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Well-made arthouse films are, without a doubt, the cinematic genre that I enjoy most. Which is why movies that unsuccessfully attempt to pass themselves off as such annoy me to no end, particularly when they give the genre itself an undeserved reputation. Regrettably, that's very much the case with writer-director Sven Bresser's debut feature outing, "Reedland." When widowed Dutch reed cutter Johan (Gerrit Knobbe) stumbles upon the corpse of a young woman in one of his fields, he's troubled at what he finds. It's suggested (though never made especially clearly) that he feels guilty about this disturbing finding on his property, so he subsequently launches into an impromptu investigation of his own to discover the truth behind this unsettling incident, despite warnings from authorities advising against this. That, in itself, should make for an engaging premise, but, disappointingly, the filmmaker fails on this point. He loses control of the story, dressing it up with a wealth of visually stunning cinematography in an attempt to cover this offering's many shortcomings. However, no amount of admittedly gorgeous imagery can make up for a lack of a coherent, comprehensible narrative, the primary undermining culprit in this production. For starters, what should be the core story element is largely (and inexplicably) forgotten once introduced. Even though passing references to it are scattered throughout the picture, they're bafflingly intercut with long, lingering images of reed fields blowing in the wind, frequent protracted sequences of Johan walking or driving, segments of a loving grandfather doting on his young granddaughter (Loïs Reinders), and countless extended closeups of the protagonist silently emoting (but never really cluing us in on what he's pondering). Complicating matters further are the inclusion of several largely mishandled illusory sequences and a number of oddly conceived scenes involving a noisy malfunctioning washing machine, a graphic equine insemination act and Johan engaging in "self-gratification" while staring at a computer screen featuring what appears to be an AI-generated sex worker. But what does any of this have to do with a grisly murder investigation? Delightful ambiguity is one thing, but cryptic obfuscation is something else entirely. These elements are not inspired innovation or creative cinematic license at work; they're depictions of unfocused pretention trying to make themselves out to be something more than they are. In light of that, then, it's truly mystifying how this release managed to earn the distinction of being named the Netherlands' official entry in the International Film category at the upcoming Academy Awards. Curiously, as the closing credits roll, a graphic dedication appears on screen in which the filmmaker pays tribute to his mother for helping him "to see the reeds" (whatever that means). Obviously, the director is attempting to portray something of a meaningful and highly personal nature through this work, and that's certainly laudable. Sadly, though, it's unfortunate that he didn't let the rest of us in on what that was. Instead, we have been left lost to roam the reed field aimlessly on our own.

Finding compatible companions - let alone good friends or romantic prospects - seems to have become considerably more problematic than it once was. Such kindreds appear to be more elusive nowadays, and forging meaningful, lasting connections with them - for whatever reason - has become fundamentally more difficult, sometimes driving us to great lengths and even acts of desperation. That can be especially true for those in communities that fall outside the mainstream, as well as those grieving the passage of loved ones who are having trouble recovering from their losses. And now, in this latest offering from actor-writer-director James Sweeney, audiences get an opportunity to witness these dynamics play out firsthand in an unlikely but affecting, heart-tugging scenario. When Roman (Dylan O'Brien) and Dennis (Sweeney) each lose their identical twin siblings, both seek comfort in the company of a support group for those similarly situated. Before long, their chance meeting leads to the development of a close friendship, one that seems to fill the void left by the deaths of their siblings. In addition to becoming pals, Dennis and Roman also provide encouragement and solace for one another as they work through the pain of loss. But, despite the relationship that emerges between them, something doesn't feel quite ... right. As background details begin to surface, matters don't add up as thought, even though this has nothing to do with such things as the basic differences that exist between them (Dennis is gay but Roman is not, even though his late twin brother, Rocky, was). So what exactly is going on here? To say more would reveal too much, but suffice it to say that intriguing developments wait in the wings. And these revelations are very much tied to the considerations discussed at the outset above. In many ways, "Twinless" represents a continuation of themes the filmmaker first explored in "Straight Up" (2019), an examination of the loneliness and search for connection that many of us are looking for these days, particularly among those who belong to constituencies that feel inherently marginalized. Like its predecessor, this engaging comedy-drama accomplishes that goal through a cleverly constructed, intelligently crafted narrative that follows an intriguing and entertaining path in unwinding its story, one filled with gentle though occasionally chancy humor, touching moments (without becoming mawkish, manipulative or clichéd), inventive yet credible plot twists, and honest, hard-earned insights. Ultimately this offering may not provide definitive answers to all the questions it poses, but it nevertheless serves up clues about how we may have arrived at where we're at, as well as possible strategies for working through our sorrows and loneliness and how to move past them so that we don't feel quite as isolated going forward.

In an age where life's everyday challenges can test our wits, becoming overwhelmed is a real possibility when they pile up. Just ask Linda (Rose Byrne), a therapist who struggles to sincerely and sensitively assist her troubled patients. But that's just the start of her problems. She's also tending to a sick child (Delaney Quinn), the demands of which are considerable, both from the whiny, often-unappreciative youngster and her annoyingly insistent caregivers. To make matters worse, a burst pipe in the ceiling of her apartment has forced mother and child to move into a hotel, a stay that's become unexpectedly extended due to the lack of repair work by her inattentive landlord. And, through all of these ordeals, Linda is on her own, given that her unfeeling husband (Christian Slater) is frequently away on business. As a consequence, this palette of issues has forced Linda into therapy herself with a peer counselor (Conan O"Brien), whose incessant indifference not only offers little help, but also tends to exacerbate the stress in her life. Over time, the specific pressures associated with each of these incidents begin to snowball, making coping nearly impossible. And, as time passes, Linda feels as though she's losing herself and descending into her own personal madness. So what is she to do? That's what this intense offering from actress-writer-director Mary Bronstein seeks to explore. This exceedingly dark comedy-drama examines what a woman on the edge might go through as the breaking point approaches. There's an undeniably raw, edgy, realistic quality to this release, one that sometimes makes this a decidedly uncomfortable watch. The barrage of challenges to simply get through the day keeps coming at the protagonist (and, hence, viewers) relentlessly, presented here in nonstop fashion at breakneck speed. And it seems that, no matter what good faith efforts Linda makes to resolve her dilemmas, they're never enough, often exposing her to petty, undue criticism that, in turn, prompt undue, unfair and unfounded accusations of blame and shame. All of these foregoing attributes are routinely intensified by the picture's regular use of macabre comic relief, serving up laughs about incidents and subjects that many of us might genuinely feel guilty chuckling about. But this film's real standout asset is the superb performance turned in by Byrne, easily the best work of her career and handily worthy of awards consideration, capably backed by Quinn, O'Brien and other cast members in fine supporting portrayals. To be sure, "If I Had Legs I'd Kick You" won't suit everyone, and even avid cinephiles may at times find their patience, tolerance and sensibilities sufficiently challenged. Nevertheless, this is one of those "sign of the times" pictures that unflinchingly exposes much of what's wrong with contemporary society and that we'd all be wise to take seriously if we ever hope to see improvement in a world where a lack of compassion, understanding and support are being allowed to run rampant. It's no wonder that so many of us might feel like kicking back under conditions like this. Indeed, maybe it's time we should all seek to grow some legs of our own.