소리 Soli
14 Films That Will Expand Your Consciousness
An Elephant Sitting Still (2018) Dir. Hu Bo
This is not a light way to start a list, but An Elephant Sitting Still is one of the most powerful films I’ve ever seen. Clocking in at nearly four hours, the movie follows several characters navigating what feels like a grey, endless hellscape in contemporary industrial China. Their lives are bleak, violent, and often hopeless but all are drawn to a rumor about an elephant in a distant zoo that supposedly just sits still, unmoving, uncaring. It becomes a symbol of peace, or maybe just detachment, and each character dreams of going to see it.
The film is slow and heavy, but it’s never boring. You really feel like a citizen of that town. The way it’s shot, the pacing, the quiet grief in the script it all builds this intimate sense of place. Knowing what happened behind the scenes makes it even more haunting. This was director Hu Bo’s first and only feature. After a long battle over creative control during post-production, he took his own life in 2017, shortly after finishing the final cut. Watching this, you feel how much of himself he poured into it. It’s one of those rare cases where the runtime feels like part of the statement—he meant it to be this long. And somehow, it flies by.
The Fifth Seal (1976) Dir. Zoltán Fábri
This Hungarian film feels like a moral trapdoor. The premise sounds simple: four men are sitting in a Budapest bar during WWII when a stranger enters and poses a question. The question is roughly this: If you could be reborn, would you choose to come back as a tyrant who commits evil but sleeps peacefully at night, or as a just, innocent man who suffers and dies in pain?
At first, it’s just a thought experiment. But as the story unfolds, the ethical dilemma becomes horrifyingly real, and the characters’ answers begin to ripple through the rest of the film. It’s tight, talky, philosophical, but it hits you hard. Like a darker version of the trolley problem, it doesn’t offer any neat conclusions. Just the uncomfortable fact that moral clarity can disappear under real-world pressure
(The original Hungarian title is Az ötödik pecsét, and the film was adapted from a novel by Ferenc Sánta.)
The Taste of Tea (2004) Dir. Katsuhito Ishii
This is probably one of the gentler films on this list. The Taste of Tea is about an eccentric family living in rural Japan, and even though the plot is loose, the feeling it gives you is so warm and strange. It’s often compared to Fanny and Alexander for its dreamy blend of the domestic and the surreal. The visuals are quietly surreal, ghostly doubles, floating bodies, giant faces, but everything is played calmly and sincerely. It’s like childhood remembered as a beautiful hallucination. You start to feel like a member of the family yourself. Even though nothing too dramatic happens, it sticks with you. One of those rare films that’s funny, bittersweet, and totally its own thing.
Electra, My Love (1974) Dir. Miklós Jancsó
This isn’t a movie it’s a moving ritual. Jancsó adapts the Greek myth of Electra into a series of just twelve shots that unfold over a sprawling Hungarian plain, capturing rebellion, ritual, and myth in one hypnotic flow. It’s set under Soviet-era Hungary, so every frame brims with symbolism: power, resistance, justice, oppression, ritual performance. As the New Yorker’s Richard Brody puts it, “Jancsó weaves ancient storytelling into a sharp critique of authority and rebellion”. The film is political and spiritual at once, beautiful and unsettling, and entirely unlike anything you’ve seen.
Smiley Face (2007) Dir. Gregg Araki
Yes, this is a stoner comedy. Yes, Anna Faris gives maybe the funniest performance of her career. And yes, it’s one of the dumbest, most brilliant movies ever made. Directed by Gregg Araki—who’s better known for his stylish, emotional indie films like Mysterious Skin and The Doom Generation—this movie is a huge departure from his usual tone. But Smiley Face is a gem: fast-paced, absurd, weirdly sweet, and anchored by Faris, who plays a struggling actress who eats an entire plate of weed cupcakes and spends the rest of the day spiraling through L.A. If you love chaotic mid-2000s comedies like Dude, Where’s My Car?, Harold & Kumar, or Superbad, this one deserves a spot in the hall of fame. It’s goofy, it’s quotable, and it has way more heart than it should.
Harakiri (1962) Dir. Masaki Kobayash
This may be the greatest samurai film ever made, even better than Kurosawa, in my book. No flashy action, just a masterclass in tension and integrity. A wandering ronin asks to commit ritual suicide and unleashes a devastating mystery. Why is he really here? Harakiri confronts hierarchy, honor, hypocrisy and it ends like a punch to the gut.
Burning (2018) Dir. Lee Chang-dong
This one stays with you. Burning is loosely based on Haruki Murakami’s short story “Barn Burning,” but Lee Chang-dong turns it into something much more complex and haunting. I didn’t fully grasp it the first time I saw it—but it lingered. Then I read the short story, watched the film again, and it completely changed shape. It’s mysterious and slow and quiet, but that’s the point. The three lead performances (Yoo Ah-in, Jeon Jong-seo, and Steven Yeun) are incredible. And like the Murakami story it’s based on, the film invites more questions than answers. It’s one of those films where the less you know going in, the better. It might not click immediately, but if you give it time and maybe a rewatch or two it unfolds into something deeply unsettling and unforgettable.
