review

Sophy Romvari’s luminous debut feature “Blue Heron” is a loving and studious act of remembrance. Her protagonist and surrogate, Sasha (Amy Zimmer), attempts to understand her family’s past through a reverent process of recreation. While she finds that not everything can be understood, there is beauty and solace in the journey itself — and maybe a kind of catharsis.

“Blue Heron” is an autobiographical project, but it’s more apt to call it a memoir. Sasha admits she doesn’t remember much of her childhood and doesn’t even trust the fragments. But she will try anyway. As Sasha zooms in on her iPhone, standing at the bluff overlooking her hometown, Romvari rolls up the back of a moving truck to deliver a lush slice of ’90s childhood nostalgia, picking up the memory as her Hungarian immigrant family — two parents, three brothers and one sister — arrive at their new home on Canada’s Vancouver Island.

Father (Ádám Tompa) settles into work on the home computer; Mother (Iringó Réti) attempts to amuse the kids with trips to the beach and nature preserves. Snippets of summer filter through the eyes and ears of 8-year-old Sasha (Eylul Guven) and in the photos snapped by their parents.

But a disquieting presence looms: Jeremy (Edik Beddoes), the eldest son. Blond, light-featured and tall, he is visually distinct from the three other children and his silent rebellion permeates the atmosphere.

His misbehavior is minor — irritating but untenable when stacked together — like bouncing a ball against a wall, disappearing for fun or climbing on the roof. He mostly just seems like a moody, unsatisfied teen, drawing elaborate maps and sometimes playing with his siblings sweetly. It all seems like harmless mischief until it escalates.

The movie’s title refers to a key chain from a gift shop that Jeremy, who almost never speaks, presents to his younger sister. Like him, the film is quiet and meditative, bathed in the cool blues and verdant greens of the setting, captured in Maya Bankovic’s saturated cinematography. We are transported to a place of natural beauty and a period of seemingly unlimited time. But Jeremy-related tension simmers beneath the domestic surface, just as it does in Chantal Akerman’s 1975 landmark “Jeanne Dielman, 23 Quai du Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles,” referenced in a shot of a mother and daughter peeling potatoes.

“Blue Heron,” though, is not just going to simply be a throwback family drama about a troubled boy and his younger sister. The film suddenly zooms out, linearly, to two decades later. Zimmer’s older version of Sasha is grappling with her brother’s void and she does so with her mind, her work, her actions. She conducts a focus group of social workers for a documentary in order to try to understand Jeremy’s behavior and the treatment he got at the time. She scrubs through video and photos and interviews a case worker. She escapes into old movies.

In Romvari’s award-winning 2020 short “Still Processing,” a companion piece to “Blue Heron,” she processes the loss of two brothers through photography, sifting through boxes of old photos and film negatives shot by her father, who trained as a cinematographer in Hungary. It seems natural for Romvari to access the emotional through artistic practice, to give her — and Sasha — something to do with their hands. The tactility of the photographs in “Still Processing” provide an access point to the past. Romvari weeps as she spreads them out on a table, saying “hi” softly to her brothers. But there’s a remove in the rigorous focus on the snapshots that perhaps also protects her from the full crushing weight of these emotions.

But in a film like “Blue Heron,” anything is possible, including time travel, and for Romvari, it’s the channel that she offers Sasha to achieve the closure that she needs: a visit to a time she doesn’t really remember, even as she’s building an archive of materials to bolster herself.

If young Sasha watches (and Guven is absolutely terrific at watching), the older Sasha speaks. Zimmer, a New York City comedian, is tasked with a heavy, grief-laden dramatic role, and she’s utterly convincing, entrancing in her stillness. But she also has a way with words, a clarity that rings with a rare kind of honest empathy, especially in a letter that Sasha reads to her parents.

That letter is what “Blue Heron” represents for its filmmaker — an attempt to re-create the past, to bring it back to life. Even if imperfect, the value is in the effort, in the ongoing practice of remembering, as an act of devotion to family and self.

Prosecutors said Friday they have rejected a police request for an arrest warrant for Bang Si-hyuk, chairman and founder of K-pop powerhouse Hybe, who is accused of unfair stock trading, citing insufficient evidence.

The Seoul Southern District Prosecutors’ Office sent back to the police the arrest warrant request filed against Bang earlier this week on charges of fraudulent unfair trading under the Capital Markets Act.

