We're already a month into 2022, but if COVID has taught us anything, it's that time is meaningless. And now that I've had a chance to see some of the late-released heavyweights of the year, I finally feel like I can say with confidence that these are my absolute favorite films of 2021. It's been an interesting year for the film industry to say the least. Film distributors are still unsure of exactly how best to operate in a COVID world. When it comes to movie theater ticket sales, there are numerous reports of films being box office disappointments, but I always wonder how these returns can be classified as "disappointing" when every movie underperforms unless it has Spider-Man in the title. While some look at poor box office returns as the sign of an industry in decline, I have to disagree. Rather, I think it's a sign that the way in which we consume film is drastically changing. And, for the record, this change was happening before COVID. With factors like rising ticket prices and the sheer convenience of streaming services, the movie watching experience is entering a new era. It doesn't have to be a disastrous transition unless the industry makes it one.
And part of the reason I'm so optimistic is that there have been numerous really exceptional movies released this year. There are still great movies being made, and great filmmakers with things to say. Every year, I reach a point where I think that I'll limit the number of films I talk about in this roundup, but every year there are 30 films that I genuinely think are excellent and deserve discussion. More than 30 in fact; there were some excellent films that I assumed would make my year-end list no problem, which just narrowly missed out because of the excellence of the year (my honorable mentions this year go to Norwegian Oscar contender
The Worst Person in the World and the future cult classic
Psycho Goreman). So, without further ado, let's look at my personal 30 favorite movies of the year (as always, I say FAVORITE because this is completely subjective), all of which give me hope that film will survive as a necessary and popular medium.
#30 Cyrano
With both
West Side Story and
tick, tick…BOOM! being awards season stalwarts this year, most awards season rosters have already filled their unofficial movie musical quota. Which is unfortunate, because there were several strong movie musicals which probably would have been in the conversation in another year. For example,
In the Heights was once seen as a Best Picture contender, but its early release date means it has sadly faded from a lot of voters’ memories. And then there’s
Cyrano, which had the opposite problem of being released far too late. And this is unfortunate, because this should have been in the running for multiple awards. Even with so many films in contention, it was one of the strongest movie musicals of the year.
Based on a recent stage musical,
Cyrano is a retelling of the classic story of Cyrano de Bergerac (Peter Dinklage) Dinklage has been a respected actor for a long time, and this is his best role since Game of Thrones launched him to superstardom. While I’m sure some purists will miss the trademark nose, Dinklage’s portrayal is incredibly recognizable as Cyrano, and brings the necessary amounts of intellect and sensitivity to the role. If anything, his Cyrano reads particularly true because the nose isn’t there as a distraction. His insecurities stem from real life prejudice as opposed to a prosthetic, and it’s a remarkably effective choice. Dinklage remains true to the character while still providing a fresh take on him that feels organic and is genuinely moving. His supporting cast is also excellent, with Haley Bennett being particularly standout as Roxanne. Oftentimes, Roxanne can be mistakenly portrayed as shallow or foolish, but to do so is a major disservice to the character. Bennett imbues Roxanne with the strength needed to match Cyrano beat for beat, and her scenes with Dinklage showcase a lot of chemistry between them. The musical score (written by The National) might not be as iconic as, say,
West Side Story, but it’s highly original and works both as an independent piece of music, and within the context of the film as a whole. And the direction from Joe Wright is incredibly strong. Wright is an industry stalwart who is known for his lush visuals, and this is easily his best film since
Atonement. It's fun getting to watch Wright be whimsical after the dourness of his most recent works. I can imagine an alternate universe where
Cyrano was much more prominent this awards season. But as this won’t be the case, I can only encourage you to check it out for yourself. It may be a familiar story, but it’s a more than worthy adaptation.
#29 The Novice
Considering how popular indie horror films can be, I’m honestly shocked there’s not more buzz surrounding
The Novice. It’s certainly been well-reviewed, but it hasn’t gotten nearly enough attention as it should have.
