The Best Films of 2021: Part 2

In Part 1 of my annual “Best Of” countdown, I already went through 20 of the amazing movies that 2021 had to offer. Now, here are my absolute favorites.

 

#10 Together Together

In many ways, Together Together is a standard-issue rom-com. The films follows a new relationship between Matt and Anna (Ed Helms and Patti Harrison) and explores the ways in which that relationship develops. They learn about each other, they support each other, they argue, and they make big decisions about their future together. But there’s one big thing that sets Together Together apart from other rom-coms: Matt and Anna are not in a romantic relationship. Matt is a single man eager to become a father, and Anna is the surrogate carrying his baby to term. It’s an interesting angle to pursue, and the lack of romance doesn’t take away from the seriousness of the relationship or the platonic intimacy between the two. In fact, it allows Nikole Beckwith’s excellent screenplay to dig even deeper into the dynamics of their relationship without the distraction of attraction. The relationship at the center of Together Together is one that I’ve never seen represented on film before—it's a friendship, but it’s also a lot more. As Anna’s boss Jules (a truly hilarious Julio Torres) says, “I know you’re not fucking, but that doesn’t mean that you don’t have a thing. It’s something. And it’s finite. Just because you’re not ‘together together’ doesn’t mean you haven’t created a bond.” These types of relationships exist out in the world, and it’s wonderful seeing one displayed in all of its complexity without succumbing to pressure to make it “more” than what it is. Of course, any rom-com (or non-rom-com, I guess) survives on the strength of the couple at its center. Helms and Harrison have a wonderful presence on screen together, and maintain a lovely rapport throughout the film. Helms’ natural affability is on full display here. I feel like his filmography never really took off the way it once seemed destined to, but this performance proves he has the chops to be a reliable headliner. But it’s Harrison who truly commands the film. Her arc as Anna is the heftier one, and the more complex one, but Harrison makes it look easy. Her on-screen presence is cool and enigmatic, and hints at a larger life and emotional range beyond just what’s shown in the scenes we’re privy to. It’s an immensely confident performance, and her internal arc is what truly makes Together Together so wonderful.

 

#9 Limbo

A comedy about the treatment of refugees might be difficult to imagine, but Ben Sharrock’s incredible debut sold me on the concept within the first five minutes. This is a film with a strong sense of identity wins you over easily with its quirky charm, and then gets under your skin with its emotional message. Limbo tells the story of Omar (Amir El-Masry), a Syrian musician living with other refugees on a remote Scottish island while they await the results of their claims for asylum. As the title suggests, Limbo is a story about the painfulness of waiting, especially for a decision that is so completely out of your hands. In one of the film’s most distinctive conventions, Omar and his fellow refugees take a series of classes taught by Helga and Boris (Sidse Babett Knudsen and Kenneth Collard) supposedly meant to teach them about life in their new country. These classes are, of course, utterly bizarre, and blatantly unhelpful. Instead, Omar’s real lessons rise from his own observations from his surroundings. El-Masry is wonderful to watch—Omar is a quiet character, but you can see how active he is despite his passivity. For a movie that frequently relies on long stretches of silence, it always feels like something is going on thanks to his intriguing central performance. And Omar isn’t the only intriguing character. The other refugees he lives with (Kwabena Ansah, Ola Orebiyi, and Vikash Bhai) also give wonderful performances, especially Bhai, whose character of Farhad is one of the most memorable of the year. He’s quirky and tragic, and compliments Omar’s stoicism nicely. As funny as Limbo is (and it really is frequently laugh-out-loud funny) it ultimately succeeds because of the strength of its story and its message. While it nicely highlights the absurdity of the situation these refugees are in, eventually the bleak reality of their situation takes over and Sharrock knows exactly how to navigate a drastic tone shift while still making the film feel cohesive in tone. It all leads to a climax that is fairly predictable, but still wonderful to behold, and rather poetic in its execution. Limbo isn’t blind to the harsh reality of the situation it’s depicting, but still strives for hopefulness without feeling dismissive. There’s another notable film this year that considers itself a comedy about a “big issue” (hint: it’s inexplicably going to be a Best Picture nominee despite a 55% Rotten Tomatoes score) but if you compare that film and Limbo, I think it should be clear just how much stronger (and funnier!) Limbo is. We need more films like this. Perhaps Sharrock’s next effort will garner more attention.