The chief was suspected of deceiving investors in 2019 into selling their shares in Hybe before the company held an initial public offering (IPO), through which he allegedly pocketed about 260 billion won (US$175.28 million) in illegal profits.

“At this stage, there is insufficient evidence to justify the necessity of detention, and we have therefore requested a supplementary investigation,” the prosecution said.

The act prohibits obtaining financial gains through false statements or by using deceptive schemes in connection with financial investment products, such as unlisted shares. Violations involving profits exceeding 5 billion won are punishable by life imprisonment or a minimum of five years behind bars.

Bang has denied the allegation, saying the IPO had followed the law and regulations.

Police first received a tip-off on the allegations in late 2024 and raided the Korea Exchange and Hybe’s headquarters the following year as part of the probe. Bang was banned in August from leaving the country, leading to various restrictions on his activities.

The U.S. Embassy in Seoul recently sent a letter to the police agency asking that it allow him to travel to the United States to take part in K-pop supergroup BTS‘ world tour.

Copyright (c) Yonhap News Agency prohibits its content from being redistributed or reprinted without consent, and forbids the content from being learned and used by artificial intelligence systems.

David Mackenzie’s “Fuze” springs to life in a millisecond.

In central London, a construction digger unearths an unexploded World War II bomb, and it starts to tick. The blast radius could be a half-mile wide. Outside the cordon, Chief Supt. Zuzana (Gugu Mbatha-Raw) oversees the evacuation of thousands of residents to Hyde Park. Inside the cordon, a military explosives expert, Maj. Tranter (Aaron Taylor-Johnson), marshals his squad to disarm the weapon. Also inside the cordon, a heist crew headed by thieves Karalis and X (Theo James and Sam Worthington, respectively) uses the dangerous distraction to rob a bank.

Three skilled teams, three goals. Meanwhile, a displaced neighborhood resident named Rahim (Elham Ehsas) is cooling his heels in Hyde Park very aware of an evening flight that his family is supposed to be on. His clan will factor into the plot too, although his wheelchair-bound father flusters, “Nobody ever tells me what’s going on.” Join the club, old man.

“Fuze” was one of my favorite treats at last fall’s Toronto International Film Festival, although unlike many of the other films it premiered alongside, it has no pretensions of being an awards contender. (Mackenzie’s 2016 modern western “Hell or High Water” did make a moderate Oscar splash.) This is just quality popcorn filmmaking that spins the audience in circles as we watch experts do their jobs. I left the theater feeling giddily put through the wringer by its contrarian depictions of heroes and fiends.

A mechanical exercise more than a character piece, the script by Ben Hopkins (of the 2023 Willem Dafoe existentialist art burglar drama “Inside”) functions like an elaborate contraption. First, you’re impressed by the scale. Then, it reveals how its small moving parts fit together — and at the very end, just when you think you’ve clinched it, there’s a surprise coda that makes you unpack everything again to reassemble the story from a completely different perspective.

It’s a film with a few strong opinions about how the world is being run. Yet, they’re rarely said out loud. Everyone on-screen is a person of action, not words — particularly Taylor-Johnson’s major, a veteran of the War on Terror, who is so calm under pressure that he’s introduced sniping a bull’s-eye at Lord knows how many meters. He’s the sort of character who tends to come across either bland or unconvincingly cocky-funny. Here, he’s compellingly focused on the task at hand and, like all the leads, never pauses to fill in the audience on exactly what he’s doing.

The performances are all from the grip-and-grin school of acting: neat and precise with a minimum of bluster. “Fuze’s” version of a joke is when an anxious underling pipes up to ask for permission to speak. “No,” Tranter snaps, and his gruffness is so confident that it makes you chuckle. Yet even he has a boss, Gen. Minton (Iain Fletcher), who storms into one scene to yank on Tranter’s chain of command and disrupt the power balance again.

Instead of bothering much about dialogue, “Fuze” is a blueprint of how stress and deference exert themselves upon a workplace. The robber clique turns out to have its own bosses, too, as well as the most visible fractures in their unit. You’d be correct to guess that within their grand scheme lurks at least one or two self-interested ruses run by either James’ Karalis or Worthington’s X. The other crooks don’t have names worth learning, but the actors playing them, Shaun Mason and Nabil Elouahabi, do have memorable faces.

