Island of the Hungry Ghosts
On Christmas Island, the ground itself seems to move each year as millions of red crabs leave the jungle and cross roads, cliffs, and beaches to reach the sea—an ancient migration called forth by the pull of the full moon. This spectacle of instinct and renewal unfolds against another, hidden reality: deep within the same forest stands a high-security detention centre where asylum seekers are held indefinitely, their lives suspended in limbo. Poh Lin, a trauma counsellor living on the island, listens to their stories and bears witness to the slow unraveling of minds caught in endless waiting.
The film holds these parallel worlds in fragile balance—the unstoppable rhythm of the crabs, the suffocating stillness of the centre—revealing how landscapes carry both mythic beauty and human despair. Through gestures of care, ritual, and silence, Island of the Hungry Ghosts becomes a meditation on migration in its many forms: the instinct to move, the right to seek refuge, and the cost of being held in place when the world itself is in motion.
The Wolfes Always Comes at Night
The Wolves Always Come at Night unfolds as a careful listening in the space between land and loss. We follow Davaa and Zaya, a herding couple rooted in centuries of Mongolian tradition, suddenly forced to leave the Gobi after a cataclysmic storm unravels their world. In Ulaanbaatar, the city’s noise and unfamiliar rhythms press against memories of open steppe, of wind and pasture, of a life measured by the seasons. The film moves with quiet intimacy, attentive to the gestures and silences through which grief and resilience take shape. Between the vastness of the land left behind and the confines of a new existence, it reveals how identity shifts, how belonging is renegotiated, and how the traces of home endure even when the ground itself has changed. In its unhurried gaze, the film becomes less about departure than about the invisible threads that hold people to place, and the strength it takes to carry them forward.