My Top Films of 2023

The past year in film was one of often startling contrasts. The “Barbenheimer” phenomenon existed alongside simultaneous Hollywood writer and actor strikes. Streaming services like Disney+ and Max savagely axed their catalogues to cut costs, even shelving finished projects. And, for every Sound of Freedom and Super Mario Bros Movie that supercharged the global box office, there was an equally massive commercial and critical disappointment (especially for Marvel or DC Comics properties).

However, if you were to judge 2023 solely by its creative output, you would be hard-pressed to deny the great year that it was. Yes, “Barbenheimer” was a huge win for original filmmaking, but outstanding international films continued to gain both box office and critical attention. From The Boy and the Heron and Godzilla Minus One to Past Lives and Anatomy of a Fall, this feels like a year where, due to the often-underwhelming output of American franchise filmmaking, audiences sought out sincere and moving stories from around the globe.

The year was also full of thematic contrasts. It seemed like every other acclaimed film was about the banality of evil and how cruel humanity can be. And yet, my list of the best films of the year also includes celebrations of joy, love, peace, and understanding. And even, sometimes, of hope. So, cheers to the beautiful and chaotic year that was 2023 in film, and I hope you enjoy my picks for the 20 best films I saw this past year.

10. AMERICAN FICTION

American Fiction is a razor-sharp and thought-provoking satire of the modern world of book publishing and the intellectual gatekeepers that marginalize and fetishize black voices. And, while the film is often hilarious, it’s also sad and profound in a way that knocked me off balance and left me walking away mightily impressed. In what seems a banner year for debut features, Cord Jefferson’s adaptation of Percival Everett’s novel “Erasure” is also a welcome star-turn for the always-excellent character actor Jeffrey Wright.

Here, Wright plays Monk, a college professor and writer who is struggling to sell books. He is an African American author who would rather be known as “author” first, but lives in a world where being “black” carries a certain set of expectations from white publishers. At a writing conference, he discovers fellow black author Sintara Golden (Isaa Rae) and her latest wildly successful novel full of black stereotypes. Exasperated, he decides to punk his editor by submitting “My Pafology,” a supposedly semi-autobiographical novel that plays to similar tropes. Of course, the publishers love it, and Monk decides to see how far he can take the ruse without becoming the sellout he so despises.

The film obviously touches on some provocative themes, but it does so in a warm and very believable way. A good chunk of the film is taken up with Monk’s strained relationship with his family, including his aging mother Agnes (Leslie Uggams), his sister Lisa (Tracee Ellis Ross), and his volatile brother Cliff (Sterling K. Brown). Thanks to smart writing and excellent performances, the satire never becomes overwhelming or too preachy. Instead, Jefferson weaves a tight narrative where most scenes and conversations are filled with meanings and subtexts that flesh themselves out beautifully over the course of the film. The movie is memorable throughout, but it’s the ending that truly cements it as a great one. It’s just as surprising and disorienting as the rest of the film, but it’s also a multidimensional commentary on the ephemeral nature of storytelling and the way that lies can easily become truth if we let them. This truly wonderful film goes on a confident high note.

9. AMERICAN SYMPHONY/STILL: A MICHAEL J. FOX MOVIE/BONO & THE EDGE: A SORT OF HOMECOMING WITH DAVID LETTERMAN

I present to you three equally engrossing documentary portraits of artists and the joys and sacrifices of bringing your art into the world. American Symphony is the deeply moving portrait of musician Jon Batiste, whose career skyrockets into the stratosphere while his wife, writer Suleika Jaouad, faces a prolonged and brutal battle with cancer. This is an utterly compelling tearjerker of the best kind, one that attempts to understand how the spiritual ecstasy of creating beautiful sounds can exist beside heartbreak over our own mortality. It’s also one of the best love stories brought to film, as we see that no amount of notoriety can replace the innate human desire to be deeply known and loved.

Speaking of love, that’s an emotion that radiates off the screen in Davis Guggenheim’s portrait of actor Michael J. Fox entitled Still. Narrated by Fox himself, and bolstered by some tasteful and well-done reenactments, this documentary shows the famous actor as a man with a lot of love to give. It’s the kind of love that transcends something like a Parkinson’s diagnosis. Fox’s retrospective of his career—and how he hid his condition from the world for years—is fascinating, but the film is more concerned with how one perseveres through adversity. Although it can be difficult to see him in his condition as he works with a physical trainer to continue basic motor function, we see the love Fox has for his wife and kids, for his career, and for the community that has gathered around him in the wake of his diagnosis and tireless advocacy for Parkinson’s research and treatment. As with much of Guggenheim’s other work, this is a documentary for people who don’t like documentaries, filled with gorgeous compositions and a steadfast commitment to never water down the material or lionize his subject. Whether you are a fan of Fox and his work or not, this is a can’t-miss experience.

