The Best Movies of 2019: Part 1

A NOTE: Blogspot does some weird things with text formatting sometimes which I literally have no control of. Apologizes if any of the font sizes start getting weird here. I tried to fix it. I really tried :(


Before I get into my annual list of the top 30 movies of 2019, I want to talk about how grateful I am for those of you who tell me how much you look forward to these each year. I have always loved movies, and enjoyed thinking about them and talking about them, but knowing that other people are interested in engaging in these discussions too has encouraged me to to put in the effort of compiling these lists each year. A few years ago, there would usually be a few much buzzed about movies that I didn't get around to seeing, but now, I am determined to see as much as I can. So thank you all for your support, which has allowed me to dive headfirst into this hobby of mine so that it has become a true passion. And I must say I've been rewarded for it: oftentimes the best films I see are ones which I'd heard very little about, but saw a brief positive mention of in some little article somewhere. The world of film is vast, and I am always happy to see obscure indies that can match their bigger-budgeted counterparts in telling satisfying stories.

That was especially true of this year. For a long time I was feeling really disappointed in 2019 as a year in film. Unlike, say, last year, when two of my top three films picked up Best Picture nominations, the biggest awards contenders of 2019 have frankly left me underwhelmed. Some of these are movies I thought were good but not amazing (I liked Marriage Story quite a bit, but holy hell is that a movie with a lot of flaws) and some of these are movies I feel are downright bad (I love Taika Waititi but if Jojo Rabbit wins Best Picture I'm gonna scream). And don't even get me started on Joker. But as I compiled this list, I realized that there were many great movies of the year, they were just playing primarily in the arthouse theaters. Almost half of my top 30 this year are foreign films (with five films from five Asian countries making my top ten), and for me American film in 2019 was saved by scrappy indies. So, as a fair warning, unless you see lots and lots of movies that most people haven't heard of, your favorite movie of the year is probably not going to be on my list (unless it's Little Women or Parasite). But if there are movies here you haven't heard of, I hope you consider looking into them, because ultimately sharing movie recommendations is the most important reason I do this.

But that's enough preamble! Let's get to the list! Starting with...

30: The Unicorn (dir. Robert Schwartzman)

We're starting off my "best of" list with an underrated comedy: The Unicorn. Sex-based comedies have always been popular, but after the Judd Apatow in the mid-2000's, they've been particularly pervasive, and luckily we're starting to see lots of refreshing takes on the familiar tropes of this brand of comedy. Takes that are perhaps a bit more forward-thinking than some of the comedies we've seen before. The Unicorn follows Malory and Caleb (Lauren Lapkus and Nick Rutherford), a couple that loves each other very much but feels stalled in the course of their relationship. For one thing, they've been engaged for years without any progress in actually getting married. Over the course of one spontaneous night, Malory and Caleb decide to try and have a threesome, in the hopes that this will bring them out of the rut they find themselves in. While perhaps not the most original idea for a screenplay, The Unicorn is nonetheless a triumph due to how much heart it has. Everyone involved seems incredibly committed to the work they're doing, and the screenplay (written by Rutherford, Kirk C. Johnson, and Will Elliott) is clever and subversive. While it's definitely a comedy about sex, it's a surprisingly romantic one, which doesn't ever put the characters' lust over their love for one another. Frequently, in fact, the film seems to be heading in a certain direction, only to be steered off course due to one of our main characters showing their own vulnerabilities. And there's something truly beautiful in a movie that takes the emotional sensitivities of sex so seriously. But what really makes The Unicorn succeed is the performances of Lapkus and Rutherford. In their hands, Malory and Caleb feel like distinct individuals, who are each charming and lovable in their own rights. Together, Lapkus and Rutherford have unbelievable chemistry, and they truly are a couple you end up rooting for. While nothing in The Unicorn may be 100% groundbreaking, it nonetheless feels fresh, and is confident in its own approach to a genre at the risk of being oversaturated. The world of sex comedies could really do with more movies like The Unicorn.

29: The Dead Center (dir. Billy Senese)

Over the past few years, the horror genre has gotten better and better. After what I think most would agree was a bit of a dry spell for the genre, the past few years have given us some bona fide horror classics. One of the problems, of course, is that until recently horror movies were relying on jump scares and cheap gore to get by. The reasons for this are actually quite interesting; filmmakers had discovered that horror movies were able to get a theatrical release and find box office success even without any big names attached, and so they became go-to films for making a film on a budget. And then without a budget, jump scares and lots of blood were cost-efficient ways to wring out scares if you, for example, couldn't get top-notch prosthetics or a creepy original score or your choice of filming locations. Because of this, techniques like jump scares became synonymous with lazy filmmaking and an entire era of substandard horror films which most of us have forgotten about by now.

