There is a certain romance to New York in the fall.
The leaves begin to turn. The evenings come earlier. The city seems to acquire an extra layer of electricity. Manhattan becomes, for a few glorious weeks, the cinematic capital of the world as filmmakers, critics, actors, programmers, cineastes and assorted movie obsessives descend upon Lincoln Center for the New York Film Festival.
And then there is Vancouver.
Which, if you are lucky enough to be here during the Vancouver International Film Festival, is not such a bad place to be.
In fact, this year, it may be one of the best places in the world.
For 45 years — essentially from the beginning of VIFF in 1981 — Vancouver and New York have shared films, creating an extraordinary transcontinental cinematic conversation. The relationship was once considerably more complicated than it is today. In the 1990s, when movies arrived in enormous metal film cans, a shared NYFF/VIFF title could become a logistical ballet worthy of its own documentary.
A film might screen in New York on Sunday evening. Almost before the audience had left the theatre, its precious reels would be hustled away for shipment north. Victoria Shipping, then deeply involved in distributing film cans to cinemas throughout British Columbia, would get the reels moving toward Vancouver. By Monday evening, the same movie might be flickering on a VIFF screen.
And then, remarkably, the process would reverse.
The reels would be rushed back to New York for a Tuesday screening.
For VIFF staffers such as the late Cathy Evans and Selina Crammond —the latter who would later become director of Vancouver’s DOXA Documentary Film Festival — this was not romantic at all. It was a logistical nightmare.
Today, thankfully, the movies travel rather more elegantly.
The film can has largely disappeared, replaced by the Digital Cinema Package — those encrypted files residing on a CRU hard drive — and, increasingly, by the instantaneous movement of cinema through high-speed fibre or satellite transmission.
But something more important has remained.
The connection.
And this year, the connection is extraordinary.
A small correction before we begin: the 2026 New York Film Festival is the 64th edition, not the 65th; VIFF 2026 is indeed celebrating its 45th anniversary edition. And what a 45th it is. New York and Vancouver are sharing 23 films, an unusually rich cross-border exchange that makes VIFF 45 feel, in a very real sense, like a West Coast extension of the great New York cinematic conversation.
So, cinéastes of Vancouver, take note.
You don’t have to fly to New York.
This year, New York is coming to you.
THE LONELIEST MAN IN TOWN
Tizza Covi and Rainer Frimmel’s quietly devastating portrait of Austrian blues musician Al Cook is one of those films that seems to have wandered into the festival from another, more tactile age of cinema. Cook, playing a fictionalized version of himself, faces eviction from the apartment that has become an archive of his life — VHS tapes, records, photographs, newspapers, memories. The filmmakers turn the threatened demolition of a building into something larger: a meditation on disappearing cultures, ageing and the terrifying realization that the physical world we knew is being erased around us. The film won the Giuseppe Becce Award and a Special Mention from the Guild of German Arthouse Cinemas at Berlin.
PAPER TIGER
James Gray returns to New York — his spiritual home as a filmmaker — with an atmospheric crime drama starring Adam Driver, Miles Teller and Scarlett Johansson. Set in 1986 Queens and Brooklyn, it begins with an apparently ordinary middle-class family becoming entangled with Russian criminals through an ill-advised business scheme. But Gray, as always, is less interested in crime than in family, loyalty, ambition and the terrible consequences of wanting a better life. NYFF chose it as its Opening Night film, and the festival calls it a “brilliant New York thriller.” Vancouver gets to see why.
ALL OF A SUDDEN
Ryûsuke Hamaguchi, the Oscar-winning director of Drive My Car, has made a 196-minute film about care, mortality, friendship and the strange intimacy that develops between people who might otherwise never have met. Virginie Efira and Tao Okamoto shared the Best Actress prize at Cannes, playing an eldercare director and a terminally ill Japanese playwright. Hamaguchi’s great gift is making conversation feel like action and silence feel like dialogue. All of a Sudden is patient, humane and quietly immense — exactly the kind of film for which festivals were invented.
BEHEMOTH!
Tony Gilroy, director of Michael Clayton and creator of Andor, steps away from political espionage for a surprisingly personal drama about music. Pedro Pascal plays Alex, a brilliant cellist whose career and personal life have come apart, forcing him back toward family, memory and the unfinished business of his past. NYFF selected Behemoth! as its Centerpiece and describes Pascal’s performance as the best of his career. The film’s nine-composer musical collective gives the picture an unusually rich sonic architecture. It is a movie about music that understands something crucial: sometimes the score isn’t accompanying the emotion. The score is the emotion.