Although Guggenheim directed the terrific U2 documentary From the Sky Down, this year brought us another intimate look at the boys from Dublin courtesy of Oscar-winning director Morgan Neville. Unlike the other two documentaries that share this spot, Bono & The Edge: A Sort of Homecoming with David Letterman is a bit of a tougher sell for non-fans of the prolific Irish rock band. But I think that everyone should be fans of U2, and this film presents the best case I’ve seen for why their music matters. U2 superfan David Letterman leads us on an intimate journey with frontman Bono and guitarist The Edge. Through their eyes we get a moving portrait of the power of community when it comes to making music. Bono and The Edge are humble throughout, taking the time to share memories of their hometown and their gratitude for the experiences that informed who they are as artists. We are treated to some undeniably thrilling jam sessions throughout the film, including some with Dublin musician Glen Hansard, known for his role in the classic music film Once. While in their hometown, the boys decide to put on an impromptu concert for locals; David Letterman joyfully inviting people to the free show is one of the more delightful cinematic experiences I had this year. The concert itself is interspersed throughout the film, and the result is breathtaking. Neville’s veteran filmmaking style and the band’s connection with the audience help to create some truly unmissable footage.

8. RYE LANE

Think of it as a funnier Before Sunrise. Yes, Raine Allen-Miller’s south London-set romantic comedy draws heavy comparisons to Richard Linklater’s iconic trilogy. It’s about two young, idealistic people who spend the day together, taking in the sights of the city after a chance encounter. But the film’s bold stylistic choices, vibrant colors, and cheeky tone set it apart from its influences.

Allen-Miller’s secret sauce is in the wonderful performers she found to make her characters come to life. Yas (Vivian Oparah) and Dom (Damian Jones) are two struggling black artists who meet at an art exhibition. Almost immediately, the film makes these two loveable and relatable despite their flaws. Dom is grieving the loss of a long-term relationship and has moved back in with his parents. Yas is a free spirit and aspiring costume designer who has also recently gone through a break-up. Their relationship and banter feel quite natural, despite the artificial nature of the setup, and the performances and dialogue shine throughout.

The movie also is a great slice-of-life portrait of south London, capturing some truly hilarious and bizarre background characters that may have been staged but could just have easily been filmed guerilla style. That’s how authentic the movie feels. There’s even a cameo from a famous actor that I won’t spoil, but it’s to the film’s credit that I almost didn’t recognize him, and totally bought him as a purveyor of uncomfortably spicy burritos.

Perhaps the film’s greatest strength is that it tells its delightful tale in a brief 82 minutes. Obviously, given the rest of this list, I have no qualms with long movies that earn their runtime, but there’s something so refreshing about a movie this good being this short. Even more reason to check out this underrated gem of a film.

7. THE HOLDOVERS

Some might call Alexander Payne’s wonderful 70’s throwback film a new holiday classic, but it deserves to be so much more than a “Christmas” movie. Payne and screenwriter David Hemingson craft a funny, soulful, and redemptive portrait of love as sacrifice, and of finding out what it means to really “see” someone different from yourself.

The trio of performances at the film’s center are what draw us in and keep us glued to our seats. There’s the curmudgeonly “walleyed” boarding school professor Paul Hunham (a never-better Paul Giamatti), his intelligent but volatile student Angus (newcomer Dominic Sessa), and the school cafeteria administrator Mary Lamb (Da’Vine Joy Randolph). Through the machinations of the film, all three are “held over” and forced to wander the cold and lonely halls of Barton Academy while the other students get to enjoy their Christmas break.

From the beginning, the trio does not get along. Paul is strict and set in his ways. Angus is lashing out from the emotional wounds inflicted by a volatile home life. And Mary is grieving the loss of her young son in the Vietnam War. The way that Hemingson’s script peels back the layers of these characters is mighty impressive, and I found even more depth and richness to his approach upon a second viewing. As Paul and Angus begin to “see” one another through their various escapades, they begin to form a deep connection that is hard to put into words. And, while Mary often acts as the mediator between the two stubborn men, she may require someone to really see her as well.

The Holdovers is heartwarming without being sappy and emotionally raw without being depressing. Every moment of understanding and reconciliation feels earned, because we intimately understand what makes these characters tick. The sum of the film’s lessons may not be particularly revelatory, but it is undeniably effective. Oh, and I should also mention that Eigil Bryld’s grainy 70’s cinematography and the on-point retro soundtrack endear the film to my heart even further.

6. PAST LIVES

This film may be one of the saddest I have ever seen, and by that, I mean it is heartbreaking in all the best ways. Rooted in the concept of reincarnation, Celine Song’s extraordinary directorial debut wonders what our worlds may have looked like in “past lives,” and connects the themes of love, loneliness, and destiny through this idea that the end is never the end.

Consistently throughout, Song never gives us exactly what we expect from a story like this. When Nora (Greta Lee) reconnects with her childhood crush Hae Sung (Teo Yoo) decades after their childhood in South Korea, we expect the pair to re-energize a romance and for Nora to leave her husband Arthur (John Magaro) for the man she seems destined to be with. But Song’s concept of destiny is far more bittersweet, played out as Nora and Hae Sung continue to try and reconnect over the years. Eventually, they are forced to acknowledge that, perhaps, the moment has passed, and they’ll have to take comfort in who they were to one another in a “past” life.

