Venezuelan cinema has made little impact on the wider world since Edgar Anzola and Jacobo Capriles's The Climber (1924) became the first indigenous feature to be shown abroad. A further six decades were to elapse before Fina Torres's feminist drama, Oriana (1985), won the Caméra d'or at Cannes. Since the opening of the Villa del Cine studios in 2007, however, Venezuelan projects have started to attract foreign investment and the likes of Jonathan Jakubowicz's kidnap thriller, Secuestro Express (2005), and Mariana Rondón's social comedy, Bad Hair (2013), have secured theatrical releases in the UK. But the profile seems set to be raised further by

Lorenzo Vigas's debut, From Afar, which arrives at The ICA in London after winning the Golden Lion at the Venice Film Festival.

Counting such leading Mexican film-makers as Guillermo Arriaga and Michel Franco among its producers and boasting the talents of actor Alfredo Castro and cinematographer Sergio Armstrong, who are known for their collaborations with Chilean auteur Pablo Larraín, this is very much a Latin American co-production. But, even though its storyline bears more than a passing similarity to Robin Campillo's Eastern Boys (2013) and Dito Montiel's Boulevard (2015) - which, themselves, owe a significant debt to German maverick Roland Klick's 1974 saga, Supermarket - this offers fascinating insights into attitudes to homosexuality in a macho society undergoing something of an identity crisis in the post-Hugo Chávez era.

Still haunted by a childhood trauma, middle-aged dental prosthetist Alfredo Castro keeps to himself when not seeking young men like black bus passenger Jeralt Jiménez for paid masturbatory encounters in his Caracas apartment. Sister Catherina Cardozo is too wrapped up in an adoption application to share Castro's concern that their abusive father has returned to the city. So, he seeks solace in teenage car mechanic Luis Silva, who initially spurns Castro's advances before following him home and stealing his wallet after inflicting a severe kicking.

Estranged from mother Jericó Montilla, Silva is a tough street kid who thinks nothing of barging into a snooker hall with pals Ernesto Campos and Oswaldo Chacha and beating up the brothers opposing his relationship with girlfriend Joretsis Ibarra. But he has aspirations and surprises his boss when he hands over a wad of cash to buy a smashed-up car in the corner of the garage. However, he needs more money for spares and, when Castro comes looking for him after stalking his father and his friends at a swanky restaurant, he readily agrees to a second assignation. He refuses to play along with Castro's fantasy, but realises he is a potential source of easy revenue and ingratiates himself by returning the stolen wallet.

Castro rewards him with a lunch date and looks on indulgently as Silva bosses the waiter around and bolts his food while swilling back beer. He asks the odd question about Castro's private life, but disappears after a phone call tips him off about a chance to steal a mirror for his car. Emboldened by their meeting, Castro follows his father to an office complex outside the city and even rides in the same elevator before returning home to vomit. However, when he ventures out to find Silva, there is no sign of the youth and Castro has to grease a lot of palms before he finds Silva in a backstreet hideaway recovering from a thrashing meted out by Ibarra's brothers.

Castro arranges for Silva to be moved to his apartment and hires a nurse to look after him. They chat over dinner and Silva reveals that he would discipline his children in the same way his father brutalised him. The following day, while Castro is at work, Silva finds a wall safe and pulls a knife on Castrol when he comes home to find him attempting to crack it with a hammer and chisel. A struggle ensues and Castro is stabbed in the leg. But Silva thinks better about running away and ignores threats of the police to hug Castro and give him a necklace for protection after accompanying him to the hospital for stitches.

Cardozo invites Castro to meet his baby nephew and he feels equally protective towards Silva. He pays off what he owes for the car and takes him to the coast, where Silva strips off his shirt to sunbathe and reminisce about the times he went fishing with his father. As he throws stones into the sea, he admits that his father is in prison for killing a friend and, when Castro wishes that his father was dead, Silva expresses an interest in meeting him.

Feeling comfortable with what is still a platonic relationship, Silva coaxes Castro into attending a family party so that he can meet Campos and Chacha. As Silva dances, mother Montilla sidles over to Castro and makes it clear that she disapproves of their friendship. But, when Silva drags them both on to the floor and uses the music to grind against Castro, he rushes off in distress and slaps Silva when he clumsily attempts to kiss him in the toilets.

Shunned by his mates, Silva wakes in his car the following morning and is accused of being gay by Montilla when he asks if he can stay with her. Castro agrees to let him sleep on the sofa and, when Silva renews his request to meet his father, they go to his office and Castro looks on with trepidation as Silva blithely walks past him on the steps. That night, Silva climbs into Castro's bed, but he urges him not to become too attached. They barely speak over breakfast the next day, but Castro becomes concerned when Silva stays out late. When he eventually returns, he places some cartridge cases on the table and, realising what he has done, Castro takes Silva to bed and they make love. However, when Silva goes to buy bread, he is arrested as he comes out of the shop and Castro watches impassively from a discreet distance.

Despite the teasing hints, it's never apparent who is using who in this seething study of filial resentment and recessional emasculation. Castro likes to think that he is in control, as he pays for casual encounters that satisfy his lusts without compromising his status. But, from the moment he meets Silva, something stirs within him that is both sexual and paternal, protective and exploitative. Does he really lure Silva into a trap or does he adopt him as an embodiment of his younger self? Or does he just allow himself to be carried along by events whose outcome seems inevitable once Silva starts to take an interest in Castro's father?