 

#8 I’m Your Man

Perhaps it’s due to how rapidly technology has become a part of our lives, and perhaps it’s because of the success of Black Mirror, but technology-based sci-fi is having a moment of late. The German film I’m Your Man (which made the shortlist for the International Film Oscar) is one of the most intelligent entries into this genre. And while its ultimate message is one that’s been conveyed on film many times before, it’s rarely presented this eloquently. The film follows Dr. Alma Felser (Maren Eggert), an archaeologist who reluctantly agrees to act as a tester for a new product: a robot designed to simulate romantic companionship (and no, not just a sex robot, but an actual partner). She’s assigned the robot Tom (Dan Stevens), whose seeming perfection is immediately irritating to the love-averse Alma. She’s clearly uncomfortable with the very idea of this new invention, and much of the early part of the film plays out like a standard rom-com, observing the growing pains of a new couple (where one of them happens to be a robot). But as the film progresses, it becomes clear that writer/director Maria Schrader has a lot to say about life and love, and what genuine human connection actually means. It’s an unpretentious portrayal of love: both in showing the messiness that comes with sharing your life with another person, and in showing the joy and security that this sort of connection can bring. The greatest surprise is how hopeful the film actually is. The second greatest surprise is the performance of Stevens. Stevens has been in a lot of projects over the last few years, and I’ve often felt like he’s not given a lot to work with. His performance in I’m Your Man is easily his best and most interesting work to date. What’s fascinating is that, as a robot, Tom’s directive is to become more human. Stevens has to chart this progress from scene to scene, starting off stilted and gradually becoming more lifelike scene by scene. When his character experiences hurt, we SEE that difference in the rest of the film. The film’s thesis rests on this change, and Stevens rises to the challenge with ease. The film only works if the audience falls in love with Tom in line with Alma, and thanks to Stevens’ stellar performance, that’s exactly what happens.

 

#7 Nine Days

There have been many cinematic depictions of the afterlife, examining the question of what does it look like once we’re no longer on earth. But there are far fewer depictions of a “beforelife.” It’s a bit of a surprise when you stop to think of it. The afterlife might feel like more of a profound unknown, but when it comes to a question of souls and “the meaning of it all,” surely the place where we are before coming to Earth is as good of a setting to examine these ideas as wherever we go afterwards. That’s the backdrop for Nine Days, a new film from Edson Oda which starts with one of the most intriguing premises of the year, and only gets better from there. The film follows Will (Winston Duke), some sort of supernatural arbiter whose job is to interview potential souls and choose who gets the opportunity to live a life on Earth. After one of Will’s previous selections, Amanda, kills herself unexpectedly, Will meets a group of new candidates and must choose who will fill that vacancy at the end of a nine-day process. The stakes are unbelievably high from the outset—both for the candidates (if one thought death was the ultimate high stakes, never existing is even higher) and for Will himself, who feels an additional burden to choose correctly after feeling like he is responsible for Amanda’s suffering. These characters are wonderful—even the candidates who we don’t get to spend as much time with make a wonderful impression and are a colorful lineup of distinct personalities. And Will himself is a fascinating character at the film’s center—an awkward and lovable being who is wholeheartedly human even as he struggles to figure out what exactly that might mean. As Nine Days goes on its philosophical journey, there are multiple beautiful moments. But one of my favorite conceits of Nine Days is the gift that Will gives to each candidate who doesn’t make it to Earth. After he turns down the candidates, he offers them the chance to experience one life event of their choosing, which he attempts to recreate in his studio. Simple moments like going to a beach or riding a bike become major productions, and take on a newfound beauty in the eyes of these characters. Nine Days made me think, and made me cry. It’s one of the most original films of the year, and I’m so sad that it passed by unnoticed this year. Do yourself a favor and experience Nine Days. If this is what Oda has accomplished in his feature debut, I can only imagine what wonders he will bring to the screen next.

 

