Andrew Zuchero

Andrew Zuchero’s filmography is honestly kind of all over the map, in the best way. The guy’s got a knack for weird, sharp, off-center stories that sneak up on you. Love Me (2024) is the newest entry, and it's one of those films that doesn’t care about playing it safe. It’s part love story, part existential crisis, and part fever dream. Think: two characters fumbling through a world that’s basically falling apart, but they’re still searching for some kind of connection—like, real human messiness, not that glossy, cinematic romance. Zuchero’s sense of humor is dry as dust, but somehow, the movie still manages to hit you right in the gut with these moments of raw, honest vulnerability. That’s kind of his signature, honestly. Go back a bit, and you’ll find The Apocalypse (2013), which is a short film, but don’t let that fool you. It’s got more bite and personality than most features. The whole thing is this absurd, pitch-black comedy about the end of the world, but it feels more like a group of friends trying to figure out what to do with themselves when everything’s about to go up in smoke. The dialogue’s snappy, the pacing is wild, and the whole vibe is “laugh so you don’t cry.” Then there’s Satellite (2005)—way different energy. It’s quieter, more introspective, but still a little off-kilter. Zuchero digs into themes of distance, both literal and emotional, and how people orbit each other without ever really connecting. His movies always have that edge, like he’s daring you to see the beauty in the awkward, the ugly, or the deeply strange.