The Novice stars Isabelle Fuhrman as Alex Dall, a freshman striving to be at the top of her university’s rowing team. As the film goes on, Alex becomes increasingly ruthless and self-destructive, making it one of the tensest thrillers of the year. The themes explored have been seen on film before, and it seems to directly hint at both
Black Swan and
Whiplash as obvious sources of inspiration. But
The Novice still manages to forge its own identity, and Alex’s journey towards perfection is a fascinating one to watch. Perhaps what sets
The Novice apart from the other films I mentioned is that Alex’s journey is more clearly a part of a group. While the protagonists in
Black Swan and
Whiplash are certainly part of a unit, they are nonetheless seeking individual glory. For Alex, she can only achieve her form of perfection with the help of others. That dependency makes her actions particularly dangerous and chaotic, and add to the malicious edge that this movie possesses.
#28 Encanto
Why do I love
Encanto so much? Well, simply put,
Encanto is Disney’s best movie in years. While the studio hasn’t exactly been in a slump,
Encanto is the first time in a while that I’ve felt completely taken with one of their films. It has all the hallmarks of a truly great Disney movie—impressive visuals, fantastic music, a heartwarming story. But more importantly, it feels like a departure from the well-trod territory of many of its previous efforts. Disney’s animated films tend to tell familiar and/or pre-existing stories, and does its world-building primarily through visuals and music. But the very premise of
Encanto is intriguing, and while the story was satisfying enough for a contained standalone film, I would genuinely love a whole series of films following the amazing Madrigal family.
#27 Riders of Justice
Riders of Justice follows Markus (Mads Mikkelsen), a soldier who returns home after his wife is tragically killed in a freak train accident. But Otto (Nikolaj Lie Kaas), a survivor of the same accident believes that it was no accident at all, and was orchestrated by a gang to take out a key witness in an upcoming trial. Markus, Otto, and a pair of ragtag scientists team up to figure out who was responsible for the death of Markus’ wife, and seek revenge if needed. I must admit that I initially dismissed this film. Based on the advertising and the general plot summary, I thought it would be a somewhat generic revenge movie, but I’m happy to say I couldn’t have been more wrong.
Riders of Justice is a brutal and compelling drama with a surprisingly sensitive core to it. While the film does center around revenge, it’s about so much more, and grand themes like loss, anger, and destiny play just as much of a role. In many ways,
Riders of Justice even plays as an anti-revenge film, while still providing a satisfying conclusion to the revenge arc at its center. For those who only know Mikkelsen from his English-language performances, I encourage you to watch him act in his native language of Danish. He’s always compelling, but Danish films tend to take much more advantage of his versatility—he can play a lot more than just villains. Once again, Mikkelsen turns in a wonderful performance here—the character of Markus is not good at showing emotions, but Mikkelsen still makes him vulnerable and sensitive in a way that a lesser actor couldn’t have, and as the emotional core of the movie, this choice is crucial for the film to work. And, as the picture above indicates, if you watch the film you will be rewarding by images of Mikkelsen in a cozy Christmas sweater during the it's superb conclusion.
#26 Sweat
There have already been a few films made about influencer culture, and there are doubtless going to be more as the topic becomes increasingly relevant. Still, I imagine
Sweat will hold up as one of the best examinations of the issue we'll ever seen on screen.
Sweat stars Magdalena Koleśnik as Sylwia, a fitness instructor and influencer who struggles to hold her personal life together while dealing with her massive fanbase. What I think sets
Sweat apart is that while it is critical of influencer and celebrity culture in general, it never feels critical of Sylwia herself. The screenplay smartly makes her someone that you root for and shows her humanity and vulnerability even as she drowns in the public identity she has created. And, of course, a lot of credit is due to Koleśnik who shines as one of cinema’s best heroes of the year.
#25 The Vigil
Religion is a frequent and often compelling backdrop for horror movies—but often that religion tends to be Christianity. I mean, how many nuns have popped up in the
Conjuring universe alone? But
The Vigil is the first time I’ve seen a film that uses the same religious horror tropes and applied them to Judaism (well, I guess the first part of
A Serious Man is a good example). But I hope
The Vigil starts a new trend of excellent Jewish horror, because this film just touches the surface of some great subject matter to explore. The film focuses on Yakov (Dave Davis), a man who has left the Orthodox community he was raised in, but returns to keep vigil over a recently deceased member of the community. Over the course of the night, he struggles with both metaphorical and literal demons, and the film delves into mythology and feelings of grief and guilt. And yes, it gets really dark and spooky. It’s a wonderful and macabre journey, and my favorite straight-up horror film of the year.
