Filmmaker Claudia Llosa intentionally puts viewers on edge with this unsettling tale set in rural Argentina (filmed in Chile). Fever Dream opens with a sort of internal dialogue happening between a woman, Spaniard Amanda, and a young boy, David. They're talking about worms, and it appears she's being dragged through the woods. He tells her she needs to reconstruct what's happened, remembering every detail. All of this puts the viewer on high alert, trying to make sense of the narrative and pay attention to even the smallest moments and movements. This dreamlike tale is constructed as much through sensation and atmosphere as action, aided by the cinematography's unhurried focus on the bucolic setting -- light glistening on golden wheat fields, ripples spreading across water, sun beating down on a woman's bare shoulders. The film has a strong environmental message, which viewers might only put together fully at the end despite hints throughout the movie. The title in English, Fever Dream, conveys the hallucinatory feeling of this film -- the mysterious illnesses and voices, and the disorientation that comes from not knowing who to trust or what is true. But the film's original title, which translates to "rescue distance," suggests other intentions of Llosa and her co-scripter, Samanta Schweblin, who wrote the novel on which the film is based. Amanda talks repeatedly about the thread that connects a mother and her child, the mental calculations a woman does to measure danger and risk, the constant dread of always imagining worst-case scenarios and a reaction time for a rescue. When kids move away, for whatever reason, the thread tenses and can break. Mothers here carry an uneven burden of responsibility for their children's well-being and survival, physical and spiritual. Even the spirits of others who might inhabit their children's bodies become their responsibility. The parallel to humans' job caring for planet earth isn't a stretch. In any case, the dangers -- real and potentially imagined -- that the two kids face in this film might make it tough to watch for mothers. The story might also feel a bit impenetrable for some viewers, especially at the start, and it's very different from much of what Netflix offers. But if you take the time to soak into the atmosphere, you might find yourself thinking about this film long after the end credits roll. Read the full review at Common Sense Media.

This film offers a deeply symbolic portrait of violence plaguing a rural Mexican village and the psychological trauma it engenders on its residents, including kids. The ending of Prayers for the Stolen involves an escape, a snapshot of people on the run that feels all too familiar. Understanding the abyss they must escape (or risk dying) could be this film's essential contribution to a global conversation about immigration and refugees. And more than that, the movie is a compelling, emotional, beautifully-shot and compellingly acted two hours. The allegorical use of the land and the animal world of the lush mountain setting works to illustrate the villagers' deep and potentially lifesaving connection to their natural surroundings as well as how that setting in turn shapes their lives. Prayers stars three main characters, first as young girls whose imaginary play hints at the constant threats they face, and later as giddy adolescents discovering boys and the adult world. Theirs is a reality where a girl's first period is cause for dire fear, where schoolteachers constantly come and go under threat by local cartels, where absentee fathers send money home from faraway jobs (or stop doing so), and where locals survive by harvesting the very poppy fields which feed an industry that's killing them and their way of life in ways both evident (deadly seasonal fumigations and regular disappearances) and subtle (men moving away or getting caught up in the cartels). With a background in documentaries, director Tatiana Huezo and her cinematographer Dariela Ludlow aren't afraid to settle into ambient noise and slowly unfolding moments, nor to let the camera linger on faces, landscapes, and insects. This languid mood infuses the drama with images, moments, and ideas that stay with you well after the end of the film. Read the full review at Common Sense Media.

Awkward pacing, humor, and characterizations undermine what might have been a pleasant family Christmas movie from Mexico. Despite good intentions, Grumpy Christmas falls flat. Characters over-react, especially veteran Angelica Maria as the easily-scandalized aunt, and situations feel forced. Short scenes are strangely spliced together. A character speaking only English to his Mexican friends (but seemingly understanding the Spanish just fine) comes across as odd. This film might play well with a local audience, but others can skip it. Read the full review at Common Sense Media.