There are no flourishes onscreen other than Matt Mayer’s editing, which is relentless. Mackenzie barely gives the audience a pause to ask questions, although he does get around to answering them (mostly). All this competence puts us in a strange state — a suspenseful trance — in which you feel on edge while also relaxing into the idea that the characters have things under control. Unpredictable twists are afoot. But the pace moves so fast that you can only observe, not outguess, the surprises, putting us in the same fix as a heavy, played by Dragos Bucur, who moans that he knows he’s getting screwed over, “but I don’t know how.”

Coming at cross purposes, some of these people will fail. One unit — it would be a spoiler to specify which — evaporates toward the climax and, oddly, isn’t missed. While the outro feels tacked on, upon reflection, it’s the missing piece that transforms the movie from a puzzle into a proclamation on group cohesion. Only afterward does it hit us that Mackenzie has really made a thriller about trust. Each of these groups (and shadow groups) is united by either duty, blood or circumstance. Of those factors, one proves more adhesive than the rest.

“Fuze” does smack a bit of an excellent episode of TV. Everyone in the cast is a little too pretty for their jobs. Likewise, the score by Tony Doogan leans too heavily on generic electronic thuds, the kind that segue into a commercial break cliffhanger and an ad for blood pressure medicine. When his techno beats kick in during the most fraught sequences, however, the effect is dynamite. As the closing credits kick in, Mackenzie lets off some well-earned steam with an apropos punk rock anthem, the Clash’s cover of “Police & Thieves.”

A British couple have shared their honest verdict on the giant mozzarella sticks in Tenerife that have gone viral on social media, with a plate of three setting you back £11.25

A couple have given their candid verdict after sampling the viral, giant mozzarella sticks during their holiday to Tenerife in the Canary Islands.

Whenever you’re gearing up to visit somewhere new, many people turn to the internet and social media to scout out things to do and foods to try, building excitement while piecing together an itinerary for their time away.

This also means that if you’re heading to a well-known tourist hotspot, the chances are you’ll stumble across at least one dish or eatery that’s already taken social media by storm. In Tenerife, one such food that’s been setting the internet alight is an impressive-looking mozzarella stick. But with all the buzz surrounding them, some may question whether they’re truly worth seeking out.

To put them to the test, British holidaymaker Sam Jenkins decided to give them a go while away with her boyfriend, before heading to TikTok to share their honest thoughts.

“Trying the VIRAL Tenerife mozzarella sticks!” they wrote at the beginning of the clip, which shows the pair making their way to the restaurant that serves them.

The footage then revealed the mozzarella stick itself, which appeared thick, lengthy and a beautifully golden shade after being deep-fried. They were presented on a plate of three, which looked to be a rather generous serving given their considerable size. A dipping sauce was also included on the side.

The girl then attempted to tear off a piece, resulting in an impressive cheese pull that demonstrated just how generously packed with mozzarella each stick truly was.

The guy then had a go himself, snapping the mozzarella stick open from the middle, which once again produced a spectacular cheese pull that appeared to stretch wide enough to reach his outstretched arms.

Although they didn’t film themselves actually tasting the mozzarella sticks following the cheese pull, they did confirm the snacks had lived up to all the hype, awarding them a ’10/10′.

“Try the viral Tenerife mozzarella sticks with us!!! From the Winchester Tenerife Costa adeje 10/10 would recommend,” they wrote in the caption of the post.

In the comments section, they revealed that the plate of three mozzarella sticks had set them back €12.95 (£11.25), adding that other dishes on the menu, including burgers and pizzas, were equally delicious.

Numerous viewers also flocked to the comments to share their opinions. One person said: “I’m going to Tenerife in June so definitely will try them.

“10/10 cheese pull,” someone else remarked, while a third viewer gushed: “Omg need!!!! I dream about these everyday.”

Not everyone was convinced, however, with some branding them ‘overhyped’. One person commented: “Over hyped! We loved the seahorse just up the street I would run back there just for their food.”

“For Want of a Horse,” a play by Olivia Dufault receiving its world premiere in an Echo Theater Company production at Atwater Village Theatre, wants to have a rational conversation about a taboo topic that can provoke instant outrage.

The subject is zoophilia, not to be confused with bestiality, though for many of us it will be a distinction without much of a difference.

Calvin (Joey Stromberg), a good-looking, mild-mannered married accountant, has harbored a secret for much of his life. He has a thing for horses. His erotic interest began at an early age, and all his efforts to lead a normal life have left him depressed and contemplating suicide.