#24 The Power of the Dog
The Power of the Dog is one of the most prominent titles on my list. It has been a constant presence this awards season, and while a lot can change in a couple of months, it appears to be the current frontrunner to win Best Picture. It may not be my personal #1 pick this year, but should it take the top prize at the Oscars, it’s certainly a worthy choice. While art is subjective and the word “Best” is meaningless when it comes to judging art,
The Power of the Dog is objectively a very well-made film. And while it maybe didn’t resonate with me quite as much as it did with others who have it on the top of their ballots, it nonetheless earns its place on this list because of the craftsmanship at work. Director Jane Campion has had a long and decorated career, and this film is an example of why. She’s very good at playing with the information her audience receives.
The Power of the Dog is a masterclass in storytelling, where Campion never plays her hand and always seems to be a step ahead of her viewers.
A lot of attention has been paid to the excellent cast, with Benedict Cumberbatch and Kodi Smit-McPhee both being touted as serious Oscar contenders. They’re both good here, but for me the standout performances belong to Kirsten Dunst and Jesse Plemons. While she’s not seen as a frontrunner to win, Dunst is a strong possibility to score her first ever Oscar nomination. She’s given Oscar-worthy performances in the past, and I hesitate to say this is her BEST performance, but it is a performance that really highlights how commanding of a performer she can be. Plemons, meanwhile, is the only one of the main cast who has been completely left out of the awards conversation, and I don’t understand it. He’s truly excellent here, and I would argue that he actually has one of the more difficult characters to portray.
Considering how awards seasons tend to fall back on a consensus pick,
The Power of the Dog is ultimately a great option. It may at times feel like standard awards-season fare, but nonetheless maintains its own artistry and purpose, along with being an excellent showcase for a filmmaker of Campion’s caliber.
#23 Never Gonna Snow Again
Many of my favorite films are the ones that I feel defy categorization. One such film is
Never Gonna Snow Again, a genre-bending, magical film from Polish filmmakers Małgorzata Szumowska and Michał Englert.
Never Gonna Snow Again follows Zhenia (a mesmerizing Alec Utgoff), a massage therapist from Chernobyl who takes up residence in a wealthy community. Shortly after his arrival, he amasses a considerable following, as reports of his skill spread from neighbor to neighbor. Zhenia, it turns out, is a lot more than just a massage therapist, and his sessions place his clients under a form of hypnosis, where repressed memories are uncovered and secrets are revealed. The film tows the line between whether Zhenia actually possesses some supernatural gift, but for the unhappy people in this city, the results of his magic are very real, and the effect it has on the people surrounding him is significant. Equal parts whimsical and macabre, the film leans into a certain dreamlike, fairy tale quality, but it’s clear early on that this film won’t have a “fairy tale ending.” The film’s title refers to the possibility of there being no snow due to climate change, and the veil of a barren winter is palpable in the air. The excellent production design makes the film LOOK cold, with all of the beauty and brutality that entails. It would be reductive to say that
Never Gonna Snow Again is ABOUT anything, but during the course of this dreamlike tale, it touches on themes of global warming, immigration, class divide, and more. For fans of magical realism like myself, this is a must-see.
#22 Mass
Simplicity is difficult to pull off in film. The smaller the cast and the more limited the set, the fewer places there are to hide, and it can risk feeling like a filmed play more than an actual movie. But when done well, it’s a reminder that you really don’t need a lot to create a compelling narrative. I'll always remember being blown away the first time I saw
Twelve Angry Men (still one of my favorite films of all time) and seeing what sort of tension could be achieved with twelve actors in a single room. In the case of
Mass, writer/director Fran Kranz only needed four.
