If you missed Part 1, check it out here to read about 20 fantastic films. And now, here are my 10 favorite films of the year.
10) LOLA
Another excellent film that unfairly slipped under the radar this year is LOLA, one of the best and most original science fiction films of the last few years. The film follows Thom Hanbury (Emma Appleton), a brilliant inventor who lives with her sister Mars (Stefanie Martini) in the year 1941. Thom has invented a truly groundbreaking machine (which she calls LOLA) which can intercept television broadcasts from the future. Mars becomes particularly interested in the artistic trends of the future, as LOLA allows her a glimpse at defining artists of the future such as David Bowie and Bob Dylan. Thom, meanwhile, is primarily interested in using news broadcasts to help the war efforts, and she and Mars begin to discretely pass along intel to the British government, causing the course of WWII and the world itself to significantly change. While not exactly a time travel film, LOLA is still deeply rooted in familiar time travel genre tropes, and none of the concepts brought up in the film are exactly groundbreaking (did you know that if you meddle with the course of history there might be CONSEQUENCES?!?!). But LOLA is an immensely satisfying entry into the canon of time-based science fiction. What makes this film really stand out are the stylistic choices by director Andrew Legge. The film is presented as found footage, mainly from film found on the Hanbury sisters’ personal camera. The details here are perfect, with cinematography and sound design perfectly setting the time period for the audience. It’s a trick which allows the past and the future to meld wonderfully, so that LOLA genuinely feels like a trip back in time. It’s an utterly charming film, which expertly balances its dramatic stakes which a genuinely refreshing sense of whimsy.
9) The Beasts
Let’s talk a little bit about French actor Denis Ménochet. Several years ago, he starred as an abusive father in a film called Custody. One of my favorite films of that year, I to this day cite Custody as one of the scariest non-horror films I’ve ever seen. Well, Ménochet certainly has a type of film he gravitates towards, because this year he stars in The Beasts, which once again isn’t exactly horror, but might be one of the scariest dramas ever put to film. Ménochet stars as Antoine, a farmer who, with his wife Olga (Marina Foïs) operates an eco-friendly farm in Galicia. They are peaceful and well-intentioned, but their mere presence attracts some hostility from brothers Xan (Luis Zahera) and Lorenzo (Diego Anido), who resent the couples’ presence due to their presence complicating a local business deal, and a dose of xenophobia. The Beasts is a more than apt title—there is a sense of violence and unease in the film from the get-go, and a volatility to the characters that is particularly unsettling when contrasted with the idyllic setting. Director Rodrigo Sorogoyen, who co-wrote the script with Isabel Peña, keeps the tension high at all times. The hatred displayed by these brothers is palpable and unrelenting. When local police tell Antoine he should try to work things out with dialogue, it’s a blatantly foolish suggestion, as both Antoine and we as an audience understand the power and irrationality of their own contempt. It’s a bleak perspective, to be sure, and The Beasts is certainly not an easy film to watch. But it’s undeniably gripping, and the performances and unpretentious filmmaking makes The Beasts compelling and grounded rather than cartoonish. Ménochet is a physically commanding performer, and when he plays villains, he’s a truly scary presence on screen. In this role, however, he’s our victim, and it’s great to see him play a role with such vulnerability. In Ménochet’s hands, Antoine is sensitive but forceful—he’s both terrified of the situation he’s in and steadfast in his resolve to rise above it. As his wife Olga, Foïs is just as strong, and particularly gets a chance to shine in the final scenes of the film. The Beasts is the most harrowing watch of the year, but it’s a deeply powerful film, and has much to offer if you are able to stick with it through its harsh depiction of the worst of humanity.
