The Best Films of 2022: Part 2

And so continues my discussion of my favorite films of 2022! These are my esteemed Top 10. For #30-11, check out part 1 here!

#10 Skinamarink

The last film that I added to this list is Skinamarink—released just a few days ago, I considered saving it for 2023’s list, but given that it had already received considerable amount of buzz at the end of 2022, it felt worthy of inclusion now (and, let’s face it, the later Oscar date has truly fucked up the film release schedule beyond repair). Made with a budget of just $15,000, Skinamarink is a major success story in the world of independent film, and it’s been heartening to see an experimental film like this gain such widespread audience acclaim. In Skinamarink, two young children awaken to discover that their father has disappeared, along with all the windows and doors in the house. There is a plot to Skinamarink, but more than WHAT happens, what’s fascinating is HOW it happens. We almost never see the characters in Skinamarink on screen, and when we do it’s just in fragments—the back of a head, or the bottom of their legs. Most shots are of inanimate objects, and the camera is either still or panning very slowly. You’d think this would mean that most of the storytelling occurs through dialogue, but actually there’s very little dialogue in the movie, and much of it is garbled. The storytelling is communicated chiefly through ambience. Writer/director Kyle Edward Ball is clearly a champion of the idea that the scariest thing is the unknown. He gives us almost no information, and the beauty of this is that the information you DO get ends up carrying great weight. Ball gives us just enough to go on that a story and an inner mythology start to materialize. The rare moments that do advance the plot feel particularly significant, and are typically quite terrifying. In a great year for horror films, Skinamarink stands out as a film with a potential to truly be seen as one of the greats a few years down the line. It’s a surrealist nightmare—and a tale that demands to be experienced rather than simply watched.

 

#9 Argentina, 1985

 

The legal drama has been a tried-and-true film genre for decades. A courtroom is an inherently dramatic and evocative setting, and one that offers a clear opportunity for narrative structure. Argentina, 1985 is the in a long line of excellent courtroom genres in the cinematic canon, and while it doesn’t exactly redefine the genre, it’s a near perfect version of it. Argentina, 1985 tells the true story of what is known as the Trial of the Juntas—the first time in history that war crimes were tried in a civilian court. One of the things that director Santiago Mitre does really well here is make a complicated case feel very accessible. I knew almost nothing about this historic case before the film, yet never felt lost or bogged down by information. Mitre explains with perfect clarity not just what is happening in the film, but why it matters. The balance between facts and dramatic stakes is the secret to why this film is so effective—it tells the facts without getting mired down by them. And it never loses sight of the fact that it’s a story, so it’s entertaining as well as educational. The great Argentine actor Ricardo Darín leads a strong ensemble as prosecutor Julio César Strassera. It’s a role that’s pretty standard for this genre—the justice-minded Atticus Finch archetype, but Darín’s performance allows him to stand out as one of the best examples. His belief in right and wrong comes across not just as fuel for someone on a soapbox, but as a genuine necessity of life. He’s not just a lawyer, he faces genuine consequences for the outcome of this case, and his determination and strong moral compass make him one of the best on-screen heroes of 2022. Argentina, 1985 is expected to earn an Oscar nomination for Best International Film, but isn’t currently expected to win. But it’s such a crowd-pleaser that I could see it pulling a major upset, as it recently did at the Golden Globes. For fans of the courtroom drama, Argentina, 1985 is a must-see. For those who are not already fans of the genre, Argentina, 1985 is exceptional enough to make them a convert.

 

#8 The House

 

2022 was a phenomenal year for animation. Right at the start of the COVID-19 pandemic, producers started investing in animation, as it was easier to make than live-action projects, and I think we’ve started to see the result of that investment this year. The animated films from major studios seemed to just be of a more consistently high quality in 2022, and the world of independent animated film had one of its strongest years in a long time. But out of all of the great animated films from this year, my favorite was by far The House, an anthology film that was sadly buried by Netflix (who didn’t even submit it for the Oscars, and barely campaigned for it for the Emmys). Written by celebrated author Enda Walsh, The House tells three separate stories—each one taking place at a different time and in seemingly a different dimension—but all three are set inside of what appears to be the same house, and all three are weird and wonderful. The three segments are made by different animators from around Europe; collaborators Emma de Swaef and Marc James Roels from Belgium, Niki Lindroth von Bahr from Switzerland, and Paloma Baeza from Britain. While not exactly household names, these four are heavy-hitters in the world of indie animation—they have distinct styles and eccentric sensibilities. While each of these animators are very different, they’re clearly cut from the same cloth, and it’s the collaboration between these distinct sections that makes The House work so well. All three of the segments would be great as their own short films, but they work even better as parts of an intriguing whole. When viewed as a singular piece, themes become motifs, and something that was once interesting suddenly becomes poignant.

 

 

Lindroth von Bahr is known for her strange short films featuring anthropomorphized animals, and she continues that trend here. Her segment tells the story of a real estate developer (who happens to be a rat) whose dreams of selling the titular house for profit hits a snag when he discovers it is infested by insects. As the infestation gets worse, the developer’s life begins to crumble around him. It’s unnerving—to the point that a musical number performed by hundreds of beetles and larvae is the LEAST disturbing thing to happen during the segment. And an unsettling pair of potential buyers who take up residence in the house might be two of the most skin-crawling creations to be on screen this entire year. Baeza’s segment also uses animals as characters—this time, they’re cats—and focuses on a landlady desperately trying to renovate the house, despite it being abandoned due to an apocalyptic flood. Desperate and dramatic, of the three segments, it’s the one least firmly rooted in the horror genre, yet there’s an undeniable anxiety running through the segment that’s nonetheless captivating to watch. I like both of these segments, a lot, but my favorite was undeniably the first segment, courtesy of de Swaef and Roels. I’ve been a fan of this duo for a few years now, first learning about them from their excellent film This Magnificent Cake! and their segment is an absolute masterpiece. The only part of The House to feature human characters, it tells the story of Mabel (voiced by 2022 horror standout Mia Goth), a young girl whose family moves into a newly decorated mansion designed by the mysterious architect Mr. Van Schoonbeek. To Mabel’s shock, her family seems oblivious to the strange goings-on in the house upon their arrival. To say more would be a disservice to this simple, but undeniably effective film, which has become one of my favorite haunted house stories I’ve ever seen. The animation uses the soft felt puppets that de Swaef and Roels are known for, and the pleasing style creates an interesting juxtaposition with the terrifying events that unfold. It’s creepy, but it’s also cozy, in the way you want from a ghost story told around a campfire. And ultimately, that’s what The House is. It’s a series of stories—exceptionally and memorably told. And it does so while showcasing what the world of animation has to offer beyond the world of Disney and Pixar.