The film follows two couples: Gail & Jay (Martha Plimpton and Jason Isaacs) and Linda & Richard (Ann Dowd and Reed Birney) who apprehensively meet in a room in a church to have an arranged conversation. After not too long, it becomes clear what the conversation is about (and, while I think it’s pretty obvious, if you want to avoid any and all spoilers, skip to the next entry): years ago, Linda & Richard’s son was a mass shooter at a high school and killed multiple students, including Gail & Jay’s son and then himself. It is, understandably, an intense conversation, but writer/director Fran Kranz’s script is admirably not preachy or exploitative. He doesn’t try to pass judgment on his characters, and simply asks you to observe them. While the characters inevitably try to find a source of blame for what happened, that’s not what this film is about. It’s about catharsis. When people talk about this film they almost exclusively talk about the cast, and I will too in just a second, but I have to say that the craft that went into this film is excellent and easy to miss. While it’s not particularly flashy, the cinematography from Robert Jackson Healy is brilliant, with an understanding of light and framing that subtly increases feelings of tension and relief that are necessary for the film to have an impact. The screenplay does a lot of the heavy-lifting, but the camera and design accentuates these beats in a harmonious way. As for the cast, these four theatre veterans are all incredible, and work together beautifully. They work graciously during scenes featuring all of them, but also rise to the occasion when their characters are given individual moments to control the narrative of the story. It’s a masterclass in ensemble work. Dowd and Birney are both wonderful (and, perhaps due to her
Handmaid’s Tale cred, Dowd has easily picked up more accolades than anyone else on this awards season circuit) but for me, this movie belongs to Plimpton and Isaacs. Going into the film, I would have thought the parents of the shooter would have had the heftier storyline to work through, but like I said, this film isn’t concerned with blame. Gail & Jay’s grief and eventual fulfillment offers the most profound journey, and these actors are a powerful presence who sell their emotions without falling victim to stereotypes. It’s not a happy film to watch, but it’s an immensely rewarding one should you choose to trust your emotions in this cast’s capable hands.
#21 The Tragedy of Macbeth
Film adaptations of Shakespeare can be a mixed bag. And while Joel Coen’s
The Tragedy of Macbeth is not immediately going to claim any BEST SHAKESPEAREAN FILM EVER titles, it’s still a credible entry into the cinematic Shakespearean canon. It manages to capture the dark themes of the play without feeling unbearably dreary (like the horrendous Justin Kurzel-directed version from a few years ago), and while it does take some liberties from the original text, they tend to be intriguing, or at the very least not wholly distracting. The visuals might not be completely original (there are a lot of references to the Orson Welles
Macbeth from 1948) but are nonetheless spectacular. Cinematographer Bruno Delbonnel has a wonderful eye for shadow and space, and the look of the film feels simultaneously lush and hollow in a disconcerting way. The film’s aesthetic is impressive while never losing sight that the cinematographer’s main goal is to serve the story. Ultimately, if you want to see a film of
Macbeth, this is a great one to turn to.
But what elevates this film from good to great is the interpretation of the three witches, all portrayed by Kathryn Hunter. Hunter is one of the best stage actors working today, and hopefully she will pursue more film work after this. She’s an absolute revelation here—unbelievably creepy and impossible not to watch. It’s a performance that is physical, ruthless, and fully-embodied. I, in fact, wish that Coen had thought to use her talents even more prominently than he did, but nonetheless I’m incredibly grateful for the gift of Hunter’s performance. See it for her, and stay for a film that provides her with a suitable backdrop.
#20 Nightmare Alley
There’s something really wonderful when a director with a signature style tackles a new genre. Guillermo del Toro may not have made a film noir before, but
Nightmare Alley proves it’s a great genre for his sensibilities. His familiar stylish flair, dark themes, and masterful use of tension is on full display here, but channeled in a way that feels like exciting new territory. Del Toro is one of the most beloved directors working right now, and I don’t know of anyone who wouldn’t say he’s a good director, but
Nightmare Alley shows a sense of refinement which reminds us just how savvy a filmmaker he is. This story filled with magicians and con men is perfectly suited for del Toro’s talents as a showman, and the elaborate set pieces feel as if they’re a playground for del Toro’s camera. This is one of the reasons
Nightmare Alley is so great—you can just tell how much fun del Toro is having. Even though this story is far from happy one, there’s a sense of excitement in the craftsmanship that keeps it from feeling unbearably bleak. The visuals, as one would expect, are gorgeous and evocative (the film has a great use of color, but I would LOVE to see the black & white version shown at some screenings). The cast is similarly strong. Bradley Cooper gives one of his best performances to date as carnival worker turned con-man Stanton Carlisle. And the world of the film is filled out by a stacked ensemble cast of character actors who make a strong impression, often with very little screentime. The standout to me was David Strathairn, who acts as the emotional core of the film, and whose presence is felt even though he’s only in the first third of the film. While I wouldn’t say
Nightmare Alley breaks any new ground in the genre, it’s ultimately just a really well-made film, and seeing someone like del Toro’s take on the story makes it a tremendously rewarding watch.
