TIFF 2026: SALVATION, WE ARE ALL STRANGERS, EVERYTHING ELSE IS NOISE

 

 

 

    Salvation wastes no time before forcing its audience into a hostage-esque scenario. With very little context regarding these characters and their surrounding environments, first-time writer/director Tom Nicoll confidently powers towards the meat and potatoes with his narrative; he clearly trusts the audience enough, as he relies on them to pick up on subtle clues towards true character intentions. Whether it be from an aesthetic or narrative-essential avenue, Nicoll almost instantaneously emulates (with outrageous success) the New York sensibilities and New Hollywood strengths of directors like Benny Safdie, Eugene Kotlyarenko, and films associated with MUBI’s typical output. It seamlessly blends into the contemporary media landscape and feels affirmative of a refined voice.

    These situations, which build and cook until they damn-near explode, are consistently captured in claustrophobic and endlessly anxious close-ups. As a compliment towards this tight atmosphere, these scenes are often accompanied by slow, creepy zoom-ins on a character/object of interest. However, Nicoll isn’t afraid to flip the coin and experiment with landscapes that almost act as an antonym to the extreme close-ups; the camera’s just as eager to capture the chaos from a distance as it is to get deep into the nitty-gritty. 

 

    We Are All Strangers pulls off something of an incredible act of balance and strength from a narrative perspective. Throughout the course of its one-hundred-fifty-minute-plus runtime, we follow a group of characters who are consistently used as instruments of dynamism, which ultimately sets up the narrative as a melodrama of epic proportions. There are various moments that leave the film feeling something akin to a remastered/remixed classic soap opera with the speed slightly increased. Chen introduces real-world commentary and contemporary outlets (TikTok, most prominently) to take the classic structure into the future.

As someone who hasn’t seen the first two entries in Chen’s self-titled “Growing Up” trilogy, a lot of Chen’s bursts of melodrama between characters feels genuine and strong; the dialogue doesn’t greatly care for cliches, and is instead far more concerned with allowing its drama to feel digestible and tangible. It’s less about trying to make you cry as much as possible (a strategy that a lot of contemporary dramas seem to fall victim to), and moreso about exploring the characters’ dynamic reactions to various situations. It’s almost a perfect paradox; it’s a patient film that takes on the narrative scale of a rollercoaster, and is destined to fit beautifully on anyone’s festival schedule. If you’re in the mood for a slow burn odyssey, this is the film for you. 

    There’s a very good chance that Nicolás Pereda’s Everything Else is Noise could be his magnum opus. It’s a film that welcomes you into its immediately playful and reflective environment with open arms, and spends time with you like a good friend from high school whom you haven’t seen in years. On the surface, it’s a tightly-paced 70 minute drama with impeccable comedic timing and a soft spot for sentimentality. However, once you begin to push aside the branches, you discover the endearing and charming commentary Pereda is providing toward the art industry as a whole, especially when considering abstract scenes. There is one scene in particular around the halfway point of the film that honours and also pokes fun at the contemporary reaction to avant-garde art, whether it be musical, visual, or otherwise— mainly through the inherently subjective reactions that those screenings provide. 

Pereda’s humour and playful imagery is just as active as it’s always been, but he ensures that these situations never feel mean-spirited or contrived. In fact, he’ll more often than not point the finger at himself. There’s a moment where two characters discuss the plot for a film that neither can remember the name of, and it quickly becomes clear that they’re talking about Pereda’s Minotaur from 2015— a film that is essential to Pereda’s growth as an artist. I know we still have a few more days to go, but I’ll be thoroughly surprised if anything can top the visceral power, beauty and plain loveliness of Pereda’s latest (and quite possibly greatest) effort.