Guided by exceptional performances from the film's mostly female cast, this melodrama from Spanish maestro Pedro Almódovar blends many of his usual touchstones with a distinct social justice message. Cruz is hypnotic as Janis in Parallel Mothers (Madres Paralelas). Some aspects of her look and the setting/set design, characterized by the director's usual red-led primary tones, are reminiscent of other performances she's given for him, including 2019's Pain and Glory and 2006's Volver. But this time Cruz is largely understated as a woman who uncovers a deeply painful truth and has to muster the courage to face it. Her story is paralleled by another involving the excavation of a Civil War-era mass grave, part of a political and social movement in Spain to reconcile, rather than ignore, harrowing historical facts. In typical Almodóvar fashion, several narrative strands merge together, though a couple of scenes in the film's climax (especially one in which Cruz lectures her young lover about Spanish history) feel overly scripted. As usual, the director wraps the story around a support network of female characters. For good measure, he puts Cruz in a "We should all be feminists" T-shirt and gives her a romantic relationship with youthful co-star Smit. Aitana Sánchez Gijón is also memorable in her role as a remorseful mother; she delivers a riveting monologue straight to camera in a scene involving a play rehearsal. This homage to the theater is just one of many directorial trademarks that Almodóvar fans will appreciate. Madrid is also on glorious display, as are Spanish cuisine staples like the tortilla de patatas -- Almodóvar certainly knows how to package his country, but he doesn't let its many contradictions off the hook. Read the full review at Common Sense Media.

Here's an example of Netflix repeating a formula (think: Elite, the After series) with mediocre results. It's not the fault of the actors, a young and sufficiently charismatic cast, but Through My Window feels at once derivative and disappointing. If a character is going to claim they're the "most interesting" or "dangerous" person you've ever met, the script needs to back that up. Here, high school affairs, rich-poor divides, and family dramas are all eminently predictable. A high point is the setting, including some gorgeous aerial views of Barcelona, but the insistence on dimly-lit interior and night scenes is more distracting than symbolic. Considering the popularity of the genre, better viewing options exist. Read the full review at Common Sense Media.

Hopefully this likable Argentinean comedy doesn't get buried in Netflix's back catalog. All Hail (great translation of the original title, which literally translates just to "hail") deserves better. The amusing opening act of the film shows a falsely humble celebrity weatherman reveling in the adoration of neighbors, strangers, and colleagues alike. Miguel's pleasure at his worldly position is obvious, and comedian Guillermo Francella physically embodies the role to perfection -- he has a twinkle in his eye and a bounce in his step. It would come as no surprise were a cartoon sparkle to glisten off his tooth. When Miguel falls from grace, the social transformation is no less funny. A woman shouts at her granddaughter on the street: "Cancel him!" Everyone blames him for something. Still, Francella plays Miguel as down but never out. When he comforts his surrogate child, a goldfish, with baby talk and air kisses as he makes his escape from Buenos Aires, he's humiliated and scared, but never defeated. The film parodies fame through Miguel's character, but it also questions people's credulity and loyalty to TV prognosticators in the form of Luis, who seems to find comfort from a difficult life in Miguel's celebrity. Meanwhile, the smarmy network producer rationally justifies all manner of unscrupulous decisions. There's also some regional humor in the way the locals in Miguel's native Córdoba revel in him sticking it to the snooty folks in Buenos Aires. When Miguel lands at his daughter's house and the story turns more sentimental, it lags a little. Likewise, the third act requires a complete suspension of disbelief with its magical and then apocalyptic overtones. But that's okay, we still want the rogue-with-a-heart to triumph. As the live band sings at the show's opening, in lyrics he of course wrote himself, "He's arrived -- Miguel! Miguel has arrived!" Read the full review at Common Sense Media.

