboriginal peoples” throughout the world; a conversation in French with Congolese singers; and a spate of dead bodies when Swedish immigrants, desperate to feed their children, repeat the only English words they know, “blanket,” “sorry,” “money,” and “please,” with the result being two orphan children.

Both Fassbender and Smit-McPhee bring a great deal of authenticity and presence to their performances. As the two bond, their attitudes undergo subtle but unmistakable changes. Seeing Jay’s fearless determination, Silas becomes softer and more protective, pondering Jay’s advice that there is more to life than survival. The scene in which Silas teaches the young man how to shave by using a sharp knife tells a lot about their relationship. Jay also grows exponentially in maturity in the strange setting where life is cheap and a misstep can end in sudden death.

Author J. R. R. Tolkien (“Lord of the Rings”) said, “From the ashes a fire shall be woken, a light from the shadows shall spring; renewed shall be blade that was broken, the crownless again shall be king.” Like many traditional Westerns, Slow West ends in an explosive shootout that takes place around a little cabin abridging a wheat field, but the ending thwarts conventional expectations and lifts the film from the ordinary to the transcendent, suggesting that not only is there more to life than survival, but that the possibility of transformation is always present.