Here it is: my picks for the ten best films of 2024. If you want to read about the 20 films that just missed out, you can check out Part 1 here!
10) Patrice: The Movie
Patrice: The Movie is, in many ways, two movies in one. The first movie is an important and serious documentary about an ableist American government policy. The second movie is a profile of, quite simply, the most interesting person in the world. That person would be Patrice Jetter, a crossing guard with a big personality who you fall in love with within seconds of seeing her on screen. Patrice is brilliant and infectiously joyous. She’s also disabled, as is her long-term partner Garry Wickham (also delightful). The two want to get married, but doing so would incur what is unofficially called the “marriage penalty” because they would no longer qualify to receive their disability benefits from the government which they rely on to live. It’s a clearly unjust situation for them to be in, and it is sadly one that many people around the country are in as well. It’s also an issue that pretty much everyone would agree is unfair, but few people know about even though these rules have been in place since the 1950s. Patrice: The Movie at its core is here to shed light on an important and tragic issue, and it does an excellent job of doing this. But it does so in an engaging and meaningful way. Putting Patrice front and center is a brilliant choice—I would have loved this movie even if there had been no political content whatsoever. I really cannot state how charismatic and wonderful she is. They also let Patrice tell her own life story, which she does alongside a group of child actors. It’s a whimsical way to deal with some of the hardships of Patrice’s life, and sets this film apart from other documentaries with “dramatic recreations.” The film also manages to tell Patrice’s story without stooping to being “inspiration porn.” It wants us to understand the difficulties that Patrice, Garry, and many others have gone through, but doesn’t want us to pity them. They are given actual agency in sharing their story, and the movie is a call to action rather than a manipulative melodrama. 2025 was a truly excellent year for documentaries (which is why so many are included on this list) but this was my absolute favorite documentary of the year. It’s informative while still being engaging, and simply impossible not to be charmed by Patrice and her movie.
9) The Vourdalak
The vampire is one of the truly great monsters of the silver screen. From 1922's Nosferatu to Dracula to Bram Stoker's Dracula to the Twilight films to 2024's Nosferatu, there have been many visually inventive depictions of vampires, often creepy and magical and iconic. I don’t say this lightly: the titular vourdalak in The Vourdalak features possibly my favorite visual depiction of a vampire in film ever. It’s almost hard to talk about, because I don’t want to give it away, but there is a specific choice made in this film in how to depict their vampire that is so unsettling and bizarre and eerie (and a little bit fun), and it might be single favorite creative choice of the year. It’s very simple, and it took me longer than I’d care to admit to figure out what was going on, but I was really blown away by how effective the portrayal of a vampire was. You'll have to watch it to see what I'm talking about! Suffice it to say, but The Vourdalak would be one of my favorite films of the year for the vampire alone. Luckily, the film surrounding said vampire is very good as well.
This is a French film which follows the very clueless and very French Marquis Jacques Saturnin du Antoine (Kacey Mottet Klein) in the 18th century, who seeks shelter at a remote country home after losing his horse. The family is odd, and are grieving for their father Gorcha who they believe has likely died fighting against the Turks who had recently pillaged their village. While the Marquis is there, Gorcha returns, but has very clearly been transformed into a vourdalak, a type of vampire in Slavic mythology. The story is simple and very classic—essentially “vampire fucks some shit up”—but the way this movie is made elevates it tenfold. For one thing, it is beautifully shot in Super 16mm, which genuinely makes it feel like it’s a film from decades ago (which adds to the spookiness). But there are just enough details to make The Vourdalak feel more contemporary (read: it’s way more Queer than you’d expect). I know I’m not giving away many details, but I really was so surprised by this film that I want anyone who watched it to go in without knowing much more. And, frankly, if the funky gay French vampire film hasn’t already piqued your interest, I don’t know why you’re reading this blog. And, speaking of old movie homages...