8) American Fiction
In American Fiction, things are not going particularly well for author Thelonious “Monk” Ellison (Jeffrey Wright). He has lost his job, his family is dealing with several personal tragedies, and while his writing is acclaimed it’s not particularly popular and his publisher can’t find anyone willing to take on his most recent book. Intelligent and guided by his own set of principles, Monk is frustrated by what he perceives to be marketable, and particularly the narrow expectations placed on Black authors, such as the recent pandering bestseller from rival author Sintara Golden (Issa Rae). As a joke, he writes what he believes to be the most offensive “Black” book he can under a pseudonym, only for it to immediately find success from publishers. It’s a great premise, and one that is realized to its full potential by debut writer/director Cord Jefferson. The film has multiple hilarious moments that show how satire doesn't have to be subtle to be effective (sometimes the obvious joke is worth making, and the film has more than a few great sight gags based on some low-hanging fruit). But Jefferson gets away with these more obvious jokes by not forfeiting more serious and in-depth discussion. He doesn’t just want to poke fun at what he sees as the worst of Black media, he takes the opportunity to actually examine it—what makes this sort of entertainment popular, and is there value in it? It prevents the film from feeling like one joke over and over again. While Monk is clearly brilliant, he’s a much more complex character than he needed to be, and as the film goes on, his own arrogance gets in the way of his own point. If the media Monk hates is so wrong, does that make the books he’s writing any good? It’s an interesting debate that sustains and elevates this film—one that is clear satire which isn’t afraid to turn the mirror onto itself. Monk himself is a wonderful protagonist, thanks in no small part to a phenomenal central performance from Wright. Wright has been one of my favorite actors for quite some time, and it’s great to see him given the spotlight and finally garner some well-deserved attention for his work. He’s great when Monk is at his most indignant and self-righteous, but is even stronger when he gets to be more vulnerable. While this film is ultimately about the commentary it’s making, the heart of the story has to do with Monk and his family. American Fiction succeeds because, unlike the characters in the fake book Monk writes, everyone comes across as a real person, and the issues they’re dealing with carry real stakes. It’s a film that even Monk would approve of, and some of the best satire in contemporary cinema.
7) The Blind Man Who Did Not Want to See Titanic
Not only is the excellently titled Finnish film The Blind Man Who Did Not Want to See Titanic one of the best of the year, it’s possibly the most innovative film of the year when it comes to filmmaking. I’ve truly never seen another film quite like it. The film is about Jaako (played by Petri Poikolainen), a movie buff who spends most of his day conversing with his long-distance girlfriend Sirpa (Marjaana Maijala). When Sirpa receives some bad news, he decides to travel to meet her in person for the first time. The only problem is that Jaako (and Poikolainen) is both blind and paralyzed from the waist down, meaning that the journey to meet Sirpa is not going to be one he can make without assistance. Even amongst the scant representation of disability that we typically see on screen, this is a combination of physical traits I’ve personally never seen portrayed on screen before, let alone by an actor who shares the same traits. To see Jaako’s life portrayed with such authenticity is fascinating and powerful on its own. In fact, when the plot takes a dramatic turn towards the end of the film, it became less interesting to me and feels manufactured and out of place—I would have happily watched hours of Jaako simply existing (although, the film does have a perfect ending that makes up for any plot missteps I may have felt it suffered along the way). A major part of why this film is so compelling is because of Poikolainen’s performance. It’s my single favorite performance of the year—utterly captivating and human. If there is anyone reading this who does not understand arguments for authenticity in casting, I urge you to watch this film. In an able-bodied actor’s hands, you can see much of the acting for this type of role focus on presenting the character’s physical attributes and getting them, “right.” But since Poikolainen doesn’t have to think about getting those traits right, he’s allowed to develop a much more interesting and well-rounded character. In his hands, we get to meet Jaako the cynic, Jaako the scholar, Jaako the romantic, etc. No actor this year portrayed as full a range of emotion as Poikolainen does here. It’s an utterly raw performance, filled with moments of profound joy, intense pain and embarrassment, and everything in between. Poikolainen’s great work is aided by some truly brilliant filmmaking. Director Teemu Nikki and cinematographer Sari Aaltonen shoot the entire film as a series of extreme close-ups, pretty much always involving some aspect of Jaako. Usually we see his face, but sometimes it’s his ear, or the back of his head, or his hand, etc. Anything in the background—including other characters—is either blurred or not in frame at all. This choice put a tremendous focus on Poikolainen’s performance, and allows him to display the vast emotional range that he does. But it also limits what we as an audience see. We don’t ever get to see Jaako’s surroundings because, well, he doesn’t either. It’s a simple choice, but an undeniably effective one—one that is jarring at first but which you ultimately ease into as a viewer. A perspective that might have felt limiting or closed off now allows us to see things in a way that is simply different, not worse. You find yourself picking up on small details that you might have missed before, such as facial tics or background noises. The Blind Man Who Did Not Want to See Titanic is a true marvel—a cinematic experience that is unlike any other I’ve been lucky enough to experience this or any other year.
