Not that long ago, the screen calendar was stuffed with festivals and seasons showcasing the latest features from countries across Europe. Sadly, the majority of these valuable events have fallen by the wayside, including those devoted to German, Greek and Bulgarian cinema. Thankfully, however, the Romanian Film Festival returns for a fourteenth year, with the Vanishing Hearts programme showing at the Curzon Soho in London between 18-22 April.

The standout title is Constantin Popescu's Pororoca, which takes its title from a tidal bore that has been known to travel up to 500 miles inland along the River Amazon. Although this destructive geographical phenomenon is never mentioned during an unsettling thriller focusing on a life-changing disappearance, most viewers will appreciate the allusion, as Popescu enhances the reputation forged with such New Wave offerings as Portrait of the Fighter As a Young Man and Principles of Life (both 2010) and `Pig', his contribution to the 2011 portmanteau picture, Tales From the Golden Age.

Banker Bogdan Dumitrache appears to have a happy family life with accountant wife Iulia Lumânare and their children, Stefan Raus and Adela Marghidan, who are seven and five respectively. Dumitrache may not be the best dad in Bucharest, as he can be a bit short at times and has been known to vent his spleen down the phone when Lumânare is messed around by her clients. But he dutifully ferries the kids to swimming lessons and ensures that they have the best of everything. Thus, when he looks up from his phone during a Sunday outing to a park playground and realises that Marghidan has vanished, his terror is palpable, as he frantically searches the vicinity.

Cop Constantin Dogioiu promises to do what he can, but none of the potential witnesses noticed anything untoward and, as the days turn into weeks, it becomes clear that Dumitrache is going to have to conduct his own inquiries. As he clings to the smallest hope,  Lumânare starts to feel the strain and begins to blame her husband for his poor parenting. Surrounded by reminders of their daughter, the couple inexorably fall apart and Lumânare decides to take Raus to live with her parents. Left alone, Dumitrache becomes increasingly desperate and fixes his  investigation on one particular suspect.

Although it contains echoes of such Romanian pictures as Corneliu Porumboiu's Police, Adjective (2009), Cristi Puiu's Aurora (2010) and Cristian Mungiu's Graduation (2016), as well as such parklife films as Christine Malloy and Joe Lawlor's Who Killed Brown Owl (2004) and Helen (2008) and Damien Manivel's Le Parc (2016), this gnawing study in loss and powerlessness most closely recalls Michelangelo Antonioni's Blow-Up (1966), Lodge Kerrigan's Keane (2004) and Andrei Zvyagintsev's Loveless (2017). Using long takes to emphasise the strain being placed on Dumitrache, Popescu makes telling use of Liviu Marghidan's widescreen imagery to contrast the wide-open spaces of the park and the closing walls of Oana Novicov's well-appointed interiors, which are filled with the missing girl's possessions, clothes and drawings.

He also makes the bearded banker seem incrementally less significant within the frame, as he begins to realise that nothing he can do can turn back time. The absence of music and Mihai Bogos's occasionally removal of ambient sound further serve to isolate Dumitrache, who gives a harrowing performance that is deftly complemented by Lumânare and Dogioiu, whose respective disillusion and detachment  are presented with an equanimity that prevents the action lapsing into melodrama, even when Dumitrache resorts to extreme measures. Running for an immersive 153 minutes, this exerts a tight grip while exacting a considerable emotional toll.

Another relationship falls apart at the seams in Calin Peter Netzer's Ana, Mon Amour. Following on from Maria (2003), Medal of Honour (2009) and the Berlin-winning Child's Pose (2013), this has a structural intricacy that belies the superficial nature of its core drama. Nevertheless, the lead performances are admirably committed, as Netzer seeks to reveal how `the unseen, the unspoken, even the unthought' can impact upon a seemingly strong relationship.

From the moment grad students Diana Cavallioti and Mircea Postelnicu begin discussing Nietzsche and anti-Semitism, it's clear that sparks will fly between them. Yet, when Cavallioti has a panic attack after they tumble into bed, Postelnicu helps her recover and assumes the role of her protector after he discovers that her father defected to the West and that mother Tania Popa has turned a blind eye to her daughter's unusual relationship with stepfather Igor Caras Romanov. However, Postelnicu has problems of his own, as he and mother Carmen Tañase are both intimidated by his domineering father, Vasile Muraru.