8) Hundreds of Beavers
There are people who try to say that movies are dying; that the pressures of the industry and have stifled creativity. To them I say, you’re not looking hard enough. Because if you look hard, you might just find a movie like Hundreds of Beavers which will, I don’t know, make you believe in magic again? THIS right here is a MOVIE, my friends. A zany, balls-to-the-wall movie, which feels like it couldn’t possibly actually exist. And yet, it does, and we are all the better for it. Hundreds of Beavers tells the story of Jean Kayak (Ryland Brickson Cole Tews), an aspiring fur trapper in the 19th century who stumbles through the wilderness in an attempt to survive and (maybe) win the hand of a local merchant’s daughter. But it does all this in the style of a silent movie slapstick comedy (think Abbott and Costello, Charlie Chaplin, etc.) down to the black and white cinematography and zany foley choices. But rather than just a recreation of the silent comedies of old, Hundreds of Beavers offers a new contemporary take on it. While it’s stylistically referring to movies from 100 years ago, Hundreds of Beavers also finds inspiration from things like video games and contemporary animation. It owes as much to the Looney Tunes as it does to Buster Keaton. It's in a genre all by itself, and frequently feels like a cartoon come to life. This is brilliant and original storytelling—throwaway comic gags inevitably end up holding great importance to the plot later in the film. Not a single moment isn’t thought out, and not a single moment is wasted for full-on comedic potential. Not bad for a movie where all of the animals are played by people in gigantic mascot costumes. Hundreds of Beavers is the funniest movie of the year, the most original movie of the year, and already feels cemented in the canon as an absolute cult classic.
7) River
One of my favorite films of 2022 was Junta Yamaguchi’s Beyond the Infinite Two Minutes, about a group of people discover they can video chat with themselves two minutes into the future. It was a wildly original concept, executed perfectly. This year, Yamaguchi made another low budget sci-fi film, also themed around the concept of “two minute increments” which unbelievably feels completely different and is just as original. In River, the guests and staff at an inn along the Kibune river inexplicably find themselves trapped in a time loop—every two minutes, time and space seem to reset/ The characters have to figure out why it is happening, and how to stop it from happening, while limited by the fact that they regularly find themselves literally back where they started. It’s a marvel—a meticulously crafted puzzle box, which avoids feeling repetitive as the layers of the cinematic onion keep getting peeled back. The film honestly feels a bit like an Agatha Christie murder mystery, only with a time loop instead of a murder. There’s a limited cast of characters all of whom are crucial to the central mystery, there’s an isolated and intricate location, and there are various twists, turns, and secrets revealed as the film goes on. River succeeds because of the details. By design, the whole film takes place as a series of two-minute long takes, and every take is masterfully planned out. The camera feels like a character itself, providing new perspective even as we see the same scenes play out over and over again. The ensemble cast is extraordinary, and each actor establishes their characters concretely despite little time spent on development—they transcend being mere archetypes (with the standout actor being Riko Fujitani as Mikoto, who the camera always resets to at the start of each loop). With just his two films, Yamaguchi has already become one of my favorite directors. The fact that he has been able to create two sci-fi films with adjacent concepts that both feel so innovative and unique is really incredible, and I can’t wait to see what he does next. And, personally, I’m hoping for a third entry in a “two minute” trilogy.
6) Sleep
2024 was one of the best years for horror movies, maybe ever. What I think elevated the horror of 2024 was that there was great versatility in the types of great horror we had, from some excellent blockbusters, solid indies, and future cult classics alike. But amidst all of the most buzzed-about titles, one of the most overlooked gems of the year was Sleep, a Korean film about a newlywed couple whose lives are changed by the husband’s disturbing sleepwalking. It’s the feature debut of director Jason Yu, a protégé of the great Bong Joon-ho, and it’s clear to see why Bong has an interest in this young filmmaker. Sleep is, first and foremost, a very scary movie. It features both viscerally terrifying imagery which scare you in the moment, as well as more deep-seeded psychological ideas which will unsettle you long after the film is over. Bong’s influence is felt, but Sleep also reminded me of the work of Japanese horror master Kiyoshi Kurosawa (best known for Cure and Pulse) which is not a comparison I make lightly. Yu is an incredibly savvy filmmaker who is incredibly aware of his audience’s expectations. He gives you just enough to make you think you know what’s going to happen, only to subvert your expectations in surprising ways. Also, much like his mentor Bong, he’s capable of adding humor (admittedly dark humor) to the film without detracting from the serious storyline at hand. I have no doubts that a filmmaker of Jason Yu’s talent will one day be widely recognized by the cinephile community. Perhaps then, more people will take the time to rediscover the absolutely underrated gem.