The film is beautiful, with marvelous cinematography, haunting music, and astonishing performances. We feel for all three of these characters, even Arthur, whom a lesser film might have made into some kind of snob or villain. Instead, Arthur is a wonderful and understanding husband, even if he is not entirely sure what to make of Nora and Hae Sung’s relationship. The movie is emotionally honest in a way that is unfortunately rare in contemporary cinema, and it has a deep understanding of the inherent dignity of love and commitment, even when such things are crushingly hard.

5. JOHN WICK: CHAPTER 4

I think it’s safe to say that John Wick is the one of the premiere action movie franchises. Keanu Reeves’ iconic character’s relentless campaign against the High Table has produced increasingly legendary movies with boundary-pushing stunts. Thankfully, this trend continued with Chapter 4, which is nothing less than action movie nirvana. Clocking in at close to three hours, this is another very long movie on this year’s list. And, while the early minutes of the film lay a lot of plot groundwork, the remainder of the time is filled with a litany of banger action sequences.

Is it possible to choose a favorite? There’s the brutal ninja melee in Japan, the brawl in Harkan’s nightclub, the car chase around the Arc de Triomphe, the “bird’s eye” shotgun sequence, and the climactic shootout among the steps of the Rue Foyatier, just to name a few. This film is the ultimate test: is there such a thing as too much John Wick? The answer is a definitive “no.”

It’s not just the action set pieces that make this franchise so great, but also the characters and worldbuilding. There’s a whole internal logic to this world of gentlemen (and women) assassins that I find absolutely riveting, and what reinforces this high action concept is the strength of the performances. Every supporting player up to Reeves himself sells this material and brings the weight needed to raise the stakes with each action sequence. In particular, Donnie Yen’s blind swordsman Caine is a welcome addition to the cast, and Yen is such a charismatic performer that it’s an absolute delight to see him show off again. What else can I say? I’m sure there are lots of things about this franchise that you could nitpick, but, for me, it’s entirely too impressive to ignore. I’d say John Wick is back, and it feels better than ever.

4. KILLERS OF THE FLOWER MOON

Whatever happened to bring about Martin Scorsese’s late-career renaissance, I am thankful. The legendary filmmaker’s latest string of masterpieces reveals the depth and introspection of a man who is determined to wrestle with his legacy through painful but undeniably effective means. Silence was his haunting dissection of the religious epic. The Irishman was his reckoning with the legacy of gangster flicks. And now, Killers of the Flower Moon arrives as both an epic tale of the American West and a tragedy about the ways in which white men have coerced, killed, and manipulated to ensure that they are the winners who write the history books.

The film is startling in its stark and unfussed depiction of the Osage murders, a string of violence against Native Americans that occurred in 1920’s Oklahoma after oil was discovered on Native land. Of course, white men show up to ensure that such a rich resource, and the wealth that comes with it, stay in the most “responsible” hands. In steps the ruthless entrepreneur William Hale (played with cold perfection by Robert DeNiro) who ingratiates himself with the Osage and lures his gullible nephew Earnest Burkhart (Leonardo DiCaprio) into his schemes. One of their most nefarious scams involves courting Osage women from wealthy oil families and then legally taking their money through marriage. And they have no qualms about murdering and blackmailing anyone who gets in their way.

The warmer and more idealistic filmmaker who crafted stories like The Aviator and Hugo is almost completely gone here. This movie is ice cold, as Eric Roth’s script refuses to editorialize the hard truth and brutality of this shameful period in American history. In that way, it reminded me very much of 12 Years A Slave, another film that took an almost documentary-style approach to cataloguing the horrors of our not-so-distant past. This is, in my view, the appropriate way to approach such heavy material. No one is asking for comic relief or levity in such a weighty story.

At 3 and a half hours, the movie is definitely a long sit, and it feels its length. That’s not to say that the movie is boring or slow, only that Scorsese takes the time to tell the story right. There are layers that reveal themselves over the unspooling of the hours, and the film ultimately weaves an intoxicating spell. It’s the rare movie of such length that mostly earns its runtime, although I do admit the film could have used a little more trimming.

The other aspect of the movie that truly kept my attention was the acting. The heart and soul of the film is Lily Gladstone, who plays Earnest’s wife and eventual mark Mollie. In a heartbreaking performance, Gladstone portrays Mollie with nuance and depth as her genuine love for Earnest curdles into hatred and, eventually, pity. She does so in a physically demanding performance that is nothing short of astonishing.

Killers of the Flower Moon is ultimately a movie that fires on all cylinders. Scorsese’s assured direction combines with great acting, a memorable score, stunning cinematography, and stellar production design to create a truly must-see epic tragedy.

3. SPIDER-MAN: ACROSS THE SPIDER VERSE

Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse was an intimidating act to follow. Not only was it an Oscar winner and critical darling, but it was also a cultural phenomenon, ushering in a new era of animation that moves away from more “realistic” 3D modeling and embraces a more painterly or “drawn on” aesthetic (see also this year’s Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Mutant Mayhem). It was, in short, a landmark. Thankfully, the creators of the first film didn’t let all that praise go to their heads. Instead, they created an impressive sequel that takes the resonant themes and endearing characters of the original and expands upon them in epic fashion.