#19 Apples
If you’re a fan of Yorgos Lanthimos’ films, I highly recommend delving further into contemporary Greek cinema. The film culture of that country is not limited to Lanthimos alone, and it has a very distinct and weird sensibility when it comes to its cinematic storytelling.
Apples, which was Greece’s official entry to the Oscars last year, is the latest great contemporary Greek film, which finds a lovely poetry under its oddball surface. Although it was made before COVID, the film is set in a world in the throes of a pandemic—but this is a pandemic that causes amnesia. Our main character, Aris (Aris Servetalis) is the pandemic’s latest victim, and he enrolls himself in a recovery program for other patients with this sudden and unexplained memory loss. Rather than medication, his doctors assign Aris a series of tasks to simulate life experiences that they hope will jog his memory in some way. This isn’t necessarily a happy or hopeful film, and early on you get the sense that the medical professionals he’s working with are well-meaning but completely out of their depth. But
Apples is more about the journey than the destination. The ambitious screenplay from Stavros Raptis and director Christos Nikou seeks to ask what makes life meaningful, and what links our sense of identity to ourselves. It’s a question that no movie can fully answer on its own, but
Apples nonetheless provides a lovely reflection on these large ideas. For its humor, introspection, and moments of true beauty,
Apples is profound and…dare I say it…unforgettable.
#18 Red Rocket
Sean Baker is one of the most exciting American directors working today. His films (such as the acclaimed
Tangerine and
The Florida Project) tend to revolve around themes that are taboo in American culture, and the heroes of his films tend to be societal outcasts who are looking for a miracle. Baker is an incredibly sensitive filmmaker, and he has a special talent for treating his film’s subjects with respect and empathy—his characters are survivors, and he attempts to give them dignity during their lowest moments. The protagonist of
Red Rocket, down on his luck porn star Mikey Saber (Simon Rex), is a bit different. He’s certainly an outcast, and definitely living life without hope, but he’s far harder to root for than most of Baker’s hero’s. Mikey is pure chaos, and easily among the most unlikable film characters of the year. As portrayed by Rex, he’s like a wild animal whenever he’s on screen—dangerous, malicious, and desperate. Remember when everyone was upset that Adam Sandler wasn’t nominated for an Oscar for
Uncut Gems? Well, Rex’s performance hit similar beats, but I feel is done even more masterfully, and I wish he had the same swell of support that Sandler had. It’s committed, full-throttle work. As reprehensible as Mikey is, Baker still manages to make him pitiable. Together, Baker and Rex find a certain pathetic quality that makes Mikey genuinely fascinating. While never endorsing his behavior, Baker still tries to find some reason behind it; in doing so, he treats Mikey with the same respect as he treats all of his characters. It’s an uncomfortable experience to go on, but in the hands of a filmmaker as strong as Baker, it’s an undeniably rewarding one.
