The 2023 Tribeca festival is squarely in the rear view mirror—and with it, a slew of promising new titles that will either be picked up for distribution or remain simpy fond festival memories. While we’ve already covered some of the best documentaries Tribeca ‘23 had to offer, it wouldn’t be Tribeca without the main event: narrative features. Here’s a look at five of our favorite flicks out of the narrative competition at Tribeca 2023:

BAD THINGS – dir. Stewart Thorndike

Genre/midnight programs at festivals are always a treat—often yielding unexpected, unorthodox entries in the world of horror that go on to set future trends in the genre. Stewart Thorndike’s frigid, queer-led Bad Things hopes to follow in the footsteps of other festival horror breakouts like Hereditary, Possession, and Titane, but the film’s fascinating characters and strong cast are torpedoed by the film’s over-reliance on invoking The Shining.

From the wintery setting to the knock-off Grady Twins (reimagined here as hot joggers) to an elevator dripping with liquid (though it’s milk, not blood) to near identical dialogue snippets (including a riff on the iconic “Here’s Johnny” moment) and even the film’s title font, Thorndike wants to make it abundantly clear that she’s a fan of Kubrick’s horror classic. But such stalwart dedication to rehashing and paying homage to somebody else’s film leaves Bad Things feelings underbaked and poorly conceived—once you strip the Shining motif away, there isn’t much substance for this admittedly impressive cast to work with.

It’s certainly not a total wash— Gayle Ranking gives a mesmerizingly manic performance, re-interpreting her Jack Torrance archetype in a much more vulnerable, multi-faceted approach, and the love triangle dynamic between Rankin, Hari Nef, and Annabelle Dexter-Jones’s character is a fascinating one. But these messy, complicated women deserve an original horror story of their own, not a film that bills itself as the queer, female-led answer to The Shining. 

HE WENT THAT WAY – dir. Jeffrey Darling 

Undoubtedly one of the buzzier, more star-studded selections out of Tribeca this year was Jeffrey Darling’s He Went That Way, a road trip thriller/two-hander (or three-hander, if you count the chimpanzee) that chronicles the (mostly) true story of animal handler Jim (Zachary Quinto) and serial killer Bobby (Jacob Elordi), who form an unlikely bond after Jim offers the hitchhiking Bobby a ride to Chicago. 

The twist? Jim’s got precious cargo on board: Spanky the chimpanzee, a bona-fide celebrity in his own right and a riff on the real-life chimpanzee Zippy, who (as the film mentions) made numerous film and tv appearances, including a spot on the Ed Sullivan Show. But while “serial killer accidentally road trips with a famous chimpanzee” is certainly one hell of a log line, He Went That way feels tonally lost and narratively aimless. As opposed to being rife with tension, the film moves at a bizarrely lackadaisical pace, and seems more interested on focusing on a supposedly charming and unlikely bond between Jim and Bobby.

Between the odd choice of theme and tone and a half-baked subplot for Jim revolving around his faltering relationship with his wife, He Went That Way can’t follow through on the strength of its premise. Even though we spend nearly two hours with these men, we don’t learn much about either other than what we already know: Bobby is twisted, and Jim is spineless and well-meaning. Elordi and Quinto (the latter of whom sports an off-putting midwestern accent) are serviceable, but with a script that was already in dire need of another pass, the lukewarm performances aren’t enough to rescue He Went That Way from frustrating mediocrity. 

THE LINE – dir. Ethan Berger

Between Animal House, The Neighbors, and most recently, HBO’s hotly debated Bama Rush documentary, the American Greek life system has often been the subject of Hollywood’s fascination, but nowhere has it been more unsettling (and perhaps true to life) than Ethan Berger’s chilling college thriller The Line. Starring Alex Wolff and Austin Abrams, the film follows Tom (Wolff), a sophomore brother of the fictional KNA fraternity, spearheaded by the intimidatingly cool-headed frat president Todd (Lewis Pullman). 