6) Past Lives
The title of the film Past Lives refers to the Korean concept of In-Yun—the belief that when we are drawn to people in our own lives, it is because we had some sort of connection with them in a past life. The very concept implies that two people can have a relationship that defies the time they’ve spent together, allowing them to understand each other on a much deeper level. It’s a beautiful idea, and one that is convincingly brought to life in Celine Song’s debut feature. Past Lives is about Nora (Greta Lee) and Hae Sung (Teo Yoo), two childhood friends from Korea who manage to reconnect as adults after many years apart. They live very different lives, but are nonetheless drawn to each other, possibly due to In-Yun. This is an unbelievably romantic film, but it explores romance more completely than most films in the genre would ever be able to. In their relationship, we see all of the joy and discovery of a true romance, but Past Lives also explores the other side of the romantic spectrum and delves into the genuine potential for grief and hurt that accompanies the highs that passion brings. Perhaps even more impressively, it does so in an almost casual way—many of the scenes would feel mundane in isolation, but when put together in the context of the film as a whole are utterly devastating. It is almost unbelievable that this is Song’s first film—it displays a certain confidence in its storytelling that is difficult to capture even for more accomplished filmmakers. And, of course, she’s helped by her wonderful cast. John Magaro is really wonderful as Arthur, Nora’s husband, a role which the character himself acknowledges could have been the villain of the piece. But thanks to Song’s script and Magaro’s performance, he’s one of the more surprising characters of the year, and is a sympathetic presence in what could have been a throwaway role. But, of course, the reason this film is able to soar is because of the performances of Lee and Yoo. There’s often talk of “chemistry” between actors in films, but that almost doesn’t do justice to the work that Lee and Yoo are doing. There is a simultaneous comfort and awkwardness to their work, and both performances shine on their own, or when they’re paired together. Past Lives is a film all about synchronicity, and truly every detail of this film from the direction to the screenplay to performances coalesces perfectly.
5) Medusa Deluxe
Despite being released by A24 (the titan of indie film distribution), Medusa Deluxe really didn’t get the attention it deserved. But based on the talent he’s displayed with this debut film, I’m willing to bet director Thomas Hardiman goes on to have an incredible career, and when that happens, this film is destined to be revisited as a cult classic. Medusa Deluxe is a murder mystery set at a hairdressing competition, where the death of one of the competitors leads to various secrets and resentments amongst the people present to be revealed. I’ve always loved a good whodunnit—I started reading Agatha Christie in elementary school and never looked back—but it’s admittedly hard for modern entries in the whodunnit genre to feel original or necessary. The mystery at the center of Medusa Deluxe isn’t necessarily groundbreaking, but the artistry and craft applied to the telling of the story undeniably elevates it, making it my favorite murder mystery film in years. For one thing, this film has one of my favorite aesthetics of the year. Hardiman and Oscar-nominated cinematographer Robbie Ryan (who will likely get another nomination this year for Poor Things) have filmed the movie to look as if it is one long shot. This is always an effective trick for me when it is done well, and ramps up the tension wonderfully. In Medusa Deluxe it also lends the film a certain dreamlike quality, as the camera weaves in and out of the action almost ethereally. As much as Medusa Deluxe engages in traditional whodunnit tropes (mysterious figures, hidden violent pasts, lots and lots of foreshadowing) there’s an omnipresent surrealism which I’ve never seen applied to the medium before. It’s incredibly theatrical and really cool. But the secret weapon in Medusa Deluxe is the cast. A great whodunnit needs its ensemble of intriguing suspects, and Medusa Deluxe gives us some of the best characters of the year. This is a true ensemble—each actor feels perfectly in step with each other, and it’s wonderful to be invited into the world they’re playing in. Individually, whenever any actor is speaking, you become convinced that they’re the most interesting character in the film. Whether it’s the dramatic show organizer Rene (Darrell D’Silva), his even more dramatic partner Angel (Luke Pasqualino), ambitious and hard-edged contestant Kendra (Harriet Webb), optimistic and devout contestant Divine (Kayle Meikle), or any of this colorful cast of characters, you truly become invested in them and their place in the glorious puzzle at the film’s center. But despite how strong everyone is, special attention needs to be given to two performers. Heider Ali plays Gac, a security guard who quickly becomes one of the more suspicious characters on screen but who ends up bearing the unlikely duty of being the film’s emotional center. Ali is phenomenal, and gives Gac a sensitivity that justifies his character’s arc while still keeping him on our radar as a suspect. And, most of all, there’s Clare Perkins as Cleve—an incredibly angry contestant who may or may not be a murderer but is certainly capable of great violence. As amazing as this cast is, Perkins is undeniably the standout, and gives one of the best performances of the year. The whole film starts off with her giving a monologue that immediately sets this film up for greatness. Perkins is magnetic, and takes a role that easily could have become cartoonish and makes her feel like the most real person on screen. I truly recommend people check out this overlooked gem, and if you do, be sure to stick around after you think the movie is done for an unexpected and delightful treat. You’ll need to watch it to see what I mean, and I promise you won’t be disappointed.