I include this long preamble because I think it's crucial in understanding what I love about Billy Senese's The Dead Center. It's certainly a low budget movie. Based on what we see on screen I'd estimate this movie had a budget of perhaps $16 dollars and a coupon to Bed Bath & Beyond. But this is bare bones filmmaking at its finest. Director Billy Senese uses his low budget to his advantage to craft an atmospheric and unsettling horror movie. The setting restrictions (the whole movie is pretty much confined to a hospital) and low lighting are leaned into, and the few visual effects utilized are simple but still effective. It reminded me that jump scares are actually an ingenious tool in a horror director's arsenal. They're a way to use the medium to evoke a startled reaction. In essence, Senese takes tactics used by lazy filmmakers, but applies them with artistry. And it's rather thrilling to see. If more low budget horror movies were as strong as this one, there wouldn't have been a need for a horror movie renaissance in the first place.

28: Slut in a Good Way (dir. Sophie Lorain)

One of the most talked about movies of the year, one which appears on a lot of these best-of lists is Olivia Wilde's Booksmart. I also enjoyed the film quite a bit, although not enough for it to qualify for this list. But I think that fans of Booksmart might also enjoy Slut in a Good Way, a delightful Québécois film which similarly examines teen sexuality from a feminine lens. Sophie Lorain's film follows the sexual exploration of Charlotte (Marguerite Bouchard), who along with her friends Mégane (Romane Denis) and Aube (Rose Adam) have recently begun a part-time job at a toy store filled with lots of cute guys. After a number of encounters with most of the boys in the store, Charlotte is hurt to discover that she has a reputation around the store of being a slut, even though her behavior is not that unusual from that of her male co-workers. From there, Charlotte and her friends become activists, and the film draws its inspirations from a range of works from Lysistrata to Clerks. As with any good movie about teens, Slut in a Good Way works because it takes the problems of teenagers seriously, and never lets its lighthearted tone get in the way of the emotional stakes. It offers a great character study of these three friends in a way that feels very classical (the beautiful black and white cinematography from Alexis Durand-Blaunt helps) while also being admirably contemporary. It's a charming movie which is a refreshing addition to the wide range of coming-of-age comedies. It's one that allows for a good deal of revolutionary spirit without getting bogged down by trying to "make a point." The story is what really sings here. But the innovative perspective is what will help it endure.

27: The Great Hack (dir. Karim Amer and Jehane Noujaim)

There are occasionally documentaries that demand to be seen. They don't have to be great films on their own merits (although The Great Hack is a wonderfully made film) but the subject matter and what has been captured on film are enough to make it required viewing. The Great Hack fits in this category; even if it wasn't as expertly put together as it is it would still be one of the most vital films of the year. The fact that Karim Amer and Jehane Noujaim are excellent directors who are masters of pacing and storytelling is icing on the cake.

For those who don't know (which might be a lot of you as I feel like this film hasn't gotten nearly as much attention as it deserved) The Great Hack examines the Facebook/Cambridge Analytica data scandal, and how it has affected our politics in a possibly irreparable way. Not only is this informative (I'd heard about the scandal but didn't know any of the details covered in this film) but it's absolutely terrifying. Doubling as both a documentary and a political thriller, The Great Hack is a rallying cry that we need to address the way social media can influence elections. It will make you paranoid, and it will make you angry, but most importantly, it will make you sit up and pay attention.

26: Hustlers (dir. Lorene Scafaria)

I must confess that I didn't go into Hustlers expecting much. We've seen the stylish heist movie time after time, and the star-studded cast felt more like cameos than genuine heavy-hitters to me. But I am so glad I was wrong. Hustlers is an expertly made movie, which both honors and subverts numerous familiar tropes of the genre. But what ultimately elevates Hustlers beyond the standards of the genre is its heart. For all of Scafaria's flair behind the camera, the importance of her directorial touch comes out most strongly when she focuses on the characters. Unlike in most crime films where the colorful background characters exist for their own job and then don't do much else, the characters here really feel lived in. This is especially true of Ramona Vega, played by Jennifer Lopez. This is undeniably the best role of Lopez's career, and she rises to the occasion, imbuing her with all the power she possesses as an icon. But Lopez also brings a rare subtlety to the role. It's her first time she gets to play a matriarch and she clearly embraces this new era in her career, while making it all her own.

25: This Magnificent Cake! (dir. Emma de Swaef and Marc James Roels)

This year, there were a record number of animated feature films submitted to the Oscars for contention, which is really exciting! I still remember the day the category was first introduced to the Oscars, and the nominees were Shrek, Monsters Inc., and Jimmy Neutron because those were pretty much the only animated feature films released that year. There are more animation studios than ever before, and the world of indie animation is thriving. However, on the awards circuit, indie films still struggle to combat the heavy hitters of Disney and Pixar, and each year some of the most interesting achievements in this ever-expanding genre are never even given a chance to compete.