It says much for Vigas's nuanced direction that the action avoids lapsing into melodrama by relying more on character psychology than narrative contrivance. But the focus on Castro and Silva leaves little for the supporting players to do by means of contextualising a relationship that often contains echoes of those between Olivier Rabourdin and Kirill Emelyanov in Eastern Boys and Robin Williams and Roberto Aguire in Boulevard. However, the leads are superb in making as much use of body language as dialogue, as the debuting Silva switches impulsively between swagger and ambiguity, while Castro draws on his customarily economic enigmaticism to keep his feelings bottled and his motives vague.

Matías Tikas'

s production design, Sergio Armstrong's photography and Isabela Monteiro de Castro's editing reinforce the chasm between Castro and Silva's worlds, while Vigas reveals his background in documentary by making evocative use of his locations in the La Candalaria district of Caracas. It says much that Venice jurors of the calibre of Alfonso Cuarón, Hou Hsiao-hsien, Lynne Ramsay and Nuri Bilge Ceylan were so impressed by Vigas's bold use of silence and analytical restraint. But it's his refusal to flinch or judge that gives an admittedly derivative story its power.

By contrast, German director Florian Gallenberger shows none of the finesse that made John Rabe (2009) so compelling in The Colony (aka Colonia), an hysterical, Hollywoodised thriller that makes a mockery of the events that occurred in Chile following the ousting of President Salvador Allende by General Augusto Pinochet on 11 September 1973. Whereas Gallenberger approached the atrocities committed by the Japanese after the 1937 Battle of Nanking with the same level of gravitas demonstrated by Chinese director Lu Chuan in City of Life and Death (2009), he betrays the spirit of Patricio Guzmán's seminal documentary, The Battle of Chile (1975) - which he has plundered for the footage accompanying the opening credits - by turning the nightmare endured by a nation into cheap form of populist entertainment that reflects badly on all involved.

As the radio and television news discuss the deteriorating situation in Santiago in September 1973, Lufthansa stewardess Emma Watson flies in to see activist boyfriend Daniel Brühl. She spots him handing out leaflets at a rally and promises pilot Julian Ovenden that she will see him in a few days, as she jumps out of the airline minibus to embrace her man in front of the crowd.

Back in his apartment, Watson photographs Brühl's bare buttocks, as they peep through his apron while he prepares a post-coital snack. But the lovers aren't allowed to enjoy their solitude for long, as Brühl receives a phone call that General Pinochet has launched a coup and they are arrested as he tries to take covert pictures of the troops rounding up supporters of the deposed President Allende. The pair are taken to the National Stadium, where a hooded man identifies Allende loyalists. A union official is gunned down in cold blood and Watson is powerless to prevent Brühl being bundled into a Volkswagen van and driven away.

While

Brühl is chained to a bed and subjected to electric shocks, Watson seeks out his comrades, who infuriate her by claiming that it is far too dangerous to attempt to help him. Amnesty International rep Martin Wuttke is only slightly more helpful, although he hazards a guess that Brühl will be taken to Colonia Dignidad, a religious mission set up by exiled German Michael Nyqvist that is reputed to be a right-wing torture centre. Determined not to abandon Brühl, Watson tells Ovenden not to wait for her and travels south by bus to join Nykvist's cult.

Welcomed at the gate of the compound by the suspicious Richenda Carey, Watson is interviewed by Nykvist in his office. He questions her motives for rejecting the world and accuses her of being possessed by Satan because she wears a lacy bra. But Watson insists she needs his healing help and he embraces her before she is taken to a spartan dormitory by Carey, who instructs her to tape down her breasts and remove her slutty high heels. Wondering what she has got herself into, Watson is relieved to be joined by her roommates. But no one is willing to engage in conversation and she is unnerved when they meekly swallow the pills that Carey gives them to ensure they will sleep through the night.

The next morning, Watson is taken into the fields to work. She passes out in the heat and Carey whips her and threatens dire consequences if she takes the slightest sip from a bucket of cold water. That night, Watson cries herself to sleep. But Brühl remains on his guard between interrogation sessions and decides to feign brain damage after he overhears doctor Lucia Gandolfo discussing the effects of electro-shock torture.

By Day 9, Watson has started to come to terms with her plight and is intrigued when the women are herded into a large hall and Jeanne Werner confides that she met fiancé Johannes Allmayer at one of these gatherings three years earlier. As she looks on, Watson is disturbed by the hysteria generated by the other women when Nykvist calls upon them to pray to raise a man from the dead. However, he curses that there is too much sin in the room to bring about a miracle and, as the believers are sent back to their dorms, Watson notices nurse Vicky Krieps trying to catch her eye.

While picking corn on Day 37, Watson is tricked by Carey into betraying Werner's romance and, that night, the menfolk are assembled to witness Nykvist call upon Allmayer to punished Werner for her sin. When he breaks down, Nykvist orders some other acolytes to beat Werner. But they are distracted when somebody notices Watson peering in through the window and she manages to get back to her bed in time to see Nykvist slap Carey across the face for her dereliction of duty.

Brühl, meanwhile, has succeeded in fooling the medical staff that he is scarred and harmless and he is given a menial job in Steve Karier's workshop. As he snoops round, however, he steals a torch and finds a darkroom full of photographic chemicals. Across the compound, Watson also takes a risk to ask Krieps how Werner is recovering from her assault. She also learns that it is possible to be brought before a Men's Gathering for breaking the rules. So, she slips away from the field to swim naked in a nearby lake and scours the assembled faces in the hope of seeing Brühl among the men cheering Nykvist's sneering assertion that unruly women should be taught a lesson. However, she is spared punishment when Brühl accidentally sets off the perimeter alarm and Nykvist has him returned to his quarters after accepting that he is not up to anything sinister.