When Cavallioti becomes pregnant, Postelnicu grows increasingly controlling, despite seeking counselling from both psychiatrist Adrian Titieni and priest Vlad Ivanov. However, as Cavallioti dispenses with her medication and starts to assert her independence, Netzer and editor Dana Bunescu begin fragmenting the narrative, so that it's only possible to place sequences in their proper context by noting the couple's changing hairstyles. Over the course of their decade-long union, she trims her wild mane before dyeing it blonde, while he goes from bearded mop top to slaphead. But, even though the storytelling often seems unnecessarily fussy, the cast keeps the audience involved and, occasionally, engrossed.

Although a bookish couple like Cavallioti and Postelnicu would be naturally talkative, Netzer and co-scenarists Cezar Paul-Badescu and Iulia Lumânare are often guilty of letting their verbosity get the better of them. Andrei Butica's restless handheld camera ensures that the visuals never become static, but Netzer keeps using the dialogue to underline plot and character points that an attentive viewer will already have picked up for themselves. He allows himself a couple of moments of disconcerting humour, most notably when Postelnicu is forced to share a bed with the creepy Caras Romanov. But the exchanges about dreams between Titieni and his patient become ever-more convoluted and unconvincing, particularly after Ivanov gives the increasingly devout Postelnicu some sound advice that he chooses not to heed.

Much will depend on whether the audience buys Cavallioti and Postelnicu's personality shifts. But many will be disappointed by the fact that the perspectival emphasis falls too firmly on the latter, with the result that the insights into Cavallioti's problems can seem chauvinistically trite. There's no doubting the courage of the leads, however, who bare body and soul for the cause. And no one will forget the hairstyles created by Heike Ersfeld and Christina Paul.

Onetime reviewer Andrei Cretulescu alights upon another husband struggling to come to terms with his wife's refusal to bow to his will in his feature bow, Charleston. Having cut his teeth on shorts like Bad Penny (2013), Kowalski (2014) and Ramona (2015), Cretulescu tries hard to examine the crisis in Romanian masculinity with a mix of sombre drama and bleak comedy. But, despite the bullish efforts of his stars, this often feels like a series of set-pieces in search of a cogently linking thread.

The action begins with a bang, as Ana Ularu is killed by a speeding van while staring intently at her phone. Macho husband Serban Pavlu tries to hide his grief at the graveside by smoking casually. Moreover, he sees no reason to postpone his 42nd birthday bash. But, as his guests stagger away, he is surprised by a knock at the door and stranger Radu Iacoban's admission that he was Ularu's lover for the last five months of her life.

Responding with his fists, Pavlu is astonished when Iacoban takes his punishment and comes back for more. Disconcerted by the fact that he had been supplanted in his wife's affections by a science fiction-writing milquetoast half his age, Pavlu comes to find Iacoban's presence increasingly comforting, especially after he survives an excruciating lunch date with Ularu's overbearing parents, Victor Rebengiuc and Ana Ciontea. But the budding bond comes under more strain when Iacoban agrees to accompany Pavlu on a sentimental journey to his honeymoon cottage.

Ticking off New Wave tropes as it makes its unsteady progress, this is very much the kind of debut one would expect from a critic (right down to its blatant repast homage to Cristi Puiu's Sieranevada, 2016). Cretulescu deserves credit for attempting such a pitch black comedy and he is splendidly served by the bristlingly misanthropic Pavlu and the stutteringly compassionate Iacoban. Moreover, Victor Rebengiuc and Adrien Titieni (as a bartender) contribute amusing cameos, while Barbu Balasoiu's camerawork is as jaunty as Massimiliano Nardulli's jazzy score. But the tonal shifts are often awkward and emphasise the episodic nature of the enterprise.

A road trip also proves key to Cristi Iftime's first feature, Marita, another dissertation on the changing face of manliness that trusts its excellent ensemble to make a virtue of its polished dialogue and sedate camera moves. Scripted by Iftime and Anca Buja, this festive family saga manages simultaneously to seem meticulously rehearsed and audaciously improvised and represents an impressive transition after the shorts 15 July (2011) and The Camp in Razoare (2012).

Having hit a bump in the road with his girlfriend, 30 year-old Alexandru Potocean decides to patch things up with estranged father Adrian Titieni and suggests that they drive together to their holiday home in Moldova to spend Christmas with his mother and brothers. Leaving current wife Victoria Cocias behind, Titieni decides to make the trip in Marita, a white Dacia that has somehow survived the family's various tribulations. With a faulty gearbox and wonky windscreen wipers, she has also seen better days and father and son bicker between breakdowns and wrong turns in the freezing mountains before they finally reach journey's end.

