Do as I say, and not as I do. By that I mean, go and see Last Radio Call in a theater – hopefully packed with fellow Indy festival supporters – and not on an iPad or iPhone. Because, as with many great horror films, the scares within the film are so visceral, designed to prompt a reaction, that they’re best to be experienced with a crowd of people. The film is styled in the same vein as The Blair Witch Project or Paranormal Activity in parts, in that it’s sold as a real documentary of events after David, the police officer husband of Sarah (Sarah Froelich) goes missing in an abandoned hospital. The film gets off to a fantastically orchestrated start by showing David’s bodycam footage, and writer/director Isaac Rodriguez knows how to effectively stage these moments for maximum scares – or, at the very least, creep factor. But it’s in the non-bodycam moments that Last Radio Call loses its magic, unfortunately. The performances across the board aren’t great, and the film uses Native American mysticism as a crutch to explain away what’s happening. But, for a short (76 minutes) micro-budget horror film, it gets the job done and would likely be improved by being surrounded by a room full of warm bodies.

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Another Heartland Horror film in the found footage sub-genre, Anacoreta provides a few worthwhile ideas but not enough scares. A group of friends goes for a getaway in a family member’s remote cabin and decide to film their exploits as a kind of horror film. The “director” Jeremy (Jeremy Schuetze, also the director and co-writer of the film proper) exerts a weird level of control over the whole proceedings, dictating what can and cannot be discussed, when his friends – and his girlfriend Antonia (Antonia Thomas), who’s meeting them for the first time – just want to chill and unwind for a few days. There’s an understated angle to Anacoreta that works quite well; that is, nearly everyone on screen has aspirations to be an actor or filmmaker in their real lives. So how much of what we’re seeing is real, and how much is a performance? This plays into the scares a few times, and each of the cast members gives natural, grounded performances. There’s a lot of potential in a premise like this for some visceral thrills, but where that falls short, you may enjoy Anacoreta on its own as a piece of filmmaking regardless.

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When was the last time you watched a horror film from New Zealand? Teine Sā arrives as an anthology film based around ancient spirits of vengeance from New Zealand’s legends. Each of the short films revolves around characters of varying backgrounds and experiences and time frames, but each essentially ends in a similar manner. In the first, we meet a young, vain model/artist who uses her grandmother’s traditional shawl for her own selfish needs in an art exhibit. It’s not long before the spirits that be show her the error of her ways, and it goes without saying that the results are bloody. One segment sees a creepy tech bro release a private sex tape and refuse to shut it down, despite the woman’s desperate pleas. Each segment comes from a different director, which allows their own voices and styles to come through effectively. None of the stories are particularly frightening, but they produce the desired effect, which is a feeling of righteousness at seeing scumbags (usually men) receive their due comeuppances at the hands of those they’ve wronged (usually women).

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If you’re looking for an inconsequential but confident film during the festival, look no further than Elizabeth Ayiku’s Me Little Me. The film is a kind of character study of Mya (A’Keyah Dasia Williams), a middle manager at a car rental location who struggles to make something of herself. On top of that, she lives in a sort of halfway home for people recovering from eating disorders. Ayiku shows a confidence behind the camera that would belie her status as a first-time feature filmmaker. Unfortunately it’s the script that doesn’t make the most of its potential, as it treads water throughout much of its runtime without making any profound statements or utilizing its dramatic opportunities. Dasia Williams carries the film with a grounded performance, but the screenplay doesn’t give us enough reasons to root for her, let alone give us an idea of what her ultimate goals are. Nevertheless, the film shows that, with the right material, Ayiku could be a filmmaker to look out for in the years to come.

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The Grotto feels like the best version of a Hallmark Channel or Lifetime original movie, and that’s not a backhanded compliment. The film, by first-time writer and director Joanna Gleason, tackles issues that are familiar enough to general audiences but feel like they come from a place of sincerity. Betsy Brandt leads the film as Alice, whose fiance recently and unexpectedly passed away. Unbeknownst to Alice, he was the co-owner of the titular bar, a quirky little joint in Palm Springs that plays host to all sorts of misfits and musical acts. The bulk of the film sees her managing the chaos of a life that was hidden from her, and how she can reckon with a past that she thought she had a better handle of. The cast gels together nicely, and the script goes mostly to the places you’d expect it to, so don’t go into The Grotto expecting something revolutionary. Still, it’s clear that Gleason approaches the characters with a sense of reverence, rather than derision, and that sentiment goes a long way in helping the film succeed.