On Day 130, Nykvist supervises some of his young choristers as they take a shower because Colonia Dignidad is expecting a visit from General Pinochet and his top brass. The women are allowed to wear their Sunday best and are given German and Chilean flags to wave in a mixed parade that affords Watson another opportunity to find Brühl. As they cheer the motorcade, the lovers spot each other and she slips a crucifix into his hand as they agree to meet at the potato shed that evening.

Bristling with pride, Nykvist is too busy demonstrating guns and taking orders for consignments of poison gas to notice that his security has been breached. Consequently, nobody suspects when Watson lands a peeling punishment and Brühl begs to be given guard duty alone because everyone deserves a chance to prove themselves. Alone inside the shed, Brühl and Watson embrace and he informs her that babies are being snatched from their mothers as part of a selective breeding programme. He also finds a trapdoor that leads to the torture corridor. So, when Carey comes to escort Watson back to her dormitory, Brühl is able to sneak back into the basement and smash the shock apparatus with a stool.

The next day, Nykvist orders Watson to spy on Krieps. However, as Brühl is undergoing a blood test to see if he would be a suitable guinea pig for a gas trial, Krieps recognises Watson's cross and realises they are an item. During lunch, she sits with Watson in the fields and informs her that she has been at Colonia Dignidad since she was nine because Carey is her mother. Watson promises to help her in any way she can and snags another potato punishment so she can rendezvous with Brühl (who has somewhat spuriously been selected for guard duty again, even though the electro machine was damaged on his watch). He shows Watson the photographs he has managed to take proving that Nykvist is torturing political prisoners and says they have to escape before the gas test.

Carey brings Krieps to the shed and Watson only just manages to hide a dropped photo under her bucket. However, Carey is forced to leave them alone because Krieps doesn't have a knife and, in her absence, Krieps pleads with Watson to help her escape, as she is carrying a dissident's baby. On her return, Carey notices that Watson is peeling the same potato and finds the photograph when he confronts her.

As Nykvist tries to intimidate Watson with barking dogs, Brühl accuses Karier of taking the pictures and shows Nykvist an album full of incriminating evidence in the darkroom. Seemingly satisfied, Nykvist has Watson returned to her dorm. But she knocks out Carey with a shovel and joins Krieps and Brühl in the potato shed in order to make their escape through the trap door. Brühl files through the bolt on a gate at the end of the tunnel and rescues Krieps when her uniform snags on some metal when they have to swim underwater to reach a safe chamber.

Day 132 dawns as the trio emerge in the woods. Free for the first time in her adult life, Krieps hugs Watson in gratitude, only to promptly tread on a trip wire that sets off the gun that kills her instantly. Watson blames herself, but Brühl urges her not to dally and they dash through the trees without incurring any further wires or any guards alerted by the gunfire. They reach the main road and hitch a ride in a truck before a white out shifts the scene to the German Embassy in Santiago.

Ambassador August Zirner welcomes the pair and congratulates them on their ingenuity. However, he regrets that there are no flights out of Chile for a week and offers them sanctuary until then. Watson is not convinced, however, and calls the Ritz, where Ovenden just happens to be staying prior to flying out that afternoon. He books them sears and Zirner puts a diplomatic car at their disposal for the journey to the airport.

They arrive at an underground entrance and are taken to a room away from the main concourse. However, they spot Nykvist through the window and realise they have been betrayed. They escape and have time to spit at Nykvist through a glass partition before stealing a baggage cart and speeding across the tarmac before anyone can stop them boarding. Defying a denial of clearance from the tower, Ovenden takes off and Watson and Brühl look down on the fuming Nykvist before settling back into their seats to smooch.

A closing caption reveals that Nykvist's character, Paul Schäfer, conducted a reign of terror at Colonia Dignidad in conjunction with Pinochet's DINA secret police. Apparently, five members of the cult did escape during its 40-year existence, but their warnings about the grim regime went unheeded and Schäfer remained at large until the 84 year-old was arrested in Argentina in 2005. Yet, while he was sentenced to 33 years for the abuse of children and other crimes (he died in 2010), neither Pinochet nor the German embassy was ever indicted for collusion.

Enlisting Chile's Disappeared as a MacGuffin in a sensationalist diatribe on fanaticism and perversion, this is a reprehensible piece of film-making that deserves to be pilloried. Co-written by Gallenberger and Torsten Wenzel, the screenplay feels like a clumsy amalgam of Alfred Hitchcock's Torn Curtain (1964) and Ti West's The Sacrament (2013), with Michael Nykvist being allowed to play the hideous Paul Schäfer as a variation on the mad scientist essayed by Dieter Laser in the Human Centipede trilogy. As a consequence, this has all the integrity of a Nazisploitation shocker like Don Edmonds's Ilsa: She Wolf of the SS (1975).