 

#7 Women Talking

 The first round of awards buzz typically happens during film festivals, as critical response gives an indication of which films have the early clout to be in Oscars contention. Of course, every year, there are a few early frontrunners that lose momentum and seem to fall out of the conversation by the time the Oscars actually comes around. Unfortunately, that appears to be the fate of Women Talking, which seemed like a Best Picture lock a couple of months ago but its awards potential has all but failed to materialize. This is a shame, because not only is it a strong film, it’s an essential one. Inspired by real-life events, and based off of the novel by Miriam Toews, Women Talking takes place in an isolated Mennonite community. The women and girls of the community have, for years, been drugged and raped at night, and then gaslit about the incident in the morning. When the truth comes to light, all of the women meet in secret to debate what they should do; do nothing, stay and fight, or leave. On the one hand, I can understand how the film might be too wordy to be accessible to a larger audience, but I also don’t understand how anyone could not be invested in the subsequent debate, or engrossed in the high stakes hinging on its outcome, where these women’s lives hang in the balance. It’s heavy material, but it’s thrilling and genuinely cinematic. Writer/director Sarah Polley is firing on all cylinders here, and not a single moment feels out of place. I was particularly taken by the sense of space within Women Talking. Much of the film takes place in one room, but that room proves remarkably versatile. When needed, it can feel claustrophobic, and a reminder of how trapped these women feel. But at times it can feel expansive—this room is also a place for these women to speak freely, and it serves as an opportunity for genuine escape. It’s a small film, but the attention paid to little details means that it’s able to communicate the big ideas at its core.

 

You also cannot discuss Women Talking without talking about the amazing ensemble cast. Any film like this will live or die by its cast, and every single person pulls their weight. This is a dream script for any actor—every single character is given moments to shine, and each one feels fully realized and full of depth. No character is defined by a single emotion; there isn’t “the angry one,” or “the sad one,” or “the logical one” or anything like that. Instead, each performer finds nuance, and allows their role to live between the emotional lines. And not every emotion has to be negative—within Women Talking there are moments of levity and joy and humor, despite the decidedly heavy material. This sincere understanding of humanity is partly why Women Talking never feels like a lecture. It’s a satisfying story and one of the most important films of 2022, whether it does well on Oscar night or not.

 

#6 Hit the Road

 

The family road trip film is a tried-and-true genre. A road trip is a literal journey, providing a clear sense of time for a film. The claustrophobia of a family trapped in one vehicle is a great catalyst for drama, and the fact that the characters are on the move gives a filmmaker an opportunity to play with new and interesting locations. It’s not a genre that frequently lends itself to experimentation, which makes it particularly remarkable to watch Panah Panahi completely turn the genre on its head with his debut film, Hit the Road. In this film, a family of four drives across the Iranian countryside. There’s the level-headed mother (Pantea Panahiha), cantankerous father (Hassan Madjooni), jaded adult son Farid (Amin Simiar), and his boisterous 6-year-old younger brother (Rayan Sarlak). The film proceeds like a typical family drama. The dad is funny and clearly grumpy about the length of the trip, the kid is adorable, they all sing and dance and banter and just generally feel like a real family. But it’s clear that Farid’s head is in another place—the only hint to the serious matters that the film will be addressing over the course of its journey. No one should be surprised by the political undercurrent that appears in Hit the Road. Panah Panahi’s father, Jafar Panahi, is one of the great figures in Iranian cinema, and has long faced persecution from the government for the content of his films—he’s been imposed with a 20-year filmmaking ban, and is currently in prison in Tehran. I’ll actually talk quite a bit more about Jafar Panahi later on in this list (spoiler alert, I guess), but needless to say, there is more to this road trip than meets the eye. Panah Panahi is a less experimental filmmaker than his father, but still showcases an assured and distinct vision behind the camera, one that is just as bold and politically-minded as his father’s.

 

The beauty of Hit the Road lies in the mundane. Even as we learn more about the context of this road trip, the characters rarely betray just how extreme the situation is. There’s a casual acceptance of it all, which betrays itself primarily in a bitterness behind the eyes of the two parents. The whole cast is strong, but Panahiha and Madjooni are truly exceptional. Madjooni is obviously a source of comic relief, but his goofiness can turn on a dime. It ends up being a wonderfully tragicomic performance, one chock full of weary anger. Panahiha is maybe the soul of the film. Her performance as the mother displays a great deal of strength, as the family member the others look towards to keep it all from falling apart. There’s a great deal of restraint to Panahiha’s performance (there’s a notable line where she says to herself, “I think I’m losing it” as calmly as if she were saying "I need to buy bread") which makes the moments where the cracks begin to show really pop. It’s an emotionally rich performance that is undeniably affecting. Running in parallel with these performances, Panah Panahi occasionally breaks from the grounded slice-of-life nature of most of the film and enters the world of surrealism—to great effect. In these moments where the film breaks from the narrative forms we’ve come to expect, Panahi is teasing us, inviting us to escape from the harsh realities of the world he’s depicting…which makes Hit the Road all the more compelling when he brings us back down to earth. Hit the Road is a journey worth taking, and a promising start for a filmmaker already stepping out of his father’s considerable shadow.

 

#5 Beyond the Infinite Two Minutes

There is no movie I’ve recommended to other people this year more than Beyond the Infinite Two Minutes. I was first intrigued by it when I heard it compared to another Japanese film One Cut of the Dead, one of my favorite films of the last few years. Both films have a simple premise, but follow that premise to the fullest, with excellent results. In Beyond the Infinite Two Minutes, a man discovers that, through his computer, he can have a chat with himself two minutes into the future. The film then progresses in seemingly one take, with us seeing those two minutes again...while simultaneously seeing what the NEXT two minutes will be. It’s somewhat difficult to explain without seeing it, but director Junta Yamaguchi and writer Makoto Ueda make it very clear and easy to understand on the screen. Within, well, two minutes, I was already hooked and excited to see how it would progress. The film never brings up questions like how or why this is happening, and by not getting bogged down by those reasons, it allows us to explore the concept of the narrative to its fullest. As the film goes on, the mechanics of time become increasingly complex, and the glimpses into the future paint an increasingly dire picture of what will happen. It can become very slapstick—a time travel version of characters running through a series of corridor doors—but it somehow creates genuine suspense and intrigue. The screenplay is an unbelievably elaborate puzzle box, as it literally has to answer one question but raise another every two minutes. It’s fast-paced and brilliant—and I can guarantee will surprise anyone who watches it. Ultimately, the thing that makes Beyond the Infinite Two Minutes succeed is that it’s wonderfully unpretentious. In an era where sci-fi can at times be incredibly self-serious, and there’s an expectation of exploring grand themes at every point (sometimes to great success, sometimes not) I found Beyond the Infinite Two Minutes to be incredibly refreshing. It takes the idea at its core incredibly seriously, but doesn’t take itself too seriously. It’s whimsical and unassuming, and one of the most original movies of the year.