His wife, Bonnie (Jenny Soo), is a permissive kindergarten teacher who’s having difficulty restraining a girl in her class who has discovered the joys of masturbation. Worried about her husband, she discovers through his browsing history that he’s once again visiting strange animal sites.

She suggests he keep a horse, explaining that she doesn’t want to end up a widow or divorcée. Calvin is taken aback by her generosity but has come to recognize that his preference is more than a kink. It’s part of his identity — and maybe the only part that makes his life seem worth living.

Joey Stromberg and Jenny Soo in “For Want of a Horse” at the Echo Theater Company.

(Cooper Bates)

A horse named Q-Tip (Griffin Kelly) enters the couple’s lives. A stable is secured, and the mare, who senses that something strange is going on, is indulged with apples and caresses.

Kelly, a statuesque presence in a dress, harness and boots, brings the horse to life with wild, unpredictable movements. The sheer size of the animal poses a threat to humans. One kick, as Q-Tip herself explains in one of her thought-bubble monologues, is capable of penetrating a steel wall. But controlling an animal’s food supply is an effective way of winning over its trust.

Calvin has found support in the online zoophilia community. PJ (Steven Culp), a man whose current inamorata is a bichon frise, is considering moving to a country where zoophilia isn’t illegal. He’s tired of the shame and the secrecy. He’s proud of his attachment to pooch, even if his thing for dogs has cost him contact with his daughter and ex-wife.

Dufault doesn’t shy away from sexual details. For PJ, intimacy depends on peanut butter. Calvin describes the physical signals that reveal Q-Tip’s erotic satisfaction. The play occasionally descends into sitcom humor. (PJ says he’s considering creating a human-dog dating app called Rin Tin Tinder.) But mostly the subdued tone steers clear of sensationalism.

The production, directed by Elana Luo, is scrupulously well-acted by the four-person cast. Stromberg makes Calvin seem not only reasonable but surprisingly sensitive. Soo’s Bonnie sweetly embodies the excesses of a kind of progressive piety. As PJ, Culp gruffly embraces his role as the play’s polemical fire-starter. And Kelly’s Q-Tip, in the production’s most physically demanding performance, straddles the human-animal divide with theatrical aplomb.

Steven Culp, left, and Joey Stromberg in “For Want of a Horse” at the Echo Theater Company.

(Cooper Bates)

The open-mindedness that Dufault, a trans playwright, brings to the play creates some dramatic slack. Possibly the same fear of making value judgments that has inhibited Bonnie from imposing common-sense discipline in her classroom has robbed “For Want of a Horse” of a propulsive point of view.

The play moves monotonously between Calvin and Bonnie’s bedroom and the stable. Scenic designer Alex Mollo has worked out an efficient way of shifting between these realms by employing the same set of wooden trunks. But the argument of the play doesn’t so much build as elapse.

Time takes its toll, and Calvin eventually has to make a decision. But the character who interested me most was Bonnie, whose reality is only glimpsed. The play tacitly uses her husband’s threat of suicide as a trump card. Zoophilia isn’t merely a fetish for Calvin but a nonnegotiable part of his identity.

This questionable assumption can be psychologically scrutinized not only from Calvin’s point of view but also from his wife’s. The play wants to have an intelligent debate, but it doesn’t want to interrogate certain political positions too skeptically.

At one point, Bonnie objects when Calvin compares his situation to that of homosexuality, but the conversation ends there. The reality is that the right wing has been making a similar claim, arguing that same-sex marriage opens the door to bestiality, polygamy and incest. “For Want of a Horse” inadvertently lends legitimacy to this line of reasoning.

Griffin Kelly in “For Want of a Horse” at the Echo Theater Company.

(Cooper Bates)

Not that extremist positions should be off limits, but they ought to be more rigorously addressed. Similarly, Bonnie’s concern about the issue of consent — how can a horse say yes to intercourse with a human — is introduced only to be dismissed in a shrug of mild-mannered bothsidesism.

While watching “For Want of a Horse,” I recalled a program on PBS called “My Wild Affair” that wasn’t about zoophilia but about the problematic nature of human bonds with untamed animals. Relationships with a seal, an elephant and a rhino, for example — obsessive, protective, loving friendships — all seemed to end if not in outright tragedy, then in shattering heartbreak.