According to the press notes, producer Benjamin Herrmann thought they were `delivering a serious message through entertainment and suspense' in the manner of Alan J. Pakula's All the Presidents Men (1974), Sydney Pollack's Three Days of the Condor (1975) and Ben Affleck's Argo (2012). But they couldn't have been any wider of the mark. This feels like it has been thrown together by people in a hurry with scant regard for fact or plausibility. The distinction between historical and fictional characters is never established, while the switches between Spanish, German and English are sloppy in the extreme (and even extend to signposts). Moreover, the reliance on contrivance and convenience insults the audience's intelligence, as doors are handily left open, conversations are readily overheard and weapons are handily left lying around. Judged on this reconstruction, it's a wonder Colonia Dignidad ever managed to keep anyone behind its electrified fence.

Poor Emma Watson is as miscast as Julie Andrews was in Hitch's Cold War thriller. But even though her supposedly German character doesn't have an accent, she tries to make something of a cipher devoid of backstory and any tangible romantic connection with her beau. Brühl also suffers from poor delineation, as we learn nothing about how he became involved with the Chilean cause or why he would have been deemed to disposable by the German embassy. He has to suffer the added indignity of pretending to be brain damaged, although his efforts to convey his condition are insultingly inadequate.

Bernd Lepel's production design is effective enough, as is Kolja Brandt's photography. But the score by André Dziezuk and Fernando Velázquez is lamentably over the top, in keeping with far too much of Gallenberger's direction. There's no doubt that he means well in trying to teach multiplex audiences about this chilling episode, but his approach couldn't be more misguided or regrettable.

It's clear from John Rabe that Gallenberger knows what he is doing. But, when it comes to constructing a storyline around actual events, he could pick up a few tips from Pierfrancesco Diliberto. Known to Italian audiences as Pif, tele-satirist Diliberto makes a confident directorial debut with The Mafia Kills Only in Summer, a bold chronicle of the Cosa Nostra that is told through the uncomprehending eyes of a young Sicilian boy who is more interested in a pretty classmate than the rampant corruption, collusion and criminality going on around him. Diliberto owes much to production designer Marcello Di Carlo and costumier Cristiana Ricceri for conveying the look and feel of Palermo in the 1970s and 80s. But what most impresses is the way in which he and co-scenarists Michele Astori and Marco Martani switch so deftly between tragedy and comedy, innocence and infamy without once seeming to trivialise the murderous madness that was everyday reality for a population cowed into silence.

In explaining why he has adored Flora (Cristiana Capotondi) for 20 years, Arturo (Pierfrancesco Diliberto) takes us back to the night he was conceived. As his parents (Rosario Lisma and Barbara Tabita) celebrated moving into their new home at 109 Viale Lazio, Cosa Nostra boss Salvatore `The Beast' Riina attacked Michele `The Cobra' Cavataio and his cabal in a room downstairs and the massacre of 10 December 1969 opened a new and violent chapter in Sicilian history. As a consequence, Friar Giacinto (Antonino Bruschetta) couldn't linger at Arturo's christening because he had to witness Christian Democrat mayor Vito Ciancimino being sworn into office. However, his gangland connections would result in the friar being shot dead a decade later in a convent room filled with whips.

While still acting as the family's spiritual guide, however, Fra Giacinto had sprinkled the young Arturo with holy water and prompted him to say his first word: `Mafia'. As he grew up, Arturo (Alex Bisconti) overheard so many conversations about local men perishing because they chased after women that he could reassure classmate Sebastiano (Alexander De Simone) that his father would never be rubbed out by the mob because he had no interest in his mother. But Arturo was powerless to resist when he first laid eyes on new classmate, Flora (Ginevra Antona), who had come to Palermo with her banker father (Attilo Fabiano), who just happened to be his own father's boss.

They live in the same building as magistrate Rocco Chinnici (Enzo Salomone), who has come to Sicily to investigate the rivalry between the principal families. But, while he finds Arturo's pursuit of Flora adorable, his father is less enchanted and tells him to shut up and watch the television. As luck would have it, the answers that Arturo was looking for about asking a girl on a date are provided by a man on a chat show and, as a consequence, Arturo becomes devoted to Prime Minister Giulio Andreotti. In addition to cutting out pictures for his scrapbook, he also puts a poster on his wall and impersonates his idol at a school fancy dress party, where he wins first prize for his supposed Hunchback of Notre Dame costume.

Following Andreotti's advice, Arturo asks Flora to meet him at the cemetery. But he has a rival for her affections in Fofo (Lorenzo Guccione), who escorts her home. As he shuffles away disconsolately, Arturo is spotted by Totò Riina (Antonio Alveario), who comments to his companion about how much Andreotti's son resembles his father. However, he is blithely unaware that he is in the middle of a war and cheerfully accepts the advice of Inspector Boris Giuliano (Roberto Burgio) that he could win Flora's affections with the isis buns served in his favourite café. But Arturo lacks the nerve to give Flora the gift in person and Fofo takes the credit (and receives a kiss) when she finds the treat on her desk.

A few days later, Arturo is dismayed to see that Giuliano has been assassinated at the café and notices that the glass has been shattered in the isis display. He summons the courage to tell Flora that he bought the buns. But, as he warns her that they can no longer be sold because they contain bullets, Fofo delivers a perfectly wrapped package and Flora accuses Arturo of being a liar. Mistaking his despair for fear, Arturo's father reassures him that he will be safe as winter is coming and the Mafia only kills in the summer. But Arturo thinks he has stumbled across something to impress Flora when he convinces himself that a mobster is hiding out in his grandfather's old flat. Being a dutiful citizen, Flora informs Chinnici, who accepts the tip-off with mock gravitas. However, Flora is scathing when the interloper turns out to be a northern journalist named Francesco (Claudio Gioè), who has been dispatched by his newspaper to cover sport.

