A well-off young lesbian couple vacationing on a Greek island explores an abandoned hotel. An accident and a clash of different worlds set off a spiral of violence and revenge.

Coming home to make amends with her estranged father, Eleni finds herself confronted with an unexpected kinship.

After his wife died a man refuses to go out and doesn't want to talk to his only son. Life has no meaning for him. One day his son finds a baby pelican and decides to leave the bird at home. Pelican helps the boy find his father again and revive him back to life ...

High Sabbath . The fireworks for the Resurrection feast will be the cause of a revival of an earlier, dark encouragement, between Luan and Thymios. The stranger and the locus, the atheist and the religious, the murmur and the "lamb". Our story ends in a dramatic one. Her victim, Harris, is a child immigrant. Albanian and Greek together. Christian and Muslim. The village is tall and it is FRONT.

A husband whose young wife has committed suicide meets for the first and last time his Russian mother-in-law who has arrived to collect the coffin.

One night, a woman and a man in a house, while outside the city lives and entertains.

Considering that Musakov’s Abdulladzhan (1991) was dedicated to Steven Spielberg, we might suggest that these four boys embody nothing more complicated than a conflict of youthful innocence with some ominous threat—the basic workings of E.T. (1982) or War of the Worlds (2005), say. That threat, however, is best understood not through vague nationalism or warmed-over socialism, but through the other reference-point of Abdulladzhan—Tarkovskii’s Stalker (1980). Musakov leaves his boys in a simplified radiance so bright and so overexposed that it no longer looks like the skies of sunny Tashkent, but a disturbing, borderless luminosity to match the flat tonal range of Stalker’s “Zone.” Our Uzbek boys are nowhere in particular; this is a broader domain than anything international.