Tina Kakadelis
The Face of Horror
In 2016, Anna Biller wrote and directed The Love Witch, a horror film about a modern-day witch whose love spells produce terrible consequences. The film immediately gained a cult following because of Biller’s bright, bold style and its throwback sensibilities to the horror movies of the 1960s. Ten years later, Biller returns with The Face of Horror at the 2026 Toronto International Film Festival.
The Face of Horror is based on Tsuruya Nanboku IV’s Yotsuya Kaidan, an 1825 Japanese ghost story that is widely considered to be the most famous tale of this type in the country. Biller’s film, however, doesn’t take place in Japan, but some time in 14th-century Europe. Princess Eleanor (Kristine Froseth) is in love with Edward (Jonah Hauer-King), a soldier with no one to fight for. He’s hot-headed, but doesn’t show that side of himself to Eleanor. In the wake of the unexpected death of her father, Eleanor marries Edward. For a brief time, their marriage is blissful, but Edward is always searching for the next hot woman. After the inevitable betrayal that leads to her death, Eleanor haunts Edward relentlessly.
There is a profound style to Biller’s works. In comparison to dreary, underlit Hollywood films like The Devil Wears Prada 2, The Face of Horror is blinding in the best way. It isn’t shot in Technicolor, but it does feature bright reds, blues, and yellows. The film is alive with color, and that makes the inevitable bloodshed all the more vibrant. Biller’s costumes, too, are loud and lovely, a reminder of a time when movies weren’t afraid to be lavish in their looks.
Unfortunately, The Face of Horror likely won’t reach the same status as Biller’s first film, and that’s simply because the plot is stretched far too thin over the two-hour runtime. This ghost story has remained in the public consciousness for hundreds of years for its feminist catharsis, but it takes a long time getting there. Edward’s idiotic, despicable nature is not a secret, so the audience is drooling for the moment all his terrible actions will finally catch up with him. When the blood starts flowing, The Face of Horror is downright gleeful, but it spins its wheels in the same thematic ideas about feminism and relationships for so long that the release is much more muted than one would hope.
Masc
Masc marks the debut feature film from Bertil Nilsson, a photographer and filmmaker who is “known for his work with movement and nature.” That is the same conclusion that comes to mind as the film ends. The magic of film festivals is experiences like this one—when you select a movie you know nothing about because it’s the only thing that fits your schedule and it becomes one of the standout works of TIFF.
Nilsson co-wrote the Masc screenplay with lead actor Joshua Griffin. The film isn’t non-linear per se, but it does move around without a real understanding of how much time has gone by. The only indicator of time’s passage is Robin’s (Griffin) hair. He has it shaved at one point, cropped at another, and sports a variety of other looks. The plot of Masc is just the mundane goings-on of Robin as he works through his identity as a queer, autistic young man. He’s interested in masculinity and what that means for him. Over the course of Masc, we see Robin try on different versions of himself at different temporary jobs and we see how those experiences play into his social life.
Masc is gentle and intimate. Griffin’s performance is one that will leave the audience breathless. Not only does he have impeccably dry comedic timing, but the physicality that Masc asked of him is a wonder to behold. Griffin’s performance is so freeing that it allows Robin to feel very closed-off at times. Throughout the film, Robin has a number of dance sequences. As he admits to someone early on, dancing is the way he can best express himself, but it’s also something he’s too shy to do in person. Each time the audience watches his movements, they become a little more free, a little more honest and open.
Nilsson and Griffin’s script has a flair for the experimental, with the final chapter of the film appearing to be metatextual. The title refers both to masculinity and masking, something that’s directly addressed in the last chapter. Masking is a tool used by autistic people to appear non-autistic, mimicking examples of people they’ve seen on TV or in real life. Masc asks the audience who masking benefits and why autistic and other neurodivergent people feel pressured to do it. Masc is raw in such a profound way that it can make scenes on the big screen feel beautifully small, intimate, and recognizable.
