John Turturro picked the lock to my heart in The Only Living Pickpocket in New York, Noah Segan’s loving throwback to 1970s cinema that draws a major character study from the bustling city streets. Turturro plays Harry Lehman, an old-school New Yorker who thieves his way around the Bronx like a somber magician, using his sleight of hand to survive a changing environment and a dying profession. Borrowing from the character, the film’s writer and director masters the art of misdirection. Segan takes a story that appears a little straightforward on the surface and unfolds it to reveal a cool, character-driven gem.

You may have seen the lustful trailers and horny marketing for Wicker, and make no mistake, the film sprinkles erotic desire all over. However, underneath the creaky broken beds, a much more complex love story springs up. We can’t unleash our desires and be emotionally naked without the risk of heartbreak, but with that terrifying risk comes a genuine chance at feeling seen for who we are. Carrying a basketful of whimsical romance, Wicker shines as a creative expression of desire.

The beauty of Austen’s work comes from her eternally modern themes. Her literary genius is completely mineable for filmmakers to add personalized stamps of their own, and bring their singular experiences to the table. In Oakley’s gorgeous retelling, Austen feels modern as ever. Much the case in Oakley’s astonishing debut feature, Blue Jean, she makes Sense and Sensibility feel both specific to its time period, and thematically timeless. The film immerses you into a painterly world and finds as much sweeping excitement in unspoken gestures as it does in passionate declarations of love. Shaking off the dust collected by traditionally stuffy period dramas, Oakley brings nature into focus with a naturalistic eye.

Primetime focuses on how Hansen turned justice into a spectacle for primetime viewers, framing houses of decoys to lure and expose predators on camera. Through the lens of a psychological thriller, Hansen’s pursuit of justice bleeds into his chase for ratings. The film deftly explores this subject with a dizzying minute account of Hansen’s distorted reality. It’s an unnerving, icky descent into liminal madness. Most impressively, it stays in the fever dream of grappling with an inscrutable subject.

Repressed desire and stifled creativity permeate through Olivia Wilde’s dazzling new film, The Invite, a sexy and bittersweet ode to self-love. It’s in the name; Wilde gives us the opportunity to share in a communal, recognizable experience. She delivers on an incredibly stimulating time at the movies, which feels especially satisfying in a time where relationships are filtered through technology.

Over one month has gone by since I left for a two-week trip to the French Riviera, and I’m still basking in the afterglow (not to mention missing those delicious croissants and baguettes). In May, I attended my first ever Cannes Film Festival representing Next Best Picture, and it truly was a life-changing experience. I felt the prestige of the world’s greatest film festival at every screening. I felt the grandeur in every theatre. The magic of the movies was everywhere, starting with several black-and-white photos of Geena Davis and Susan Sarandon from Thelma & Louise. The dynamic duo took me down memory lane of watching that film for the first time, falling in love with both Davis and Sarandon simultaneously. These icons served as daily reminders of the film’s 35th anniversary, and radiated the festival’s immense respect for honoring cinema history.