5) I Saw the TV Glow
Jane Schoenbrun’s I Saw the TV Glow is the type of film that proves what makes genre films so essential to the artform: sometimes you need fantastical elements to say something more true than realism ever could. I Saw the TV Glow is about two kids who form an unlikely friendship bonding over a supernatural television show called The Pink Opaque. As they age and their connection evolves, the importance of the show in their lives becomes more prevalent, and the daily troubles of reality become more oppressive and feel less real. Moody and atmospheric, I Saw the TV Glow is not just one of the best films of 2024, it’s one of the most visually inventive, and one of the most surprising in the way events unfold. It’s also deeply personal. Schoenbrun’s first feature We’re All Going to the World’s Fair was a striking low budget debut, which earned them many accolades for their ability to examine dark internet culture in a profound way. It’s a very good movie, but I personally felt like Schoenbrun was held back by budget and a bit of a tentativeness behind the camera even with clearly many brilliant ideas they wanted to explore. I Saw the TV Glow is a wonderful evolution of Schoenbrun as a filmmaker—they’re fully confident here, and have created a film that is more polished and pristine without losing the rough-around-the-edges cred from their filmmaking roots. Schoenbrun wrote the screenplay while undergoing hormone replacement theory, and has stated that I Saw the TV Glow is a metaphor for Schoenbrun’s own experience of feeling gender dysphoria, and eventually coming out as non-binary. It’s a powerful statement from Schoenbrun, which is highly specific to their experience (and very overtly referential to that experience). But in being so specific, the film also becomes relatable. Read more broadly, I Saw the TV Glow will speak to anyone who has ever discovered anything about themselves from engaging with a piece of media. That, I hope, is a universal trait, and it’s one that I’ve never before seen so viscerally depicted. It’s a brilliant and personal film, which hints at what Schoenbrun will continue to offer as one of cinema’s boldest voices.
4) Sing Sing
The term “Oscar-bait” is thrown around negatively a lot. A lot of people are (correctly) turned off by a film that feels like it’s pandering to awards season voters rather than pursuing artistic merit. And, as I say every year despite my morbid fascination with it, the awards season is inherently problematic and often ignores some of the best of what cinema has to offer. But what I think gets lost is that sometimes “Oscar-bait” isn’t a bad thing. Sing Sing feels like it was made in a lab to be an awards season contender. A drama about the restorative power of the arts set in a prison? Send the Oscar nominations out right now! But unlike most “Oscar-bait” films of recent years, Sing Sing stands out by being, quite simply, very, very, VERY good.
The film star Colman Domingo as Divine G, an inmate at Sing Sing Correctional Facility who is the star actor in the prison’s Rehabilitation Through the Arts program, a real non-profit organization that gives incarcerated individuals access to the arts, giving them an emotional outlet to aid in their rehabilitation. Divine G is working on his appeal to hopefully be released from Sing Sing, and struggles with a personality conflict with an inmate named Divine Eye, who is new to the RTA program. Sing Sing serves as an urgent statement for the importance of the arts, and is a beautiful depiction of the good done with the arts are accessible to everyone. Other than Domingo and Paul Raci (who plays Brent Buell, the director of the RTA program), the rest of the cast are all alums of the real-life program (including Clarence “Divine Eye” Maclin, who plays a character inspired by himself and who has been picking up deserved accolades this season). This ensemble is inspiring. If you went in not knowing their backstory of the casting, you would still be able to tell how in sync this ensemble is, and how passionate they are about the project. If I’m being honest, I wish one of these former inmates had had the chance to play Divine G, as I think this would have artistically made more sense with the thesis of the film…but I’m willing to overlook this simply because Colman Domingo’s performance is extraordinary. He’s always great, of course, but this is career-topping work. He’s utterly transcendent as Divine G, both on and off the stage, a magnetic presence that the rest of the film orbits. This is simply a beautiful film. It’s a film with an important message, that’s told soulfully and brilliantly.