Shortly afterwards, Arturo gets a chance to atone when Flora's father sponsors a competition for budding journalists and he sets about the theme of `A Day in Palermo' with typical relish. He writes about the time his father took him to a rally led by Andreotti acolyte Salvo Lima (Salvatore Borghese) and how excited he had been to hear his famous slogan: `Sicily needs Europe and Europe needs Sicily'. Much to his delight, Arturo wins first prize. But the ceremony is halted by the news that Communist leader Pio La Torre has been murdered and Arturo sits alone in the empty hall savouring his hollow triumph.

His reward is a month-long contract with the local paper and Arturo decides to interview General Carlo Alberto Dalla Chiesa (Turi Giuffrida), who has been sent by Andreotti to reinforce security. However, Arturo succeeds in marching past the two cops on duty and is granted an interview by the amused general. Relishing his moment, Arturo informs the class about his exploits. But Fofo upstages him with a lurid story about a headless corpse in a car and Arturo is crushed that he has to spend the entire summer away from Flora.

A few days after Arturo's article exposing the security lapses surrounding Dalla Chiesa is published, he is murdered and Francesco warns Arturo against trusting his sources too implicitly. Looking back over news footage of the funeral, the adult Arturo recalls that Andreotti stayed away protesting that he preferred baptisms. But he did send Judge Giovanni Falcone to assist Chinnici in examining bank records in the hope of securing evidence with which to convict the likes of Riina.

As the new school term starts, Arturo is overjoyed when Flora asks him to meet her in the cemetery. However, she simply wishes to tell him that she is moving to Switzerland and she kisses him on the cheek. Determined to let her know his feelings, Arturo chalks a message on the pavement outside her apartment and it is the last thing the smiling Chinnici sees before his car explodes. The bomb shatters the windows of the room that Flora had just vacated and such is its force that it shakes the poster of Andreotti off Arturo's wall.

Francesco left Sicily soon afterwards and Riina was forced to watch in fury as the Maxi Trial put many of his most trusted cohorts behind bars. But Arturo seemed not to notice as his parents exchanged nervous glances as they watched the news on the same Palermitani TV channel where he would get his big break in his early twenties. He was hired by presenter Jean-Pierre (Maurizio Marchetti) to play a keyboard accompaniment when his guests walked on to the stage. But his ambition was to become a reporter and he received an unexpected boost when he reunited a ghost from his past.

Flora had become an aide to Salvo Lima and she persuades Jean-Pierre to forgive Arturo for messing up her boss's intro and give him a special assignment covering his forthcoming election campaign. Naturally, Fofo (Giuseppe Provinzano) tries to muscle in, but Arturo has learned his lesson and packs him off before he can visit Flora at her office. Buoyed by Flora's confidence in him, Arturo does his first report. It's far from polished, but Flora is delighted that it gets the message across. However, it serves to infuriate Riina, who blames Lima for failing to undermine the Maxi Trial and he gives his oppos the order to eliminate him.

Glad to have an ally, Flora invites Arturo to supper, but he misreads her attentions and stuffs his pockets with condoms. In fact, she wants his help in writing her first speech for Lima and orders him to leave when he mocks his Sicily/Europe spiel and declares that he is only interested in her body. As they drive through the city the following day, Jean-Pierre berates Arturo for losing his scoop. But, seconds later, they witness Lima's assassination and Arturo rushes to a phone box to call Flora to check she is unharmed. She refuses to answer and is dismayed when she shows the speech she had written to her father (as he watches Andreotti passing the buck on the news) and he tells her bluntly that Lima would never have used it.

Rounding off his story, Arturo reveals that he landed another job in television after he was fired by Jean-Pierre, whose home was targeted during a Riina reign of terror that saw the deaths of Falcone and fellow judge Paolo Borsellino. However, during a demonstration outside the cathedral during the latter's funeral, Arturo spotted Flora in the crowd and they kissed. Some time later, she gave birth to their son and the film ends with Arturo taking him on a tour of the plaques around Palermo marking the spots where so many brave men fell while combating the Cosa Nostra.

As the credits roll, the screen fills with press cuttings showing the faces of these unassuming heroes and Diliberto leaves the audience in no doubt that he blames ordinary Italians as much as the corrupt and complicit politicians for the decades of barbarity. It's tempting to see these headlines and the street memorials as Diliberto's equivalent to Giuseppe Tornatore's montage of suppressed kisses at the end of Cinema Paradiso (1988). But, while is shares a sense of curdled nostalgia with Federico Fellini's Amarcord (1973), there is much more edge to this childhood odyssey, with the sequence in which Bisconti does his superb Andreotti impression rivalling anything Paolo Sorrentino achieved in Il Divo (2008).

Bisconti is magnificent throughout and deserves to take his place alongside Enzo Staiola and Salvatore Cascio in the pantheon of exceptional Italian child performers. But he is well supported by Antona and an estimable ensemble, although Pif himself rather lets the side down with an muggingly ungainly turn. More proficient is Roberto Forza's period-invoking camerawork, Cristiano Travaglioli's assured editing and Santi Pulvirenti's playful score. But special mention must be made of the animated interlude depicting the sperm being terrified by the sound of the Viale Lazio Massacre, as it perfectly encapsulates Diliberto's satirical intent.