 

#4 The Eternal Daughter

One of my favorite conceits in storytelling is when a ghost story is told outside of the genre of horror. Ghosts and hauntings and the burdens of the past are all such intriguing ideas that it’s a shame they’re typically relegated to just one genre. The Eternal Daughter makes a strong case for more films like itself. It’s a gothic drama, and an eerie reflection on memory, loneliness, and inspiration. Tilda Swinton plays Julie Hart, a filmmaker who travels with her mother Rosalind (also played by Tilda Swinton) to a remote hotel that happened to be Rosalind’s former home. It’s a chance for the two to grow closer, and Julie hopes that the trip will allow her to write a screenplay based on her mother’s life. Suffice it to say, it doesn’t take long into their trip before some weird stuff starts happening. If ghosts are tied to unresolved business, then it’s clear this house is cursed with an aura of dissatisfaction. There’s a lot of cliché things going bump in the night—the sound of a woman crying even though she isn’t there, too loud winds and creaking hallways, a not insignificant amount of fog—but the cliché nature of it is kind of the point. Filmmaker Joanna Hogg is not trying to reinvent the ghost story, rather she’s using the familiar tropes of the genre as an atmospheric backdrop, allowing the more pressing and real ghosts of the past to come to the forefront. The spookier everything around the mother and daughter gets, the sadder and more brutal Rosalind’s memories about the place become—the unfortunate recollections of the past propelling the story to a darker and darker place.

 

And as much as The Eternal Daughter is a ghost story, it’s also a story about writing and the artistic process. Yet, for a story about writing, very little writing takes place. Despite her best efforts, Julie is increasingly distracted and restless. The more material her mother gives her, the less she seems capable of writing it. Whether overwhelmed by the revelations about her mother’s life, or unnerved by the strange goings-on, Julie seems haunted something of her own which is preventing her from the task she set out to do. Writing and ghost stories have often gone hand in hand. While it doesn’t go in the same violent direction, The Eternal Daughter reminded me of The Shining in how it reconciles personal disquiet and unease with an inability to produce creatively. Like any good ghost story, The Eternal Daughter is all along leading towards a very distinct conclusion—and what a great conclusion it is. It would be a disservice to say more, but this was one of my favorite film endings of 2022. It’s an ending that answers questions just as it raises more. It’s a film that is deceptively simple—so bare bones that it feels like there is nothing to hide, which then begs for a second viewing when its secrets are revealed to have been lurking in the shadows all along.

 

#3 No Bears

 

Every year, there are lots of musings about the state of the industry, typically on the basis of box office performance. Ever since COVID became a global presence nearly three years ago, this sort of analysis has become only more pronounced, as movie theaters as a venue continue to feel the effects of the pandemic in a more pronounced way. Much of this discussion feels reductive to me, and demonstrates a narrow view of what the movie industry actually is. Films like Top Gun: Maverick and Avatar: The Way of Water are spoken of as if they’re essentially indie darlings by virtue of not being in the MCU (despite the fact that both are sequels of popular existing properties). What’s lost in all of this discussion is that film is not just an industry, it is an artform. Every article that bemoans the end of film as we know it ignores the fact that film will endure as long as there are filmmakers. There might need to be a change in the way that films are made and the way they are distributed, but as long as cameras exist, there will be movies. No film this year proves this more than No Bears, and no filmmaker proves this more than its brilliant director Jafar Panahi—my favorite director working today.

 

Panahi is an Iranian director, known for his strong political and cultural commentary. That commentary got him in trouble, and back in 2010 he was arrested on charges of propaganda against the Iranian government, and imposed with a 20-year filmmaking ban. Since then, he has continued to work under miraculous circumstances, creating several films in secret. His first secret film, entitled This Is Not a Film, was famously smuggled out of Iran and to the Cannes Film Festival on a USB drive hidden inside of a cake. No Bears is his fifth feature film since his ban, and like in the four before it, Panahi plays a version of himself. This time, the premise is that Panahi is living in a small village near the border of Iran and Turkey, remotely directing a film where the rest of the cast and crew is on the other side of the border. His presence is a puzzling one in the village. Surely he’d have more comforts (and better wifi signal) at his home in Tehran, so why is he there? Mirroring the real-life allegations against him, the village becomes quickly suspicious of Panahi’s intentions, and how those intentions might conflict with the societal mores of the town. Meanwhile, Panahi’s film-within-a-film runs into complications when the plot—about a couple attempting to cross the border—turns out to have more relevance than expected with the cast. As always, Panahi experiments with the blurred line between reality and fiction in a compelling and powerful way. All of the themes in Panahi’s previous works are present here—his commentary on the Iranian government’s tyrannical censorship is as sharp as ever—but there’s a certain quality to No Bears that makes it feel like his most self-reflective work to date. The mere existence of this film is a bold statement, but he feels more fed up with it all than he ever has before. While none of his films have been particularly joyous, there was a certain cheeky revolutionary spirit to them that manifests itself differently here. A weary sadness fills No Bears with an exasperated urgency that is compelling and powerful. For his part, Panahi gives his best performance yet, feeling like a bona fide actor and not just an intriguing presence. In the tragic final moments of the film, the character of Panahi seems to grapple with the importance of the choices he has made. Is this film important? Will it make a difference? Is it worth it even if things don’t change? The answer to all three of those questions, I believe, is yes. In July, Panahi was arrested alongside other filmmakers, and has remained in prison in Tehran, with little news about when or if a release can be expected. This to me is what film is about. If Panahi is willing to go to jail and risk his life to make No Bears, the industry can deal with “underperformance” at the box office. Panahi is one of the most vital artists and commentators working today. His future may be uncertain, and who knows when or if he will make another film. But if he is able to, he will, and we are all the better for it.