3) Crossing
Crossing is the type of film that encapsulates what makes me love movies so much. It’s a film that tells a story from a very distinct perspective that is foreign to me, yet feels unbelievably relatable and true. In an industry battling against the supposed threat of AI, it is the type of film that feels distinctly human. It’s raw, it’s beautiful, and it’s a film that will force you to think and encourage you to grow. Crossing is about Lia (Mzia Arabuli), a stern retired schoolteacher in the country of Georgia, who is determined to fulfill her recently deceased sister’s dying wish. Her daughter Tekla (Lia’s niece) had been kicked out of her home by her conservative father after she came out as transgender, and had cut off all contact with her family and allegedly crossed the border into Turkey. Lia’s sister wants to make sure Tekla is safe, and hopes she can be reunited with her family after she has passed. Lia therefore makes the trip to Istanbul, accompanied by her neighbor Achi (Lucas Kankava), a young man who is aimless in life and who has some information about Tekla’s whereabouts. Together, the unlikely duo arrives in Istanbul and searches for Tekla, along the way confronting their own perceptions about their place within the world and how they are perceived. As the film’s title might suggest, this is a film about transition. Characters cross physical national borders, but also cross barriers for social norms and expectations. This is a film about transition as a way of self-exploration. The title also refers to the way we cross paths with other people, and the ways that we can impact and affect the lives of the people we share space with, either deeply or briefly. Writer and director Levan Akin’s filmmaking is raw and personal. The film feels intimate in its presentation, yet cosmic in its scope. The very nature of the production of the film speaks to its wide range—it’s a co-production between Sweden, Turkey Germany and Georgia, and feels like an immaculate cinematic melting pot.
Considering that Crossing isn’t really a plot-forward film, it relies heavily on the development of its characters. This is one of the best ensemble casts of the year, with even minor characters making an impression. But the standout is Arabuli. Mzia Arabuli gives my single favorite film performance of the year. Arabuli’s presence on screen is nothing short of a magic trick—she’s able to convey volumes while playing a rather stoic character. Lia comes across as stern, yet kind. Stubborn, yet curious. She’s a character of dichotomies, and one who represents an idealistic vision of how those with a more traditional, conservative viewpoint can still learn to evolve and change. It’s a captivating and sensitive portrayal. Special commendation should also be given to the character of Evrim (Deniz Dumanli), a transgender woman in Istanbul whose life eventually intersects with Lia and Achi’s. Evrim is a bit of an enigma, and it is at first unclear what her role is in the story. As Evrim’s role in the story eventually becomes clearer, she becomes the rare character that is both symbolic and fully-realized, thanks in no small part to Dumanli’s performance.
And while it is reductive to refer to Crossing as simply a “transgender film,” its thematic elements do feel particularly relevant now. At the Oscars this year, it is likely that the award for Best International Film will go to Emilia Pérez, Jacques Audiard’s musical about a lawyer who helps a transgender drug lord fake her own death and begin a new life. It has cemented itself as an awards season favorite, and is easily one of my LEAST favorite films of the year. I’m not alone, as the film has been widely criticized, amongst other reasons, for its discussion of transgender issues (I recommend some of the excellent examinations of this subject such as this one, this one, and this one). Much of the sentiment behind these discussions is that Audiard is not malicious in his depiction of the titular character, but is misguided. And at a time when trans people are facing increased prejudice at the dawn of a second Trump administration, a film like Emilia Pérez feels even more irresponsible for its ignorance and enforcement of harmful tropes. Instead, I wish international audiences could have gravitated to a film like Crossing. Like Audiard, Akin is a cisgender man whose film features a transgender actress (Deniz Dumanli) and is effectively about the treatment of a transgender character. But unlike Audiard, Akin manages to avoid the harmful tropes that other directors have proven to be unable to. He allows his characters to actually feel like real people, and includes representation without it feeling like a preoccupation or uncomfortable fascination. Crossing would have been a brilliant film no matter what: the performances in front of the camera and the confidence behind the camera would already make it one of the absolute favorites of the year. But its timeliness makes it feel urgent and necessary—for such a quiet film, it speaks volumes more than ones making a lot more needless noise.