Case in point: This Magnificent Cake! was simply never going to be on anyone’s radar. Although to be fare, even without the politics of film distribution this might have been a hard sell. A highly surreal stop-motion anthology film about Belgian colonialism in Africa, it’s hardly standard fare, and given its 44 minute runtime (which technically qualifies it as a feature film), it never got a wide theatrical release and there aren’t even plans for it to ever be released on any online platform (currently, the only way to watch it is on DVD). This is a real shame because This Magnificent Cake! is absolutely worth seeing for the animation alone. The film utilizes stop-motion with felt dolls hand-crafted and designed by Emma de Swaef (she and Marc James Roels directed the film, a follow-up to their celebrated short Oh Willy!) that are unlike any other animation out there. There's something cozy and lovely about the aesthetic of the film, which is jarring and thought-provoking when contrasted with the violence and political commentary in the work. While it's not a perfect film, it is an unforgettable one. Images from this movie will stay with me for a long time, and I might never look at a clarinet the same way again.

24: El Camino: A Breaking Bad Movie (dir. Vince Gilligan)

When I first heard that El Camino was being made, I was honestly quite apprehensive. As a major fan of the series Breaking Bad, and an advocate for it being the best TV show of the modern era, I wanted to be excited for the project, but it just felt so unnecessary. After viewing El Camino, however...I did feel it was pretty unnecessary. But I also thought that it was good enough that its lack of necessity didn't matter at all. With El Camino, writer and director Vince Gilligan manages to avoid any of the traps he could have fallen into. Much like with the spinoff series Better Call Saul, Gilligan manages to remain consistent within the Breaking Bad universe while also giving El Camino its own identity. He allows it to stand as a film on its own two feet, aware of the ghost of the series but not weighed down by it. The film is also wonderfully quiet and character-driven, which is of course what made the series so excellent in the first place. Yes, El Camino has moments of action and excitement (including a thrilling shootout towards the end) but what makes the film resonate is the character work, and the moments of introspection. The best scene is a small two-hander when Jesse Pinkman (Aaron Paul) meets with Ed Galbraith (Robert Forster), a vacuum cleaner salesman with a side hustle of making people disappear if they need to. A minor character who only appeared in one episode of the show, Galbraith's presence here nonetheless is absolutely vital, and it's a touching final role for Forster, who passed away the day of the film's release. Other actors return from the series, and if there's any aspect of the film that feels like it's filling in the blanks of the series, it's the extra backstory given to psychopathic henchman Todd Alquist (Jesse Plemons) who is as unnervingly creepy as ever. But, of course, the star here is Jesse Pinkman. Part of why this film makes the list is because Jesse Pinkman is one of the greatest characters created for a visual medium, and Paul brings all the subtlety and vulnerability to this role that he brought on his first outing. El Camino ultimately makes the question of necessity feel irrelevant. It's simply good storytelling, and great filmmaking (the cinematography is stunning), and worthy entry in a franchise that continues to endure and influence.

23: Dolemite Is My Name (dir. Craig Brewer)

In the 70s there was a series of blaxploitation films centered around the character of Dolemite. Portrayed by Rudy Ray Moore (who had originated the hit character as part of his until that point unremarkable stand-up routine), the films are objectively awful, to the point of barely being coherent, and received a thrashing from critics. This could possibly be because nobody involved with the first film, Dolemite, had any idea what they were doing. That being said, the film received an immense following and have left an undeniably large cultural footprint. As is often the case, this is not in spite of its flaws, but because of them. Dolemite, both the character and the film, might feel like relics now, but it's hard to think of a more fascinating film to be the subject of a "making of" biopic.

The best thing that Dolemite Is My Name does is treat the people at its center with upmost respect. It would have been easy to portray the shoddy process of making the film for laughs (and at times it does) but ultimately this is a movie with an understanding of the legacy and vision of the subject it's examining. It treats its accidentally successful central figure with the respect his influence deserves (something that can't be said of a very similar movie about Tommy Wiseau a few years ago) and explains with clarity what Dolemite must have meant to people at the time, while also putting it into context for the modern day. But this respect shouldn't be too surprising; Dolemite Is My Name is famously a passion project for producer and star Eddie Murphy, who gives undeniably his best film performance to date. He's absolutely wonderful here. Rudy Ray Moore is a tough person to portray; as a performer he was always committed but never exactly great, and it takes a lot of skill for Murphy to keep his natural charisma while convincingly portraying Moore's desperation and hokeyness. You can tell how deeply he understands what Moore was trying to say with his art, and the film and Murphy's performance are an unbridled cinematic love letter to an unlikely hero. If you know of the Dolemite character, you will cheer at this film's portrayal. And if you're unfamiliar with him, you will understand not only who he was, but what his legacy is. Which is a success that few biopics ever achieve.