Veteran director Jacques Audiard's Paris, 13th District (Les Olympiades, Paris 13e) is a beautiful film to look at, well-acted and full of commentary on a generation of contemporary Parisians. It does for the meandering lives and loves of thirty-something Parisians something akin to what Joachim Trier's The Worst Person in the World did for Norwegian millennials. It won't be for everyone, with its slow pace and explicit sex scenes. Black-and-white cinematography infuses Paris with an elegant and slightly vintage feel – reinforced by handheld camera work and occasional use of split screen. This look plays off the film's contemporary setting in one of Paris's more modern arrondissements (the original title refers to the district of early 70s-era highrises that incorporates the city's Chinatown) and a realistically multicultural cast. Much like Trier's Julie, Audiard's Emilie (Lucie Zhang) and Nora (Noémie Merlant) are still figuring out who and what they want to be in life. Emilie is, in her parents' eyes, squandering her college degree working as a tele-operator and waitress. She numbs her pain with party drugs and finds pleasure in sex with strangers – including new flatmate Camille (Makita Samba), a handsome academic. At 33, Nora has moved to Paris from Bourdeau to attend law school, but when classmates gang up on her after mistaking her for an online sex worker, she drops out. Camille dumps Emilie and moves out, but she still hangs onto feelings for him. Nora, meanwhile, takes a job where Camille is working to put himself through a doctoral program, and the two strike up a relationship. There is plenty of graphic sex in this film, scenes which also reveal a lot about characters – especially Nora, who struggles with intimacy, insecurity and ultimately her own sexual identity. Nora finds herself inexplicably drawn to the sex worker she bears the resemblance to (played by Jehnny Beth), and the two strike up a virtual friendship. In one scene, the two women fall asleep next to each other – via Skype. In an interview with AFC, Paris cinematographer Paul Guilhaume talked about the "silvery" look they were going for, which involved filming in color for a result in black and white, and using light from smart phones and tablets, "part of our characters' worlds." Other scenes flesh out background about characters in more subtle ways, like Emilie's strained relationships with her dying grandmother and family in Taiwan, Camille's dad and stuttering 16-year-old sister still mourning the recent loss of their mom, and an inappropriate ten-year relationship that might explain why Nora is so fragile. These families are made to feel very natural, filmed up close (often without make-up) and at times with handheld cameras in average, almost anonymous apartment, street and office settings. Their conversations don't feel scripted nor do their interactions feel staged. Interestingly, the film's script, written by Audiard and three others including director Céline Sciamma (Portrait of a Lady on Fire, Girlhood), is based on stories from three graphic novels by an American cartoonist (Adrian Tomine). Some of the sex scenes, in turn, do feel a bit theatrical in their performance of desire and pleasure, and the film seems to want to discomfit viewers, for example in Nora's unusual connection with the porn performer and Emilie's casual use of dating apps. Camille admits his relationship with Nora doesn't 'fill the void,' though what voids these young people are grappling to fill (or ignore) is left at least partially up for interpretation. Nora in particular is an enigma, and it's unclear why all three characters seem to self-sabotage at times. All of this is reminiscent of the main characters of Trier's Worst Person, among other films about this generation. Perhaps that's why Paris's somewhat traditional – and satisfying – closure comes as a bit of a surprise. This review originally ran on the website of the Alliance of Women Film Journalists.

When Spain's Carla Simón was awarded the Golden Bear for Best Film for her family drama Alcarràs and Claire Denis took home best director for Both Sides of the Blade (Avec Amour et Acharnement) in February at the Berlinale, Berlin's International Film Festival, they capped off a year of female filmmakers sweeping the top prizes at major European film festivals and awards ceremonies. In 2021, French director Julia Ducournau became only the second solo female director (after Jane Campion) to win the Palme d'Or at Cannes, for Titane. Fellow countrywoman Audrey Diwan won the Golden Lion in Venice for book-based abortion drama Happening (L'événement) (Silver Lion went to Campion for The Power of the Dog), and Romania's Alina Grigore won the Golden Shell in San Sebastián for her debut feature Blue Moon (Crai Nou). Bosnia's Jasmila Zbanic won best film and best director at the annual European Film Awards for her war drama Quo Vadis, Aida?. So, it may come as a surprise that women still lag significantly behind men in key industry roles in Europe. One in Four Directors According to a report released in January by the European Audiovisual Observatory (EAO), women represented fewer than one out of four film directors in Europe (23%) between 2016 and 2020. Females made up slightly more producers (33%) and screenwriters (27%), but struggled to have a significant presence in technical positions like cinematographers (10%) and composers (9%). Further, the report found that women directed on average fewer films than men and were less likely to be the sole directors of feature films than their male counterparts. Female producers were involved in 44% of European feature films (alone or in teams), but on average women tended to produce slightly fewer films than men, according to the study. Women also made up less than half (39%) of lead roles. The results echoed those of the Paris-based "Femmes de cinema" Lab initiative, which found in its own 2021 study that "on average and even today, women are less paid, less subsidized, less programmed than men, and female characters are still too often poor or stereotypical." Some regions are clearly ahead of others, namely Scandinavia, where many countries saw over 30% of films made by women, according to the EAO report. The Swedish Film Institute (SFI) has been a pioneer in seeking gender parity in its industry. SFI's 2018 report on the subject showed that an initiative launched by the Institute in 2012 led to a near 50/50 gender split in the local film industry in just four years, with 49% of projects to receive production funding between 2013 and 2016 coming from female directors. Subsidy Bodies Can Play Strategic Role Indeed, the fact that most European filmmakers rely on state subsidies to help fund their films means that state agencies like SFI can play a strategic role in pushing for gender parity. As I reported in 2018 for The Hollywood Reporter, covering an expert panel on the subject at the European Film Awards, Europe's state-subsidized film industry logistically should be able to push for faster, more comprehensive change to close the gender gap. This can also be seen at the regional level, for example in the Gender Equality measures of funding body Eurimages, which is now offering support of up to 25% of budgets (maximum Euros 500,000) on female-directed projects. Eurimages touts an aim of achieving "equal distribution of co-production funding between women and men." Still, as the EAO report shows, reality hasn't quite caught up to goals. As last year's awards sweep indicates, women are certainly writing and directing films that resonate with juries of their professional peers. Last month, Cannes also hired its first-ever female president. These moves all come on the heels of many of Europe's top festivals signing "gender parity pledges" in 2018-2019 committing to an aim of equal representation in management and on screen. Change Still Coming... "But we are not there yet" Considering how recent all of these initiatives are – and in light of the success of older program's like SFI's – real change may still be coming. The Lab report found that more than half of the 32 countries included in its study now have some kind of incentive policy with measures aimed at supporting projects led by women, and countries that have no such measures are now in the minority in Europe. "It's a trend that is here to stay,” Simón said of women filmmakers when she won the award in Berlin, according to Euronews. “When I was a student, it was difficult to refer to female directors, but little by little it is changing, because there is a will, because that we are half of humanity and that we must therefore tell half of the stories." "But we are not there yet," she said. This article was previously published on the website of the Alliance of Women Film Journalists.