#6 C’mon C’mon

I don’t understand the industry’s continued apathy towards Mike Mills. His films have always picked up their fair share of accolades, in particular for the performances, but I don’t think any of his movies have ever received the attention they deserved. For me, he’s one of the most essential American filmmakers working today, and his films are some of the most sensitive and intelligent movies about family ever made. C’mon C’mon is his latest classic, and I’m frustrated that it has faded quite a bit from the awards season conversation. C’mon C’mon follows Johnny (Joaquin Phoenix), a radio journalist in the middle of a large interview project. When his sister Viv (Gaby Hoffmann) has to spend time caring for her estranged bipolar husband (Scoot McNairy), Johnny agrees to look after their nine-year-old son Jesse (Woody Norman). Mills has a real talent for bringing a great deal of complexity to what seems like a straightforward story, and he’s showcased that talent again here. While the story follows a basic arc that we’ve seen many times before (kid and unlikely guardian butt heads, then reconcile, and form a lasting and significant relationship), the way that story unfolds feels both genuine and surprising, and Mills brings real stakes to a story that should have been a lot more predictable. What’s wonderful about C’mon C’mon is that it feels wise without feeling pretentious. The characters’ struggles are just presented so honestly that you can’t help but love them and root for them. The cast is wonderful. Norman is a revelation, and Hoffmann is a fantastic presence throughout the films. Even much smaller roles, like McNairy’s, leave an impression. And while they’re not exactly acting, the kids who are interviewed by Johnny for his radio project are joyous. But of course, the star here is Phoenix. Phoenix is an incredible actor, but his performances sometimes lose me when he’s not reigned in (I much prefer his work in Her to Joker, for example). But he’s really marvelous here. There’s a vulnerability to his performance that is unmatched by any other this year. You don’t feel like he’s acting, you just feel like you’re observing him. It’s not my pick for the best Joaquin Phoenix performance (that honor will probably always belong to You Were Never Really Here) but C’mon C’mon is a close second. As artists, both Phoenix and Mills place a lot of trust in their audience. Their work here is understated, but incredibly strong and surprisingly joyous.

 

#5 I Blame Society

During the two previous awards seasons, there have been two films featuring “edgy” characters which I’ve gone on record as not being a big fan of: Joker and Promising Young Woman. I don’t want to rehash my specific criticisms of each film (which I’ve laid out in previous Oscars analysis on this blog), but on the whole I ultimately felt like both films failed to achieve the goal they’d set for themselves. Neither of these main characters felt particularly dangerous to me, in a way that the film’s success seemed to hinge on, and so their behavior felt non-sensical (and a bit silly and contrived) as opposed to chaotic or suspenseful to me. And if fans of those films don’t understand what I’m possibly talking about, I will now always direct them to I Blame Society, one of the most underrated movies of the year. It’s a low-budget marvel of character and chaos. Director and co-writer Gillian Wallace Horvat stars as a (hopefully mostly) fictionalized version of herself: a struggling filmmaker who, while working on her latest project, devolves into a serial killer. Now THIS is a character who actually feels dangerous. Even before she kills anyone, it becomes clear that she’s capable of tremendous violence. But as erratic as her behavior is, the films avoids feeling like it has abandoned the rules it has set out. As chaotic as her behavior is, Gillian clearly lives by her own warped sense of morals and logic, and those remain consistent throughout the film. At one point, her concerned boyfriend cautiously reminds her that, “There’s no movie that is worth hurting someone for,” to which she replies, “I don’t agree. If it’s a very bad person for a very good movie.” It’s a reprehensible thing to say, of course, but I Blame Society never tips its hat to how ludicrous it knows it is. Sometimes, the film even pulls off a wonderfully uncomfortable trick when you find yourself agreeing with Gillian despite her terrible actions. When Gillian eavesdrops on the most obnoxious person on the planet, and then smilingly says to the camera, “He has to die,” it’s impossible to not at least understand the sentiment. Perhaps what sets it apart from films like the ones I mentioned above is that it’s actively unconcerned with whether you find the protagonist likeable or not. Instead, it simply invites you to come along for the ride and lets Gillian’s journey speak to you however you see fit. In doing so, it manages to be a lot more insightful and interesting. I should also mention that this script is unbelievably funny. Those who can’t watch cringe comedy should maybe stay away, but it’s been a long time since I’ve laughed so much at a movie. Oftentimes, I’d find myself laughing and gasping in horror in the same scene—sometimes during the same line. It’s comedy by way of dread. Wallace Horvat and her co-write Chase Williamson (who also plays a character in the film) have a distinct comic voice that is wonderfully defined and confident, and genuinely pushes boundaries without being offensive. And the humor in the film isn’t extraneous—the comedy is an inherent part of the storytelling, and the use of comedy reveals a lot about the characters (and a lot about the audience watching). I Blame Society looks like it was made with practically no budget, but its strong sense of perspective marks Gillian Wallace Horvat as a tremendous talent and I cannot wait to see what she does next. I Blame Society may not have gotten any attention during its initial run, but hopefully it can be recognized as a cult classic. Honestly, it would be fitting.