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Grief is a common subject amongst today’s cinema landscape, and it’s here where Always, Lola finds itself. Specifically, how we can or cannot grieve someone that we didn’t really love all that much when they were alive. The titular Lola (Roxy Striar) was a wild child who had no direction in life but could bring her friends together better than anyone. Writer and director Jeffrey Crane Graham sets up early in the film that Lola has a penchant for a kind of controlled chaos that actually manages to come off as endearing. She may party a little too hard at times and say or do some hurtful things, but she always manages to show her friends how much they mean to her. This comes back as a kind of Jigsaw-esque scavenger hunt that her twin sister Katherine (Corrinne Mica) puts together, per Lola’s last wishes. The narrative flashes back from the past and present for each friend, and old feuds are brought back up. Turns out you can bury the dead, but you can’t bury your feelings. Always, Lola may contain a few too many narrative contrivances for my tastes, but it’s filled with likable performances and will go down smoothly enough to be enjoyed by general audiences looking for a quick and easy time.

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It Happened One Weekend is filled with so much affection for Indianapolis that you’d swear its writer/director/star was a native of the city. Filmed mostly around downtown Naptown, Zac Cooper’s film is a kind of take on When Harry Met Sally… as it explores two long-time friends and their budding romantic feelings for one another. The film doesn’t exactly break new ground in the romantic comedy department, but Cooper and co-star Merry Moore have palpable chemistry together, and it serves to highlight some of Indianapolis’ brightest spots. Shot in black and white, the film shows that Cooper knows how to craft an engaging story, and can lead a film both in front of and behind the camera. Indy residents will appreciate the spotlight on some underappreciated landmarks, but film fans in general will appreciate Cooper’s engaging characters and relatable story.

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If you’re among the many that liked last year’s Oscar-nominated Flee, you’re likely to enjoy Home is Somewhere Else, and not just because it’s another animated documentary about immigrants. But whereas Flee told one man’s traumatic experiences in a foreign land, Home is Somewhere Else is more of a triptych, comprising three short stories about migrating from Mexico to the United States. Each segment is introduced by a type of emcee, who spews platitudes about home and longing, and each segment has its own unique animation style. This creative decision adds to the sense that each of the stories comes from a personal place, rather than a uniform experience. The stories range from those of young adults to children, but they all share a common theme of fear. Fear of fitting in, fear of the authorities, and fear of forgetting their birthplaces. Thankfully directors Carlos Hagerman and Jorge Villalobos steer the film away from tugging at heartstrings and stick to telling their subjects’ stories with an emotional honesty that will resonate after the credits roll.

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What We Do Next shares a lot of similarities with Mass, one of Heartland’s biggest hits from last year. The film bills itself as a story told in seven parts, and each of those parts unfolds as a sort of short play, with a story that continues to build in tension and stakes. Specifically, it’s a film about a young girl named Elsa (Michelle Veintimilla) who was born fighting an uphill battle and was never given the tools to succeed. After a heartbreaking opening during Elsa’s childhood, the film picks up after she’s been released from prison for murdering her father, who molested her. But it turns out that Sandy James (Karen Pittman), an up-and-coming politician, may or may not have supplied Elsa the money to buy the firearm used to kill her father. Thus begins a back-and-forth that spirals throughout the film of bribery and underhanded tactics to make one party look less culpable than another. Also brought into the fray is Paul (Corey Stoll), an attorney and former partner/fling of Sandy’s. The film can’t help but feel like a stage play; each scene is contained within its own location, and only utilizes the three actors. The only times we see New York City is in the interstitials, when we can track Sandy’s political career through a radio narrator. Sometimes the profundity that director Stephen Belber seeks works, like when race is brought into play in such a sticky legal situation, and sometimes the tightly-packed dialogue lacks the emotional oomph it needs. At a brisk 77 minutes, What We Do Next announces itself as efficient, effective cinema that shows confidence on the page and behind the lens.

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