You have to suspend disbelief to enjoy this Dutch sci-fi mystery, but young viewers who do that could enjoy it and also pick up some healthy environmental messages. There are just a few too many unanswered questions, or unexplained actions, in Captain Nova to make this film anywhere near believable for older audiences. But as a kid-centered genre movie, it has some positive lessons about bravery, standing up for one's beliefs, empowering kids, and taking care of our environment. Some of the humor even manages to translate, like a freeze-gun that kids say puts adults on pause, giving them time to ponder their lives and careers. Some plot twists in both time frames offer added human drama. Read the full review at Common Sense Media.

This small indie film from directors Jessica Hester and Derek Schweickart does a better job at capturing the restlessness, the risks and the thrills of being a teenager than most teen-targeted studio films ever hope, or probably aim, to. Coast‘s realism is underscored by its setting, a central California coastal town with a heavily Hispanic farming community, a place where kids grow up looking toward a life working the fields if they don’t strive for something different – or leave. The story toggles between 16-year-old Abby (Fatima Ptacek) making increasingly rebellious choices with her friends, and Abby’s mom, Deb (Cristela Alonzo), facing her own midlife crossroads. Sixteen years is also what splits Abby and her mom, thanks to Deb’s teen pregnancy — still commonplace in this small town judging by Abby’s new-mom classmate (Ciara Bravo). The girls take advantage of the fact that Deb works nights; depressed Deb meanwhile is drawn toward self-discovery by an ailing older female patient (Melissa Leo). The script reveals character details in a measured way that helps inject emotion into subsequent scenes. Suddenly what might have seemed like an innocent flirtation or a fun high school party feels like the precipice of potentially life-altering decisions. Abby’s new wild-child girlfriend Kristi (played by singer Peter Frampton’s daughter Mia Rose) prompts partying, piercings and skipping school. But Abby’s lifelong friends, Kat (Mia Xitlali) and Laura (Kaylee Kamiya), have misgivings, as well as parents at home imposing more structure and higher expectations. When Abby and Kristi dance with abandon in a record store, they embody the intensity of teen emotions, that feeling there’s something uncontainable bubbling up within. The young actresses do a brilliant job conveying this. Music defines mood in Coast, and Abby uses punk rock to shout out her own feelings. The film’s soundtrack combines original music with classics from bands like Hüsker Dü, Joy Division and Siouxsie and the Banshees. Abby meets Dave (played by actor-musician Kane Ritchotte), a soft-spoken frontman for a band passing through town. He sees something special in her and talks her into performing at an open mic. She sees in him a person who left home at her age and is making a bigger life for himself. In one scene, the two look out across the Pacific and imagine the faraway places they will one day travel. The stifling lack of horizon Abby seems to feel in her hometown is contrasted by the cinematography of Coast, which lovingly captures expansive farmlands that extend right up to the rolling sand dunes leading to the ocean. Another thread running through the narrative is a class assignment from inspirational teacher Mr. Sosa (Eduardo Roman) that asks students to tell their own personal or family histories. This act of discovery seems painful for some, suggesting first- and second-generation kids of immigrants often carry a heavier burden than others. Abby struggles to put words to her own feelings until the end of the film, when Dave offers her the chance to escape with the band as they leave town on tour. She hasn’t yet discovered where or how or even if she belongs. Likewise, her mom is figuring out what she wants the next chapter of her own life to look like and whether supporting her daughter means letting her go. As Mr. Sosa tells Abby, there’s only one place you can find yourself when you’re lost. This review was originally published on the website of the Alliance of Women Film Journalists.