The allure of this particular Spidey franchise goes well beyond mere eye candy. It’s the way the animation is incorporated into the storytelling that truly sets it apart. For example, when we begin the film with Spider Gwen’s narration, we see her perspective through a visual style that immediately marks it as her own. We don’t even need dialogue; we just know we’re in Gwen Stacy’s world. The film’s knack for trusting its audience to gel with its unique storytelling is its greatest strength, as each universe we see is distinctly animated. Of course, we also see the return of Miles Morales as he is drawn into a dizzying multiversal saga. Yes, multiverses in pop culture are played out, but Across the Spider-Verse proves a potent last gasp (in easy contrast to the sloppy worldbuilding in something like The Flash).

At 2 hours and 20 minutes, the movie is admittedly lengthy, but it’s so breathlessly paced and visually dazzling that the minutes fly by. It’s a lot of movie, but thankfully that just means that the film demands to be seen more than once. On second viewing, my appreciation for the intricate storytelling and litany of “wow” moments only deepened. This is truly the Empire Strikes Back of Spidey flicks. Were it not for the unsatisfying cliffhanger ending, it may have earned the top spot on my list.

2. OPPENHEIMER

    I am not sure “filmmaker” is an apt title to apply to veteran director Christopher Nolan. “Magician” might be a more appropriate moniker. Who else but a magician could conjure up such an engrossing, artistically daring, and intricately beautiful three-hour epic about the father of the atomic bomb? With Oppenheimer, Nolan establishes himself as the modern-day David Lean, taking an almost impossibly grand subject and scope and making it feel both heartbreakingly intimate and larger-than-life. Nolan has sometimes struggled in his career to balance his narratives with his grand visual and technological ambitions. In other words, he hasn’t always passed the “will I still like it when I watch it again on streaming?” test. Yes, his latest masterwork should absolutely be seen on the biggest screen possible. But the complex, layered storytelling, masterful characterization, and relentless pacing make it a biopic for the history books, one that will be studied and analyzed for years to come.

    Why is it that a film with such manic jumps between time periods and complex technical jargon never feels like its daunting run time? It has a lot to do with vision. Nolan’s staunch commitment to showing both the benefits and the horrors of such an endeavor is woven throughout the movie, as he refuses to paint characters with a broad brush or convey anyone as truly hero or villain (minus the Nazis, of course). Rober J. Oppenheimer, played brilliantly by a never-better Cillian Murphy, is a daring and committed visionary who also alienates friends, cheats on his wife, and is haunted by the specter of what he has unleased upon the world. The film is based on the book American Prometheus, and I can’t imagine a more apt title for what Oppenheimer brought to the world. We have the great and terrible gift of a new kind of fire, and we can never go back. This culminates in a Nolan staple—a technically daring and nail-biting trailer-fodder sequence. Here, it’s the Trinity test—the first detonation of the atomic bomb. It’s an extraordinary scene, but it’s a later scene that cements the film as a classic. Oppenheimer, giving a speech to a gymnasium full of cheering Americans waving their patriotic flags—sees an apocalyptic and horrifying vision. He sees skin peeling off a woman’s face, people crying and vomiting, and the ashy husk of a human being. It’s a terrifying moment of moral crisis—and a true testament to the power of film when performance, direction, sound design, music, visual effects, cinematography, and editing all come together to create something unforgettable. Nolan and his team’s commitment to their vision and the morally knotty conclusions that result help to create a haunting magnum opus.

    1. Anatomy of a Fall

    This is the kind of movie that makes me feel bad for other movies. Justine Triet’s scorching Palme d’Or winner is both a gripping courtroom drama and a clear-eyed portrait of the disintegration of a marriage. The “fall” of the title refers both to the fatal fall of Samuel Maleski (Samuel Theis) at his winter Grenoble chalet and to the resulting fallout for wife Sandra (Sandra Huller). She is the prime suspect and their vision-impaired son Daniel (Milo Machado Graner) is the sole witness. The film’s Golden Globe-winning script (written by Triet and Arthur Harari) is remarkably perceptive about human nature and the lies and resentments that build up when couples see their paths in life as separate. The film masterfully teases out revelations as a seemingly happy marriage begins to show cracks. While Sandra is being interrogated by a ruthless prosecutor in court, we find out, for example, that Samuel began recording his and Sandra’s conversations in the days leading up to his death. Well, that’s not normal. We also get conflicting statements about the husband and wife’s character from therapists and other folks who hovered around the periphery of their lives.

    Without giving too much away, it does the film a disservice to ask “Did Sandra kill her husband, or was it an accident?” Instead, the film is more interested in the irreparable harm that is done to a person when his or her life is dissected in public, every intimate detail and off-hand remark suddenly a confession or a clue. Nowhere is this theme more powerfully conveyed than through the character of Daniel. As a young boy being asked to shoulder a tremendous burden, he is torn between the love he feels for both parents and the shock of his father’s sudden death. Graner’s performance is a revelation, as he is often asked to convey such deep emotion with little more than facial expressions and body language.