MINOTAUR
Andrey Zvyagintsev’s return is one of the major events of the festival year. The Russian master — now living in exile — won the Grand Prix at Cannes for this dark, mordantly funny tale of corruption, patriarchy and political power. Set in Russia in 2022, Minotaur follows a wealthy businessman whose suspicion that his wife is having an affair collides with an increasingly ominous political reality. Zvyagintsev invokes Claude Chabrol, but the film’s moral atmosphere is unmistakably his own: chilly, elegant, furious. After Leviathan and Loveless, this is another devastating anatomy of a society eating itself alive.
EVERYTIME
Sandra Wollner’s Everytime won the Un Certain Regard Prize at Cannes, and it is one of those films whose description cannot prepare you for its emotional effect. Following a mother, younger daughter and boyfriend after a shocking accident, Wollner creates a suspended world in which grief seems to dissolve the boundaries between memory, reality and dream. The film eventually travels to Tenerife, where the past and present become almost indistinguishable. Gregory Oke’s cinematography is breathtaking, but the real achievement is tonal: Everytime feels like grief itself — beautiful, disorienting, tender and impossible to escape.
POSSIBLE LOVE
Lee Chang-dong’s first film since Burning is already one of the year’s essential Korean films. Two couples from radically different economic circumstances become connected when a wealthy documentary filmmaker turns her camera toward a working-class couple whose lives have been shattered by a factory layoff. The result is part relationship drama, part class critique, part inquiry into the ethics of documentary filmmaking. It won the Silver Lion at Venice and is South Korea’s submission for the 2027 Academy Awards. Lee has always understood that social inequality becomes most powerful when it enters the bedroom, the dining room and the intimate spaces of ordinary lives.
CLUB KID
Jordan Firstman’s feature début is one of the year’s great surprises: a wildly funny, sometimes outrageous New York comedy that gradually reveals a surprisingly tender heart. Firstman plays Peter, a washed-up thirtysomething club promoter whose hedonistic existence is interrupted by the arrival of the 10-year-old son he never knew he had. Suddenly, the professional party boy is responsible for another human being. NYFF calls it “wildly funny and remarkably assured,” and that seems exactly right. Club Kid begins as satire and ends somewhere much more affecting: as a story about the possibility that growing up can happen very, very late.
FATHERLAND
Paweł Pawlikowski’s Fatherland is one of those films that makes black-and-white cinematography feel less like a stylistic choice than a moral necessity. Set in 1949, it follows Nobel laureate Thomas Mann and his daughter Erika traveling through a Germany still physically and morally shattered by the war. Sandra Hüller is extraordinary as Erika, simultaneously daughter, conscience and prosecutor. Pawlikowski won Best Director at Cannes, while Łukasz Żal’s austere images recall Ida and Cold War. Poland’s Oscar submission, Fatherland is a miniature — just 82 minutes — that somehow contains an entire country’s struggle with memory and guilt.
DAO
Alain Gomis’ Dao is cinema as ritual. Two ceremonies — a mourning gathering in Guinea-Bissau and a wedding in Paris — become intertwined in a formally adventurous film that moves between documentary and fiction, memory and performance, grief and celebration. Gomis’ camera observes Black French women speaking about identity and history before plunging us into ceremonies where life and death, tradition and modernity, performance and reality become inseparable. At 192 minutes, Dao asks for patience, but rewards it with something increasingly rare: the sensation of discovering a cinematic language rather than merely watching a movie.
ONCE UPON A TIME IN HARLEM
This may be the most precious piece of cinema in the entire 23-film exchange. In 1972, legendary filmmaker William Greaves assembled luminaries of the Harlem Renaissance at Duke Ellington’s townhouse and filmed their extraordinary conversation. More than half a century later, his son David Greaves has transformed that footage into a living archive of Black American intellectual and artistic life. The film has already won the Library of Congress Lavine/Ken Burns Prize for Film, worth $200,000. It is not simply a documentary. It is time travel — an invitation to sit in a room with people history has taught us to revere.
ROSE
Sandra Hüller is having one of those years actors dream about. In Rose, she plays a 17th-century woman who disguises herself as a male soldier after the Thirty Years’ War and attempts to build an entirely new life. Markus Schleinzer’s austere, beautifully composed historical fable won Hüller the Silver Bear for Best Leading Performance at Berlin and became Austria’s Oscar submission. The film is about gender, faith and intolerance, but also about the intoxicating possibility of becoming someone society has told you that you cannot be. Hüller gives the role an extraordinary mixture of severity, vulnerability and defiance.