Mumblecore alumnus Alex Ross Perry is rapidly becoming one of the most interesting film-makers in America. Now in his thirties, he follows up Impolex (2009), The Colour Wheel (2011) and Listen Up Philip (2014) with his finest achievement to date. Eloquently employing studied technique to reinforce the psychological undercurrents of its story, Queen of Earth could be described with equal validity as a seething melodrama, a low-key horror and a pitch black comedy. Filmic influences abound, with Perry being happy to acknowledge his debts to Rainer Werner Fassbinder's The Bitter Tears of Petra von Kant (1972) and Woody Allen's Interiors (1978). But traces of Douglas Sirk, Luis Buñuel, Ingmar Bergman, Roman Polanski, Robert Altman, Brian De Palma, Barbet Schroeder and Chantal Akerman can also be detected in a study of the darker aspects of friendship that unsettles so relentlessly that many will experience cold shivers long after Teddy Blanks's deceptively elegant calligraphic credits begin to roll.

Sobbing mascara-streaked tears, Elisabeth Moss veers between entreaties and accusations as boyfriend Kentucker Audley dispassionately breaks the news he has been cheating on her. She berates him for betraying her so soon after the death of her beloved artist father and orders him to move out of their home as quickly as possible because her love has turned to hatred.

The following Saturday, Moss arrives at the tranquil Hudson Valley holiday home of best friend Katherine Waterston. She goes to her room and finds a painting of a large skull, which seems to have been her sole collaboration with her father. The women sit by the lake and Moss admits that she is finding it hard to come to terms with the fact that her father suffered from depression. As she goes to bed, Moss thinks back to the previous year when she brought Audley to the lake house. But, as she reflects on how happy she was to have a man who adored her, she seemingly fails to notice how their open displays of affection antagonised Waterston, who resents Audley coming between her and Moss.

As Sunday dawns, Waterston goes for a run and is surprised that Moss managed to walk four miles to the store and back to buy crisps while she was out. She goes for a swim, as Moss sleeps on the sofa, and eavesdrops as she has a heated phone conversation (seemingly with Audley). When she returns, Moss complains about a pain in her face.

The scene flashes back to the previous summer, as Waterston asks Moss why she is brandishing her happiness with Audley when she knows she is having a hard time. Waterston wonders how Moss would cope if the situation was reversed and she is put out when she comes back from lunch with Audley to discover Waterston smooching on the sofa with neighbour Patrick Fugit. Audley warmly shakes his hand, but Moss goes on the defensive and takes exception to Fugit questioning her working relationship with her father. Instead of confronting Fugit, however, Moss denounces Waterston as a spoilt brat and Fugit confides to Waterston as he leaves that he can see why she finds it do difficult to deal with her friend.

Returning to the present, the camera captures Moss and Bernstein in Bergmanian profile while they chat about bad relationships. Moss confesses to forgiving an unreliable beau because he sent her a handwritten letter, while Waterston recalls being surprised by the speed with which a relationship with a casual friend escalated and declined. She tries to console Moss by saying they are better off without such losers, but receives a quizzical glance because Moss clearly feels more validated by the love of a man than the affection of a friend.

On Monday morning, Moss comes down to find Fugit in the kitchen. She claims not to remember him and refuses a cup of coffee while dismissing his condolences about her father. She has a heated phone conversation about Audley leaving her apartment and Waterston watches her with a steely impassivity that could easily be mistaken for hostility.

A flashback sees the pair chatting about Waterston having a dream about giving birth. She surprises Moss by revealing that she has no qualms about cutting the dead wood from her life and reassures her that she would never abandon her. Back in the present, Waterston brings a salad to Moss's room, but she leaves it uneaten on the night stand and spends a sleepless night staring at the ceiling and wondering why everyone and everything seems to be conspiring against her.

The following morning, Waterston returns from a jog to find Moss scarfing cookies and cola in the kitchen. Some time later, she poses for a portrait on the verandah, but they soon begin bickering when Waterston asks Moss about her relationship with her father. She further sours the mood by revealing that Fugit will be coming over later and Moss complains that she is going out of her way to spoil their holiday.

Moss goes for a walk by the lake, where groundskeeper Craig Butta asks what she is doing there. She explains she is friends with Waterston and he warns her to be careful around rich folk. On her return, Moss hears Waterston and Fugit giggling on her bed and is stung when he closes the door in her face. She lies down in her room and gazes into the distance with her eyes burning with hurt and indignation. It's dark when she wakes and she wanders outside to find Keith Poulson crashed out on the grass. She invites him inside for a drink and he wonders if they have met before. He seems as much stoned as disorientated and Moss smiles slyly that she could murder him and nobody would know.

When Waterston rises on Wednesday morning, she is perplexed by the fact that Moss giggles when they pass in the kitchen. Her mood soon turns, however, when she finds Fugit making coffee and she smashes a cup when he teases her about hearing her talking to herself the previous evening. Moss snaps that he is in the way and he retaliates by branding her a spoilt child who would be nothing if she hadn't been so mollycoddled by her father. Waterston overhears the end of the exchange and looks on sadly because he friend and her lover so evidently detest each other.

Despite her face continuing to hurt, Moss resumes the sitting and urges Waterston to keep still. However, she can't resist goading Moss about how different she is without a man to lean on and Moss struggles to retain her composure as she protests about Waterston attacking her when she is feeling so alone. Waterston insists she will always care about her, but Moss brushes away her deadpan concern.