2) The Substance
I think most would agree that my film tastes tend towards the more artsy and indie side of things. Pretty consistently, I’d rather watch a quiet drama than a big-budget blockbuster. I like films that challenge me and make me think about them afterwards, often due to the subtlety with which they treat their subject matter. I don’t think anyone would accuse The Substance of being subtle. If the films I tend to enjoy often feel like they’re painted with a delicate paintbrush and crucial attention to intricate details, The Substance feels a bit like someone threw cans of paint at a wall. It’s wacky and bold and messy, but this makes the fact that it feels so complete and effective and in sync with itself all the more impressive.
The Substance is a sci-fi fairy tale about the life of Elisabeth Sparkle (Demi Moore), a once-celebrated star who, on her fiftieth birthday, feels she’s been kicked out of the industry she was once a prominent part of. She loses her popular daytime fitness show, and is told in no uncertain terms that it is because of her age and her looks and general fade from stardom. At her lowest point, she ends up crashing a car, and is introduced by a young nurse to “The Substance,” which promises a chance to create a second version of herself, younger and capable of taking advantage of the opportunities that Elisabeth no longer feels she has access to. Suffice it to say, Elisabeth eventually tries out the titular substance, and creates Sue (Margaret Qualley), a younger and “better” version of her which can live her life every other week. As I already said, subtlety isn’t the point here. The story continues down the path you know it will. Everything about “The Substance” is immediately menacing—the unseen voice behind the program feels especially satanic—and it’s not a spoiler to say that this treatment doesn’t exactly seem to work out in Elisabeth’s favor. But the pleasures of The Substance comes from watching how things unfold, and writer/director Coralie Fargeat’s willingness to take Elisabeth’s downfall to an absolute extreme. You see where things are going, but it’s pretty hard to imagine exactly where they’re going to go. Fargeat is juggling a lot of tonal things at once; The Substance is pure camp, social commentary, grossout body horror, and high art in equal measure. But as wild as things get, it never feels inauthentic or like it goes off the rails. The discordant approaches work together seamlessly, a sort of weird monstrous amalgamation that miraculously comes together. This is a film with one of the most concrete cinematic visions of the year, and the very idea of applying a feminist lens to Cronenbergian body horror is in and of itself groundbreaking. It feels like the natural evolution of a subgenre that is only recently getting its mainstream due for its ability to make social commentary beyond the readily apparent ick factor.
But what undeniably makes The Substance a great film and not just an interesting experiment is Demi Moore’s central performance as Elisabeth. Moore’s casting alone is a wonderful choice, and Moore channels all of her frustrations at being seen as a “Hollywood star” rather than a real actress into this role. In the glorious cartoon world that Fargeat has created, it is up to Moore to give us any sense of reality, and her vulnerability as Elisabeth grounds the entire film and gives it its sense of urgency. One of the best movie scenes of the year is one where Elisabeth prepares for a date, only to end up not going because of self-perceived flaws in her outfit or makeup. It’s a scene that is purposefully absent of any of the film’s more fantastical and horrific elements, and one that shows a human side to a character who rarely allows herself to be human. This sense of vulnerability is also crucial into giving the social commentary side of The Substance its heft. Elisabeth herself is not a nice person, and it's impossible to deny that she actively makes destructive and selfish choices over the course of the film which make her complicit in her own demise. But Fargeat is not interested in blaming Elisabeth. For all of her flaws, she’s still presented to us as a victim and someone deserving of sympathy. Regardless of any personal failings, she doesn’t deserve to be let down by the misogynistic and ageist world around her, and the motivations behind Elisabeth’s actions feel inevitable even as you see how horrible they are. Thanks to the combined efforts of Fargeat and Moore, Elisabeth becomes most unlikely heartbreaking protagonist of the year—an unwitting architect of her own destruction.
The Substance makes many references to other films, and in doing so draws upon audiences assumptions to create a world that we innately understand but also have never seen before in quite the same way. Much like a character who shows up in the film’s final chapter, it’s a movie that is glorious not in spite of, but because of its own imperfections. THIS is cinema. It’s a veritable symphony of ideas and genres, and clearly resonates with an audience far beyond those who would typically seek out the films that most inspired it. As soon as I saw it, I was sure it would be my favorite film of the year. But one film was able to surpass it.
