The Best Movies of 2020: Part 2

Below, you'll find my picks for the top 10 films of 2020. If you'd like to see the 20 films that finished right behind these picks, check out Part 1 here. Now, without further delay, here are my 10 favorite films of 2020.

 

#10: Farewell Amor (dir. Ekwa Msangi)

 

I start my top ten countdown with Farewell Amor, an indie drama quietly released towards the end of the year which blew me away. The film follows a family of Angolan immigrants living in New York City. Walter (Ntare Mwine) has already been in the city for many years, and his wife Esther (Zainab Jah) and daughter Sylvia (Jayme Lawson) are only able to join him now. The film is told in three chapters—each one focusing on one member of the family—as we see the different ways they cope with this reunion and the changes it brings. For Walter and Esther, this means falling in love again with a person they no longer truly know. And for Sylvia it means growing accustomed to a completely different life, isolated from anyone familiar to her. Writer and director Ekwa Msangi is a marvel, and she weaves these stories together with an assured and sensitive hand. As we learn more about each character, new depths to them are revealed. Farewell Amor is about the lies families tell each other, and the often very human reasons for those lies. Much like my #11 pick Minari, this story of immigration is deeply personal, thoroughly American, and an incredibly satisfying film.

 

#9: Nobody Knows I’m Here (dir. Gaspar Antillo)

 

One of my favorite film characters of 2020 is Memo Garrido (Jorge Garcia), a reclusive man living on a remote island in Chile, interacting with few people other than his Uncle. But few people would guess that Memo holds a secret: as a child, he recorded a hit pop single. Once this is revealed, it becomes clear that something has gone astray in Memo’s life, and over the course of the film the details of Memo’s traumatic experience come to light as Memo is confronted by the ghosts of his past. Nobody Knows I’m Here works on many levels. It’s an impactful reflection on fame, and the historic ways the music industry has mistreated some of its brightest stars. But where Nobody Knows I’m Here really sings (pardon the pun) is as a character study. Garcia is best known as Hurley on Lost, and while he was often cited as a standout character on the hit show, this film demonstrates just how much his talents have been wasted since. Garcia’s portrayal of Memo is nothing short of masterful. Even with very few lines of dialogue, he conveys a world of emotion every moment he’s on screen. Without giving too much away, the whole film leads up to a final scene where Memo gets to finally escape from his protective shell. In that moment, Garcia is nothing short of transcendent. But before that moment, I’d already fallen in love with Memo and this film. It’s hard to imagine someone not being similarly drawn in by this film's many charms.

 

#8: The Hater (dir. Jan Komasa)

 

One of 2020’s underrated gems is The Hater, a Polish thriller which focuses on some timely political themes, and features one of the year’s best villains. Maciej Musiałowski plays Tomasz Giemza, an ambitious, low-class young man determined to climb society’s ranks. After being thrown out of law school for cheating (and hiding this from the wealthy family who has supported him), Tomasz finds a job at a public relations company where he finds an outlet for some of his less than ethical tendencies. Over the course of the film, Tomasz lies to just about everyone in his life in an attempt to get what he thinks he wants, in ways that become increasingly invasive and violent. While much of the film is specific to Poland’s political climate, Tomasz is a character who will always feel familiar: an entitled sociopath who, if this film is ever given an American remake, will most likely be modeled after Matt Gaetz. For his part, Musiałowski is terrifying and sharklike. It would be easy to dismiss Tomasz as psychopathic, but as ruthless as he is, Musiałowski also imbues him with a sense of desperation. It’s not that he doesn’t care about those in his wake, it’s that he cares about his own status more. Tomasz, and the film as a whole, is fascinating and dangerous. It should also be said that while Tomasz is in many ways evil, The Hater doesn’t simply let its other characters off the hook. The wealthy and powerful targets in Tomasz’s wake are not saints or victims; Tomasz exists specifically because of them and their choices. In many ways, it could be seen as a companion piece with last year's much heralded Parasite; both are cautionary tales of the ugliness of class disparity and the inevitable violence it brings. The Hater’s willingness to ask some difficult questions separates it from similar films, and will keep you on the edge of your seat.