Q-Tip is rightfully given the play’s last word, and Kelly, an actor (HBO’s “The Book of Queer”), writer and comedian, is the production’s driving force. We can never know what’s inside this mare’s mind because Q-Tip’s brain has evolved so differently from our own. Kelly plays the anthropomorphic game while retaining some of the inscrutability of a four-legged creature.

It is through language that we, as humans, traverse the chasm separating us from one another. That’s not possible with animals, even with our closest domestic companions. (Try explaining a necessary medical procedure to a cat.)

“For Want of a Horse” sets out to speak about the unspeakable, but its construction may be too tame for such a wild subject.

For disputed reasons, April 20, abbreviated to 420, has become a day to celebrate marijuana; even if this is nothing you mark on your calendar, the collective culture is bound to remind you.

Weed is not what it used to be, which is to say illegal everywhere. (State laws may differ, but the federal government still disapproves.) Stoners are no longer useful as a comedy device, while pot’s countercultural meaning has dissipated as it’s been absorbed into the mainstream. According to the CDC, some 60 million American reported using it in 2022. Snoop Dogg is a beloved media figure (and, somehow, an Olympics commentator). Seth Rogen co-owns a cannabis company, Houseplant, that also sells coffee, furniture and incense. The paper you are reading has published weed-themed gift guides.

Now, Hulu, wholly owned by the Walt Disney Company, is marking the day (Monday) with “4×20: Quick Hits,” a frisky anthology comprising four 20-minute documentaries on pot-related subjects, with family-friendly figure Jimmy Kimmel as an executive producer. It’s less about the drug itself than the arts, crafts and enterprises it has inspired. Given where we are now, it’s not surprising that there’s a historical bent to the films, a look back to earlier times — certainly worse for some of the people profiled, who were targeted by and battled with the law in pursuit of their businesses and dreams — but one they regard with a kind of amused nostalgia.

All the films are affectionate, most are light-hearted and often comical. One, Todd Kapostasy’s “Bong Voyage,” about the rise and fall and rise of artisanal glassblower Jason Harris, is narrated by one of his creations and includes such dumb puns as “fine piece of glass.” Directed by Brent Hodge, “Highly Unlikely” is an entertaining, straightforward reminiscence of the making of “Harold & Kumar Go to White Castle,” though it is less about the stoner themes than how the film broke stereotypes in making two little-known Asian actors, John Cho and Kal Penn, the film’s stars. The adorable “The Legend of Ganjasaurus Rex,” directed by Alex Ross Perry, and nearly the premise for a Christopher Guest movie, recounts an act of community filmmaking in the late ‘80s in pot-growing Humboldt County, wherein locals created a monster movie in a proxy war with the authorities, and its inspirational afterlife.

More serious in tone is Kyle Thrash‘s “High Times,” which looks at the history of the pot-centric magazine, its drug smuggling founder Tom Forçade and his suicide. More compelling perhaps is his friend, Yippie co-founder and lifelong cannabis activist Dana Beal, who frames the film; we see him in the nearly present day on trial for drug trafficking, having been stopped in Idaho with 56 pounds of raw marijuana, and also on the streets of New York leafleting passersby with his daughter to “help us legalize weed worldwide.”

Whether or not cannabis itself interests you, each of these mini-docs is capable of holding your attention for 20 minutes — assuming you’re capable from your end — and, being as brief as they are, may well send you to learn more. (I don’t imagine they will send you to smoke pot if you don’t — they didn’t work on me, anyway — and, who knows, might even make one less inclined.) You might finally watch “Harold & Kumar,” or find Garberville on a map, or look to see how things are going for Beal, or discover whether the same John Holmstrom who once edited High Times is the same person who founded Punk magazine and drew covers for the Ramones’ “Rocket to Russia” and “Road to Ruin” albums. (He is.) “Ganjasaurus Rex,” in its 90-minute full length, is itself online to see, and, for those who celebrate, I don’t suppose there’s a better day to watch it.

The order calls on the federal government to relax restrictions on psychedelics, including ibogaine, for potential treatments.

United States President Donald Trump has signed an executive order to speed up the review of a handful of psychedelic drugs, including the controversial ibogaine.

Trump was joined by podcaster Joe Rogan during Saturday’s Oval Office event.

Rogan, considered one of the most influential podcasters in the country, has been a leading proponent of ibogaine, which is derived from a plant that grows in West Africa and has been embraced by some military veteran groups as a treatment for post-traumatic stress.

