Cicada (2021)

Cicada feels special because it doesn’t “dramatize” intimacy so much as quietly earns it, letting a romance unfold with the kind of raw, lived-in honesty most films only imitate. Set in a humid Brooklyn summer, it has a naturalistic, almost documentary closeness—funny in small human ways, tender when it hurts, and deeply compassionate about how trauma lingers in the body and in love. Matthew Fifer and Sheldon D. Brown give performances that don’t reach for catharsis; they simply let you sit with two people trying, imperfectly, to be seen, and it’s absorbing because it feels true. It’s not for everyone—its explicit sexuality and unvarnished emotional exposure can be intense—but if you want a romance that treats vulnerability as something brave rather than pretty, this one stays with you.

Cicada is clearly aiming for an unvarnished, intimate portrait of two men trying to build love while carrying heavy trauma, and it doesn’t flinch from sexual honesty or emotional vulnerability. The problem is that its approach can feel more like therapy-on-screen than drama, with blunt dialogue and a lot of explaining feelings instead of letting the relationship evolve through lived moments. Some of the stylistic choices lean hazy and repetitive, which may read as “arthouse rawness” to some viewers and “vague and overdone” to others. If you want a subtle, romantically sweeping story, this might frustrate you—but if you’re up for a small, actor-driven film that’s messy, explicit (including full frontal male nudity), and focused on healing rather than plot, it has a quiet sincerity that can land.