 

#2 Everything Everywhere All at Once

 One of the biggest and earliest surprises of the year in film was the success of Everything Everywhere All at Once. It became a hit with both audiences and critics, despite not being a part of a franchise, and despite coming from two filmmakers whose last movie was a little-seen indie about a farting corpse. It led to many think-pieces on why exactly people seemed to respond to this particular film so much, and what became clear is that there wasn’t a consensus as to what one thing made this film so beloved. Everyone who loves it has their own reason for doing so. Fitting for the title, the story is so richly layered that there are different things to latch onto. It’s about so many themes and explores so many ideas (and does so really well, in fact) that it’s a bit like a cinematic Rorschach Test: the movie serves whatever purpose you need it to in that moment. And it does so while featuring dildoes and hot dog fingers and an ominous bagel, and fanny packs, and a raccoon chef. It’s wacky, it's deep, and it’s an artistic tour de force that deserves every accolade it has received.

 

For anyone who somehow hasn’t seen it, the film follows Evelyn Quan Wang (Michelle Yeoh), a laundromat owner who suddenly discovers that the universe as we know it is under attack and she might be the only person who can save it. To do so, she must tap into other versions of herself from other dimensions—and was specifically chosen because she was the least remarkable version of herself, and therefore the one with the most potential. This is such an intriguing idea, and I love the way the film examines the idea of potential and what can make us special. While the film resonated with audiences of every demographic, it can’t be ignored that at its heart, this is a story about immigrants, and the story of sacrifice that Evelyn had to make is incredibly purposeful. The fact that she gave so much up is what makes her so special, and that’s beautiful. And, as the film makes particularly clear, the life that sacrifice leads to is in no way one to be ashamed of, and is one that in another world, might even be desirable. It’s just one of the beautiful ideas that this film examines and, while I can’t go into all of them (I’m already just barely finishing this list…) it’s one I feel is essential to the film’s success, and you can’t discuss the movie without at least mentioning it.

 

The story is wonderful, but everything about the film backs it up. Despite working at a fraction of the budget of other blockbuster movies this year, Everything Everywhere All at Once is one of the best technical achievements of the year, with the editing in particular being shockingly good. And, of course, there are some amazing performances. Ke Huy Quan and Stephanie Hsu in particular give incredible performances that in any other movie would have been the best performance in the film. But, like any good supporting performance, the achievements of their performances do not overshadow those of Michelle Yeoh’s. This is the performance of the year, and an incredible showcase for an actor of this caliber who has still never quite gotten her due internationally. This movie would be worth seeing just for Yeoh. Luckily, she has a film bold enough to back up her formidable work.

 

#1 The Banshees of Inisherin

 

Years before Martin McDonagh ever became a filmmaker, I saw his play The Pillowman and it changed my life. It made me reassess what comedy, and what storytelling as a whole, could accomplish. I instantly bought all of his plays up until that point, and almost immediately regarded him as one of my favorite writers. So it is not necessarily surprising that I’ve picked The Banshees of Inisherin as the best film of 2022. Not only that, I think it is his best film to date, and feels like the perfect culmination of his nearly 30-year career as a storyteller in the public eye.

 

The Banshees of Inisherin follows Pádraic Súilleabháin (Colin Farrell at his most endearing), a sweet man who is confused by a sudden and seemingly reasonless falling out with his former best friend, musician Colm Doherty (Brendan Gleeson). The rural Irish setting is one that McDonagh has not featured in any of his films before, but it is one that he knows well, as his first five stage plays are also set on remote Irish islands. The Banshees of Inisherin therefore feels a bit like a return home for McDonagh, and it is a welcome one. There was a time when an Irish dialect was basically synonymous with his work. While McDonagh’s distinct writing style can work for anyone, its distinct rhythms lend themselves particularly well to a lilting Irish dialect. While American actors have given great performances using McDonagh’s words, compare them to the Irish actors and you really hear how these words were intended to be said. From a thematic standpoint, it also feels particularly pointed for McDonagh to make an Irish film right now. All of his plays set in Ireland were written before the IRA laid down arms, and the undercurrent of tension surrounding the country is a huge part of their atmosphere. By returning to Ireland after all this time, McDonagh addresses the topic of “The Troubles” more directly than he ever has before, which ironically allows it to feel more universal. It’s a film about the Irish Civil War, yes, but it’s also about humanity in general. His work is always whimsically dark and violent, but The Banshees of Inisherin feels especially insightful, and even poetic at times.

 

But for all of this talk about how profound The Banshees of Inisherin is, it shouldn’t be forgotten that it’s also just a really enjoyable film. McDonagh’s stories are always meticulously crafted, with little breadcrumbs left along the way ultimately leading to a big payoff. It’s entertaining, and also hilarious! As much as it affected me on a deeper level, The Banshees of Inisherin also had me laughing out loud for most of it. It’s my personal favorite film of the year because nothing ever felt out of place. Every aspect of this film is in sync—the performances, the script, the score, the cinematography, even the many farm animals. It’s a new fairy tale, as grim as they come, and a film that feels practically perfect in every way.

 

 

 

There you have it! Those are my favorite films of 2022. It's been a phenomenal year for film, and I can't wait to see what 2023 brings. Be sure to check out my list of my 100 favorite performances of the year, and check this space again in March where I'll once again be doing my annual Oscars predictions! And, remember, keep watching great movies!

The Best Films of 2022: Part 1

The time has come, once again, for my annual roundup of my 30 favorite films of the year. My preamble will be a bit shorter this year (let's get right to the movies!!!). While I do watch an unreasonable number of movies every single year (this year more than ever) I obviously can't see EVERYTHING, and considering the number of under-the-radar titles that always make the cut for me, I'm sure there are some surprises that have completely passed me by. A few standout titles that I know I haven't gotten to are Saint Omer, which has a January release so is sort of on the cuff between a 2022 and 2023 release, and might make my list next year. I also have not been able yet to see some of the most notable documentaries of the year, including standout titles like All the Beauty and the Bloodshed and All That Breathes. Still, since I acknowledge I can't literally see every movie (until someone decides to pay me to do so) I'm very happy to stand by this list as it is. As always, the choices are subjective, and I hope you enjoy my analysis and add some of these films to your personal to-watch lists. Now, let's kick things off with...

#30 Leonor Will Never Die

One of the most consistent presences on these end of year lists is Everything Everywhere All at Once (and it will appear on my list as well), but it wasn’t the only great genre-blending, family-centric, multi-world, action comedy starring a badass older Asian woman to come out this year. Filipino film Leonor Will Never Die is a wonderful movie that feels like it’s The Wizard of Oz by way of Quentin Tarantino and Looney Tunes. The titular Leonor is Leonor Reyes (a wonderful Sheila Francisco), a retired, reclusive filmmaker who lives with one son and is haunted by the ghost of her other son. When she suffers a head injury, she is transported into the world of an unfinished screenplay of hers, forcing both Leonor and her family to confront their feelings on love, loss, and legacy head on. It’s a delightful journey to take, featuring a cast of colorful oddballs, and some surprising creative choices. Wholly original, it's an underrated gem from this year that is worth seeking out.