Speaking at the event, Rogan recounted how he had previously texted information to Trump about ibogaine.

He recalled that the president quickly texted back: “Sounds great. Do you want FDA [Food and Drug Administration] approval? Let’s do it.”

Advocacy groups have long pushed for more research into the possible use of psychedelics to treat an array of issues, including depression.

“Today’s order will ensure that people suffering from debilitating symptoms might finally have a chance to reclaim their lives and lead a happier life,” Trump said at the signing.

“If these turn out to be as good as people are saying, it’s going to have a tremendous impact.”

At one point, the president quipped that he would be open to taking psychedelics himself: “Can I have some, please? I’ll take some.”

But he quickly pivoted away from the joke. “I don’t have time to be depressed. You know, if you stay busy enough, maybe that works, too. That’s what I do,” he said.

Increasing research into psychedelics has proven a rare issue with bipartisan support in the US, where ibogaine and other psychedelics remain banned under the federal government’s most restrictive category for illegal drugs.

Health Secretary Robert F Kennedy Jr had previously pledged to ease access to psychedelics for medical use.

Trump’s executive order calls on the Department of Health and Human Services to direct at least $50m to states that have enacted or are developing programmes to advance psychedelic drugs for serious mental illness.

It also arrives ahead of several actions from the FDA to loosen restrictions.

This week, the agency will issue so-called “national priority” vouchers for three psychedelics, which the agency’s commissioner, Marty Makary, said will allow certain drugs to be approved quickly “if they are in line with our national priorities”.

The FDA is also taking steps to clear the way for the first-ever human trials of ibogaine in the US. Previous research had been stalled by concerns over the drug potentially triggering fatal heart problems.

Ibogaine was first used by members of the Bwiti religion in African nations like Gabon for religious ceremonies.

Rogan’s endorsement helped boost Trump ahead of the 2024 presidential election. He has since publicly questioned the administration’s war with Iran, saying it runs counter to Trump’s campaign pledges.

Also present on Saturday was Marcus Luttrell, a former Navy SEAL whose memoir about his time in Afghanistan, Lone Survivor, was later made into a film.

He praised ibogaine during the ceremony: “It absolutely changed my life for the better.”

How’s Lee Cronin doing? Fine. You know, still making movies. This one’s his third feature. Somebody — perhaps it was Lee Cronin himself, probably not — wanted us to know that his latest project, “Lee Cronin’s The Mummy,” was no mere mummy movie. Certainly not the one you have in mind: bandaged dead guy, ominous hieroglyphics, maybe Brendan Fraser. This is not that mummy movie. This is “Lee Cronin’s The Mummy.”

As for what that possessive credit means, we’re still in a haze. Cronin’s previous outing was “Evil Dead Rise,” a sequel heavily devoted to the gooey game plan mapped out by Fede Alvarez’s 2013 rethink of Sam Raimi’s gross-out comedies. In our current moment, when horror seems to be mining an especially rich vein (we’ve even seen an Oscar go to an unforgettable witch in “Weapons”), Lee Cronin represents the safe old ways of dutiful stewardship, getting the job done for a generic night out.

There are worse sins in the world. And sometimes the best way to introduce an ancient Egyptian curse is via a prologue that’s tonally very much like the one in “The Exorcist.” Who is the spooky, smiling woman beckoning to a young girl at the edge of her garden? No matter. The kid goes missing and, eight years later, her American family, since relocated to suburban New Mexico, is still feeling the loss: TV reporter Charlie (Jack Reynor), his haunted wife Larissa (Laia Costa) and their two semi-surly children, Maud (Billie Roy) and Sebastián (Shylo Molina).

When their precious Katie (a game Natalie Grace) is somehow returned to them, though, nearly catatonic with wrinkled, desiccated skin and gnarly toenails that would make a pedi technician shriek, it’s hard to blame them for feeling euphoric. Working from his own screenplay, Cronin barrels over the gaping plot holes — a doctor might have some thoughts here — and gets to the good stuff with the family at home in squirm-inducing close quarters, a live-in demon resting in her bedroom.

“Lee Cronin’s The Mummy” works best as a variation on Ari Aster’s career-making “Hereditary,” slicker and less guilt-ridden, with Grace’s Katie prone to jaw-snapping clicks and faraway looks, a spin on Milly Shapiro’s hypnotic turn as a doomed host. Eventually, things get more obvious: a levitating wheelchair, some skittering around on the ceiling. If Cronin does have a signature — more of a penchant, really — it’s for juicy gore, Katie’s skin peeling off in sheets. She goes to town on her own teeth.

