Hi! Production

Wrestling with writer’s block for her first film, Bouchra, a queer Moroccan jackal living in NYC, starts having difficult yet overdue phone calls with her mother in Casablanca that begin influencing the project. Balancing the precarity of working as an artist, the rift in her cultural identity and an array of romantic interests, Bouchra’s emotional reckoning becomes her path to expression.

A stately boarding school in Italy. Sunrise and mist. The building seems uninhabited, shuttered and cold. We see two figures awake in the same bed: one is a life-sized doll, the other its all-white masked puppeteer. Others – exactly the same kind of pairing – start their day in the dormitory by putting on clothes. This is daily routine, this requires discipline. The camera follows the Principal Dress, across playtime, soup for lunch, Headmistress inspection, culminating in an ecstatic scene of rupture, rapture and liberating transformation. A girl is born.

In 1955 in Italy, race car driver Jed Cavalcanti suffers a mishap during the Molte Miglia rally and finds himself in a small town with a few familial surprises.

It’s quintessentially late afternoon Californian sun. The eponymous house gently hosts a number of clipped social encounters. Each of these denotes dynamics of power in race, gender and class. While it’s the macaw that seems ostensibly and literally caged, Bravo’s drama of manners suggests that every single one of us may not be quite as uncaged as we assume.

Have you ever found it impossible to say something, face to face, to someone you know, someone you love? The words just won’t come out? New messaging service, Somebody, could help.

A surreal, futuristic silent dreamscape with multiple actors replaying scenes in shifting combinations.

It’s California, during the Great Depression. A woman is confiding her most intimate thoughts in a church confessional, while the man on the other side listens silently and intently. But this is no ordinary religious ritual seeking salvation. The woman — a second generation Filipino farmhand — is rapt in roleplay reverie, her sensuous words aimed at her white American lover, during a historic period when such interracial relationships were forbidden by state law. The confession box transforms into a romantic time machine, ecstatic and melancholic, traveling into alternate futures. She manifests as multiple, dazzling women, and they can love freely. This is the 21st commission from Miu Miu Women's Tales​ series.

“Miss Jasmine! I have a package for you!” The 14-year-old girl with braces takes a break from milking the goat. Her local postman has delivered a surprise. She opens it up. Out floats a magical magenta ball dress ten times her teenage size. “I am curious,” she says, and enters the folds of the dress. From here, Jasmine⎯headstrong, a dreamer, a realist⎯takes us on a modern anti-fairy tale through caves and stalagmites, streets and shop windows, obsessions and everyday empowerment.

Plot under wraps. Part of the Prada-commissioned Miu Miu Women’s Tales short film series.

Nora is a striking young girl in new love. We see her dancing around her bedroom, lip-synching, testing outfits, in between sending heart emojis, and more, to the special boy. All dressed up, she takes a short cut through an abandoned building, on the way for her hot date. Kevin pulls up in the background on his scooter. He's Nora's recent ex, jilted and jealous. Kevin grabs Nora's phone, and what ensues is a now universal 21st century story of male-female power, sexuality and shame with a biting, feminist twist.

In the translucent LA dusk we discover four women living very different lives. The camera follows each as they wind down their working days, their four stories weaving together as each prepares for their evening.

Carla is pregnant and naked, imitating the poses her mother took when she was pregnant with her. Sunlight filters through the windows. You see pictures in Super-8 of mothers and fathers, grandmothers and grandfathers, smiling, sewing, reciting poems. Then, a young girl travels from the Sixties to the Eighties, until today, crossing the thresholds of femininity and history, until the meeting with Carla by the Blue Sea of Catalonia and with Manel, Carla's newborn son.

Across time, a Black woman seeks to piece together the fragments of Black female figures and, guided by Black Venus, attempts to regain control of their narrative.

Nothing went as planned: what seemed to be an original idea (taking an international fashion event to a small town in the Argentine Pampas) ended up as a mysterious affair, with a mannequin who seems to have vanished, and who insists on leaving small clues scattered across the immense plains. But nothing seems to be too strange for Commissioner Sirota and her particular method which, this time, includes a clairvoyant, a legendary detective arriving from Santa Rosa and some picturesque “peritas” who choose to work at night, swinging to the rhythm of Ska. In the middle, a disturbing question: Is it a police case they are dealing with, or is someone taking them (the police, the whole town, the Italians – all of us, perhaps) for a fool?

Carmen, by Chloë Sevigny, is the 13th commission from Miu Miu Women’s Tales, the short-film series by women who critically celebrate femininity in the 21st century. Carmen has a loose, voyeuristic, improvisational mood that reflects Sevigny’s interest, making a short-film about process, being a woman, celebrity and ego.

The ninth short film of the Miu Miu’s Women’s Tales series reflects Alice Rohrwacher’s attention to the surreal world of ordinariness and exceptions.

On the day of an inauguration to head the family business Stane confronts marriage, love and patriarchy.

Made during confinement, "In My Room" plunges us into the poignant story of a woman at the twilight of her life, through recordings of the director's deceased grandmother. Living rooms become stages where life is performed. Windows become portals to the lives of others.

“Farah,” a bread seller, walks the streets of a Middle Eastern town, while an American military vehicle, surrounded by soldiers, slowly passes by. A moment’s silence. Then, a devastating explosion. Civilians are bloodied, wounded. The horrors of war. “Farah” looks around aghast and wailing. But nothing here is quite what it seems. In fact, “Farah” is a character played by an aspiring actress called Laila. And this isn’t Iraq, but a replica village erected on the Fort Irwin army base in California, used to train American troops before being sent abroad. Laila believes her acting talents are being wasted away in this arid simulation, where female role-players are limited to mute, background roles. She takes things much more seriously. Laila plots her way out.