#17 West Side Story
Remaking a film like
West Side Story can be a tricky affair. It’s not enough to just make a good movie, you have to truly go above and beyond to justify why the movie had to be made in the first place. I’m happy to say that the new
West Side Story absolutely does this, providing a fresh take on the story that feels current and new, but will still appeal to long-time fans of the piece. It can be easy to take Steven Spielberg for granted as a director—his most iconic films are from much earlier in his career, and the innovations he’s known for no longer feel particularly new. But a movie like
West Side Story is a reminder of just how good Spielberg is. He understands the medium better than almost anyone, and the sense of movement in this film is electrifying and masterful. The film is also incredibly well-cast (well, mostly…the less we talk the choice to portray Tony as a particularly unexpressive slab of wood the better), with the cast of mostly newcomers successfully providing their own spin on familiar characters. Rachel Zegler, Mike Faist, Ariana DeBose, and David Alvarez are all great, but I especially want to commend Rita Moreno and Josh Andrés Rivera here. They might not give my absolute favorite performances in the film, but I think both really rise to the challenge of completely changing our perspectives on who some of these familiar characters are. Rivera plays Chino, a character who has always played an important role in
West Side Story but has typically had nothing to do and is barely a character in the first place. Rivera completely recontextualizes Chino in a way that feels like a revelation and completely changes the arc of the story for the better. As for Moreno, it would have been a joy to see her in this film even in a smaller cameo, but it’s especially nice to see her get something substantial to do. As Valentina (a new character, standing in for Doc), her performance never feels like a gimmick. The interpretations of these two characters specifically speak to just why this remake of
West Side Story feels so refreshing: the very smart and purposeful choices made to update the story. Tony Kushner’s screenplay is the film’s secret weapon, and shows an understanding of what themes needed to be highlighted to resonate today. It’s a great example of how to remake a classic. The new
West Side Story doesn’t take anything away from the original, but still stands tall as a
West Side Story for a new generation.
#16 Wheel of Fortune and Fantasy
Director Ryusuke Hamaguchi released not one, but two truly excellent movies this year. And while
Drive My Car is the one showing up on most of these “best of” lists (including mine…just keep scrolling) his second most prominent release of 2021 deserves just as much love.
Wheel of Fortune and Fantasy is a beautiful anthology film about intimacy and deception, and it’s the rare anthology film where all parts feel like they are working in perfect tandem with each other. In one story, a model hears about her best friend’s new lover, and must determine how to react when she realizes that lover is her ex. In another, a woman tries to seduce a professor at her lover’s request, in an attempt to eventually ruin him. And in the third and final story, a woman believes she has been reunited with her first love from her school days, only to discover that she has the wrong person just as she’s about to make a personal confession. While the characters are different from piece to piece, the thematic elements are quite similar, and the last piece in particular brings out purposeful components that you otherwise might have missed in the first two installments. What I think is most refreshing about
Wheel of Fortune and Fantasy is that despite the similar themes, none of it feels repetitive. Hamaguchi takes a set of motifs and uses them to tell three separate stories from three separate perspectives. The result is that
Wheel of Fortune and Fantasy doesn’t feel like Hamaguchi is trying to force any opinion onto you—instead he presents the stories for what they are and allows his audience to respond to them as they are so inclined. Depending on who you are, and even how you’re feeling that day, you’re going to respond to different things in
Wheel of Fortune and Fantasy, but whatever you latch on to will feel satisfying and intentional. It’s maybe the most honest film of the year, and a calm and poetic reflection on human relationships. It's the less flashy of Hamaguchi’s offerings this year, but it’s just as worthy of discussion and contemplation.
#15 The Lost Daughter
There’s something incredibly special whenever a new director seems to already have a defined sense of style in their feature debut. The excitement comes not just from watching a good film, but from the promise of a new voice with a full filmography ahead of them. When that director is already known as an actor, that excitement only increases. They’re someone familiar to us, but it feels like we’re getting a chance to understand them in a different context. This is certainly the case with Maggie Gyllenhaal’s directorial debut
The Lost Daughter, a startlingly good first feature which showcases her clear understanding of filmmaking, and sets a promising precedent for the types of stories Gyllenhaal wants to tell.