4) Our Father, The Devil
In 2022, at the Independent Spirit Awards, there was a surprise hidden among the nominees for Best Feature Film. Alongside Oscar Best Picture contenders Tár, Women Talking, and eventual Best Picture winner Everything Everywhere All at Once was an as-yet unreleased film that didn’t even have its own Wikipedia page (and still doesn’t). That film was called Our Father, The Devil, a debut film from Cameroonian director Ellie Foumbi. Even by the Spirit Awards’ standards, this was an obscure pick, and its inclusion felt especially odd considering it didn’t receive any other nominations at the ceremony. As someone who follows the world of independent film closely, even I was going, “What on earth is this movie?” When it was finally given a quiet, limited release a full eight months later I luckily had it on my radar, but still didn’t know what to expect. And I was completely blown away by this film, and can’t understand why it has gotten so little recognition. As great as Anatomy of a Fall is, this is my favorite morality thriller of the year, and one that should certainly be on more peoples’ radar. The film follows Marie (Babetida Sadjo), a Guinean refugee who works at a retirement home in France. Marie is confronted by the past she had long ago left behind due to the arrival of the retirement home’s latest employee—a priest named Father Patrick (Souleymane Sy Savane). While he acts kindly and is immediately beloved by all of the residents and other employees, his appearance and voice are identical to a fearsome guerilla soldier who tormented Marie and her family back in Guinea—one who she believed had died years ago. Marie ultimately decides to take drastic measures to determine Father Patrick’s identity and possibly enact revenge for the unforgivable crimes he may have committed. I don’t want to say much more than that—one of the greatest delights of the film is the way events unfold, and I’d hate to spoil the surprises that Our Father, The Devil has in store (especially as several of the film’s developments genuinely caught me completely off guard). But while the plot twists and reveals are excellent and satisfying, my favorite thing about Our Father, The Devil is that they’re ultimately not WHY this film succeeds. As interesting as they are, this film is ultimately a character study. Surprise revelations not just advance the plot and intrigue, but ultimately help paint a complex portrait of both Marie and Father Patrick as characters. Suffice it to say, Foumbi is helped by some absolutely incredible performances at the film’s center. If this film had gotten the attention it deserved, Sadjo and Savane would be raking in the accolades for their dynamic work. It would have been easy for Father Patrick to be simply an enigma, but Savane makes him fully realized as a person. His work is vulnerable and confounding—at once demanding sympathy while making one question his motivations at every turn. But the film undeniably belongs to Sadjo. Marie is an absolute marvel of a role, and a Sadjo rises to the challenge triumphantly. There is always a feeling of rage bubbling right below the surface of the character—it’s a restrained and high-voltage performance which exquisitely masters the emotional balancing act of fragility and menace. This is a film that solves every mystery it introduces, but in the process raises much grander philosophical questions about the nature of forgiveness, the function of revenge, and just how much we are defined by our own history.
3) Kokomo City
It’s unfortunate that documentaries consistently struggle to gain public appeal. With no shortage of love and attention given to reality TV and true crime, it feels like documentaries should have an easy audience. And yet, film distributors and audiences seem stuck in this idea that documentaries are not for everyone. A film like Kokomo City proves how enjoyable, accessible, and absolutely vital documentaries are and can be. D. Smith’s brilliant film features four Black trans women (Daniella Carter, Dominique Silver, Koko Da Doll, and Liyah Mitchell) as they discuss their lives as sex workers. But this description doesn’t do justice to what Kokomo City has accomplished. This film is a vivid portrait of these four women—intimate, thorough, and engrossing. As can be expected from the subject matter, Kokomo City already stands out due to its authentic glimpse into stories that have typically not been shown on film. Smith and her subjects don’t hold back from talking about the discrimination and the hardships they’ve faced, and it’s frequently an emotional watch. But Smith isn’t interested in portraying her subjects as victims. Smith’s gorgeous cinematography shows these women as goddesses. This isn’t a film that wants you to wallow in the hardships they’ve faced, but rather wants to shine a light on the joy and magnificence that each one possesses. Kokomo City’s greatest triumph is in avoiding the impulses of other documentaries to turn this into a series of sob stories, and simply allowing these women to be their complete selves is an act that feels revolutionary. It’s no surprise that such a film came from a director such as D. Smith; once a Grammy-nominated music producer, she was forced out of the industry after she transitioned, and eventually ended up homeless. She considered turning to sex work simply to sustain herself, and became interested in the stories of the women who had made that choice. Smith started making Kokomo City during this time, using a single camera and a laptop to do so, and her passion behind the camera resonates in a way no other filmmaker’s did this year. Often documentaries fit into two camps: ones where the filmmaker is directly involved and their presence is known on film, and more “fly on the wall” films where the camera is never acknowledged. With Kokomo City, Smith found the best of both worlds. Her absence on screen allows these women to shine alone, giving a sense of intimacy and vulnerability. But her passion and style behind the camera still gives us a strong sense of perspective.
