Faiza Ramim

A special screening of four documentary films by filmmaker Molla Sagar was held on February 7, at Bengal Shilpalay in Dhanmondi. The event brought together narratives rooted in people’s movements, labour struggles, ecological relationships and lived histories, offering a rare opportunity to engage with documentary cinema in a filmmaking landscape where the form remains underrepresented.

If you live in Dhaka long enough, you learn how the city runs on things you do not see: back-end labour, silent trades, invisible costs politely filed under the word industry. “Into My Lungs”, a multimedia exhibition by artists Ayman Alazraq and Emanuel Svedin, walks straight into that blind spot and refuses to look away. Running from January 23 to February 7, 2026, at Alliance Française de Dhaka, Gulshan, the exhibition takes a subject most people never talk about and places it directly in front of you, impossible to ignore.

Dhanmondi Lake began as part of a natural water system before being reshaped through planning decisions that accompanied the growth of the neighbourhood. Over the decades, it has absorbed new roles as a recreational space, ecological corridor, and social meeting ground. The exhibition traced these shifts with care, presenting the lake as an accumulation of layers formed through use, intervention, neglect, and attachment.

Architecture does not have that luxury, or even wants it. It is meant to be entered, tested, and lived inside. "Parallels" leans into that truth, treating architecture as something that unfolds through experience rather than something completed at first glance.

Getting down from the bike before the YAMAHA Flagship Center at 5:45pm last Friday, January 23, I spotted a short, lean man; hardly looking older than 40–45, walking out of the parking lot. As he moved closer, it became clear who I was looking at: Ibrahim Ahmed Kamal, the legendary guitarist of Warfaze, who was in town to lead “Guitar Master Class 4”, a special session featuring him as the guest mentor.

In an interview, poet Richard Siken says, “Art doesn’t come from trauma, art comes from curiosity.” And we are most curious when the emotions we feel are so intense that even more than tending to them or managing to live through them, understanding them feels as crucial as breathing. Living with grief is painful, but living through meaningless grief is impossible. It is easy to mistake this exhibition as portrayals of trauma, of grieving, but such can’t be said when that is the reality people exist within. But it is just an exhibition of resistance, resilience and endurance than of torture and exploitation, sometimes more former than the latter.

The fair features a carefully arranged selection of stalls showcasing handcrafted goods, traditional showpieces, and local delicacies, creating a welcoming space where artisans and visitors can engage in a meaningful exchange of heritage and creativity.

The event was conceived as more than a display of finished works. A projector ran audiovisual material and portfolios created specifically for the occasion, supported by thoughtful food arrangements and a steady flow of visitors.

The event was conceived as more than a display of finished works.

“The toughest part is that we both know; what happened to you, why are you out on your own. Merry Christmas, please don’t call.” — Bleachers

After days of avoiding spoilers on X, I finally watched “One Battle After Another” during its second screening on the 26th. By then, the early reactions were already impossible to ignore. Viewers were hailing it as “revolutionary”, “radical”, and “the best film of the decade”. 

The 1975 album arrived bursting with confidence, theatrical flair, a level of ambition and going against the norm that seemed almost unreasonable for four musicians who were, at the time, nearly broke.

The exhibition featured works from students across all departments and classes, with two rooms of Zainul Gallery filled with sculptures and artworks in diverse media.

The premise is terrifying in its simplicity: one hundred teenage boys must walk without stopping. If they slow down, stumble, or rest, they are executed on the spot by government soldiers. The last survivor wins fame, fortune, and one wish. Everyone else wins a swift, televised death. There are no breaks, no shade, and no reason, just the endless road.

"It's infantilising bollocks. It's ghetto-ising, a subsection of success. It's the kid's table of awards." — Fleabag, 2019.

Halloween has gradually moved away from its original history and functions mainly as a platform for self-expression, where creativity in costume, makeup, and design takes precedence. Here is a look at where Halloween events, parties, and themed gatherings are taking place across Dhaka this year.

Horror is deceptively simple to make, yet notoriously difficult to make well. A filmmaker can throw together a woman (yes, somehow it’s always a woman) in elaborate prosthetics, a tragic backstory of dying, and a handful of well-placed jump scares and the result will still qualify as a horror film. But to truly respect the genre, to treat it as an intricate art of layered storytelling, is to recognise its potential to push boundaries.

Tucked away on the first floor of a quiet building in Banani 11, Tara Books has gradually become one of Dhaka’s most intimate cultural sanctuaries. What began as a small independent bookshop has evolved into a rare space for film enthusiasts in the city’s otherwise commercial northern neighborhoods. Managed by Arfun Ahmed, the shop now doubles as a micro-cinema, hosting regular weekend screenings that have turned into a refuge for conversation, curiosity, and community.

The event had assembled performers from every corner of the country united only by their love for Lalon -- Kuhok Team from Narayanganj, Indrani Shoma from Chattogram, Kotha Baul from Tangail, Oikko Jit Baul from Gazipur, Shukhonlal Rai from Lalmonirhat and Anan Baul from Sirajganj, joined by S M Rakib, Shimul, Anupam, Lanju, Akash Giyan, Lau Band and writer-philosopher-performer Arup Rahi.

“Man’s Best Friend” sparked controversy ahead of its release, with its album cover depicting Sabrina Carpenter on her knees, a man holding her hair. Many feminists online argue that the image blurs the line between satire and harm, claiming it rebrands degradation as empowerment and enables patriarchal standards.