    Anatomy of a Fall is, above all, a convicting film, pointing the finger at us, the audience, for being so engrossed in the salacious details of true-crime documentaries and tabloid headlines that we forget the human beings—who are never entirely heroes or victims—behind the media frenzy. I braced myself for a “twist” ending that would shed a definitive light on what happened to Samuel. But, thankfully, that moment never came. This movie is way too good to resort to such cheap storytelling tricks. No, the ending of this masterpiece reminds us that life keeps on going, even if we never get the closure we desire this side of heaven. It’s a hard, bitter truth, but one that the film conveys with a beauty and grace that feels effortless.

    Here are my #11-20 picks:

    • Are You there God? It’s Me, Margaret
    • Mission: Impossible: Dead Reckoning—Part 1
    • Barbie
    • Suzume
    • A Thousand and One
    • May December
    • Creed III
    • Maestro
    • Linoleum
    • Reality 

    Some of this year’s major blind spots include Poor Things, Showing Up, Godland, Close, You Hurt My Feelings, Blackberry, The Iron Claw, Ferrari, The Zone of Interest, Sisu, Rustin, The Blackening, Saltburn, Godzilla Minus One, Dumb Money, and Nyad. Let me know which of these or others are worth checking out!

    My top films of 2021

    The movie industry, much like the rest of society, found itself at an uncomfortable and crucial crossroads in 2021. Due to the ongoing COVID-19 pandemic, traditional theatrical releases had to succumb to the whims of virus variants and picky moviegoers: risking severe illness and/or death to go see a movie is unsurprisingly not a good bargain for most movie fans. Thus, many of the year’s standout releases were once again streaming titles: from award-winning prestige dramas like The Power of the Dog on Netflix to hybrid releases like Denis Villeneuve’s sci-fi epic Dune, many of the year’s most talked-about releases were enjoyed almost exclusively from the comfort and safety of home.

    Those films that did brave the theatrical waters fought an uphill battle. For every success (like Disney and Marvel’s smash hit Spider-Man: No Way Home) there was an equally calamitous disaster (West Side Story’s paltry $31 million total to date has signaled an inauspicious return for the traditional movie musical).

    But, from a creative standpoint, the year that was 2021 came out swinging. Many of cinema’s greatest auteurs, including Guillermo Del Toro, Paul Thomas Anderson, Wes Anderson and Jane Campion debuted highly anticipated new releases. Meanwhile, actors continued to make the successful transition to the director’s chair, including standout efforts from Maggie Gyllenhaal, Rebecca Ferguson, and Lin-Manuel Miranda, to name a few.

    But what cinema ultimately represented this year is a powerful theme: that identity can only be found in the context of a loving and caring community. Almost every movie of note dealt with this theme, from the family bonds of Encanto to the unlikely brotherhood presented in Riders of Justice, countless films this year helped audiences ruminate on the importance of embracing our true individual identity by leaning on the people around us. And, for many exhausted, quarantined movie fans, such messages brought hope and healing. As art so often does, the cinema brought us together even when we seemed so impossibly far apart. And we should all be so thankful for that.

    So, without further ado, here are my picks for the best films of 2021!

    *Side note: with the extension of awards-season submissions, you will see several films represented here that are technically 2020 releases, including a prestigious Oscar winner. However, because no one in the general public was able to see these films until mid-February at the earliest, I went ahead and counted them as 2021 movies for my purposes, since this was the year most people outside of critics’ circles were able to experience them. *  

    10. Belfast

    Actor Kenneth Branaugh has had a spotty career as a director, but few would deny that the heartfelt, semi-autobiographical masterwork Belfast ranks among his best efforts. His unabashed crowd-pleaser about three generations of a family in Northern Ireland caught in the crossfires of the tumultuous late 1960s is a harrowing tale that nonetheless manages to uplift and inspire. Shot in stunning black-and-white, the film is told from the perspective of Buddy, played by Jude Hill, who gives one of the best child performances in years. He is a revelation, but the supporting cast is absolutely stacked: Caitriona Balfe, Judi Dench, Ciaran Hinds and Jamie Dornan all do some career-best work. It’s no surprise that Branaugh would be a keen director of actors, but what is more surprising is the beauty and sensitivity of his script. It recounts a tragic history with a light, nostalgic touch that conveys both the innocence and the startling perceptiveness of childhood. The result is an absolute delight from start to finish.

    9. Encanto/The Mitchells vs. the Machines (tie)

    The past year was a great one for fans of sophisticated, boundary-pushing animation. It was so good, in fact, that two movies I loved equally are sharing a spot here. Encanto is Disney’s Animation’s best effort in years, featuring vibrant visuals, brilliant songs written by Lin-Manuel Miranda, and a challenging and complex moral that proves equally impactful for kids and adults. For those who haven’t seen it, the less you know going in the better. It’s now available to stream on Disney+.