CLARISSA
Virginia Woolf’s Mrs. Dalloway travels to contemporary Nigeria in this ambitious, tender adaptation from twin filmmakers Arie and Chuko Esiri. Sophie Okonedo plays Clarissa, preparing for an elaborate party while memories of old loves and unresolved emotions rise to the surface. The parallel story of a traumatized soldier brings Woolf’s exploration of interiority into the contemporary realities of Nigeria. It is an audacious transplantation: rather than treating Woolf as sacred literary property, the Esiris discover the universality underneath the geography. The result is intimate, political and unexpectedly moving.
FJORD
Cristian Mungiu has done it again. The Romanian master won his second Palme d’Or at Cannes for this searing drama about a Romanian family who immigrates to Norway and finds itself under suspicion after an allegation of child abuse. Sebastian Stan and Renate Reinsve give performances of remarkable restraint as parents trapped between cultures, religious belief and the increasingly judgmental gaze of their adopted community. Mungiu refuses easy answers. What begins as a question of parental responsibility becomes a much more disturbing examination of prejudice, cultural difference and the moment when care becomes control. This is precisely the kind of morally uncomfortable cinema that stays with you long after the lights come up.
THE DREAMED ADVENTURE
Valeska Grisebach’s The Dreamed Adventure won the Jury Prize at Cannes and begins like one kind of film before quietly becoming another. An archaeologist returns to a Bulgarian border town searching for a vanished former lover. Gradually, the story slides into the territory of crime, masculinity and violence. Grisebach’s great achievement is the way she combines vérité observation with genre filmmaking. Like her acclaimed Western, the movie understands that borders are never simply geographical. They are emotional, cultural and psychological. At 170 minutes, it is deliberately immersive — a film that asks you to cross the border with it.
TENDER LOVING CARE
Mike Leigh may be approaching the end of his extraordinary filmmaking career, but Tender Loving Care suggests that his gaze remains as humane and penetrating as ever. Set in post-Brexit England, the film follows social workers Amy and Rosie as they struggle to care for people abandoned by increasingly fragile institutions. Leigh avoids easy political preaching, instead constructing a mosaic of lives — funny, desperate, stubborn, loving. The performances are superb, the humour wonderfully dry, and the compassion never sentimental. It is, perhaps, a fitting film for a filmmaker who has spent decades insisting that ordinary people are every bit as worthy of our attention as kings, politicians and movie stars.
BITTER CHRISTMAS
Pedro Almodóvar turns the cinema of autofiction inside out in Bitter Christmas, a deliciously complicated hall of mirrors about artists stealing from life — and then discovering that life may have been stealing from them all along. Bárbara Lennie and Leonardo Sbaraglia play filmmakers whose work becomes increasingly entangled with the lives of their friends and collaborators. The result is simultaneously comedy, melodrama, self-parody and confession. NYFF describes it as a meditation on the artist’s relationship with fiction and reality; VIFF calls it a “mischievously meta mea culpa.” Both are right. Almodóvar has spent five decades turning emotional chaos into cinematic colour, and he remains magnificently himself.
THE ONLY LIVING PICKPOCKET IN NEW YORK
There could scarcely be a more New York movie in this collection. John Turturro plays Harry Lehman, an ageing Bronx pickpocket whose profession has become almost obsolete in a cashless, digital city. When a theft goes wrong, Harry finds himself racing through the boroughs trying to repair the damage. Noah Segan’s film is both crime story and elegy — for an older New York, an older kind of movie and an older kind of human connection. NYFF calls it an “elegant love letter to New York.” RogerEbert.com calls it a film attempting to conjure the spirit of an era. It succeeds beautifully.
THE DEBUT
Jesse Eisenberg’s The Debut — VIFF 45’s Opening Gala — gives Julianne Moore the kind of role actors live for. She plays Mona, an overlooked middle-aged housewife who impulsively auditions for a community musical and finds herself transformed by the stage. Paul Giamatti plays the theatre director who may be mentor, bully, genius or all three. Eisenberg walks a remarkable line between satire and genuine affection, skewering community theatre while celebrating the strange liberation that can happen when ordinary people suddenly find themselves illuminated by a spotlight. The result is funny, uncomfortable, unexpectedly moving — and a terrific way to open a festival.
