CERTAIN WOMEN is tra­cing three sto­ries that have very simp­le plots. Laura, a lawy­er tri­es to sepa­ra­te hers­elf from a pes­ky male cli­ent, a cou­ple attempt to con­vin­ce an old man to give them a pile of rocks in order to build their home, and the final sto­ry is a sub­ver­si­on of the for­mer two, whe­re the prot­ago­nist is the out­si­der secluded on a lonely farm, try­ing to con­nect with the adult edu­ca­ti­on tea­cher Beth. The cha­rac­ters are inten­tio­nal­ly dis­con­nec­ted, but beats from each sto­ry rely on the emo­tio­nal reve­la­ti­ons in the ones pri­or. CERTAIN WOMEN works along the lines of Ozu Yasujiro’s films. If the intan­gi­ble fee­lings, rhyth­ms, and pace of could be cru­de­ly decoded, demys­ti­fy­ing the power of the film’s enig­ma­tic images, igno­ring the ele­ment of the film that moves us wit­hout being able to pin­point exact­ly why, I could say the film is about rea­li­zing the exis­tence of the world around us. I’ve never seen a film quite like it. (Josh Cabrita)