    The Mitchells vs. the Machines doesn’t have the same heartfelt story as Encanto, but it’s easily the funniest and most creative movie I saw this year. Producers Phil Lord and Chris Miller continue their hot streak of top-tier animation (these are the guys that brought us Spider-Man: Into the Spider verse and The Lego Movie) with a wonderful adventure about a family learning to accept each other, flaws and all, while trying to save the world from a robot apocalypse.

    The story and writing often feel influenced by classic Simpsons (very high praise), but the animation is boundary-pushing in true Lord-Miller fashion, with creative use of 2-D drawing, shading and stylistic changes that give this film a look unlike any animated movie before it. And trust me when I say you will be in tears of laughter throughout. With an inspiring message, stunning animation and a stellar voice cast, The Mitchells vs. the Machines absolutely slays. It’s available to stream on Netflix.

    8. Pig

    If you had told me at the beginning of 2021 that a movie starring Nicholas Cage as a truffle hunter who goes on a journey of self-discovery as he searches relentlessly for his beloved stolen truffle pig would wind up as one of the best films of the year, I would have sincerely questioned your sanity. And yet, Michael Sarnoski’s directorial debut is one of the most moving portraits of grief and loneliness I’ve seen in recent years.

    The film is also a showcase for just what a gift we have in Nicholas Cage. This is easily some of the best work of his career, a reminder that, when given the right material, the veteran actor can move us to tears. Yes, he’s known more for his camp and over-the-top performances these days, but the range he displays here is nothing short of breathtaking. There is a lengthy conversation scene between Cage’s character and a chef in a restaurant that is such an acting tour-de-force I had to pick my jaw off the floor when it was over. This is not your traditional renegade revenge thriller and thank God for that. The world needs more movies like Pig.

    7. Rocks

    This British import was quietly released on Netflix way back in February and received a rapturous response from the few critics and audience members who saw it. It’s a shame that this masterful coming-of-age story seems to have gotten lost in the embarrassment of riches that was 2021 cinema, because it’s one of the most raw and honest portraits of girlhood ever put to screen. Bukky Barkay is absolutely brilliant as Shola ‘Rocks’ Omotoso, a teenage girl navigating the trials of adolescence while also taking care of her sweet but challenging younger brother. After the two are abandoned by their mother, they are forced to fend for themselves while avoiding the specter of separation that would likely come from being taken in by Social Services.

    Director Sarah Gavron’s decision to hire mostly non-professional actors from in and around East London results in a realistic and pitch-perfect portrait of adolescent crisis. The movie is funny and uplifting, but also heartbreaking. The acting, writing and directing all work together to make us care for Rocks and wish the best for her, even as she understandably gets frustrated and makes mistakes. A young girl having to suddenly take on the responsibilities of an adult is something that happens in the real world far too often, and the film shines a harsh light on girls throughout the world who are dealt a similar unfair hand by life. And yet, hope remains, once again found in the context of lasting friendships and a faithful and loving community. Bring tissues for this one.

    6. West Side Story/In the Heights (tie)

    I sincerely hope that the meager box office returns of 2021 don’t scare Hollywood away from a musical renaissance. We need these stories, now more than ever, because musicals give us a feeling of joy and celebration that’s hard to replicate in other film genres. From Lin-Manuel Miranda’s Tick…Tick…Boom and Vivo to Dear Evan Hansen (not nearly as terrible as its reputation suggests), fans of musicals had no shortage of movies to get excited about. But two films stood out above the rest, and they are sharing a spot because they are both examples of top-tier artistry and what this genre can do when given the creative freedom to fly.

    Believe it or not, Lin-Manuel Miranda had yet another critically acclaimed project this year (if this guy isn’t entertainer of the year, I can’t think of anyone else who could take that crown). Based on Miranda’s award-winning musical, In the Heights is a truly terrific film, combining toe-tapping tunes, endlessly creative dance numbers (seriously, that pool scene!) and an enviable amount of rising young acting talent that you will be hearing more from soon. Director Jon M. Chu (of Crazy Rich Asians fame) once again shows his knack for conveying the beauty and bonds of minority life in America as the immigrant community of Washington Heights grapples with the dissonance between the persistence of their dreams and the disappointments and missed opportunities of their daily lives. Chu wisely used lots of relatively unknown actors, which may have hurt the film’s box office receipts but lent a charming and lived-in vibe to the project. If you’re looking for a technically complex and engaging movie that will keep a smile on your face from beginning to end, this is the definition of a must-see.

    West Side Story, for the few people who may not know, is another classic musical about immigrant life in America that also happens to be a modernized song-and-dance interpretation of Romeo and Juliet. This story of the ethnic conflict between rival gangs the Jets and the Sharks, and the doomed lovers on both sides of the division, received a classic, Oscar-winning adaptation from Robert Wise back in 1961. That film, while undeniably a landmark, hasn’t aged particularly well; it has that glossy, manufactured quality that many stage-to-screen adaptations struggled with at the time. Steven Spielberg’s remake, however, is an improvement over the original film in almost every way. The choreography is stunning, the camerawork is consistently clever, and the performances are almost all outstanding. I especially loved Rachel Zegler as Maria, Ariana DeBose as Anita, Mike Faist as Rift, and original “Anita” Rita Moreno in a new role that will absolutely melt your heart. I had the pleasure of seeing this film in the theater, and what a joyous experience to be completely lost in a world and a story for 2.5 hours! This remake obviously had big shoes to fill, but Spielberg proves that he can still do what he does best—enchant us, transport us, and move us in a way no other living filmmaker can.