NOWHERE TO LAY MY EYES
Hong Sangsoo’s 35th feature is another of those deceptively simple films in which almost nothing happens — and everything happens. A filmmaker returns to Jeju Island to visit her estranged mother, encountering a new stepfamily and the uncomfortable emotional geography of old wounds. Hong’s stripped-down visual style allows the smallest shifts in conversation to become revelations. The film won Best Direction at Locarno, while Kim Min-hee took the festival’s Best Performance prize. At only 72 minutes, it is a miniature Hong Sangsoo masterpiece: awkward, funny, melancholy and quietly profound.
9 TEMPLES TO HEAVEN
Sompot Chidgasornpongse’s feature début takes a simple premise and turns it into a spiritual road movie. After a fortune teller warns that his elderly mother may soon die, Sakol gathers his family and sets out on a pilgrimage to nine Buddhist temples in a single day. The film combines family squabbling, Thai architecture, ritual and mortality with the patient observational style associated with the filmmaker’s mentor, Apichatpong Weerasethakul. Selected for Cannes’ Directors’ Fortnight and Thailand’s Oscar submission, it is less a conventional narrative than a journey into the sacred and the everyday. A film about death that is, paradoxically, deeply alive.
THE DIARY OF A CHAMBERMAID
Radu Jude’s modern reimagining of Octave Mirbeau’s The Diary of a Chambermaid is quintessential Jude: political, mischievous, self-aware and quietly furious. Ana Dumitrașcu plays Gianina, a young Romanian woman working for a wealthy French family while yearning to return to her daughter in Romania. The great twist is that Gianina is also rehearsing the role of a chambermaid in an amateur theatrical adaptation of the very novel whose world she inhabits. Jude turns class resentment into comedy, then lets the comedy curdle. With a 94% critics’ score on Rotten Tomatoes, it is among his more warmly received recent films.
LA GRADIVA
Marine Atlan’s feature debut is one of the great discoveries of Cannes 2026. A school trip takes a group of French teenagers to Naples and Pompeii, where the ancient landscape becomes the backdrop for a contemporary eruption of desire, jealousy, class anxiety and adolescent cruelty. Atlan, working as her own cinematographer, won the Grand Prize at Critics’ Week, and the film’s precision is astonishing. Every glance, gesture and silence seems deliberately placed. What begins as a school trip becomes something closer to a coming-of-age fever dream, in which the ruins of Pompeii become a metaphor for young people discovering that desire can be as dangerous as Vesuvius.
TWO CITIES. ONE CINEMA.
There is something wonderfully old-fashioned about this relationship between New York and Vancouver.
Before streaming. Before the infinite libraries of films available at the touch of a button. Before a movie could cross an ocean without anybody physically touching a film can. There was simply the movie, the screen, the audience — and the people desperately trying to get the movie from one city to another.
New York would see something first.
Vancouver would wait.
Then the reels would arrive, battered and precious, carrying with them the faint romance of another city: Manhattan streets after midnight, Lincoln Center reflected in rain, the conversations in Greenwich Village cafés, the arguments among critics outside a theatre, the whispered conviction that this movie — this particular movie — might be the one everyone remembers.
And now, 45 years after VIFF began, the miracle is that we don’t need to cross the continent to experience that feeling.
The cinema comes here.
It arrives at the Vancouver Playhouse, the Park, the Rio, International Village, the Fifth Avenue, SFU Woodwards, the VIFF Centre. It arrives in the darkness, carried not in steel canisters but in streams of data, transformed once again by the oldest technology of all: a room full of strangers staring together at a rectangle of light.
That is the real romance of VIFF.
New York may have the skyline.
It may have Lincoln Center.
It may have the autumn leaves and the taxis and the midnight screenings and the feeling that somewhere around the corner, Martin Scorsese or Paul Schrader or some impossibly elegant European filmmaker might be sitting at the next table.
But Vancouver has the mountains.
Vancouver has the rain.
And, for eleven days in October, Vancouver has New York.
More precisely, it has the cinema that New York has chosen to embrace.
Twenty-three films crossing the continent. Twenty-three little acts of cinematic diplomacy. Twenty-three reminders that movies have always been travelers, moving from country to country, festival to festival, audience to audience — carrying stories with them like passports.
Once upon a time, those stories traveled in film cans.
Today they travel through fibre-optic cables.
But when the lights go down, nothing has really changed.
There is still a screen.
There is still darkness.
There is still the extraordinary hush that falls over an audience just before the first image appears.
And somewhere, thousands of kilometres away, another audience may be watching the very same image.
New York.
Vancouver.
Two cities separated by a continent, joined by a beam of light.
And for a few glorious weeks each autumn, if you listen carefully enough, you can almost hear Manhattan breathing through the speakers of a Vancouver cinema.
You don’t have to go to New York.
New York has already come to you.