 

#7: Sound of Metal (dir. Darius Marder)

 

Films about characters coping with a newfound disability are a dime a dozen, and are often offensively sentimental in a way that treats the character’s disability as something to “overcome.” Its ability to avoid these pitfalls is what makes Sound of Metal so refreshing. The film is about Ruben Stone (Riz Ahmed) a heavy metal drummer and recovering addict who finds that he is losing his sense of hearing. Worried that this development will send him down a dangerous spiral, he takes up residence in a community for deaf addicts, and in doing so must live apart from his loving partner Lou (Olivia Cooke). Filmmaker Darius Marder is aware of what a hearing audience tends to expect from films about deafness, and wisely subverts our expectations. The story never goes where you think it will. As a result, these characters are vulnerable, messy, and wonderful. While the film is undeniably about Ruben’s deafness, Marder and Ahmed never let his deafness define him—and ultimately his journey to contentment means he must deal with much more than his hearing loss. It was also, unfortunately, novel to see a film about a deaf character which featured multiple deaf characters. While the two most prominent deaf characters (Ruben, and the community leader Joe, played by Paul Raci) are played by hearing actors, the film has a large ensemble of deaf characters played by deaf actors, and Ahmed spends much of the film being the only hearing person on screen. It’s a refreshing look into this community which Marder presents with a tremendous amount of sensitivity and honesty. For his part, Ahmed is extraordinary, but the standout performance for me has to be Raci. While Raci is hearing, he was raised by deaf parents and therefore has an understanding of this community (not to mention a fluency in ASL) which explains how natural his performance feels. When I first watched Sound of Metal, I hadn't heard of any buzz surrounding Raci, and I've been thrilled to see him pick up numerous accolades as the awards season has begun in earnest. Hopefully as the season goes on he, Ahmed, and this powerful film as a whole are remembered as they should be.

 

#6: Collective (dir. Alexander Nanau)

 

 

If 2020 proved nothing else it’s that real life politics can be more absurd and engrossing than fictional political thrillers could hope to be. With that in mind, it is perhaps not surprising that one of the best political thrillers I’ve ever seen is a Romanian documentary about healthcare. Yet even at a time when distrust of government officials is at an all-time high, nothing can really prepare you for Collective. Alexander Nanau’s explosive doc focuses on a group of journalists looking into a fire at a night club which killed 64 people and injured many more. After their discoveries lead to mass resignations in the department of health, the film also spends time with Vlad Voiculescu, the new technocratic Minister of Health, painted as an idealistic politician put in an impossible situation. To say any more about what’s uncovered in Collective would give too much away—you’ll just have to see the film. And, truly, Collective is a film that NEEDS to be seen by as many people as possible. It’s a depressing watch, but an unbelievably engrossing one. Nanau leans into the intrigue of his subject matter, and edits the film so that it looks and feels like a John le Carré adaptation, to the point that it’s easy to forget that these are real people. Nanau might have been lucky to stumble upon this subject matter, but he’s also skilled enough to do the most with it, creating some of 2020’s most essential viewing.

 

#5: Residue (dir. Merawi Gerima)

 

 If I had to use just one work to describe Residue, it would be “haunting.” Merawi Gerima’s film follows Jay (Obi Nwachukwu), a filmmaker who returns to his childhood neighborhood after many years away, and must come to terms with the many changes since he’s been gone. There’s not much in the way of story here—most of the film just depicts Jay’s observations and conversations, maintaining interest through character and emotion rather than plot. It’s a difficult storytelling strategy to pull off, but Gerima undeniably does so, making a film you feel deeply while watching. Residue is a film about loss—both in terms of place and people. Residue might be one of the most effective films about gentrification ever made. Even though we don’t see much of the neighborhood that Jay remembers, we still feel its loss. A lot of credit should be given to cinematographer Mark Jeevaratnam, whose evocative camera work captures both the people and places of the present as well as the ghosts of what used to be. Gerima and Jeevaratnam make clever choices to highlight gentrification by showing absence rather than focusing on what has invaded. For example, during a scene of a bunch of white people at brunch, we never see the faces of the diners. Their presence is felt, but they aren't given extra power and are never dominate the film or the characters at its center. Which brings us to the other major theme of loss in the film—the loss of people. As Jay wanders his home streets he can’t find many people he remembers, and the ones he can find have changed. Dennis Lindsey gives a scene-stealing performance as Jay’s friend Delonte, who seems headed down a bad path outside of Jay’s control. And there’s a beautiful scene where Jay visits his friend Dion (Jamal Graham) in prison. Gerima makes the powerful and unconventional choice to imagine this conversation as Jay and Dion walking in the forest, broken free from the confines of the prison walls. It’s a fantasy for Jay and Dion, who wish they could be free and outside, but also a commentary for the audience—these woods are where this catchup would be taking place in a just world. This scene is indicative of the ways Gerima transports his audience into his world, and a reminder of the simple choices which allow a talented filmmaker to transcend their shoestring budget. Residue is unforgettable elegy to a lost neighborhood, and the most poetic film 2020 had to offer.

