Burial

Burial’s filmography isn’t your run-of-the-mill popcorn flick collection—it’s more like a fever dream for people who crave something offbeat. Take “Bird” (2024), for instance. That movie doesn’t just dip its toes into surreal; it cannonballs straight into the deep end. There’s a sense of restless energy pulsing through every scene, as if the city itself is holding its breath, waiting for something to snap. The visuals? Smoky, neon-lit, kind of like wandering through a dream you half-remember once you wake up. Characters drift in and out, nobody really says what they mean, and you’re left piecing together what’s real and what’s just a trick of the light. Then there’s “Baby Invasion” (2024)—which sounds cutesy, but, yeah, don’t be fooled. It’s not a family movie. This one leans hard into the absurd. Imagine a world where the babies aren’t just learning to walk—they’re running the show, outsmarting the adults in ways that are both hilarious and a little bit bleak. It’s part social commentary, part madcap chaos, and the soundtrack? Pure weird brilliance. And honestly, “Música para aeropuertos” (2022) is just a vibe. The whole film floats along, blending ambient music with visuals that feel both haunting and unexpectedly comforting. People move through empty terminals, lost in their own heads, and the line between waiting and living pretty much disappears. Burial doesn’t bother spelling things out, which is refreshing. You’re left with fragments—mood, music, a lingering sense of melancholy. It’s weirdly hypnotic, in the best way.