22: Cold Case Hammarskjöld (dir. Mads Brügger)

The true crime genre has become so prevalent that it's rare to find something that actually does something new with the genre. In this documentary, filmmaker Mads Brügger examines the death of former United Nations Secretary-General Dag Hammarskjöld, who died in a plane crash that has been the subject of numerous conspiracy theories. It's these conspiracy theories that are at the center of Brügger's film, as he examines why someone would have wanted to have Hammarskjöld killed, and it's an interesting case study. Since many are unfamiliar with Hammarskjöld, one of his chief issues as Secretary-General was the decolonization of Africa, which infuriated many European leaders and special interest groups.

But as interesting as the theories behind Hammarskjöld's death are, they're far less interesting than the filmmaking itself. Brügger is a fascinating character. He spends a lot of his time on screen dressed like an explorer right out of a Halloween costume store, complete with pith helmet. At times during the film he stages stunts involving metal detectors, and frequently shares his thoughts with two secretaries who, inexplicably are using typewriters to copy down his notes. It's all very odd, but charming, and undeniably add to a distinct aesthetic that Brügger maintains throughout the film. A little over halfway through the film, however, there is a sudden shift and Brügger addresses his own idiosyncrasies. He acknowledges his own quirks and confesses that ultimately, the actual death of Dag Hammarskjöld is less interesting to him than the mystery surrounding it. The film becomes less about the true crime and conspiracy theories at its center and more about the nature of true crime and conspiracy theories themselves. Why do we have a fascination with these types of things? Cold Case Hammarskjöld is a remarkably self-reflective film and while it's hardly the most vital documentary of the year, and probably not even the best, it was easily the most innovative. As for the mystery at the film's center, some of the theories Brügger touches on are credible, some of them are far-fetched, and some of them are downright impossible. But at the film's core remains the idea that Dag Hammarskjöld COULD have been killed for his political righteousness. And that is all too plausible and inherently fascinating.

21: Little Women (dir. Greta Gerwig)

After the triumph that was Lady Bird, Greta Gerwig could have probably taken on any project that she wished to. So it is rather telling that this adaptation of Louisa May Alcott's Little Women is a passion project for her. It is a somewhat surprising one—Gerwig's filmography as both an actor and now as a writer and director has always felt highly contemporary—but after seeing the film, the project makes complete sense. It's not just that Gerwig clearly has a strong connection to the source material, it's that she has something new she wants to say with it. And luckily for us all, her love of the story and characters is so profound that she's willing to experiment with the classic. Gerwig doesn't get bogged down by remaining faithful to her source material, allowing it to soar to new heights.

In Gerwig's hands, this is for the most part a very capable adaptation. It's charming and enjoyable, and there is something to be said for simply seeing a good story told well. Gerwig understands the emotional swells of the story and has put together one of the smartest literary adapted screenplays I've seen in a while. While I've heard some grumblings about her presenting the events of the film out of sequence, I really like the way the film was laid out. She managed to avoid confusion through some simple and smart directorial choices, and the new timeline here helps to reshape the drama in an intriguing way, which I thought succeeded in keeping the emphasis on the characters. But by far Gerwig's boldest choice, and what sets this adaptation apart from others, is the ending. I don't want to give it away for anyone who hasn't seen it, but it is a brilliant decision which updates the story—departing from the nature of the book while honoring it completely. It's the type of ambitious choice that could have been a disaster in the hands of a lesser writer and director, but here it really does pay off in spades. Gerwig lets her Little Women be familiar when it wants be, and revolutionary when it needs to be.

20: Portrait of a Lady on Fire (dir. Céline Sciamma)

Of all the feelings that the medium of film can provoke, romance has to be one of the most effective. Since its inception, there has been something glamorous about the movies, and cinematic representations of love and lust have endured as the medium has progressed and evolved. The best movie love stories are ones that tap into the audience's emotions and get under their skin. Film, when used well, can be a very seductive form of storytelling.

The basic plot of Céline Sciamma's Portrait of a Lady on Fire is interesting enough, but the reason it has been so well-received this year goes beyond the basics of the story. It is quite simply one of the most passionate movies I've ever seen. It is a film about beauty, but not just in a superficial way. There is a reason that the word "fire" is in the title. The romance portrayed here, between a wealthy young woman (Adèle Haenel) and the companion hired to paint her portrait (Noémie Merlant) is like a flame itself: powerful and vibrant, but also delicate and vulnerable. All of the beauty and passion on screen is as destructive as fire, but also as fleeting, and that's what makes it so compelling. Portrait of a Lady on Fire crafts a convincing thesis on the dangerous nature of love and the way it can scar you and heal you all at once. It is destined to be one of the great on-screen romances of all time. And through it all, Sciamma makes it look effortless. A celebrated filmmaker in France already, she is thankfully getting some international recognition due to this film. Portrait of a Lady on Fire is a movie to be experienced, and one to be truly and deeply felt.