 

#4 The Father

Before I saw The Father, I thought I knew exactly what kind of movie it would be. I thought it would be your run-of-the-mill Alzheimer’s family drama, with some good work by some good actors, but ultimately a really depressing movie that I’ve seen many times before. But within the first few minutes of the film, I was shocked to find out that not only was this movie not what I was expecting, but I was immediately hooked. There has never been a film about Alzheimer’s like this one. What sets The Father apart from other stories about this subject is that it tells its story from the perspective of the person who has Alzheimer’s. Instead of just trying to make its audience feel sad, it makes us feel disoriented. I don’t know if I’d say that The Father is a horror movie outright, but it uses horror tropes to tell its story in a way that it is visceral and spellbinding. Time shifts, the set shifts, and characters change names and faces in front of our eyes. It’s brilliant, and allows us as an audience to feel the same paranoia and confusion that the main character feels. We don’t feel sorry for the character, we have a chance to genuinely empathize with them. But what makes The Father so masterful is that it pulls this off while still maintaining clarity. Even though we see things from our main character’s unreliable perspective, The Father plays out like a mystery. We get to piece together a true narrative from the fragments we’re presented with. This film is far more like Memento than Still Alice. And, of course, one can’t talk about The Father without talking about the excellent performances. Unfortunately, The Father is probably going to be best remembered for the Best Actor in a Leading Role debacle at The Oscars. For those who somehow missed it, The Oscars made a baffling decision last year to award Best Picture over the final two acting awards, making Best Actor in a Leading Role the final category of the night. It was seemingly done in anticipation of Chadwick Boseman winning—as that win for the tragically departed actor would have been a climactic end of the evening. Instead, the award of course went to Anthony Hopkins for The Father, who wasn’t even present to accept the award. So everyone was disappointed about Boseman, and then Joaquin Phoenix just sort of calmly accepted the award on Hopkins’ behalf, and then everyone suddenly went home. It was unbelievably awkward, and unfairly set up Hopkins’ win as being at Boseman’s expense. But if you put that snafu aside, I do think Hopkins earned that award with this performance. Hopkins’ filmography is formidable, but this just might be career-best work from him. It's subtle, while still being emotionally raw. It’s rare for an actor as recognizable as Hopkins to truly disappear into a role, but that’s what he does here, and the film would not have worked as well if not for his work. And the rest of the small cast is also excellent. The ensemble of Olivia Colman, Mark Gatiss, Imogen Poots, Rufus Sewell, and Olivia Williams match Hopkins in every scene. Everything about The Father is a masterclass in innovative storytelling. If the film didn’t seem of interest to you initially, I urge you to take a chance on it. I guarantee it will surprise you.

 

#3 Judas and the Black Messiah

While it obviously did quite well, I still don’t understand how Judas and the Black Messiah didn’t completely dominate the awards season last year. This is the rare example of a film that feels like Oscar bait which still maintains a high degree of artistry. Absolutely everything about this film works, and even though it was released in February of 2021, I never had any doubts it would be firmly towards the top of my year-end list upon my first viewing. It’s bold, energetic, and genuinely thrilling, and is the rare period piece to still feel contemporary and relevant. And while the film’s two stars are the ones who received the brunt of the accolades during last year’s awards season, director and co-writer Shaka King is a major talent who I hope will gain deserved recognition in the future. Judas and the Black Messiah tells the story of Bill O’Neal (LaKeith Stanfield), an FBI Informant who infiltrated the Black Panther Party, and whose betrayal ultimately led to the assassination of activist Fred Hampton (Daniel Kaluuya). It’s a vital story, and one that goes well-beyond the history taught in schools. Kaluuya won the Oscar for this role and undoubtedly deserved it. His performance as Hampton is captivating and heroic—he doesn’t just indicate Hampton’s heroism, he embodies it. It’s a portrayal that goes beyond mere imitation, so that you understand not Hampton for who he was AND who others perceived him as. But the film’s masterful feat is that it also provides complexity to O’Neal. Stanfield is one of the best actors working today, and he had an incredibly difficult challenge as O’Neal. It would be easy to dismiss O’Neal as cowardly or traitorous, but this film has no interest in that narrative. Rather, it acknowledges that O’Neal was similarly a victim of a much larger conspiracy at play. Hampton may have been the FBI’s target, but O’Neal was similarly a casualty, and the film shows a great amount of empathy for both. Despite his involvement in Hampton’s death, O’Neal is still a person that Hampton was fighting for—and the film understands that fight implicitly. It’s a cautionary tale that also serves as a sobering call to action.