Ana Ciontea welcomes her unexpected guests and Potocean is soon joining Bogdan Dumitrache in teasing younger sibling Andrei Hutuleac. But, while he is prepared to endure Titieni's interminable anecdotes and his fixation on his collection of Soviet stamps, Potocean feels obliged to take him to task when he boasts about his marital infidelities in Ciontea's house. Naturally, the mood downswings. But Titieni is never one to learn a lesson or hold a grudge and he is soon the life and soul of the party again and even manages to rebuild a few bridges before the time comes to depart.

The closing sequence in which Ciontea wanders over to Marita as if nothing had changed is deeply poignant and Iftime is to be commended for achieving the difficult balance between wit and pathos. He is helped enormously by the excellent Titieni and his co-stars, as they deliver the copious dialogue with unassuming naturalism. Potocean also shows well, as he tries to reconcile the past with his misfiring present in a manner that is paralleled by the creaking Dacia, which was a symbol of Romanian reliability during the Communist era. But it's Iftime's assured direction that most impresses, as he guides Lucian Ciobanu's camera through lengthy takes that force the characters to play off each other as close family members would do.

Finally, another father finds himself in a Yuletide quandary in Breaking News, Iulia Rugina's follow-up to Love Building (2013) and Another Love Building (2014). In fact, Rugina and co-writers Ana Agopian and Oana Rasuceanu began working on the screenplay in 2007 and a nagging feeling recurs throughout that the news agenda has rather moved on in the intervening decade. Nevertheless, this is more of a family than a workplace drama, as it shifts its focus from newsgathering to the ramifications of a tragedy.

As Christmas approaches, NTV reporter Andi Vasluianu and cameraman Dorin Androne are sent to cover an incident at a factory in the Berceni district of Budapest. A faulty boiler has caused an explosion and the pair arrive as firemen and paramedics scour the scene for survivors. Feeling he needs a more dramatic backdrop for his report, Vasluianu persuades Androne to venture into the smouldering building. However, while they are live on air, the roof collapses and Vasluianu escapes with cuts and bruises while his colleague is killed.

Havng lied to place the blame for entering the scene on Androne, Vasluianu begins to feel increasingly guilty about his foolhardy actions. So, when boss Oxana Moravec suggests that he travels of Mangalia to interview the deceased's family to build up a picture of the real man, Vasluianu risks the ire of wife Ioana Flora by leaving her alone with their young son and heading to the Black Sea resort, where the out-of-season gloom does nothing to improve his mood. He introduces himself to widow Maria Rotaru and apologises for his part in her husband's demise. But he is more intrigued by her teenage daughter, Voica Oltean, who has not forgiven Androne for leaving home to pursue his career.

Mooching around the house, Vasluianu becomes aware of how little he knew about Androne and how impossible it is to encapsulate a life and a personality in a brief news item. As he begins to piece together an appreciation, however, he begins to feel responsible for patching things up between Oltean and the father she had clearly once adored. However, he also knows he has a deadline to meet and needs to coax the grieving girl into giving him an interview.

Although Rugina touches on media morality and the public's taste for sensation, this is primarily a rite of passage that sees Vasluianu realise that his job is only part of his life rather than the be all and end all and Oltean understand that her father never stopped loving her, even though he broke their special bond by leaving her behind for work. Two pieces of music prove key to healing process, as Oltean watches a video of her younger self (Catinca Militaru) being encouraged by Androne to sing along to her guitar and Vasluianu recognises the significance to his lost acquaintance of Otis Redding's `(Sittin' On) The Dock of the Bay'.

Vasluianu holds the picture together with a restrained display of redemptive remorse. But he is upstaged by 17 year-old newcomer Voica Oltean, whose rebellious resentment can never quite disguise the fact that she is still a daddy's girl at heart. With Rugina keeping Vivi Dragan Vasile's camera close to the actors at all times, Oltean does well to avoid over-emoting during some of the more melodramatic passages. But, while Vasile expertly draws potent contrasts between the festive bustle of Bucharest and the demoralising bleakness of Mangalia, Rugina's direction isn't always so nuanced. Life may have a habit of leaving loose ends, but the irresolution here leaves the ending feeling rather flat.