 

#29 Resurrection

 

There are some horror films which shock you into submission with bold, blatant scares. There are others that ramp the tension up slowly, getting under your skin so that the greatest sense of fear comes days after the movie has already ended. Resurrection, a psychological thriller from director Andrew Semans, is one of the latter types. It follows Margaret (Rebecca Hall), a business woman and single mother to Abbie (Grace Kaufman). Her life is derailed when she sees David (Tim Roth), an ex who she cut out of her life years ago. The reappearance of David prompts nightmares in Margaret, who begins to behave erratically. As more about Margaret and David’s relationship is revealed, Margaret’s actions begin to make more sense, and the fallout of her addressing those actions becomes increasingly treacherous. This is the rare slow-burn film that actually has a payoff worthy of its leadup, due in no small part to the powerhouse performance of Hall and the disquieting one of Roth. In a year of great horror movies, Resurrection is one of the most unforgettable. It’s uncomfortable to watch, but ultimately a satisfying tale of trauma and resilience.

 

#28 Brian and Charles

 

In Jim Archer’s Brian and Charles (expanded from his short film of the same name), Brian Gittins (David Earl), is a failed but determined inventor who quite accidentally builds a working robot named Charles Petrescu (Chris Hayward). Although the most successful of Brian’s inventions, Charles is still rather haphazardly put together—he’s clunky in appearance and childlike in demeanor. To Brian, Charles is at once an achievement to be proud of, a child to be responsible for, and one of the only friends he has. It’s one of the best film duos of 2022. They, like the film they’re in, are quirky and odd and undeniably endearing. Brian and Charles may not be a perfect film—the second half is solid, but doesn’t quite live up to the promise of the first—but it’s so inventive and lovely that it can’t help but be compelling. It has the sort of rough-around-the-edges charm that is utterly delightful, and it’s impossible to not be won over by it.

 

#27 Last Film Show

 One of the most talked-about films of the year was RRR, S.S. Rajamouli’s epic action drama, which became an unlikely international hit and even more unlikely Oscar contender. When India didn’t select it as its entry for the Best International Film category, there was a lot of uproar, with many calling the selection committee out of touch for snubbing the film. In many ways, yeah, it was probably a bad decision, as RRR would have been a surefire lock for a nomination (India has not had a nominated film in this category for over two decades). But having seen their selection, Pan Nalin’s Last Film Show, I personally feel they selected the better film. And it’s a film that could be a contender for that award if Oscar voters give it its due. Last Film Show follows Samay (Bhavin Rabari), a nine-year-old boy who befriends Fazal (Bhavesh Shrimali), a projectionist at a local movie theater. Under Fazal’s tutelage, Samay becomes fascinated with everything about film, and his dreams of becoming a filmmaker coincide with his hopes of escaping his small village for a better life. The story isn’t exactly revolutionary (have you seen Cinema Paradiso? It’s VERY Cinema Paradiso), but it’s still a remarkably affecting story, and Nalin tells it beautifully. In a year where we saw a record number of movies about “The Magic of the Movies,” Last Film Show stands out as one of the most straightforward, but also one of the best.

 

#26 Inu-Oh

 Masaaki Yuasa is one of the strongest voices in animation today—and his lushly animated, passionate, and innovative filmography would be a great one to look into if you want to see what the world of anime films looks like beyond Studio Ghibli. His latest, Inu-Oh, is my favorite of his to date, and if nothing else, it’s without a doubt the best animated glam-rock opera set in 14^th Century Japan that came out this year. It tells the story of Inu-Oh, a deformed, magical being who befriends Tomona, a blind biwa player who can communicate with spirits. Together, they form a musical act and sing the stories of dead Heike warriors. Their anachronistic performance style captivates their audience, earning them popularity while they not only reinvent how stories are told, but redefine which deserve to be heard. It’s an old fable made modern, and the results are thrilling to watch.

 

#25 Confess, Fletch

 More than any other film on this list, it frustrates me that Confess, Fletch didn’t get more attention than it did. The film is an adaptation of Gregory Mcdonald’s novel, one of many featuring the titular character of I.M. Fletch—played this time by Jon Hamm— and in a just world, it would be the start of a whole new series of Fletch films (the series was adapted to film once before starring Chevy Chase). This film is, simply put, a delight. Every single person involved seems to be having an amazing time, and has clearly put a lot of love and care into bringing this story to screen (it’s even reported that Hamm gave up a good chunk of his salary to finish financing the production of the film). Even if you’re not familiar with Fletch, the vibe of the film becomes immediately clear: a bumbling journalist inadvertently finds himself the prime suspect of a murder, and only gets into more trouble when he attempts to solve the crime himself. Hamm’s version of Fletch is less bumbling than Chase’s was, but he turns in his funniest performance yet, and is aided by a delightful supporting cast. He not only disappears into the role, but it becomes hard to imagine Hamm playing any other role as effectively. Confess, Fletch is an unendingly charming film, and the type of crowd-pleaser that I simply can’t imagine someone not enjoying.

 

#24 Decision to Leave

 

It’s been wonderful to see the rise of Park Chan-wook in the filmmaking world. While he has refused to define himself to one filmmaking style, he gained international recognition as somewhat of a genre filmmaker, thanks to his interest in human brutality and tendency towards the odd and suspenseful. But somewhere along the way he has gone from a cult favorite to a bona fide cinephile darling, with his filmmaker cred being cemented when he won Best Director at Cannes this year. Decision to Leave feels like the perfect film for this prolific director to make right now; it features the same intricate storytelling Park is known for, but doesn’t shy away from the twisted streak that has also always defined his work. The film tells the story of insomniac detective Jang Hae-jun (Park Hae-il) who becomes fascinated by Song Seo-rae (Tang Wei), a widow suspected of murdering her husband. No one does fucked up romance like Park, and the romance at the center of the film is just as complex as the mystery itself. Stylish and Hitchcockian, Decision to Leave feels at times like it’s more mundane than some of Park’s more “out-there” works, but there’s great complexity hiding right below the surface. A frontrunner for Best International Film at the Oscars this year, Decision to Leave has more than earned the accolades it has received, and when we look back on the year in film for 2022, it's destined to be one of the most defining and during titles.