All That She Wants
One of the first pieces I ever wrote for Film Obsessive was a review of Cooper Raiff’s sophomore feature, Cha Cha Real Smooth. Ever since I saw Sh*thouse, Raiff is a filmmaker whose work I never want to miss. Hal & Harper is one of the most staggering and underseen works of television in recent years and it cannot be recommended enough. Where Raiff has faltered for me is in See You When I See You, the first film he starred in that he didn’t also write, direct, and produce. The TIFF-premiering All That She Wants is another example of Raiff simply as an actor, with no hand in other parts of the project. The film also stars Canadian national treasure Annie Murphy of Schitt’s Creek fame.
All That She Wants is one of the few romantic comedies that was part of the programming at TIFF. Emma (Murphy) is fresh off a bad break-up with her long-term boyfriend (Finn Wittrock). Her sister (Zosia Mamet), though pregnant, encourages Emma to accompany her to a club to meet a guy and take her mind off things. There, they meet Luke (Raiff). He’s funny and charming, and the two hit it off and spend the night together. The next morning, Emma realizes that this is not the first time she’s met Luke. In fact, they go way back. Way, way back. Emma used to babysit Luke.
As with any good rom com, the circumstances are strange and they only get stranger. Emma and Luke, despite their initial meeting, are just ten years apart. Even though that starts as the main conflict for this couple, it’s not the thing that adds friction to their love story. Growing up, Emma had everything together, but living as a dancer has made her feel like life has moved on without her. Her little sister is married and pregnant, while Emma is starting over again with her love life and career in her thirties. All That She Wants is a rom com about Emma discovering what makes her happy and passionate every single day.
It might be a little light on the comedy, and the romance between Emma and Luke isn’t electrifying, but All That She Wants is a sweet piece of Christmas-adjacent cinema. One thing is indisputable, and that is Murphy’s star power. From the moment the film opens on her as she’s dancing with a gigantic maxi pad, to her satisfied smile as the credits roll, this is Murphy’s film. Let this be the first of many times we should be so lucky as to see Murphy on the big screen.
Untitled Woman
Camille Summers-Valli’s world-premiering short film, Untitled Woman, is about being seen. There’s a difference between being looked at and actually being perceived, observed, and noticed by the world. Untitled Woman opens with a series of quickly cut-together images of women in the media, then starkly focusing on our film’s main character. Played by Julianne Nicholson, Dawn is presented plainly in contrast to the earlier montage. She’s desperate to be noticed, like all the women in these ads. When she stumbles on an ad for an art class, Dawn finds herself with an opportunity to finally be seen.
Society is not kind to women over a certain age. Even if you just take film roles as an indicator for the larger world, characters are reduced to nagging wives and mothers with minimal lines. Their only purpose is to exist to help the men in their lives find meaning. This is not what Dawn wants her world to be, but that’s what has been her reality as she gets older. The descriptor “of a certain age” feels pointed and confining. Men do not reach a certain age. They become wizened silver foxes whose worth is never called into question.
The teacher of the art class Dawn stumbles upon is played by Charles Melton. He’s gentle and soft-spoken, encouraging Dawn to stay even when she’s initially hesitant about his approach for this class. He tells her, “We’re not chasing perfection. We’re trying to see the person within the body.” A person’s exterior doesn’t capture the entirety of who they are, yet it’s often all strangers ever get to know. That’s not enough for Melton’s teacher. He wants to encourage his students to take up space and vocalize their true selves. It doesn’t have to be verbally, but through art or another medium.
When Dawn shows hesitation about what’s asked of her in the class, the other students have little patience. They groan and call her difficult. That’s what pushes Dawn to a long-simmering breaking point. “And why can’t I be difficult when everyone else is?” she bursts out. Dawn is a woman who has allowed herself to be pushed down for far too long, who has accepted the cloak of invisibility that society has put on her. She has long viewed that cloak as a prison, but begins to see there is power in it as well. Untitled Woman is a reclamation of a certain age. A woman, seen and heard, beholden only to herself.