In the days leading up to the Oscars each year, trade magazines and newspapers like the L.A. Times run anonymous opinions from voting members of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences about the films nominated for the industry's top awards. This year, The Hollywood Reporter published the "brutally honest" reflections of one unnamed actress who had this to say about Bong Joon-ho's "Parasite," the South Korean film nominated in six Oscar categories including best picture: "I don't think foreign films should be nominated with the regular films." It was a shockingly candid display of ethnocentrism, and in case the snub wasn't clear enough, she added of the best director category: "I want an American director to win. The Oscars is an American thing." "Parasite" made history on Sunday night by beating back the Oscars' established bias against "foreign" films to win not just best international feature but best director, best original screenplay and - plot twist - best film. It was the first time in the awards' 92 editions that a film not shot in English took home the best film Oscar. Think about the thousands of movies made around the world every year, and let that soak in. "Foreign" Films A handful of films paved the way for "Parasite's" big night. A dozen previous foreign-language films have been nominated for the best film Oscar, mostly from Western Europe but also two from Mexico ("Babel" and "Roma," both US co-productions) and the Mandarin-language "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon" (also a US co-production). When "Roma" director Alfonso Cuarón won best director last year, he quipped he too had grown up (in Mexico) watching "foreign-language films" such as "Citizen Kane," "Jaws" and "The Godfather." Really, does there exist a more subjective word than "foreign"? The Academy admitted as much this year by changing the name of the foreign-language category to "international," but it's still rife with issues, from the disqualification of films in English even from countries where it's an official language, to the iffy motives of some nominating bodies abroad, to the definitions of nationality in multi-country co-productions. Bong himself told Vulture last fall in an interview: "The Oscars are not an international film festival. They're very local." The Oscars answered back on Sunday. Critical Darling So, why "Parasite"? Buzz is a factor. The film was already one of the year's most talked about outside the US, starting with its top Palme d'Or win at the Cannes Film Festival last May, a first for a Korean film, and continuing with rave reviews, other major awards and box office records around the world (more than $165 million earned globally to date). In the US, its success offers hope that audiences are learning to accept the subtitle. "Parasite" is already among the top-grossing foreign-language films of all time here. HBO is reportedly in early stages of developing a series based on the film. Reputation is another factor. Bong is known to fans worldwide for his previous films, a mix of Hollywood and Korean genre hits that often tackle social injustices, like "The Host," "Snowpiercer" and Netflix's "Okja." He's that rare blend of commercial auteur – a director whose films are personal and unique but who also work in genres and styles appreciated by mass audiences. "Parasite" was distributed in the US by Neon Class Warfare "Parasite" is no different. The film starts out in the cramped basement flat of a poor family, a good-natured foursome squeezing into corners to connect to other people's wi fi, scrounging for odd jobs and eating whatever they can afford. Their fate is visualized in their street-level window that lets in disturbing sights, sewer water and fumigation sprays, but no direct sunlight. The struggle gives the two grown children their grit. When a friend asks the son, Ki-woo, to pose as a college student to tutor a rich girl in English, he slides perfectly into their world, headquartered in a spacious architectural masterpiece of a home, schmoozing the girl's mom and plugging his family members anonymously into other household jobs. There's a gentle humor in the contrast between rich and poor at first. Seen through the scamps' eyes, everything represents opportunity and benefit. But just when Bong has lulled you into thinking this is only satire, the film takes a very dark turn. Class contrasts morph into rage as South Korea's mutually-parasitic social layers clash in proximity. After a singular dramatic event in the film, Ki-woo's father tries to explain to his son the senselessness of making plans, especially for the disempowered. When Bong ends the film with the boy doing precisely that, you can't help but feel a mix of empathy, hope and futility – probably exactly what Bong intended. "Parasite" is available on DVD and streaming platforms. This column originally ran in The Daily Record.