When the arrival of a mouthy but charismatic new pledge named Gettys (Abrams) causes friction with Tom’s vile, thoughtless, but uber-wealthy roommate Mitch (Bo Mitchell), Tom is quickly forced to decide if his loyalties lie with his conscience and blossoming relationship with alternative artsy type Annabelle (Halle Bailey) or his “brothers” in KNA.  Filled to the brim with eerily accurate dialogue that’s ripped straight out of an Alabama football tailgate, The Line is perhaps the closest a film has ever come to accurately capturing a true portrait of fraternities: presenting them not just as beer-chugging jocks, but as an insidious, institutional force that protects its own, often at a violent cost. 

The messaging may be bleak, but it’s a necessary expose on the horrors of fraternity life: the rich fail upwards, those in power are never held accountable, and those on the lowest rungs of the ladder pay the price. The script (co-written by first-time director Ethan Berger, in a stunning debut) is already brilliant, but Wolff and Abrams take strong material and turn it into something truly special with a pair of haunting and, at times, achingly vulnerable performances. As much of an interrogation of American masculinity and the male ego as it is of the fraternity system, The Line is without question one of Tribeca’s most memorable entries. 

LOST SOULZ – dir. Katherine Propper

In a music landscape increasingly dominated by self-made artists and internet-famous overnight sensations, the idea of a “soundcloud rapper” is still one looked upon with relative disdain. But while the demo-hawking, self-promoting rappers may end up the butt of the joke more often than not, an enterprising spirit and admirable steadfastness is ingrained in a musician willing to work their way up from nothing to get to the top. That love of the music is highlighted in Lost Soulz, Katherine Propper’s pseudo-road trip drama.

Starring real-life Houston rapper Sauve Sidle, Lost Soulz follows the talented but often aimless Sol, who leaves his best friend and family behind to join an unlikely gaggle of up-and-coming musicians on the road toward success. Narratively, there isn’t much of a plot, but the film’s structural failings are more than supplemented by Donald Monroe’s colorful, often home-movie-esque approach to cinematography and a cast chock full of naturalistic performances that paint the characters of Lost Soulz as real people rather than fictionalized inventions. Sidle, in particular, carries the film’s emotional thru-lines with his understated yet undeniably stirring performance—an impressive turn for an artist with such limited acting experience.

Accompanied by some of Sauve’s own music and scored by Shawn Sutta and Adam Robl’s thoroughly modern, lo-fi sound, Lost Soulz captures the passion and the humanity of rappers struggling to break into the game. What it lacks in story, Lost Soulz makes up in raw, character-focused storytelling, and the result is an earnest, open, remarkably joyful film with a quiet yet powerful lead. 

SMOKING TIGERS – dir. So Young Shelly Yo

Coming-of-age stories set in the 90s and early 2000s seem to be a filmmaking trend lately, but Korean-American So Young Shelly Yo director injects the familiar genre with ruminative beauty in Smoking Tigers. Starring Ji-Young Yoo, Jun-ho Jeong, and Abin Andrews, the film follows Hayoung, a first-generation Korean-American teen whose world is shattered by her parents’ unexpected divorce (Jeong and Andrews). As she works her way through a summer intensive meant to boost her SAT scores for impending Ivy League college applications, Hayoung grapples with shifting family dynamics, complicated friendships, and blossoming romance.

Through Smoking Tigers, Yo paints an often heartbreaking and all-too-relatable portrait of what it’s like to be a child of divorce. Hayoung spends extended sequences of the film breaking into a nearby home for sale and imagining a fantasy life in which her family is reunited, and she doesn’t face the financial struggles that set her apart from her peers. The emptiness and unease of Hayoung’s inner life are captured stunningly not just in affecting turn from Yoo but also through Heyjin Jun’s understated cinematography.

While it may not have much in the way of narrative and is admittedly a story we’ve seen before, Yo’s ability to juggle so many themes—class inequity, Korean-American identity, young love, and divorce, just to name a few—without making the film feel overstuffed or unoriginal is commendable. Capped off by Jun-ho Jeong’s tragic supporting turn as Hayoung’s well-meaning but all-too-human father (simply referred to as “Appa”), Smoking Tigers captures the beauty and pain of coming of age as a teenage child of divorce.