 

#23 Wet Sand

 

One of the reasons I enjoy watching obscure films is that I go in without knowing what to expect. Sometimes I end the movie and understand why it’s not gotten attention, but sometimes a movie can really take me by surprise, and become one of my favorite films of the year just hours after I’d first heard of it. That was the case with the Georgian film Wet Sand, a powerful drama that just got better and better as the layers of the story unfolded. The film takes place in a small village, where everybody knows each other and likes each other. When a local man hangs himself, his granddaughter Moe (Bebe Sesitashvili) returns home to plan the funeral. The sudden death and Moe’s return prompts long dormant secrets to become unearthed, and the unassuming drama becomes unbelievably tense and gripping. Be warned, this one is very much not a feel-good film, and director Elene Naveriani leans into the devastation of the story for maximum effect. They lay breadcrumbs along the way so that the tragic conclusion feels inevitable, and the horror of what will happen hits before it actually unfolds on screen. It’s a clever twist of the knife that makes Wet Sand one of the most heartbreaking and beautiful films of the year. It’s definitely an underrated gem that’s worth seeking out, and Naveriani is a great talent whose next film deserves a much higher profile.

 

#22 Incantation

 

In what many have been calling an all-time great year for horror, one title that I wish was getting more attention is the Taiwanese film Incantation. The plot is deceptively simple—Li Ronan (Tsai Hsuan-yen) desperately tries to lift a curse from her daughter Dodo (Huang Sin-ting)—but the way the familiar plot unfolds is surprising and genuinely terrifying. Incantation is a found footage film, and is a masterclass in how to use that form in a way that doesn’t feel gimmicky. The documentary style makes the terrors feel real, and makes the stakes feel particularly high. I’d say Incantation was one of the scariest films I personally saw this year, but that’s not why it’s on this list. Scares aside, the exploration of motherhood and the determination of a parent to conquer evil is the best I’ve seen in a horror film since The Babadook. Incantation has haunting imagery, wonderful craftsmanship, and a truly emotional core that will tug at your heartstrings just as effectively as it has you jump out of your seat.

 

#21 Fire Island

 

Who knows where star and screenwriter Joel Kim Booster got the idea to retell the story of Pride and Prejudice on present day Fire Island, but I’m incredibly thankful that he did. Despite featuring different characters and taking place in a completely different time and setting as the original book, Fire Island is one of the best adaptations of Pride and Prejudice brought to screen—no small feat considering how often this story has been told on screen. It’s one of the smartest adapted screenplays I’ve seen in a long time, and understands the whole point of Pride and Prejudice innately. Every theme that we know from Pride and Prejudice is present here—the importance of family bonds, the insidiousness of classism, the severity of social scandals—and feels heightened when presented in this contemporary lens. It provides a genuinely fresh take on a 200-year-old classic, and does so by highlighting the story rather than reinventing it. The character updates are perfect, and the casting is perfect. And with all this praise, I haven’t even mentioned…IT’S FUNNY! If you want an enjoyable rom-com, Fire Island fits the bill. If you want a stealthily smart piece of filmmaking where every choice feels purposeful and studied, Fire Island will satisfy and cinephile's needs as well.

 

#20 Paris, 13^th District

 

Is a list of movies worth anything if it doesn’t contain one sexy French film? Paris, 13^th District tells the stories of several young, hot Parisians and how their lives are affected by love, lust, and loss. Like most films like this, the lack of a singular narrative means that it could feel aimless, but the strength of the screenplay (co-written by superstar Céline Sciamma) and the brilliant ensemble means that Paris, 13^th District never feels out of place. Even when the perspective suddenly shifts, it’s always cohesive and compelling. I don’t think Paris, 13^th District necessarily breaks new ground or does anything I’ve never seen before, but it carries out familiar tropes pretty much perfectly, depicting and defining love in the time of millennials as well as I’ve seen on screen. The entire cast is wonderful—relative unknowns Lucie Zhang and Makita Samba are definitely ones to watch in the future—but I want to give particular praise to Noémie Merlant, who’s a standout here. Merlant gained widespread recognition for her work in Portrait of a Lady on Fire, and has gained attention this year for her supporting turn in Tár, but personally this is my favorite performance I’ve seen from her. She and the rest of the cast simply have an ease on screen that makes these characters—and their triumphs and struggles—feel so achingly real.

 

#19 Întregalde

 

A Romanian drama about lost humanitarian aid workers isn’t exactly the stuff of blockbuster hits, but the little-seen Întregalde stands out not just as one of my favorite, but as one of the most thrilling films of the year. As I mentioned, the film follows a trio of well-meaning humanitarian workers who get lost in the mountains while bringing supplies to poverty-stricken regions in Transylvania. They meet Kente (Luca Sabin), a local who agrees to help them find their way, until it becomes clear that he is more confused than they had initially realized. Soon, they are helplessly lost, and find themselves under threat from factors they never would have anticipated. The film offers a slow burn, for sure, but it’s one that pays off in spades and ended up being one of the most affecting films of the year. Director Radu Muntean is a skillful filmmaker, who makes his audience feel just as disoriented as the characters at its center. What starts as a low budget drama becomes a weirdly terrifying ordeal, one defined by peril and paranoia. But, to be clear, I wouldn’t call Întregalde a horror film—it’s a political thriller with a rather important message. Our humanitarian protagonists are well-meaning, but it’s also clear they’re not equipped to make substantive change, and are certainly incompetent when confronted with the actual poverty they have supposedly devoted their time to. Muntean doesn’t demean or discredit his characters, but he does pass judgment on them, and his commentary is insightful, pointed, and direct. His secret weapon is Sabin, who has never acted before, and who is captivating as Kente. It’s an understated performance, and is the emotional core of the whole film. You feel for him, and he brings a level of authenticity to the role that his casting was clearly meant to invoke. If Muntean ever feels like he’s lecturing about social responsibility from behind the camera, Sabin’s on-camera presence firmly establishes Întregalde as a film that is deeply human. It’s a film about flawed characters doing their best, and about the implications present when their best is just not good enough.

 

#18 She Said

 

She Said tells the story of the reporters at the New York Times who broke the story of producer Harvey Weinstein’s history of rape, sexual assault, and abuse. It is mind-boggling to think of how difficult a film like this would be to pull off. You’re already dealing with sensitive material that is hard to depict on screen in a responsible manner, but you’re also criticizing the very industry that you are a part of. While there are not exactly Weinstein defenders out there, there is still a lingering discomfort within the film industry concerning the ghosts of their past, making this film’s message even more difficult to communicate. I think the shadow of Weinstein is a huge part of why She Said has not received the attention it deserved this awards seasons. It’s also what makes the success of She Said so remarkable. She Said doesn’t try to shed any new light on the case—it doesn’t have any headline grabbing “gotcha!” that would have cheapened the film. Instead, it simply presents the story as it unfolded, in a way that demands to not be ignored. Director Maria Schrader and writer Rebecca Lenkiewicz avoid cliché and let their audience react without informing them of what their emotions are supposed to be. That level of trust is imperative in making the film as informative and effective as it is. A film about Weinstein’s crimes was inevitable. We’re lucky we got one as powerful and masterfully made as She Said.