Based on Elena Ferrante’s novel,
The Lost Daughter follows Leda Caruso (Olivia Colman), a translator whose holiday in Greece is disrupted by an intrusive but intriguing large family. When a young girl in the family goes missing, Leda helps find her but, unbeknownst to anyone else, steals the girl’s favorite doll. The act brings back memories of her youth as she reflects on her own role as a mother to two young girls—something she did not take to naturally. The word “lost” is an evocative one—referring here to both literal absence and a metaphorical loss of purpose. If you don’t pay attention, it would be easy to feel like nothing happens in
The Lost Daughter, but there’s remarkable depth going on under the surface. It’s an introspective story, which had the potential to feel murky and detached, but in Gyllenhaal’s more than capable hands,
The Lost Daughter takes on a lyrical quality that feels surprisingly thrilling. Perhaps because of her acting background, Gyllenhaal brings out particularly strong performances from her cast, with Colman, Jessie Buckley, and Dakota Johnson being the main standouts. Colman has recently gone from an underrated talent to a heavyweight mainstay in the industry, and
The Lost Daughter is arguably her greatest performance to date. She utterly embodies Leda, with all of her contradictions—this character could have been incredibly unlikable, but Colman makes her interesting and engaging without denying her flaws. It’s one of the best performances of the year, and has been rightfully lauded, but it’s not fair to praise Colman’s performance without also mentioning Buckley. As young Leda in flashback scenes, Buckley’s performance works perfectly in tandem with Colman’s, and it’s only through the combination of both performances that the character feels so wonderfully fulfilled. They’re both really wonderful to watch, as is Johnson as the young mother who Leda sees as a version of herself.
The Lost Daughter is a wonderful film in its own right, but is especially exciting as an announcement of Gyllenhaal’s arrival as a filmmaker. I can’t wait to see what she does next.
#14 The Mitchells vs. the Machines
Few things bother me more than when children’s entertainment is lazy. The best media for kids offer clear, emotion-based storytelling told in inventive ways. It encourages broad, creative premises and distinct visuals. If you limit yourself to only consuming media “for adults,” you will miss out on some exceptional books, television, and of course, movies. When a particularly lazy children’s film comes along (I’m looking at you
Sing 2) it’s really irritating to me because there’s no excuse for it to not be better. But when a particularly great children’s film comes along, it’s something really special. And
The Mitchells vs. the Machines is indeed something special. The film follows the Mitchell family, who must deal with a technology uprising while dropping of eldest daughter Katie (Abbi Jacobson) at college. The screenplay, by Jeff Rowe and director Michael Rianda, is one of the best of the year. It’s genuinely hilarious, with humor that will appeal to both kids and adults. The whole film has a madcap energy that is wonderfully absurdist and genuinely surprising. This movie features everything thing you could imagine and more: an evil SIRI voiced by Olivia Colman, a giant Furby hellbent on destruction, world-saving apocalyptic road warriors, and a series of mini-films starring a particularly inept pug.
The Mitchells vs. the Machines features world building that’s on par or better than any sci-fi or fantasy film released in recent years. But for all of its wackiness,
The Mitchells vs. the Machines thrives because of its story. Katie is one of the most realistically portrayed teens I’ve ever seen in film, and the conflict she has with her father (Danny McBride) who’s frustrated that they’ve grown apart, is an incredibly relatable one. The family story at the center is what holds the whole movie together and really allows it to shine. It’s a movie I would have loved to have watched when I was Katie’s age, and one I’d be excited to watch as a parent should I ever have any kids.
#13 Passing
As someone who thinks about the film awards season all year long, it’s interesting to see which films are designated as Oscar contenders early on, only to fade from the conversation. Sometimes this is deserved, but oftentimes there are some excellent movies that just for some reason don’t make the impact everyone assumed they would. One of those this year is
Passing, the directorial debut from actor Rebecca Hall. Other than Ruth Negga potentially pulling an upset in the Supporting Actress category, it’s lost any buzz it once had, and I honestly don’t understand why. This film has all the elements of an awards season powerhouse, and deserves to be in the conversation.