 

#4: We Are Little Zombies (dir. Makoto Nagahisa)

 

I feel like I must have been the only person who saw We Are Little Zombies, because that’s the only thing that can explain just why this movie didn’t get any attention. Makoto Nagahisa’s debut film is a creative marvel, featuring some of the most interesting storytelling and innovative design and production values of the year. The film follows a group of young orphans whose parents all died in freak accidents who end up forming a band which becomes an overnight sensation. As the children at the center of the film try to escape the tragedies they have befallen, We Are Little Zombies brings those escapist fantasies to screen. It's a fascinating choice, which prevents the film from feeling overly bleak, and allows Nagahisa to go to flex his creative muscles. The soundtrack and cinematography evoke a colorful vintage video game, and the production design makes it feel like a technicolor bubble gum fueled hallucination. The whole thing is a shock to the senses—wondrous and chaotic. Watching We Are Little Zombies was like entering an arcade game designed by old-school Tim Burton. And it’s worth noting that creativity and in-your-face design choices is not all that We Are Little Zombies has going for it. Nagahisa knows when to dial it back and treat things seriously—adding genuine stakes to his fantasy world. Not to mention that he gets some excellent performances out of his mostly very young cast. In other words, this is not at all a case of style over substance; both aspects are working together in particularly loud harmony. We Are Little Zombies might have been overlooked this year, but I know this won’t be the last we hear from Nagahisa. I can’t begin to imagine what his future films will look like, but I know I’m excited for them.

 

#3: Dick Johnson is Dead (dir. Kirsten Johnson)

 

Dick Johnson is Dead is not only one of my top three films of the year, it’s also easily my pick for the feel-good film of the year. No other movie put a smile on my face the way Dick Johnson is Dead did, or made me feel as warm and happy. It also just happens to be a documentary about death and dementia that at times made me uncontrollably weep. And if that feels like a paradox that would be really difficult to pull off, well you’re absolutely correct. But that’s what makes Dick Johnson is Dead such an extraordinary feat. The documentary focuses on Dick Johnson, director Kirsten Johnson’s father who has recently been diagnosed with dementia. Worried about the memory loss that Dick will face in his remaining years, the Johnsons utilize Kirsten’s filmmaking knowhow to create a series of enactments of many ways he could die (such as falling downstairs or being hit by a falling air conditioner). The premise is intriguing, and a showcase for the dark humor that both father and daughter clearly possess. These elaborate filmed sequences are indeed glorious, but ultimately, they’re just a launching pad. Dick Johnson is Dead really succeeds in its quieter moments. You get to know and love Dick as his daughter clearly does, and along the way both Johnsons share vulnerable and profound reflections on love, family, memory, and of course death. It’s one of the most personal films I’ve ever seen, at once gut-wrenching and joyous. In such a difficult year, Dick Johnson is Dead felt like a cinematic gift, and a true comfort at a time when human mortality was on everyone’s minds.

 

#2: World of Tomorrow Episode Three: The Absent Destinations of David Prime (dir. Don Hertzfeldt)

 

 

If you’re unfamiliar with Don Hertzfeldt’s World of Tomorrow series, then you are missing out on what I think is the best sci-fi franchise of all time. The first World of Tomorrow (an Oscar-nominee for Best Animated Short) introduced the world to Emily Prime, a toddler transported by a third-generation clone of herself to the future, where she is obliviously given a tour of the many wonders and horrors the future will hold for herself and the world. It’s a beautiful, hilarious, profound work which held up as a standalone film, but fans like myself were delighted in 2017 when Hertzfeldt released a sequel which expanded more on the franchise’s universe and its workings. The beauty and brilliance of these two shorts meant that World of Tomorrow Episode Three was easily my most anticipated film of 2020, and I am glad to say it did not disappoint. The longest of the episodes so far, The Absent Destinations of David Prime is also the first in the series to not focus on Emily, but rather on her husband David. But that’s not the only shift—World of Tomorrow Episode Three is at times a completely different genre than the first two installments. While I wouldn’t necessarily call the film a thriller, aspects of the film feel like it could be (the most obvious scene being an assassination towards the film’s end which made me repeat the words “Oh shit,” over and over again). I do believe that World of Tomorrow Episode Three would work as a standalone film; the concept is innovative enough and the humor and commentary sharp enough that it can exist as a single entity. But when seen with the first two installments it becomes even more extraordinary, as Hertzfeldt reveals hidden depths to the ideas he’s previously presented. Episode Three is also the first entry in the World of Tomorrow franchise to feature an ending which suggests further episodes to come. It seems like Hertzfeldt isn’t done exploring this world, and we are all the better for it. Hertzfeldt remains one of today’s most creative storytellers, and we’re all incredibly lucky that this is the playground he’s chosen to explore for the time being.