19: The Nightingale (dir. Jennifer Kent)

If I was ranking films based solely on craftsmanship, The Nightingale would have probably been in my top 5. Jennifer Kent's direction is undeniably brilliant and the disparate elements of the film are all working in perfect harmony, creating a work that is powerful and unforgettable. After the acclaim for Kent's directorial debut The Babadook (which truly is one of the best movies of the decade), I think many were surprised that Kent's follow-up film was a historical drama instead of another horror film. But with The Nightingale, Kent proves that she can wring thrills out of far more than just the supernatural, and that she is truly a cinematic chameleon. If she continues to jump from style to style like this, and continues to make films of this quality, she could ascend to the level of Kubrick for her versatility and consistency behind the camera.

So, why is The Nightingale only #19 on my list? Because this movie is really difficult to watch. Kent has an innate understanding of how to access her audience's emotions through film, and here chooses extreme discomfort early on in the film. From almost the first moments of the film there is an onslaught of violence that is relentless. A graphic rape scene at the film's start, which notoriously lead to numerous walkouts at the film's premiere, is incredibly well-done (and features some truly incredible sound editing in particular) but obviously difficult to watch, and Kent makes it impossible to avoid the brutality of the world she's depicting. It's here where I struggle with my thoughts on The Nightingale. I believe that Kent presents us with this violence, both physical and sexual, rather purposefully. She is an intelligent filmmaker who knows what she's doing. But I also felt like it became gratuitous at a certain point, and it prevents me from ranking The Nightingale as high as I suspect it might deserve. That being said, when I reflect back on the film now, it's not the violence that I think of, it's the central relationship of the film. When The Nightingale starts, it feels like a revenge thriller centered around Clare Carroll (Aisling Franciosi), who is hunting down the truly evil Lieutenant Hawkins (Sam Claflin) who raped her and killed her husband and child. But as the film goes on, things begin to shift and it becomes far more about Clare's relationship with Billy (Baykali Ganambarr), the Aboriginal tracker she hires to help her find the men who destroyed her life. What seemed like a straightforward revenge film becomes a far more complicated discussion about the nature of revenge and grief. At the film's end, when revenge is achieved, it is satisfying, but not for the reasons one would think. And there is a fascinating shift that happens with Clare when she realizes that her vendetta against Hawkins is not necessarily greater than Billy's, even though the slight against him isn't as personal and existed well before the events of the movie took place. The Nightingale transforms into a film about resilience rather than revenge. And as difficult as it was to watch, I am so glad that I did. And can't wait to see what the rest of Kent's career will bring.

18: Atlantics (dir. Mati Diop)

As the first film directed by a black woman to be in competition at Cannes, Atlantics is already a film for the history books. And that was before it took home the de facto second place trophy. And if it receives an Oscar nomination as it is expected to, it could make even more history as the first Senegalese film to be represented at the Academy Awards. But even if one didn't know the history behind Atlantics' groundbreaking reception, it's a film that is so original that it can't help but feel historic. Mati Diop's film focuses on Ada (Mame Bineta Sane), a woman whose lover Souleiman (Ibrahima Traore) has, along with some other construction workers, fled the country by boat to find a new life. When the workers become lost at sea, Ada is distraught, and still has to deal with her betrothal to another man who she doesn't love, and a mysterious illness spreading throughout the town. But it is here where Atlantics' true nature comes to light; those who are falling ill are being possessed by the spirits of the lost construction workers who are coming back to complete some unfinished business. It's a wonderful presence, that is supernatural without being spooky, and Diop navigates the shifts and surprises of the story with a grace that belies the fact that this is her first film. It is so rare for African cinema to be aired in theaters, let alone on a platform as wide as Netflix, so when they are, they tend to feel like they're pandering to international audiences. But Atlantics is refreshingly true to itself, and should be required viewing for anyone who wants to understand the diversity and complexity of filmmaking from that continent. Like with any good fantasy film, Diop is able to use elements of the otherworldly to make insightful commentary on real world issues (both political and personal) which would not have been as strong had she been restricted by the rules of realism.

