1991’s Thelma and Louise is a exhilarating thriller about the trouble women can get themselves in just for existing. Just being a woman can feel like a sin sometimes. The expectations put on women are often simple and stifling: look pretty, say little, be pleasing. We get a lot of direct and indirect messages that our sexuality is not our own. Of course, this is a simplification, a generalization, but it is a brutal truth about many moments of a female life. This is what Thelma & Louise addresses with a biting sass.

We forget that the subjects of our myths are humans. Whether we ridicule or exalt them, idols of the American Dream (or Global Dream) float like symbols through our consciousness. We hear their voices, see their faces, and absentmindedly play through a narrative of their lives we’ve heard, an anecdote, a quote. They are embedded in us, but when we try to pick apart what they mean to us and why they mean it, we see a shivering person there, not an untouchable god or monster at all.

If you haven’t watched A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night on Netflix yet, you’re missing out. It’s an elegant mashup pastiche of everything from spaghetti westerns to Fellini. The backdrop is a nowhere U.S. western town where everyone speaks Farsi and a girl vampire can hide under a batlike chador.

The shots are breathtaking, the music is intoxicating, but the cat, played by the film’s producer’s cat Masuka, steals the show, charging a bewitching energy through the entire movie.