All these moments are good for audience groans and there’s an enjoyable bad movie here for the seizing — that is when Cronin isn’t steering the action back to Egypt for an underpowered mystery thread involving a one-dimensional Cairo detective (May Calamawy) pursuing the root of the trouble. Why deploy a plummy archaeology professor (Mark Mitchinson) if you’re only going to give him a single scene to cut loose? He’s the kind of character who usually makes it to the big finale.

The film is tangled in its mess of references: a possession thriller that also wants to dish out some grainy video footage à la “The Ring” or “Bring Her Back” along with the expected mouth-to-mouth vomiting. Ironically, an honest-to-goodness mummy movie consumed with exotica (the first one from 1932 was released in the wake of the global mania over King Tut’s tomb) makes a lot of sense right now, with America straying into foreign deserts.

Was that in mind at any point? You’d have to ask Lee Cronin. It’s his movie and these are his mummy issues.

Film buffs understand that nearly every movie is, at heart, a travelogue — even if it occurs in your neighboring town — and that most travelogues can come across like love stories, whether anyone ends up together or not. That’s the whimsical, charged appeal of the Charli XCX-starring “Erupcja,” a mélange of romance, escape and disruptive coincidence in modern Warsaw from American micro-auteur Pete Ohs.

If you put footage of a smoke-spewing volcano under that Polish title, you’ll gather what the word means, which is exactly what Ohs does at the beginning, color-tinting his boxy frame ’60s-arthouse-style and adding a vintage Mancini-esque track from a Polish chanteuse. All the better to seed the belief that we’re about to experience something dreamy and convulsive.

That said, a volcano isn’t why British couple Bethany (Charli XCX) and Rob (Will Madden) have arrived in Warsaw. That rumbling you hear could also just be suitcases rolled over ancient streets. Besotted Rob’s surprise plan was to propose to Bethany in Paris — as revealed to us in omnipotent voice-over (by Jacek Zubiel) that fills in the feelings and backstories of our protagonists.

Bethany chose Warsaw, however, because she has a rekindling in mind, in the form of her longtime friend Nel (Lena Góra), a florist for whom Bethany’s unprompted arrival under her balcony one night — stealing away from her Airbnb with Rob — is complicated and exciting. With the news breaking that Italy’s Mount Etna has just erupted, grounding planes across Europe, a mighty passion they forged as teenagers, fueled by drugs, clubbing, heart-to-hearts and poetry, has once more been unleashed. It’s just their thing: Whenever Bethany and Nel connect, a volcano announces itself somewhere in the world. Woe be to the moony boyfriend or, in Nel’s case, exasperated girlfriend (Agata Trzebuchowska), left behind to dust off the ash.

“Erupcja,” which Ohs also photographed and edited with impressionistic verve, unfolds as if Jacques Rivette’s playful air of mystery and Roberto Rossellini’s earthy melancholia had somehow come together to form a zillennial with a restless heart. Ohs makes movies with the in-the-moment creative participation of his cast — he, Charli, Madden, Góra and playwright Jeremy O. Harris, who portrays a friendly American artist, are the credited writers and the whole enterprise goes down like a cocktail of ruminations and swerves invented on the spot, but not haphazardly.

You get the buzz (music by Charlie Watson and Isabella Summers plays a big part), the hangover, but also an aura of remedy and renewal. It’s all very human, evident in the pop star’s subtly frisky portrait of someone drawn to abandon (Charli should definitely continue acting), but also in Madden’s unshowy, mature hurt and in how Góra suggests the more grounded half of a self-mythologizing duo. Ohs works in evocative details: inserted frames of color, like mood flashes, or a shot of a lonely phone ringing, never getting picked up.

He leaves it up to you to wonder if Bethany and Nel have ever been more than friends — “It’s not Romeo and Juliet,” Nel coolly declaims from her balcony upon glimpsing Bethany waiting below — but what’s fun is how that’s ultimately beside the point. The edgy appeal of “Erupcja” is in the way it maps humans as molecules and electrons, fizzed by location, inspired by connection, driven to hover, fuse and release. The characters may get bounced around a bit and some will feel stranded, but you’ll know you’ve been taken somewhere new by this charming indie.