17: Wild Rose (dir. Tom Harper)

There's a reason that films about aspiring musicians are so common. Music is the art form that has been around the longest, and it is most likely the one that is most prevalent in our daily lives. It's hard to accidentally come across a stage play or a movie when you're not expecting it, but music is part of our background lives. You can walk into a room, hear a song playing, and not even notice it—that is how much music surrounds us. Music can also touch us in a more deeply-felt way than most other forms of storytelling. Walter Pater famously wrote that "all art constantly aspires to the condition of music," which sums it up nicely. There's a reason that film and music have always gone hand in hand, and so many of the best movie moments are marked by musicality. So not only are there a lot of movies about aspiring musicians, but those movies can be far more versatile than I think they're given credit for. You'd never confuse Inside Llewyn Davis with, say, A Star is Born (any iteration, take your pick).

Wild Rose doesn't necessarily try to upend the formula of the aspiring musician, but it does have a secret weapon which puts it in the upper echelon of these types of films: leading actress Jessie Buckley. I first became aware of Buckley last year when her performance in Beast was one of my favorites of the year. Now, she gives my #1 favorite performance of the year in Wild Rose as a Glaswegian single mother with dreams of being a country singer. These types of films simply cannot work unless you believe that the character at the center is worthy of recognition, and Buckley's portrayal of Rose-Lynn Harlan is simply transcendent. One would be forgiven for assuming she was a country singer trying her hand at acting as opposed to the other way around. Throughout the film, Rose-Lynn is asked why she responds to such an American style of music growing up in Scotland, but that is answered for the audience in every single second we see of Buckley on screen. She captures the grit and the soul of the genre, and the sadness that frequently seeps into the best that the genre has to offer. Luckily, the film matches Buckley's performance, and thankfully isn't interested in smoothing out Rose-Lynn's rougher edges. Rose-Lynn's growth over the course of the film is one of finding necessary personal stability, rather than one of transforming the core of who she is. By the film's end, when Rose-Lynn performs her first ever original song—"Glasgow (No Place Like Home)," written by Mary Steenburgen which is undeniably the best original song from a film this year—it is an earned picture of artistic fulfillment which satisfies what you hope for from this familiar genre, while not succumbing to the most overdone tropes.

And while Wild Rose is undeniably a showcase for Buckley, I must say that the cast is strong across the board, with Julie Walters doing standout work as Rose-Lynn's supportive but concerned mother, and Sophie Okonedo doing some genuinely touching work as Rose-Lynn's employer who takes an interest in her musical talents. If "Glasgow (No Place Like Home)" gets an Oscar nomination for Best Original Song as it is expected to, then I guarantee people will be intrigued when they see it performed at the Academy Awards. Do yourselves a favor and watch Wild Rose now to be ahead of the curve.

16: To Dust (dir. Shawn Snyder)

Few films have caught me off guard more than To Dust. I went into it knowing nothing and honestly expecting nothing and was blown away both by how unusual and how genuinely profound it ended up being. To Dust stars Géza Röhrig as Shmuel, a Hasidic Jew whose wife Rivka has passed away prematurely due to cancer. Unable to find solace in his religion, he contacts Albert (Matthew Broderick), a biology teacher, and asks him to explain the science of what his wife's body will be going through six feet under. As Albert attempts to answer Shmuel's questions, their experiments and activities get increasingly more bizarre, driven by Shmuel's desperation, and both men's distinct methods of seeking knowledge. Director Shawn Snyder keeps everything dark and moody (this is, after all, a film about grief) but also isn't afraid to delve into the peculiarity of death. Parts of the movie are undeniably funny, and are made even funnier when juxtaposed with the seriousness of the emotions on screen. By the time Shmuel shows up at Albert's house with a pig carcass, it's clear that To Dust is gallow humor at its finest. But no matter how bizarre the movie gets, Snyder always keeps the emphasis on the people. You grow to profoundly care about these characters, and the changes that they undergo are deeply earned. I also must say, it is wonderful to see Broderick get a dramatic showcase in a movie again. While technically an even split between the two actors, he truly steals the show here, and his performance reminds is an indication of the magnetic quality he can bring to a role. Initially guarded and lost, Albert's arc over the course of the story is perhaps less immediately clear than Shmuel's, but it ends up being no less meaningful.

15: A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood (dir. Marielle Heller)

I am sad to admit that I misjudged A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood. Based off of the trailers, I thought I understood what sort of film this would be, and while I thought it would be a good movie, it was one which I just assumed would be predictable. After all, a Fred Rogers biopic starring Tom Hanks? Can you get any more "safe?" But I'm happy to admit that I was absolutely wrong. A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood is not at all the type of movie I prejudged it as, and it is the better for it.