(Fun side note: Yoo Ah-in appears in Peggy Gou’s music video for “Starry Night,” which adds a nice little crossover moment for fans of Korean music and film.)
Paris is Burning (1990) Dir. Jennie Livingston
This is one of the most important American documentaries ever made. Paris Is Burning captures the vibrant world of Black and Latinx drag balls in 1980s New York, where queer communities created their own language, fashion, families, and stages in the face of violence and exclusion. It doesn’t feel like a documentary—it feels like a living, breathing portrait of survival and joy. You see how culture is born, how people use art to stay alive, and how the ballroom scene became a foundation for so much of what we think of as “pop culture” today. If you want to understand queer history, or American culture more broadly, this is required viewing.
Mind Game (2004) Dir. Masaaki Yuasa
There’s nothing like Mind Game. Directed by Masaaki Yuasa, it’s an animated odyssey that throws out every rule of visual storytelling and replaces it with pure chaos. The animation shifts styles constantly—sometimes it’s cartoonish, sometimes it’s photoreal, sometimes it looks like something scrawled in a notebook during a fever dream. The story follows a failed manga artist who dies, comes back to life, and decides to truly live. It’s a movie about momentum, about seizing life and pushing beyond fear, and it expresses that in the wildest, most kinetic visuals you’ll ever see. Some people might find it ugly—but that’s kind of the point. It’s not supposed to be cute. It’s supposed to feel alive. This movie is a miracle of what animation can be when nothing is off-limits.
The Holy Mountain (1973) Dir. Alejandro Jodorowsky
This movie is f*cking insane. It’s an odyssey, a fever dream, a visual experiment, a spiritual critique, a full-blown art explosion—and somehow, it’s all one film. Directed by Alejandro Jodorowsky, The Holy Mountain tackles everything from religious dogma to capitalist hypocrisy, colonialism, and mysticism. It doesn’t even try to be subtle. Every frame is charged with symbolism, chaos, and beauty. You could analyze it forever and still miss something. It’s like Mind Game in that way—less a story, more a full-body experience. And it’s one of those films you just have to see once in your life. I still wish Jodorowsky had gotten to make Dune. After watching this, you’ll wish it too.
Audition (1999) Dir. Takashi Miike
One of the most messed-up love stories ever told. Audition starts slow almost sweet but it’s all a setup. The film follows a widower casting fake auditions for a fake film, hoping to meet a new partner. And he does. But what happens next is something you really shouldn’t spoil. This is a film that you walk into blind and leave totally wrecked. Yes, it’s violent. Yes, it’s hard to watch. But what hit me the hardest was how it captures this dark, exaggerated truth about love: the pain of wanting someone to be yours entirely, to have their full attention, to feel seen. That longing can feel obsessive. And Audition takes that idea and turns it into something truly horrifying and oddly healing. I watched it after a breakup, and somehow, it helped.
On the Silver Globe (1988) Dir. Andrzej Żuławski
This might be one of the most ambitious sci-fi films ever made. On the Silver Globe is a Polish epic that was almost lost forever. Shot in the 1970s, it was shut down by the Polish communist government before it could be finished. Years later, Żuławski returned to the project, filling in missing footage with narration and scenes of modern-day Warsaw, creating this eerie blend of cosmic fantasy and political reality. It’s based on a novel by Żuławski’s great-uncle, and it feels like a film from another planet. Costumes, language, rituals—it invents a whole world. But it’s also about censorship, control, and the power of vision in the face of suppression. You never really know what’s going to happen next, and that unpredictability is what makes it such a wild watch.
Shadows of Forgotten Ancestors (1965) Dir. Sergei Parajanov
A poetic, hallucinatory masterpiece about Ukrainian culture and folklore. Shadows of Forgotten Ancestors is set in the Carpathian Mountains, and it feels like a film made of fire and memory. It’s technically a love story—but really, it’s a portal into a vanishing world. Director Sergei Parajanov took huge creative risks under Soviet rule. This film, made in the Ukrainian language and deeply rooted in Ukrainian traditions, was seen as politically dangerous. It was beloved by Ukrainian artists and nationalists alike, and Parajanov was later imprisoned by the Soviet government for his artistic and political outspokenness. The visuals are stunning—handheld camera work, wild colors, experimental cuts. It’s like a Ukrainian Wuthering Heights meets The Color of Pomegranates. For anyone who wants to understand Slavic culture outside of Russian dominance, this is an essential text. Slava Ukraini.
Love Exposure (2008) Dir. Sion Sono