 

#2 There Is No Evil

Some of the most powerful art comes from places where art is most censored. Artists either have to figure out a way to hide a message in their work that won’t be understood by the government, or they throw caution to the wind and brazenly make a statement in the face of potential consequences. are few places where art—and film in particular—is more censored, and the result is a wave of work that is bold, creative, and immensely political and thoughtful. Some of Iran’s finest directors have been charged with filmmaking bans, and must make their work in secret. It’s essential work that demands to be seen, and Mohammad Rasoulof’s There Is No Evil is the latest film to solidify Iranian cinema as some of the most incredible in the world right now. Banned from being shown in Iran, this anthology film features four separate stories that focus on the death penalty in Iran—specifically four men who are either currently or were previously enlisted as executioners. If that sounds dark then, yeah you’re right it definitely is, but Rasoulof isn’t interested in being exploitative or heavy-handed. He doesn’t get bogged down with political intricacies, and rather presents his four chapters as moral parables, focusing on the characters’ stories as opposed to hitting you on the head with what he’s trying to say. Anthology films can often suffer from a lack of cohesion, but these four pieces work together perfectly. Each works and feels complete on its own, and Rasoulof establishes a different tone and aesthetic for all four films. But they benefit from being presented with the other offerings, as certain themes resonate and shift as you view the films in succession. All four are strong, but I was particularly taken with the first and last films. The first, also titled “There Is No Evil,” follows Heshmat (Ehsan Mirhosseini), a seemingly ordinary man simply going about his day with his family. It is a masterclass in restraint, seemingly mundane up until a true gutpunch of an ending—it quietly sets the tone for the rest of the film, and is a film that holds up under repeat viewings. The fourth and last entry, “Kiss Me,” is the most epic and far-reaching of the four installments; the four films crescendo nicely in terms of scope and intensity. It follows a couple (Mohammad Seddighimehr and Jilla Shahi) who are visited by their niece Darya (Baran Rasoulof, the director’s daughter) at their secluded home where they keep bees. The first three films deal with a series of characters forced to make choices, but “Kiss Me” is the one that most deals with the aftershocks of making such a choice, and the effects that such a dilemma might have on someone’s sense of morality. There Is No Evil gives its audience a glimpse into the difficulties of life under this government’s control, while making grander points about humanity which will resonate no matter where you are watching from. If you are interested in exploring Iranian cinema, it’s hard to imagine a better example of what makes it so distinct and powerful.

 

#1 This Is Not a Burial, It’s a Resurrection

It is quite difficult for African films to find international recognition. But there is a vibrant film culture in Africa, and I’m glad whenever a film from that continent breaks through and gains wider distribution. The country of Lesotho in particular is not widely known for its films. I couldn’t find out for sure if This Is Not a Burial, It’s a Resurrection is the first film the country of Lesotho to ever get a release in the United States, but it is definitely the first has ever submitted to the International Film category at the Oscars, and is certainly the first film from Lesotho I’ve ever heard of. That alone made it a film I wanted to seek out, and I’m so glad I did. There were many excellent films released this year. This Is Not a Burial, It’s a Resurrection is the only I one I can refer to as a masterpiece. The film follows Mantoa (The late, great South African actress Mary Twala), a widow mourning the recent loss of her son, who leads her whole town to rise up against a proposal for a dam that would flood the local cemetery. The story is clear, substantive, and familiar—many reviewers spoke to how it plays out like a modern-day fable. But the story primarily serves as a backdrop for writer/director Lemohang Jeremiah Mosese to bring to the screen interpretations and visualizations of themes like grief, pride, and resistance. It’s nothing short of cinematic poetry. This is a movie that you feel rather than watch, and it was utterly breathtaking to experience. Mosese is a profound talent, who understands film as an artform innately. His work here is profound and beautiful and haunting in ways that most directors can only hope to aspire to. His cast is also excellent, with a standout being Jerry Mofokeng Wa as the film’s narrator, credited only as The Lesiba Player. This man’s voice is intoxicating, and this film features as great a use of voiceover narration as I’ve ever seen. But the clear standout of the film is Twala. Twala sadly passed away in 2020, after a long and prolific career in South African cinema (she’s probably best known to American audiences for being featured in Beyoncé’s film Black is King). Her work here is nothing short of astonishing, and for me there simply wasn’t a better or more captivating performance this year. It is a tour de force performance at the center of a truly breathtaking film.

 

 

Those are my picks for my favorite films of the year! Did your favorite make the cut? Let me know, and keep watching great films! And you can see my countdown of the 100 best performances of the year here!