The End is Where We Start From

By Julie Sisk |  October 22, 2026

The End is Where We Start From — so says –T.S. Eliot. 

And so say I.

This time of year marks the end of the “festival season”—and, almost immediately, the beginning of the next one.I’m just back from the BFI London Film Festival and have taken a beat to reflect on what was the final stop in my May-to-October Festival-palooza.

First of all, what a privilege.

Over the past six months, I’ve bounced from one great festival to another and from one fantastic city to another watching some wonderful films, some not-so-wonderful films, and quite a few I never would have discovered anywhere else.

London was a particularly fitting place to end.

The BFI hosted us on a rare behind-the-scenes tour of the BFI National Archive, an extraordinary experience for anyone who loves film and film history. There is something quite moving about seeing the care, expertise and sheer effort that goes into preserving the films that make up our collective cinematic memory.

I'm delighted that Take2Film will be able to offer this special experience again to our London group next year. More on that soon.

One Film's Journey

London also brought me back to Wild Horse Nine.

I first saw it at an early press screening in Venice, at the very beginning of its festival journey. I loved it. In fact, I called it one of the best films I'd seen in years.

Then it went everywhere.

From Venice to Telluride, Toronto, San Sebastián, Mill Valley, Chicago, London, Tokyo, AFI Fest, Stockholm and beyond. The little film I'd seen in Venice had become one of the films of the festival season.

At London, I saw it again—this time at a Gala screening at Royal Festival Hall.

I almost never see a film twice during a festival season. There are simply too many other films to see.

But I loved it just as much the second time.

And yet it wasn't quite the same film.

The audience was different. The room was different. The energy was different. People laughed in different places. The silences felt different. Moments landed differently.

It reinforced something I've been thinking about all year: seeing a film with an audience is fundamentally different from watching it at home.

And, as it turns out, seeing the same film with two different audiences can be fundamentally different, too.

That's part of what festivals give us. The film isn't the entire experience. The room is part of it.

And Then There Were the Films…

Beyond Wild Horse Nine, I managed to squeeze in quite a few LFF and BAFTA screenings. So, in the spirit of my Venice report, here are my highly scientific one-second reviews:

Bunker — Missed this in Venice and Toronto, so I finally caught up with it. Liked it a lot. Javier and Penelope are terrific, as one would expect. Lots of debate about the final 15 minutes. See it and let's talk!

Our Share of Sand — Exactly the kind of film I probably wouldn't have chosen on my own—and that certainly wouldn't have appeared in my algorithm. But I was in the right place at the right time. A lovely film that took me into a part of the world I know almost nothing about, with caste and class beautifully and quietly portrayed. This is why I go to festivals.

14th — Ava DuVernay's exploration of the 14th Amendment and the ways its protections have been chipped away. I learned a great deal. It made me cry and, briefly, made staying in the UK rather than returning home for the midterm chaos seem like a very attractive option. Very well done.

Prima Facie — A filmed version of the successful stage play, with Cynthia Erivo as a barrister accustomed to defending men accused of sexual assault until suddenly the tables are turned. Erivo works mightily to hold us, and the subject matter is unquestionably important. But for me, what apparently worked powerfully onstage didn't completely make the transition to film. Ultimately a little flat.

Possible Love — I was excited finally to catch this after missing it in both Venice and Toronto. Liked it. Didn't love it. I'm apparently in the minority. It's very popular. That's okay. We don't all have to like the same movies!

Rose — My final film in London. I was exhausted, packing to go home, and not exactly thrilled at the prospect of a German black-and-white film set in the 17th century. I went in fully prepared for the possibility of a nap.

Not a chance.

Possibly my favorite film of London. Beautifully shot, brilliantly acted and directed. See it.

And maybe Rose is the perfect film on which to end my Festival-palooza.

Because after six months of festivals, hundreds of choices, coveted premieres, famous directors, stars, reviews, buzz and carefully constructed schedules, one of my favorite discoveries was a film I nearly didn't want to see.

No algorithm would have sent me there.

A festival did.

I've said it before, but after this extraordinary six months I believe it more than ever: one person's masterpiece is another person's two hours they'll never get back.

That's the fun of it.

Go see something you know nothing about. Sit in a room full of strangers. Take a chance on the German black-and-white movie when you're tired and would rather go to bed.

You never know.

It might be your cup of tea.

MCT = My Cup of Tea.

– Julie

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