    5. The Green Knight

    Of any film on this list, this one comes with the most caveats. By which I mean that The Green Knight is a challenging film from a challenging filmmaker (David Lowery, whose previous credits include A Ghost Story, which I absolutely hated). And yet, I had high hopes for this idiosyncratic storyteller’s interpretation of an Arthurian legend. And man, was my hype ever justified. Let me repeat: this movie is not for everyone. I don’t even know if it’s for most people. But I was utterly transfixed from start to finish, lost in some of the most immersive cinematography and production design I’ve seen in years.

    The story, as much as there is one, follows Sir Gawain, King Arthur’s nephew, as he attempts to live up to his bloodline by embarking on a mythic quest to confront the Green Knight, an ominous and mysterious challenger. Gawain’s desire to prove himself in the eyes of his community is brought to life by actor Dev Patel, who was a bold casting choice and gives what is easily the best performance of his career. Patel plays Gawain as believable and relatable every step of the way, even as the character acts increasingly despicably to get the so-called “honor” he feels he deserves.

    The Green Knight is a psychologically intense and disturbing character study, and the film’s ending is likely the most cryptic of any film released this year. And yet, even when we can’t quite piece together everything that is going on, we trust the journey to the hands of an undeniably brilliant filmmaker. I could tell from beginning to end that every choice Lowery made was deliberate and purposeful. It’s a rare storyteller that can earn your trust while giving you so little to hold on to in terms of moment-to-moment plot and character development. You must have confidence in the journey. And, while you may love or hate the result, you’ll have a hard time denying that The Green Knight is quite unlike any film you’ve seen before.

    4. The Power of the Dog

    Jane Campion’s highly anticipated return to the director’s chair for the first time since 2009’s Bright Star did not disappoint, as the Kiwi auteur crafts a brilliant and emotionally brutal portrait of life lived on the margins. Her period piece tackles such potent themes as toxic masculinity, homophobia, and sexual repression through the landscape of the American west, where the very idea of what it means to be a man holds a very narrow definition. Benedict Cumberbatch is cast in a career-best role as Phil Burbank, a charismatic cattle rancher who simultaneously plays both victim and perpetrator of these societal restrictions and stereotypes. Cumberbatch plays Phil as a simmering kettle, all seething rage and cruelty, yet the film’s nuanced script reveals layers that almost make the man seem sympathetic, or at least human. And yet, the campaign of wounded terror he exerts over his family, including his brother (Jesse Plemmons), his brother’s wife (Kirsten Dunst) and her teenage son (Kodi Smit-McPhee), is anything but sympathetic.

    The Power of the Dog is the kind of film that reveals itself in layers, slowly peeling back the revelations and character motivations the way a master carver gradually changes common wood into something recognizable, a work of art.  It took me basically the entire length of the film to realize I hadn’t taken a true breath, so enthralled and terrified I was by the brutal artistry unfolding before me. Make no mistake, the film is Campion’s masterpiece, surpassing the already excellent The Piano and establishing herself as one of the most accomplished writer-directors in the world. The Power of the Dog is a true masterpiece in every sense of the word—all aspects from performance to writing to music, cinematography, and editing work together to weave an unforgettable tapestry that cuts deep. From its opening shot to its devastating and haunting climax, it’s truly a film that is not to be missed.

    3. The Father

    Legendary actor Anthony Hopkins deservedly won his second Best Actor Oscar last year for this astonishing portrait of a brilliant mind diminished by the ravages of dementia. Although the film made it to last year’s Oscars due to an extended eligibility deadline, it reached U.S. audiences at the end of February, making it truly a 2021 release. The film also took home an Oscar for best adapted screenplay, which director Florian Zeller adapted from his stage play. It’s astonishing that this accomplished playwright has never written or directed a film before, because this film is as close to perfect as movies get.

    The Father puts audiences in the shoes of someone dealing with memory loss like no film before it. It’s nothing short of breathtaking that a movie can so thoroughly and convincingly mess with your head. Told from Hopkins’ character’s perspective (who is also named Anthony), the film establishes the rules for how we think the events are going to play out, then pulls the rug out from under us. Characters we have been introduced to may suddenly reappear but played by a completely different actor. Entire conversations will be repeated, but suddenly take on a very different tone. The result is disorienting and profoundly upsetting. I remember shouting at the screen, “No, that’s not right. This person is an imposter!” Maybe they are, and maybe they’re not. Nothing is really answered until the film’s haunting final moments, where Hopkins can release the emotions that his character and the audience have been frustratingly unable to articulate for the previous 90 minutes. It’s a remarkably cathartic moment from an actor who is firing on all cylinders, and a potent reminder that film is an incredible tool for generating empathy for those whose experience we can’t directly relate to. What a gift this movie is, to the world of cinema but also to the world of those silently suffering, hoping for someone to understand their pain.