In the Saudi Arabian movie “Wadjda,” the 10-year-old title character has to be reminded that girls shouldn’t speak aloud where men might hear them, wear their hair uncovered where men might see them, or even ride bicycles. In the Venezuelan feature “Liz in September,” a group of lesbian women escapes society’s judgmental eye while one of them plans her death from cancer. The directors of these films have lifted figurative and literal veils on other realities and, in so doing, have overcome bans, prejudices and obstacles to share their identities, histories, ideas and visions with us. “Wadjda” was touted as the first feature film shot entirely in Saudi Arabia, a fact made even more significant because its director, Haifaa al-Mansour, is a woman. She reportedly had to shoot exterior scenes from inside a van where she wouldn’t come in physical contact with male members of her crew. But, as she told Screen International in 2012, “It is very important to bring the concept of film to this country. Film makes people more tolerant and gives them pride.” Biking toward Freedom Recently, the Saudi crown prince lifted a 35-year ban on movie theaters and announced other reforms, including letting women drive, attend sporting events and take physical education in school. Wadjda would approve. In the film, she schemes to earn cash doing random tasks and selling knick-knacks to fulfill her dream of buying a bike. She wants to race her best friend, a neighborhood boy who enjoys all the privileges and freedoms his gender and well-connected family offer him. Wadjda says she’d trade the 70 brides supposedly waiting for a martyr after his death for 70 bikes, even though her mother warns that girls who ride bikes can’t have children. She goes so far as to register to compete in a school religious competition to win 1,000 Saudi riyals. She sweet-talks and cajoles, stands up for herself and others, and confronts hypocrisy as best she can. You can’t help but root for her every step of the way. ​​Newcomer Waad Mohammed carries the film, appearing in every scene and making her character’s feisty antics, like pinning her name to the branch of a men-only family tree, seem simultaneously innocent and wise. What creates tension in the movie, besides the vindictive principal who seems to have it in for Wadjda, is the glimpse of the future we get based on the women in the girl’s life. If they are any measure, Wadjda will have to lose both her innocence and some of her spunk to resign herself to a woman's life in Saudi Arabia. Yet in the film’s bittersweet finale, al-Mansour provides a glimmer of hope for the next generation. Combined with the recent reforms in the country, the very fact that she got this film made and successfully exported – it screened in numerous festivals, became Saudi Arabia’s first-ever nomination to the foreign-language Oscar and is currently streaming on Amazon – offers more reason for hope. Living and Dying with Dignity The attractive “Liz En Septiembre” adapts the pioneering lesbian play, “Last Summer at Bluefish Cove” by Jane Chambers, to the Venezuelan coast. The “Liz” of the title is the de facto leader of a group of female friends and lovers who vacation together in a small beach town. When Eva, stuck in a cheerless marriage after the death of her young son, gets stranded overnight in the town, she finds herself falling for Liz. But Liz is dying of the same cancer that took Eva’s son, one of several secrets the women are hiding. Director Fina Torres and her cast handle the tale of love and death with delicacy and a dreamily gentle pace that befits the tropical setting. Torres also has a gorgeous eye for framing shots with poetry and grace, sending her camera deep under water, slow-motion down palm tree-lined country roads and high into the humid sky. But that same aesthetic eye and subtle narrative touch ultimately detract from the story’s realism. The cast appears to be (and in some cases actually is) comprised of models, their pastel-tinged beachfront cabañas would make the Property Brothers drool, and Eva’s love affair with Liz isn’t developed fully enough to carry the weight of the tale’s end. Still, it feels like a miracle that Torres got this movie made just a few years ago in Venezuela, a country suffering such a deep crisis that it was recently included in Trump’s travel ban 3.0. Streaming on Netflix, “Liz” is a pleasurable and rewarding watch. This column originally ran in The Daily Record.