Linoleum (2023)

Linoleum is the kind of small, strange gem that sneaks up on you: a sci-fi dramedy that treats wonder and heartbreak with the same steady, human gaze. It follows a weary children’s science-show host chasing an impossible dream, and the film turns that premise into something quietly profound, blending deadpan humor with a surreal, reality-bending mood that feels like a bedtime story for adults who’ve lived a little. The performances ground the oddness so the emotion lands cleanly, and by the time it’s done you may find yourself replaying moments in your head, because it’s built to be rewatched and re-felt. If you need tidy answers and conventional plotting, it might not be your wavelength—but if you’re open to an ambitious, poignant film that rewards attention, it’s absolutely worth the leap.

Linoleum is clearly aiming for a tender, offbeat sci-fi dramedy about regret, reinvention, and the quiet heroism of ordinary people, wrapped in a reality-bending mystery. The problem is it often plays too coy for too long, and what starts intriguingly can slide into a repetitive, slightly formulaic rhythm that tests your patience before the payoff arrives. The story’s odd turns can feel disjointed or convoluted rather than meaningfully surreal, and if you need a strong emotional through-line without having to “decode” the film afterward, this may leave you cold. That said, if you enjoy small-scale, melancholic sci-fi with a gentle tone and you’re willing to sit with ambiguity, there’s enough sincerity and charm to make it worth a look.