After lunch, Moss allows herself to be talked into a canoe trip with Waterston and Fugit. But she loses patience with their efforts to be solicitous and complains about her face hurting, as Fugit fights the urge to torment her. Waterston tries to keep the peace, but is clearly feeling the strain. As the evening wears on, she picks up the extension when Moss is on the phone. However, she hears no one else on the line and nettles Moss by asking who she was speaking to.

That night, Waterston hosts a party and Moss feels uncomfortable being surrounded by so many strangers. She is piqued when Poulson fails to recognise her and angry when Kate Lyn Sheil asks if she is the woman she saw on the TV news whose father had ripped off some people and squirrelled away their money. Struggling to breathe, Moss chokes on some crisps and sinks to the floor in her distress. As she looks up, the guests seem to close in around her in a threatening manner and she screams for them to back off. But, when she looks again, everybody is laughing at her eccentric behaviour from the other side of the room and she rushes away convinced that everyone in conspiring against her.

Early Thursday morning, Moss comes down to the kitchen to find Sheil drinking coffee. She asks how Moss knows Waterston and implies that their fathers may well have had a business connection. But nothing more is said and this tantalising aspect of the story is left unexplored. Moss goes outside with her foldaway easel and finds an animal jawbone in the long grass. She brings it back to the house and stares at it while hunkered on the sofa. Over the next few hours, Moss throws a coffee cup into the lake and incurs Waterston's wrath by allowing something to catch light on the stove.

Fugit comes over for supper and goes on the offensive by declaring that Moss's facial condition is purely in her mind, as over a dozen doctors have given her a clean bill of health. He asks how the portrait is coming along and mocks Moss for exploiting her friend to get a little free publicity by painting her picture. Waterston tells him to behave, but Fugit continues to bait Moss as he eats messily with his fingers. Eventually, Moss launches into a stinging counterattack, in which she claims that he epitomises the greed, mendacity and indolence that drove her father to kill himself. She calls him vile and deems him unworthy to share Waterston's bed. Fugit remains calm during the chillingly controlled outburst, but Waterston is so spooked that she instinctively puts her hand on the bread knife as Moss jumps up from the table.

Some time later, Fugit comes to Moss's room to check up on her. She asks why he dislikes her and he repeats his charge that she's a brat who has lived her entire life in a protective bubble. He also accuses her of making an exhibition of herself when it burst and gloats that her father would have had nothing to do with her had she not been his daughter because she lacks talent and tenacity. Distraught at being so brutally denounced, Moss clings to Fugit as he tries to leave the room and Waterston is appalled by her attempt to try and undo his belt. Moss slumps to the floor and begs forgiveness for having made such a mess.

For the final time, the scene flashes back 12 months to show Moss and Audley taking their leave. Moss apologises to Waterston for being so preoccupied when she was going through a crisis and Waterston raises a forced smile in joking that the tables might turn one day. They hug and agree to meet up again next summer. As the action returns to the present, Waterston wanders round the empty house. She finds the finished portrait on the bed and, as she is about to let out a cry, Perry match cuts to Moss's lipsticked mouth, as she bursts out laughing without the slightest hint of amusement.

As the credits start to roll, the laughter mingles with a female lamentation being accompanied on the soundtrack by an atonally spectral piano and the sense of dread that has hung over the previous 90 minutes finally starts to abate. But this is not the kind of film to fade from the mind the moment the house lights come up. Such is the intensity of the performances and the relentless close-ups that this will continue to haunt viewers, even though it is often frustratingly opaque and a touch self-conscious in its homages to Perry's cinematic heroes.

All you need to know about the technique can be summed up in an adroit medium shot that exploits the architecture of the house to show Moss getting out of bed in the top right-hand corner of the screen and Sheil mooching around in the kitchen under the high ceiling below. The composition couldn't be more precise and, yet, it gives little away about Moss's emotional state or the subplot that moils away in the background involving her artist father and his nefarious dealings. Hitchcock couldn't have played this hand with any greater finesse and Perry should be commended for generating and sustaining suspense in a scenario in which the majority of the participants would scarcely have noticed any.

Much depends, of course, on the calibre of the acting and it's intriguing to compare the statuesque Waterston's phlegmatic display with the borderline mugging used by the diminutive Moss to convey the feelings her painfully fragile character seems incapable of controlling, whether they are positive, negative, psychosomatic or self-destructive. As the camera is so intrusively close, Moss can be forgiven for the odd facial expression being magnified, as this is a courageously raw performance that is made all the more compelling because it is never wholly apparent whether Waterston's reticence is menacing or compassionate.

Some might wish that Perry placed greater faith in his own style and referenced pictures like Bergman's Persona (1966) and Polanski's Rosemary's Baby (1968) a little less flagrantly. But his evocation of the psychological chillers of the late 1960s and early 1970s will delight devotees of cult cinema, as will Sean Price Williams's 16mm photography, Anna Bak-Kvapil's production design, Robert Greene's deft editing and Keegan DeWitt's disquieting score. Perry's script might have been sharper and more generously expository, but this is a minor cavil with a film whose faults are an essential part of its fascination.

Finally, this week, Peter Middleton and James Spinney make an impressive debut with Notes on Blindness, a compelling profile of Australian-born theologian John M. Hull, who started making cassette recordings in July 1983 in order to make sense of losing his sight. In expanding their Emmy-winning 2014 short of the same name, Middleton and Spinney adopt a reconstructive method not entirely dissimilar to the one devised by Clio Barnard for The Arbor (2010) by having actors Dan Renton Skinner and Simone Kirby lip-sync to the tapes while re-enacting key scenes from Hull's relationship with his wife, Marilyn Gasson. But the films this most closely resembles are Stevan Riley's Listen to Me Marlon (2015), which also matched textured images to Marlon Brando's audio musings, and

Gary Tarn's Black Sun (2005), which combined stylised visuals and philosophical asides to reveal how New York artist Hugues de Montalembert came to terms with being blinded in an unprovoked attack by a couple of thugs in 1978.