One of the subjects of Kokomo City, Koko Da Doll, was shot and killed mere months after the film’s premiere at Sundance, and the film has since been dedicated to her. After the film’s premiere, she posted on Instagram, “I will be the reason there’s more opportunities and doors opening for transgender girls…What you’ve done here for me is going to save a lot of lives.” It’s a beautiful film on its own merits, but it’s a film with the potential for real life impact. Kokomo City has received numerous accolades all year long, although it sadly missed out on the shortlist for the Oscars. More than any other film this year, I hope this film can continue to gain an audience. Any person will be affected by it, and some might be genuinely saved by it.
2) The Boy and the Heron
How lucky are we all to be living during the time that Hayao Miyazaki is making movies? One of the greatest filmmakers of all time, it’s no surprise at this point that Miyazaki has turned out another masterpiece. But The Boy and the Heron surpassed even my incredibly high expectations. It’s a wondrous, epic adventure fantasy with emotional themes that will resonate with anyone, while still clearly being a deeply personal film specific to Miyazaki’s own experience and legacy. The Boy and the Heron tells the story of Mahito Maki, a young boy who has recently moved to the country following a deep, personal tragedy in his life. Upon arrival, he has a series of strange interactions with a mysterious Grey Heron, who eventually guides him to a magical world, where Mahito is immersed in the secrets of this magical world and learns of the ways it has affected him and his family.
Possibly more than any other filmmaker—in animation or otherwise—Miyazaki has tremendous skill in making the concept of magic on film feel genuine. There is always a sense of wonder to his work—and more specifically a sense of childlike wonder, which might be why I have always personally responded best to the films where the protagonist is a child. It’s a choice that just feels appropriate, and gives his films a unique perspective. The worlds of Miyazaki’s films are filled with monsters and danger, but his young protagonists frequently feel separate from that—seeing the magic of the world around them while feeling impervious to the dangers that such magic brings. In The Boy and the Heron, Mahito is slightly different—before anything magical happens, he has already experienced so much tragedy that The Boy and the Heron feels immediately darker than most of Miyazaki’s films, and it was a choice that I found fascinating. Mahito is more skeptical than most—his youth is no longer a protection from the dangers of the fantasy world around him. In fact, Mahito feels more at home in the world the stranger it gets—instead of teaching him something completely new, it instead gives him clarity for what he already knew but never fully understood. It’s a wonderful trick, and lends the film a certain maturity fitting for such a late-career entry in Miyazaki’s filmography. The fantasy world here is as enchanting as ever—like a Studio Ghibli filter being put on top of Pan’s Labyrinth. And the visuals are utterly gorgeous. While it maintains the classic aesthetic that has defined Miyazaki’s career, he has adopted new techniques which allow him to evolve—the sense of motion in this film is truly breathtaking. It’s one of the most gorgeous films of the year, both literally and figuratively, and a film that will break your heart and thrill you in equal measure. It’s a masterpiece, and whether it ends up being Miyazaki’s last film or not, it is a sign that he still has much more to say and new ways with which to say it.
1) Wes Anderson’s series of short films inspired by Roald Dahl
Okay…I’m cheating a little bit. My pick for my favorite film of the year isn’t just one film, but a group of four short films. I’m fudging the rules because, hey, it’s my list and I can ultimately do whatever I’d like with it. But also because watching these four short films was my single favorite cinematic experience of the year, and I think that makes them worthy of a mention. This year, Wes Anderson adapted four separate short stories by Roald Dahl—The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar, The Swan, The Rat Catcher, and Poison—to make a series of short films. While all separate films (and all excellent in their own right) they are clearly a part of the same series, due to a series of stylistic choices. For one thing, the same cast of actors—Richard Ayoade, Benedict Cumberbatch, Ralph Fiennes, Rupert Friend, Ben Kingsley, and Dev Patel—each appear in two of the four films (not counting Fiennes, who separately appears in each film as Dahl himself). Additionally, the screenplays are unusual in that the text is pretty much lifted word-for-word from the page, with characters narrating directly to the audience as opposed to a more realistic sort of dialogue. It all feels a bit like an experiment, but one which pays off bigtime. The result of these stylistic choices means that each film feels like a storybook come to life. Which, of course, is a perfect brief for a director like Wes Anderson.