 

#17 After Yang

 

Kogonada made quite an impression with his debut film Columbus, a quiet drama about architecture. It was an intriguing film that made me curious to see what he came up with next. Considering how grounded Columbus was, I never expected Kogonada’s sophomore feature to be in the realm of science fiction. But I think it’s a testament to Kogonoda’s skill as a filmmaker that with only two films—and two films that on their face should be completely different—he already has a distinct style and artistic point of view. After Yang follows a futuristic family that finds their life upended when their adopted robotic child Yang becomes unresponsive. What I love about After Yang is how confident it is in its vision of the future. The world feels fully realized without beating us over the head with how clever it is. Most of the worldbuilding occurs in the background, without attention being drawn to it. It allows us to be intrigued by the world but not be distracted by it, making it feel more immersive than most futuristic settings I’ve seen on film. And Kogonada takes this strategy because, while it’s necessary for the story that it takes place in the future, After Yang is ultimately about themes applicable to the present day. Over the course of the film, After Yang explores such grand themes as family, loss, identity, and what it means to be human. They’re themes that have been explored by many films in the past, but After Yang presents them in a context and setting that feels fresh and often poignant. After Yang is lyrical, philosophical, and truly powerful precisely because it is so unassuming.

 

#16 The Fabelmans

 

It’s truly staggering to consider how impressive Steven Spielberg’s career is. He started out as a spunky wunderkind, showcasing technical knowhow and an uncanny sense of pacing and emotional understanding. Along the way, he became a seasoned veteran, to the point that it’s easy to take his work for granted. The crowd-pleasing tropes that defined him and revolutionized filmmaking now feel expected from him, and even though his films are consistently well-made, it’s harder and harder for Spielberg to genuinely surprise anyone with his worj. This is what makes The Fabelmans so powerful—it gives us everything we expect from a Spielberg film, but contextualizes it so it feels new again. Many have commented that it’s Spielberg’s most personal film, but crucially, it’s also his most vulnerable. And that vulnerability gives The Fabelmans an urgency that you don’t often see from a filmmaker this far along in their career. The film follows the journey of Sam Fabelman (Gabriel LaBelle), a young man on his path towards becoming a filmmaker. The result is many scenes where the audience feel like they’re a fly on the wall, simply observing the life of a boy and his family—but by the film’s end it becomes clear how every moment contributed in some way to where Sam—and Spielberg himself—ends up. Even if you didn’t know it was autobiographical, it would be pretty obvious in the way that characters are portrayed so vibrantly. Each one feels real, allowing the film to feel lived-in, avoiding the oversentimentality that would have been present in the hands of a lesser filmmaker. In fact, while Paul Dano and Michelle Williams have been the awards season contenders all years for their performances as Sam’s parents (and they’re both quite good), the standout characters for me are those who are more on the sidelines. Judd Hirsch steals the whole film with two scenes as Sam’s eccentric granduncle. Then Chloe East steals it again with her breakout portrayal of Sam’s first girlfriend. There’s a great scene with where Logan (Sam Rechner), a jock and Sam’s high school bully, confronts Sam over how he’s been portrayed in one of Sam’s films. The scene gives a level of nuance to the character that is noticeably absent when it comes to another bully, Chad (Oakes Fegley). Because Logan had some sort of effect on making who Spielberg did, in a way that Chad did not, Spielberg serves him well despite his many flaws. It’s a quintessential trick throughout The Fabelmans, and one that Spielberg uses well. Even the family friend who had an affair with his mother comes across really well, thanks in no small part to a career-best performance from Seth Rogen. For all of the buzz and spectacle surrounding any Spielberg film, he is one of the greats because of his understanding of people. And The Fabelmans is a sterling example of this.

 

#15 The Wonder

 

I tend to like a lot of obscure films. It’s one of the main reasons I put this list together every year—in the hopes that someone will read about a film they’d never heard of before and then seek it out. And there are plenty of obscure films I watch where I understand why it didn’t exactly find massive commercial appeal or rake in the awards. But occasionally there are great films which, in another world, I could see carrying a lot more clout and being Oscar contenders. One such film is The Wonder, directed by Sebastián Lelio and starring Florence Pugh in, what I think, is by far her strongest performance to date. Perhaps it was the bland title, perhaps it was overshadowed by another prestige Irish film, and perhaps it’s just that it was a Netflix film and they have a history of burying great films every year; whatever the reason, The Wonder is a gem that didn’t get the attention that it deserved. The Wonder follows Lib Wright (Pugh), a nurse in the 1800s who is hired by a village counsel to watch after Anna O’Donnell (Kíla Lord Cassidy). Anna has become something of a sensation for having supposedly lived for four months without eating anything. Lib’s job is to determine whether Anna is in fact eating and, if she is, how she has done so without being noticed. It's an intriguing premise—one which implicitly asks its audience at the outset to set aside their assumptions about the rules of reality. Lelio is a wonderful storyteller, and he guides his audience with an assured hand. What seems like a story with one mystery—is Anna eating or not—ends up being far more complex, and the central question ends up being almost irrelevant in the grand scheme of the story. It’s a story of morality and yes, wonder, and it’s an excellent cinematic puzzle that deserves to be sought out.

 

#14 Broker

 

A few years ago, director Hirokazu Kore-eda made a big impression with his film Shoplifters, earning the Palme d’Or at Cannes and an Oscar nomination for Best International Film. Given that film’s success, I’m surprised there hasn’t been more attention paid to his follow-up film, Broker. All of the strengths of Shoplifters are still on display here. It's another excellent tale of found family featuring tricky questions of morality, as well as some of the best performances of the year. Broker follows two friends (Song Kang-ho and Gang Dong-won) who have an illegal side business where they take babies that have been abandoned at a local church and sell them to perspective parents at for a profit. When a mother (Lee Ji-eun) who recently gave up her child finds out about their dealings, she accompanies them as they try to find a set of parents for her child. Meanwhile, the three find themselves under investigation by two detectives (Bae Doona and Lee Joo-young). Perhaps the greatest trick Kore-eda pulls off is that we don’t feel repulsed by the actions of our protagonists who…again…literally steal and sell babies. But Kore-eda is never interested in passing judgment on any of his characters. Rather, he’s interested in them as humans, not just in spite of their flaws but because of them. The result is that his films are character studies at their heart, and not just lectures on ethics. This approach makes Broker far more interesting, and allows its morals to be reflected on with greater complexity. It’s also a film that features some incredible performances. Lee Ji-eun is a singer making what I believe is her acting debut in this film, and she’s really remarkable here. As a mother who gives up her child, she has arguably the most difficult role to pull off with sensitivity, and she does so with grace. Bae Doona might be familiar to some international audiences for her work in Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance, The Host, Sense8 and more, and she gives another excellent performance here in a role that could have been one note in another actor’s hands. But the standout, of course, is Song Kang-ho. Years ago, the Parasite star had already established himself as one of the best actors working today, but he still managed to surprise me with just how good he is here. There’s an ease to Song’s performance that allows him to disappear into the role, and he defies expectations as a character who is defiantly pleasant in the face of the harsh world of the film. Both his performance and the film as a whole are understated, but unforgettable.

