My earliest memory of Whānau Mārama was in 2013. Me and two friends — all first-year uni students — ambled down Albert Park in our hoodies and Doc Martens to a sold-out screening of Sofia Coppola’s deft crime satire, The Bling Ring. Although we were avid moviegoers, we’d never experienced the thrill of a film festival before. We soon realised that the experience was as much about the films as it was the surrounding side quests — picking an outfit, exploring the venue, enjoying refreshments, and the people-watching. For the next two weeks, we ping ponged between our lectures and the Civic, arriving breathless and leaving exhilarated. Little has changed over the last decade, as Whānau Mārama has cemented itself as my favourite fortnight in Tāmaki Makaurau.

This year’s festival lineup is especially thrilling. For the first week, I was clocking in at least one film per day, struggling to curate my watchlist into something achievable (I’ve made the rookie error of booking of back-to-back sessions at different venues). Two films were standouts for me: Wei Shujun’s Chinese neo-noir detective mystery Only the River Flows, and Spanish director Albert Serra’s spellbinding neo-colonial fantasia, Pacifiction.

Thursday, I went to the packed screening for Only the River Flows at Avondale’s The Hollywood. Despite the rain and biting chill, I refused to let the misery of winter corrupt my joy. The Hollywood feels like stepping into a childhood home; snug, textured and comforting. The audience’s enthusiasm was evident; the carpeted foyer was crowded with eager moviegoers, the most I’ve seen at the venue in a long time. The crowd was no surprise given Shujun’s film - gorgeously shot on 16mm film - has one of the best trailers I’ve seen in recent memory. The staff behind the counter were delightful as ever, preparing a delicious batch of minestrone soup and brioche buns for their festival treat. I ate this as I indulged in some people watching from my seat in the upper stalls. A unique charm of the festival is spotting faces you’ve seen at other screenings during the week.

The film was a mind-bending 90 minutes, reminiscent of Bong Joon Ho’s early films like Memories of Murder. It was a swirling, unnerving thriller that was both bleak and darkly comedic. There’s nothing I enjoy more than watching a world-weary detective smoke under neon light as he contemplates humanity’s moral decay. As the credits rolled, my friend and I stayed put, marinating over what we’d seen. No one was in a rush to get up and go.

On Saturday I braved the labyrinth that is the Westfield carpark and trotted down Broadway to the Rialto cinema. A hidden gem inside what is an otherwise soulless commercial arcade, the Rialto was warm, spacious, and pleasantly full for a sunny 1pm. I ordered my go-to cinema snacks, peanut M&Ms and a sparkling water, and took my seat for Pacifiction. The film wasn’t originally on my radar until Paul Schrader made a Facebook post describing it as a “163 minute meditation on Polynesia, colonial tourism and the beauty of light..” I was sold, and Schrader was, of course, right. Pacifiction was as hypnotic, beautiful, and languid (but never inert) as I expected. Much like Only the River Flows, both films are quintessential film festival fodder; beautiful, ineffable and unconventional. As art house films, they deserve to be seen on the big screen. I’m always stuck with that bittersweet knowing that they may never receive widespread distribution. That’s why I make such an occasion out of the festival experience, to capture the magic while I can.