For one thing, its central character is not Fred Rogers (played by Tom Hanks). The film really focuses on Lloyd Vogel (Matthew Rhys) a report assigned to profile Rogers for Esquire Magazine. Cynical, depressed, and pessimistic, Vogel (who, by the way, is a complete fabrication, although the screenplay was inspired by a real article by Tom Junod) is perhaps an unusual audience surrogate, but he comes to be a trustworthy one. The Mr. Rogers we see is one seen through Vogel's eyes, and herein lies what makes this movie so brilliant. A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood isn't all that concerned with portraying events in the life of Fred Rogers, it's far more concerned with what his influence was, and what he stood for. He's allowed to be the mythic figure that he is, and while the film acknowledges that he had flaws and was human, it's not all that interested in picking at them. And this ultimately allows the film to get closer to understanding Mr. Rogers than any standard biopic which just trotted out a series of real-life anecdotes ever could. Much credit, of course, is due to director Marielle Heller. Her vision for this movie is unconventional but so vital, and she brings a degree of artistry to the movie that is unexpected but wonderful. Most importantly, she revels in the weirdness of Mr. Rogers. Heller leans into his seemingly superhuman decency and embraces his unconventionality, at times letting the movie dive into the realm of the surreal. And, of course, I couldn't write about A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood without singing the praises of Hanks. He had an unbelievably difficult job here; it's easy to play edgy and awful, but it can be incredibly difficult to play a character who's "nice" without it feeling forced or, worse, boring. Hanks pulls it off masterfully, and his Fred Rogers feels authentic and grounded. Hanks manages to capture what made Rogers so very special, while also reminding us that his particular brand of kindness is achievable and, in fact, inherently human.

14: Mickey and the Bear (dir. Annabelle Attanasio)

I have a feeling that every year, there are several movies that would have made my annual best-of list, except that I've never heard of them and have therefore never seen them. Case in point, the indie film Mickey and the Bear came and went in theaters without much fanfare or preamble, and I very nearly missed seeing it altogether. But I'm so glad I was able to catch it, because this is a truly excellent film that features two of the best performances of the year.

Camila Morrone stars as Mickey Peck, your average high schooler who works as a taxidermist and has to be the primary caregiver for her drug addict father Hank (James Badge Dale). Set in the actual town of Anaconda, Montana, Mickey is smart and capable and by necessity has been forced to grow up far beyond her years, but isn't able to even consider achieving any of her ambitions out of fear of abandoning her dad. And if you think that sounds like a depressing premise for a movie...you would be right. Mickey and the Bear is an unsurprisingly sad film to watch, but writer and director Annabelle Attanasio reflects on her characters with so much empathy that it makes the film far more watchable than it would have been in the hands of a lesser filmmaker. Attanasio knows just when to give us glimpses of hope so that we don't feel numb to Mickey's situation, but doesn't go overboard so that it feels unrealistic. Morrone is probably best known for being one of Leonardo DiCaprio's much tabloided model girlfriends a couple years ago, but should anyone approach the film with preconceptions about her they are shattered here. She is simply incredible (and expertly unglamorous) in this role, giving Mickey a tough-as-nails demeanor while never letting us forget that she is far too young to be dealing with the problems on her plate. She's matched by Dale, a prolific character actor who is finally being given a role he can sink his teeth into. Films about addiction are a dime a dozen, the portrayal of Hank written by Attanasio and performed by Dale is mercifully nuanced. Hank's behavior is terrible, and usually unforgivable; while never directly referenced in the script, his designation as "the bear" in the film's title is more than apt. But Attanasio doesn't ever want us to forget that Hank is also a victim here, whose addiction is due in part to his profound PTSD. It's a delicate line to walk, but Dale does it beautifully, allowing the two halves of Hank to exist in harmony and continuity. But for a film about addiction, the most interesting thing is that Mickey is quite clearly the main character. The result is that the movie is about how addiction affects everyone, not just the addict, and it allows Attanasio to examine the issue at a scope that it truly deserves. It may be hard to watch, but this is a wonderfully subtle film that cries out for a larger audience than it received. Mickey Peck was one of the best heroes of the screen in 2019, and Morrone just might be the year's brightest breakout star.

13: 3 Faces (dir. Jafar Panahi)

Is there a more fascinating voice in film today than Jafar Panahi? An Iranian film director, Panahi was arrested in 2010 on grounds that his films were propaganda against the Iranian government. As part of his sentence he was given a 20-year ban on filmmaking. Since then, he has made four films, all illegally. The first was entitled This Is Not a Film. If that's not badass filmmaking then I don't know what is.

