Andra Ursuta

Andra Ursuta’s got her fingerprints all over Queer (2024), and honestly, it’s one of those films that just refuses to play it safe. Right from the jump, you can sense this is not your cookie-cutter story. There’s a rawness here, and a kind of wild beauty, like stumbling into a party you weren’t invited to but never want to leave. The film sort of slinks around the margins of identity, desire, and the messiness that comes with figuring yourself out in a world that seems determined to sort everyone into neat little boxes. The characters? Yeah, they’re complicated, sometimes infuriating, but always real. No one’s polished, and nothing feels sugarcoated. Ursuta brings this almost sculptural attention to detail, layering scenes with tension and tiny moments that hit you in the gut. There’s a lot of silence, odd glances, and those awkward laughs that say way more than words ever could. The cinematography’s got this gritty edge—lots of shadows, messy rooms, neon light bleeding into the night. It’s not afraid to get weird or uncomfortable, and honestly, that’s what makes it stick. If you’re looking for tidy resolutions or easy answers, look elsewhere. Queer (2024) leans into uncertainty and lets its characters stumble, fall, and occasionally claw their way out again. Ursuta captures the ache of longing and the confusion of self-discovery with a kind of brutal honesty. It’s jagged, beautiful, and totally unforgettable—the kind of film that lingers long after the credits roll.