Skipping Hull's passage to the University of Birmingham via Melbourne, Cambridge and London, Middleton and Spinney also neglect to mention that Hull was awarded custody of his daughter, Imogen, following his divorce from Daphne Brewer. Thus, the story opens just before Marilyn gave birth to their first son, Thomas. Doctors had long predicted that Hull would lose his sight after first incurring difficulties at the age of 13. But the 45 year-old was determined to understand his blindness and, so, on 21 June 1983, he started making audio diary records in order to prevent his incapacity from defeating him and to retain the fullness of his humanity.

However, the first thing that Hull did was to protect his academic post by enlisting the help of a small army of volunteers to record key texts on tape so that he could continue to conduct his research, as well as teach and lecture. He also made himself familiar with his university surroundings, so he never appeared to be entirely vulnerable. Determined to stand on his own feet, he dismissed the idea of a guide dog. But he did use a white stick, as the last vestiges of his vision began to fade.

In conversation with Marilyn, Hull concludes that the last thing he ever saw was a church spire in Shrewsbury and he further recalls being touched by Imogen asking if his sight could be restored if her tears fell on his eyes. This question was inspired by a TV version of Rapunzel, which also prompted the young Thomas to ask his father what it felt like to be blind and be shown by having his hands placed over his eyes. Their innocence contrasted starkly with the arrogance of a faith healer who approached Hull in a restaurant and assured him that he could help restore his vision by boosting his self-esteem.

Hull was troubled by aspects of his situation. He wondered whether he still smiled or whether people smiled back at him. It perplexed him that the part of his brain that receives optical stimulation might start to close down. Consequently, he endured an existential crisis one Christmas, as he couldn't bear to be with his children as they opened their presents and he wanted to know what gave God the right to deprive him of the joy of seeing his family. Marilyn recognised his despair and was so worried that he would retreat into a world in which she couldn't reach him that she wondered whether it would be worth scratching her own eyes out.

However, Hull refused to submit to passivity and the sound of rainfall gave him a fresh perspective on life, as did the acceptance that being able to see in his dreams atoned in some way for the fact that so many internal images of his family were being erased. He also found solace in his chats with Thomas about his blindness and God and in compiling lively audio letters to his parents in Victoria. Indeed, he eventually reversed a decision never to return Down Under in order to spend some time with his beloved mother, Madge, and his father, Jack, who the co-directors omit to mention was a Methodist minister. He recalls the awkward silence as he walked with Jack to the local store, as Hull noticed his father's frailty and he scrupulously avoided mention of his son's blindness.

Hull wanted his parents to accept his changed circumstances, but he wound up realising his own inadequacies when baby daughter Elizabeth trapped a finger in a door and he felt powerless to respond to her frightened screams after treading on the glasses that he had continued to wear, even though they served no practical purpose. He was also discomfited by a visit to the abandoned family home in Corryong and a vivid vision of Elizabeth that turned out to be a dream. Marilyn admits to being fearful that she was about to lose her husband to his demons when he vowed to embrace reality rather than nostalgia. Consequently, he returned to the familiar surroundings of the family home with a renewed sense of purpose and optimism that was confirmed by the birth of his new son, Gabriel (Joshua would follow, but he is not mentioned).

Typical of this new sense of acceptance was the `goodbye' game he played with Thomas when he walked him to school and they continued to call out to each other until the boy had disappeared across the playground. A new intellectual confidence further raised Hull's morale and he imagines that the rainfall he loves so much is cascading down the walls of his home, soaking his family at the kitchen table and the cassette recorders whirring away to capture his thoughts and reactions. Then, one day, he was drawn into the campus chapel by the sound of the organ playing and, as he stood beneath the towering vaults, he felt the presence of God. Marilyn teases him as he relates the tale over a cup of tea, but listens fondly as he concludes that he has finally become aware that his blindness is a gift and that the challenge is not to work out why it was given to him, but how to make the best of it.

An image of the real John and Marilyn Hull standing on a beach presages captions informing us that he turned his recordings into the inspirational bestseller, Touching the Rock (1990), and received a Lifetime Achievement Award from the Royal National Institute for Blind People in 2012. The final revelation is that Hull died during the making of the film at the age of 80 and the stark letters on the screen emphasise how little we have actually been told about his life either side of the three-year period when he lost his sight and gained perspective.

Recreating someone else's inner vision is a monumental challenge and Middleton and Spinney produce numerous moving and memorable images, with the aid of production designer Damiel Ceagh and cinematographer Gerry Floyd. They are also superbly served by Skinner and Kirby, with the latter contributing a particularly impressive display of delicate empathy. Much depends, however, on the way in which the taped testimony is incorporated into a soundscape that reflects Hull's growing reliance of his aural faculties and Joakim Sundström's sound design often allows the viewer to appreciate the shifting sense of entrapment and emancipation more intensely than visuals that do, occasionally, feel self-consciously stylised. Indeed, for all their ingenuity and sincerity, these cine-approximations are never quite as eloquently raw as the recordings revealing a man of courage, faith and wisdom, who was fortunate in being loved unconditionally by his family.