In 3 Faces, Panahi and the actress Behnaz Jafari play fictionalized versions of themselves who travel to a small town responding to a video posted on social media which appears to show a young girl committing suicide and calling out Jafari by name. Of the four films Panahi has made illegally, this is the first one to be scripted (and it won the Best Screenplay award at Cannes), but still has the feel of his documentaries. This is partly due to the style of filmmaking (by necessity because of the ban most of the film is shot "guerrilla style" on a cell phone) and partly due to the emotional honesty the film conveys. As with all of Panahi's films that I've seen, he possesses a noble interest in the truth, and he does a wonderful job here of using the self-referential angle of his screenplay to at once acknowledge the deception of his own film while emphasizing the emotional honesty at its core. Panahi finds a poetic calm in his work, which engrosses you and brings you in. His films feel like an escape, which is ironic considering the restrictions they've been made under. I doubt 3 Faces will be for everyone, but those who stick with it are bound to be rewarded with a deeply self-reflective movie, which comments on the nature of making art from someone who understands its necessity perhaps better than any other artist alive.

12: Wounds (dir. Babak Anvari)

A lot of the films on this list are ones which I’d consider to be “underrated.” For most of the entries, that would mean these are films which received positive reviews, but still didn’t receive an enthusiastic response or gain much of an audience. The exception here is Wounds—not only did it not get as positive a response as I think it deserves, it has gotten an actively negative response from a lot of critical outlets. At the time of this writing, it sits at a 53% approval rating on Rotten Tomatoes (by far the lowest rating out of any film in my Top 30). Which is baffling to me. Not only is this an exceptionally-made film, it is hands down the scariest movie that I saw all year—and I am hopeful that its reputation will improve over time. If Iranian director Babak Anvari (who also made the excellent Under the Shadow a few years ago) continues to make movies of this quality, he’s bound to become a fixture in the industry, and perhaps then Wounds will get its belated due.

The film follows Will (Armie Hammer), a rather unambitious bartender whose life is upended one night when he discovers a phone left behind in the bar by some underaged college students. That phone contains some disturbing images and videos, and Will becomes the unwitting new victim of…something. The film shies away from giving us any specifics. And while this is perhaps what some critics found frustrating about Wounds, I thought this restraint was both brilliant and effective. One got the sense that you were watching your standard issue demonic possession horror movie, but from the perspective of a supporting character. Rather than focus on the college students who have summoned whatever is at play, or Will’s girlfriend Carrie (Dakota Johnson) who actually does research into what’s going on, or the alcoholic hothead in the middle of his own possession (Brad William Henke), Wounds focuses on Will, whose strategy is to ignore everything as his life falls apart. We have to piece together what is going on based off of snippets of information and odd images which create a sense of visceral unease I don’t usually feel during horror movies. A weaker filmmaker would have felt the need to spell things out, but Anvari gives us just the right amount of information to insure that we understand the stakes of what’s at play. And, like most good horror movies, the metaphors are in full force here. The same way that The Babadook used a horror lens to examine grief, Wounds applies that lens to toxic masculinity. This is a possession that leads to violence and anger and destruction, and it’s a disturbing to watch even before the film treats us to a plague of cockroaches (spoilers, I guess).

Much credit is due to the production design, which is gross and grimy throughout as if the film were covered in a layer of dirt. But credit is also due to Hammer, who gives my favorite performances of his to date. Will is, by design, a bland character—but Hammer makes him feel fully-realized, and makes his dullness and inaction feel motivated and purposeful. But his true coup here is the physical performance he pulls off. While he starts the movie as a sort of mediocre frat boy, as possession takes hold of his character, he becomes frighteningly apelike. It’s really strong work, which sadly has been overlooked as much as the film.

11: Primal: Tales of Savagery (dir. Genndy Tartakovsky)

It does not escape my attention that my two favorite animated films of the year are probably the two that were the least likely to receive attention from any awards-granting branches. After the 44-minute surreal anthology movie that already appears as #24 on my list, I now have Primal: Tales of Savagery. Initially airing as a series on Adult Swim, the first five episodes were put together into one feature-length film and released in theaters for Oscars consideration. And while the cutting together of these episodes is undeniably a bit clunky (it's clear it was designed to be a series) the quality of the work is so innovative and brilliant that I had to include it on my list.

Written, directed, and conceived by visionary animator Genndy Tartakovsky (who also created beloved series Dexter's Laboratory and Samurai Jack), Primal: Tales of Savagery follows a caveman who forms an unlikely friendship with a T-Rex after both lose their families. The series is obviously anachronistic, and becomes further and further removed from reality in each new installment. It is also completely dialogueless, allowing Tartakovsky to convey all of his character building and storytelling through his incredible animation. The work here is technically flawless, the animation is absolutely gorgeous, and Tartakovsky uses bright colors to create a jarring aesthetic when compared to the brutality of his work (the tagline Tales of Savagery doesn't quite do the thematic elements here justice). The use of sound is also on point here, with a thrilling and visceral score courtesy of Tyler Bates and Joanne Higginbottom. In both television and movie form, Primal: Tales of Savagery is unforgettable storytelling, laudable for both its innovation and deceptive simplicity.

To see which films make up my top ten of the year, continue reading here!