 

#13 The Innocents

 

As far as horror films go, The Innocents isn’t one of the scariest movies I’ve ever seen. But it is 100% one of the most disturbing. The film is about a group of neighborhood children who, while playing, discover they have some sort of supernatural abilities. Like all good films about children, The Innocents offers a great depiction of childlike curiosity and naivety. Of the children at the film’s core, there are ones that are purely, well, innocent, and there are ones who are clearly volatile and capable of great cruelty. But what writer/director Eskil Vogt does so well is capturing how that cruelty stems from its own kind of innocence. Whenever a child here does something villainous, I don’t feel like we’re supposed to feel like that child is evil. Rather, there’s a childlike purity to their emotions, and a youthful lack of understanding of the consequences of their actions. It’s a deft line to walk, and it’s what elevates The Innocents above other “evil child” films. It makes the story feel more real, which in turn makes the stakes feel more dangerous and urgent. Things that occur that would be simply disturbing in another film feel downright horrific here. The unease of watching young children in peril, let alone cause peril, is never not upsetting, and Vogt leans into that technique with devastating effect. None of this would work if not for the exemplary young cast, but they’re all pretty extraordinary, and have that natural quality that is present in all of the best performances from child actors. I don’t know if I could ever recommend watching The Innocents—you’re guaranteed a really bad time—but it’s masterfully constructed and evoked stronger feelings in me than almost any movie this year.

 

#12 Triangle of Sadness

 

Criticism of the wealthy and powerful has always been a present theme in art. This year saw a particularly high number of films critiquing the rich, but none were as strong nor as vicious as Triangle of Sadness. This year’s winner of the Palme d’Or is a trilogy of related films—all wildly different and all biting in their own way. The first segment is a two-hander about Carl (Harris Dickinson) and Yaya (Charlbi Dean), a pair of models who have a fight about relationship politics involving money and traditional gender norms. In the second segment, Carl and Yaya join a bunch of other wealthy people on a cruise ship which descends into the vacation from hell. In the third (and a bit of a spoiler here…) several of those cruise ship passengers have to survive on a deserted island, and find themselves deferring to the leadership of Abigail (Dolly de Leon), a former cleaner on the ship. One thing I love about the discussion surrounding Triangle of Sadness is that, unlike other films with a similar format, there’s no consensus about which is the “best” part of the film. There are champions of every single segment, which speaks to how just how strong this film is. If you think of the film as a triangle, each of the three segments are a different side. They exist on their own, but support each other and intersect in crucial and interesting ways. Personally, I think the first segment is very well-written, but is simply less dynamic than the other two portions which truly swing for the fences. The second segment is my personal favorite—the cruise ship setting is an amazing backdrop for this sort of commentary, and the way the literal turbulence of the waves mimics the emotional turbulence of the characters is genius. The whole thing culminates in an ill-fated dinner scene that is absolutely incredible. I’d heard about the scene and didn’t think I was going to care for it—without giving too much away, it has quite a bit of grossout humor that I typically don’t respond to. But I was surprised to find that I didn’t just like the scene, it was my favorite film scene of the year. Watching a woman in pearls chugging champagne through spasms of puking is the sort of on-the-nose metaphor we really need—just a beautiful piece of satirical slapstick, and the best use of vomit I’ve ever seen in a film. Plus, this second segment features one of the best bits of stunt casting in 2022, which I won’t ruin if you don’t know about it. The final segment of this cinematic triangle features a lot of great moments, but everything is overshadowed by the amazing performance of Dolly de Leon. In her 50s, de Leon gives the breakout performance of the year—a pure embodiment of righteous vengeance. Ultimately, Triangle of Sadness will not be for everybody. But it’s a film that will have at least SOME effect on anyone who watches it. It’s a film that has stayed with me, and one with images and ideas that I imagine will remain iconic for years to come.

 

#11 Prey

 

One of the most acclaimed films of 2022 was Top Gun: Maverick. The film was highly regarded in its for its striking visuals and emotional heft, but was particularly beloved for its role as a sequel. Many critics felt it not only matched, but surpassed the original beloved film in the franchise, breathing new life into the story, and refining the themes and motifs already present in the original. I liked Maverick well enough, but if there’s a franchise film that I feel deserved the reputation it received, it would be Dan Trachtenberg’s Prey, the fifth film in the Predator franchise. Although it did receive acclaim, this movie deserved far more attention. It's remarkable—an incredible action movie that carries true prestige clout. The film focuses on Naru (Amber Midthunder—a revelation), a young Comanche warrior who encounters a Yautja who comes to Earth well before the events of the previous films. It’s a confident take—one which revitalizes a franchise that had felt gimmicky early on. Prey examines the Predator concept at its very core, and in doing so creates a story that first-time viewers can enjoy without the context of the previous films, and that fans of the franchise can find satisfying in how it pertains to the rest of the mythology. I could see a whole series of films where the Predator squares off against warrior archetypes throughout history, but choosing a Comanche warrior was particularly brilliant. Not only is this a culture known for its hunting, but it’s a culture that has famously been the victim of persecution and genocide by settlers. It’s ripe for metaphor, and the film takes advantage of it (and addresses the persecution and murder by settlers head on). The filmmakers also treats its representation seriously (due in no small part to producer Jhane Myers, a member of both the Comanche and Blackfeet Nations) and there is painstaking detail put into creating historical accuracy—especially notable considering this is a fantasy film. As a hero, Naru is one of the great on-screen heroes of the year, and the rare horror film protagonist who is even more compelling than the villain. Prey is a smart film—an entertaining franchise film that is elevated by its craftsmanship and sense of purpose. It was one of the biggest surprises of the year for me, and I hope its success can influence similar films down the road.

 

 

I've already discussed twenty amazing films, and there are ten that I liked even more. Which ones will they be? Find out in part 2!