Wes Anderson occupies an odd cultural place in the land of film discourse. He’s known for his distinct aesthetic—one which is instantly recognizable yet seems to be frequently misunderstood. One needs only to look at the number of AI parodies of Anderson’s work that have been made in the past year to see just how much people don’t give Anderson credit for his signature style. He’s much more than “bright colors” and “symmetry,” there’s a handcrafted feeling that the sterilized look of AI simply can’t capture. And while Anderson certainly has a bag of tricks he likes to pull from, that bag is much bigger than people give him credit for. As a screenwriter, Anderson is often philosophical—his characters are in various forms of crisis, and at his best, Anderson has a lot to say about life. But by taking the words directly from Dahl’s page, the script becomes almost important. The film becomes ABOUT the craft itself, and using that craft to tell a story. As such, this cycle of short films serves as a sort of artistic statement from Anderson. It’s as if he’s saying, “This is what making movies is about,” and I found this thesis to be absolutely convincing. These films were transporting for me. I found them utterly enchanting, and, essentially, perfect. While I don’t think every adaptation should utilize these techniques, it made me want to see this method used for more stories down the line.
But if these films are ABOUT the craft, that doesn’t mean the stories themselves aren’t good. The centerpiece of this series is clearly The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar—of the four, it’s the longest, and the one that Netflix entered to the Oscars for Best Live Action Short Film. It’s also easily the most extravagant one, and the only one of these four films that takes place in more than one setting. It tells the story, of course, of Henry Sugar (Cumberbatch), a man who figures out a way to see through solid surfaces and sets out to use this skill to cheat at gambling and make his fortune. It’s a fantastical fable, and Anderson’s whimsical approach somehow makes the conceit at its center feel plausible. It’s simply delightful, and I was already enchanted by watching this film on its own. But I particularly love this film when it is paired with the others in the cycle. The other three films are still quintessentially Wes Anderson, but are much simpler and pared down from many of his typical bells and whistles. They also delve into darker subject matter, and each one arguably could be considered Anderson’s take on a horror movie. The Rat Catcher centers around a genuinely disgusting performance from Fiennes, who is clearly having a lot of fun being as creepy as possible. Poison (which had previously been adapted into an episode of Alfred Hitchcock Presents, which Hitchcock himself directed) is a story about the careful efforts to stop a man from being bitten by a poisonous snake, which turns into a commentary on colonialism. The commentary isn’t much, but in such a simple story, it’s undoubtedly effective, thanks in no small part to the performances from Kingsley and Patel, whose work in the final moments is phenomenal. But my single standout of these four short films has to be The Swan. One of the most disturbing stories ever written, it should have been unfilmable, and the fact that this film succeeds so effectively is nothing short of miraculous. The Swan is about a young boy who is mercilessly tortured by two bullies, and the story itself is gut-wrenching. I would personally argue that the story is actually irresponsible—while Dahl isn’t endorsing the actions of the bullies, it is an indulgent description of their actions, and for me falls into the category of torture porn. The film is Wes Anderson at his most pared down. It’s the only film to feature just one speaking actor (Friend, who acts as the narrator and speaks the various characters’ dialogue) and features a number of stage hands who hand him props and make this film particularly theatrical. Hearing the words of The Swan said directly to you maintains the viciousness of the words, but the way it is filmed allows us to process such viciousness without being overwhelmed by it. It’s a telling of this story that is responsible without watering down the ferocity of the characters’ actions. And as strong as all of the actors are in this series of films, Friend is truly a standout here—the calmness of his line delivery belying the sheer emotion he conveys.
This series of short films is simply unforgettable, and works that I already know I will return to for years to come. They’re an artistic achievement of the highest order. There have been many discussions about the magic of movies, and I can think of no better example of “movie magic” than these films. They’re perfection—and a display of what happens when a great filmmaker offers the most distilled version of his art.
And there you have it. My favorite films of the year. Did your favorite make my list? If you enjoyed this, be sure to check out my list of 100 favorite performances of the year. Here’s to another year of great movies!