 

#1: I’m Thinking of Ending Things (dir. Charlie Kaufman)

 

 My favorite film of the year is I’m Thinking of Ending Things. It’s a divisive choice to be sure, and I know some found this film to be various degrees of pretentious to incomprehensible. But for me, almost everything about this film worked. And while I would never guarantee that someone will ultimately enjoy I’m Thinking of Ending Things, I feel I can guarantee that some aspect of it will leave an impression on anyone who watches it. It’s a psychological labyrinth and a true cinematic marvel, which furthers Kaufman’s legacy as one of the world's most unpredictable and innovative filmmakers.

 

To be fair, I was predisposed to like this film. I’ve consistently loved Kaufman’s work, and already loved Iain Reid’s novel that this film is based on. In fact, I’d picked up Reid’s novel in part because Kaufman was quoted reviewing the book on the back cover. The story follows a young woman (Jessie Buckley)—who has no name in the book and has way too many names in the film— as she and her boyfriend Jake (Jesse Plemons) embark on a trip to visit Jake’s parents (Toni Collette and David Thewlis). During the trip, the young woman questions the strength of the relationship. But as the film goes on, we see that the relationship isn’t all that’s breaking down—the very fabric of the world the young woman lives in appears to be collapsing and shifting. Kaufman’s script isn’t a direct book-to-screen adaptation (this is the guy who wrote Adaptation, after all) but it’s a lovely companion piece to Reid’s novel, which cleverly shifts certain themes of the book to the forefront to adapt a book that would have been nigh unfilmable by anyone else. Kaufman imitates the insular narrative horror of the book with spectacle and camera wizardry. It’s a film designed to confuse and disorient. As you watch you wonder, “Wasn’t she wearing something else?” or “Wasn’t he in old age makeup just a shot before?” And that’s all before a scene halfway through that is literally from a completely different film (apparently directed by Robert Zemeckis!) These cinematic magic tricks are really cool, and I’m Thinking of Ending Things exists firmly as one of those films that you experience rather than simply watch. Reid’s book ends in abject horror—the last few pages are some of the scariest pages I’ve ever read—and for a while the film seems to be leading its audience in that direction. We’re certainly unnerved enough for it. But in all his filmography Kaufman never does exactly what’s expected. Right at the point the film could be its most terrifying, it instead becomes almost delightful. Instead of horror, Kaufman shifts fantasy. There’s an animated talking pig, a musical number, and a dream ballet straight out of Oklahoma! It’s a bold choice, and I have a feeling that this ending is what’s going to separate those who like the film and those who don't. In essence, if the ending doesn’t work, the film doesn’t work. But for me, it was sensational. It’s the type of ending, and the type of visual feast that makes me love movies. Due to its narrative choice, the book brings us inside the mind of someone grappling with questions of their own existence, and the terrifying implications of being hounded by your own uncertainty. But as a film, Kaufman takes the chance to simply let his audience observe. He doesn't force scares on us, but it's eerie and thought-provoking all the same.

 

All of this, of course, is grounded by some exceptional performances. Collette and Thewlis are magnetic as ever in their brief appearances, but it’s the two protagonists who carry I’m Thinking of Ending Things over the finish line. Plemons is a quietly intense actor, and his work as Jake is compelling and surprising. He's enigmatic without being cagey. But the star of the film is unquestionably Buckley. Jessie Buckley has very quickly become one of my favorite actors working today. For three years in a row she has given what I consider one of the best performances of the year (first in Beast, then in Wild Rose) and this is potentially her most challenging role yet. As the Young Woman, Buckley has to morph identities not only from scene to scene, but sometimes from line to line. She is a character of contradictions, and Buckley manages to pull off this impossible juggling act seemingly with ease. Every moment feels specific and necessary. The same can be said for the film as a whole. Kaufman is a filmmaker with purpose, and every image, every sound is carefully orchestrated. This is a film I look forward to revisiting again and again. The characters may be lost, but their journey is one which can reveal things about whoever is watching. It's a satisfying and outstanding film, which has undeniably made me think more than any other film this year.

 

 

So, those are my choices. Which films have you seen? Which films do you want to see? What films from your own list do you think I might have overlooked? Let me know! And while 2021 promises to be as uncertain as 2020, it's a comfort to know that art remains to sustain us. Here's to 2021, and here's to the great movies we'll watch this year!