Based on the novel by Nella Larsen,
Passing follows Irene Redfield (Tessa Thompson), a Black woman in Harlem who is reunited with her friend Clare Bellew (Negga). Irene is surprised to learn that Clare is living life as a white woman, and is perhaps more surprised to learn that her husband (Alexander Skarsgård) is blatantly racist and knows nothing of his wife’s racial background. For obvious reasons, this story has a lot to say on racial themes, and is one of the most thorough examinations of light-skinned privilege that I’ve seen on screen. But while these discussions are crucial to the impact of
Passing, it’s also just an excellent story—a tragic and well-told drama that unexpectedly verges into thriller territory at times. If I didn’t know beforehand, I would never have guessed that this was Hall’s first film. She has an undeniable confidence behind the camera, and shows a true understanding of the medium. The black and white cinematography is gorgeous and lush, its elegance belying the sinister undertones at the film’s core. And, unsurprisingly for an actor of Hall’s talents, she brings out some wonderful performances from her cast. This is Thompson’s best on-screen performance to date. The success of the film relies on Thompson’s ability to show us emotions that go unsaid. Both of the women at the heart of
Passing are stuck living in a world that is hostile to them, and both have their own ways of navigating this. Thompson shows the audience her own discomfort without letting the other characters see it—it’s an incredibly smart and subtle performance that remains strong throughout the film’s runtime. But as great as she is, it’s understandable how all of the attention has gone to Negga. Clare Bellew is one of the most mesmerizing characters of the year, and Negga’s performance is daring and enigmatic. The lives of Irene and Clare, and the way they intertwine, make for one of the most fascinating stories of the year. Its underperformance all awards season is no excuse for it to be forgotten.
#12 Drive My Car
Drive My Car is an unexpected standout as one of the most decorated films of the year. Any three-hour drama centered around a production of a Chekhov play is going to be a tough sell for the masses, but it has been refreshing to see just how beloved
Drive My Car has become. In an awards season where a lot of nominees seem pretty easy to guess,
Drive My Car stands out as the one true wildcard. It’s certainly one of the least talked about films in contention for Best Picture, but should voters give it a chance, it has potential to make the cut as a real dark horse. It’s a marvel, and director Ryusuke Hamaguchi’s second film to make my list this year.
It's difficult to really describe the plot of
Drive My Car. It’s a movie that exists in distinct chapters, and to discuss the winding developments of the story would threaten to disrupt how meticulously it has been put together. Besides, this is a film more about character than plot—and mostly examines the interpersonal relationships that exist in the life of Yusuke (Hidetoshi Nishijima), an acclaimed actor and director making new work in the aftermath of his wife’s untimely demise. In a year where most of the buzziest films suffer under the weight of their extended runtimes,
Drive My Car actually uses every minute at its disposal. The three hour runtime feels earned as opposed to indulgent, as our perceptions of Yusuke and the people in his life shift gradually but momentously from scene to scene. One of the most pivotal relationships in
Drive My Car is that between Yusuke and his chauffeur Misaki (Toko Miura), but despite this, there’s actually very little driving that happens in
Drive My Car. But, like so much in this movie, the idea of being driven feels like a metaphor. There’s something evocative about being in motion while not causing that motion oneself. For Yusuke, who feels like his stuck watching things shift around him, it’s a significant idea. If you haven’t seen this film yet, it’s worth going for the ride with him and Misaki. And who knows, maybe we’ll both be rooting for this film on Oscar night.
#11 The Killing of Two Lovers
I can’t tell you the number of times I found myself holding my breath during
The Killing of Two Lovers. This underrated indie is one of those films that feels incredibly real. The film tells the story of David (Clayne Crawford), a father trying to put his life back together following a separation from his wife Nikki (Sepideh Moafi). Stories of divorce and child custody disputes are fairly common in the world of film, but rarely are they as painfully rendered as in
The Killing of Two Lovers. With a title like
The Killing of Two Lovers, there is an implied promise of violence which hangs over the film as a whole. It’s a tense and forlorn film, and while it is at times unbearable to watch, it’s impressive just how strong the emotions are that it conjures up. Crawford’s performance is front and center, and it’s a remarkable thing to watch. David is an incredibly angry characters, but he lives his life under the watchful eye of others. There are some wonderful moments where David lets his anger show, but far more powerful is the majority of the movie where he must contain his feelings. Crawford lets his deeper resentment come through most strongly at his quietest, and it’s often painful to watch. In truth, deceptively little happens over the course of
The Killing of Two Lovers, but to give any plotline away would take away from the journey of the film. It’s not always easy to watch a film that strips itself raw for you, but
The Killing of Two Lovers is a rewarding trip to take, that succeeds because of how courageous it is in its own discomfort.
All of these films are excellent, so which films could possibly have cracked my top ten? Check them out in
part 2!
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