1) Nickel Boys
Nickel Boys is not a film you merely watch. Rather, it is a film that you experience. It is adapted from a Pulitzer Prize-winning novel by Colson Whitehead, so obviously the story is great and that the characters are compelling. But what makes Nickel Boys the best film of the year is not just what the movie is about, but the way in which it is told. It transcends mere cinema; it is poetry in motion. To watch Nickel Boys is frequently exhausting—due to both the rush of imagery and the difficult subject matter—but it is the type of exhaustion that leaves you feeling invigorated and changed when you’re through.
Nickel Boys tells the story of Elwood (Ethan Herisse) and Turner (Brandon Wilson), two boys sent to the Nickel Academy, a reform school in Florida in the 1960s. Both intelligent, and both sent to the school due to unfair circumstances, they struggle with the unjust treatment and blatant abuse that the students are subjected to—particularly the Black students, who are segregated and live in objectively worse conditions. The two boys form a strong friendship, but nonetheless have ideological differences. Turner had a rough childhood, and is focused entirely on survival. He is looking to survive Nickel Academy as best he can, and tries to keep his head down and avoid trouble. Elwood is more idealistic, and dreams of not just leaving Nickel Academy, but ending the school altogether. Despite these differences, or perhaps because of them, the two are drawn to each other as kindred spirits withing a truly hellish place. While Nickel Academy is fictional, it is inspired by real places, most notably The Dozier School, a similar reform school which was closed after a government investigation into allegations of severe abuse. What is immediately notable about Nickel Boys is the way it is filmed. Almost the entire film is shot from a first-person point-of-view, meaning nearly every shot filmed as if the camera’s lens is either Elwood or Turner (the shots where it separates from this convention are very purposeful). This effect does take a little getting used to as an audience member, but it’s worth it for how it transforms the viewing experience of the film. We do not just learn these characters’ stories, we experience it as if we are them. Terrifying moments—and there are more than a few at Nickel Academy—are particularly nightmarish, as we view this place as the hellscape that it truly would be for these young characters. But it also means that the beautiful moments are more beautiful. Nickel Boys lingers on the mundane. Small moments that catch our characters’ eyes stand out, and become meaningful for the very reason that they exist. I do not for the life of me understand how Jomo Fray’s cinematography is not at the forefront of the awards season conversation—this is an aesthetically lush film, but the camera also moves in an innovative way that finds an artistic expression few films can ever hope to achieve. Director RaMell Ross places a particular focus on characters’ hands, which are frequently given extreme close-ups. In doing so, it gives Nickel Boys a sense of touch, as if we are interacting with the world of the film ourselves. It places us with these characters. And when they are wronged we feel personally helpless to stop the actions transpiring in front of us.
The screenplay (by Ross and Joslyn Barnes) moves with a relaxed confidence, that is lethargic when it needs to be, and ramps up the action and tension quite effectively when required. To speak more about the film’s plot would be a disservice to anyone who hasn’t seen it, but there are fragments of this movie that I can speak to which are etched into my mind. The scene where Elwood and Turner first meet, which we end up seeing from both of their perspectives, is at once banal and loaded with meaning. A scene involving a boxing match has a frenetic and chaotic energy, which ultimately feels incredibly dangerous as the high stakes are revealed. A scene in a bar features a heartbreaking performance by Craig Tate, who breaks your heart in a single scene. Any scene with Aunjanue Ellis-Taylor, playing Elwood’s grandmother Hattie is inevitably a highlight. Ross frequently incorporates interludes that seem unrelated to the plot—flashes of beauty and passion and surrealism. These interludes simply add to the scenery and many layers of the film’s purpose. It’s a collage of ideas and themes and history, greater than Elwood and Turner on their own. It makes Nickel Boys feel epic in the truest sense of the term. This is a film that will feel relevant at any time, and it is a film that should resonate with anyone. I implore you to watch Nickel Boys. Let yourself be taken in by its poetry. It is a masterpiece. It is the best film of 2024.
There you have it! My favorite films of 2024. I hope you check some of these films out if you haven't yet. Did my favorite make your list? Let me know! And be sure to look at my list of The 100 Best Film Performances of 2024!
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