    2. Nomadland

    Here’s the big one, the film that had every critic singing its praises when the end-of-year lists were tallied at the end of 2020. I knew for a fact that this was not going to be on my list last year, because the first available opportunity I had to see it was when it released on Hulu in February. But man, was it ever worth the wait. Nomadland is a salve for a wounded society, a reminder that kindness, gentleness, courage, and compassion are what will bring us together in these trying times.

    Chloe Zhao’s Best Picture Oscar winner follows the life of Fern (played by Frances McDormand, who also won for her portrayal here), a woman in her sixties who loses everything during the Great Recession and embraces her new life as modern-day nomad, traveling across the American landscape as she takes on odd jobs and finds an incredible community of free people across the nation. The film also won a trophy for Zhao’s direction, which, in her trademark style, is both epic and intimate, imbued with tremendous compassion for the outcasts and forgotten members of society. I am so thankful that her work has been recognized and praised so highly (so much so that she took the helm of a big-budget Marvel film in The Eternals, which was also released in 2021).

    Zhao’s most brilliant choice was to cast mostly non-actors as those Fern meets across her travels. This gives the film a documentary-like authenticity, much like she did in The Rider when she cast Brady Jandreau to star in a fictionalized version of his own story suffering from a rodeo-induced skull fracture. Here, that technique works particularly well, as it allows us to get to know and love these people who all have a story and a reason for becoming “homeless,” although most nomads would shudder at that word. Once again, Zhao has crafted a masterpiece of empathy, one that results not in pity or sadness for so-called “outcasts” but, rather, respect and admiration. This life takes courage, grit, and a sense of self that isn’t tied to material possessions or earthly ideas of success. Truly, it feels like many of these folks are closer to God’s Kingdom than the rest of us, so distracted as we are by our politics and our romances and our egos and our stuff. One gets a sense that these folks are living the true American dream, rightly defined: a life of freedom, of purity, of gratitude. We should all be so lucky to hope for such a life, even as we recognize that we wouldn’t wish it upon ourselves or anyone we love. This movie left me feeling convicted, yes, but also uplifted. It truly is a masterpiece that will stand the test of time as an emotional and flawless ode to the lasting impact of the families we make in this life, not just the ones we are given.

    1. Summer of Soul/Procession (tie)

    For my top film of the year, I present to you a two-fer. Documentaries have a sneaky habit of topping my best films of the year list (Time and Won’t You Be My Neighbor being the examples in recent years), and despite the wide variety of films released in 2021, this year continues the trend. These films are very different, but they moved me in equally profound ways, and stand as two of the best documentaries I have ever seen.

    Summer of Soul (Or…When the Revolution Could Not be Televised), is a joyful celebration of the power of music to unite people around an identity rooted in a time and place. Legendary musician Questlove makes his directorial debut here, drawing upon reams of extraordinary footage taken during the 1969 Harlem Cultural Festival (also known as black Woodstock) but rendered unused and unseen for 50 years. Questlove takes the time to set the stage, telling us through contemporary talking heads why this festival was so culturally impactful for African Americans and why its themes and revelations echo through to today. But what truly makes this film perhaps the greatest music documentary of all time is the performances, which are given room to play out in their entirety. From the joyous early-career performances of Gladys Knight and the Pips and Stevie Wonder to the socially conscious and controversial musings of Nina Simone, the Harlem Cultural Festival created a perfect storm of black pride and social consciousness. The rage and fear African Americans felt exist hand-in-hand with the hope, pride and redemptive messages that black America embraced despite their hardships. Nowhere is this more pronounced than in the film’s emotional high point, a moving performance of “Precious Lord, Take My Hand” by Mahalia Jackson and Mavis Staples that will have even the hardest cynic in tears. The word “transcendent” is not a word that should be used lightly or regularly when describing a work of art, but it’s the most appropriate word here. If you haven’t experienced it, stop whatever you’re doing and catch in on Hulu right now.

    An equally profound, but far more emotionally brutal, documentary premiered on Netflix at the tail end of November 2021. Procession is an unforgettable testament to the therapeutic power of art, as a group of men connected by the worst possible thread come together to confront the demons of their past and find healing and hope in the power of a brotherhood none of them ever expected or asked for.

    Veteran documentary filmmaker Robert Greene took a big risk in asking for these men to come together, as they all suffered boyhood sexual abuse at the hands of Catholic priests connected to the Kansas City, Missouri diocese. Greene gathered them along with their dedicated attorney and an art therapist to direct a series of short films about how the abuse has affected their lives to this day. In the wrong hands, such material can feel gross or exploitative, and yet, using a similar conceit as that in The Act of Killing, performance brings about revelation and the hope of a way forward. Seeing these men confront their abuse head-on and willingly confront long-buried demons is about the most inspiring thing you could possibly imagine witnessing. They are true heroes in every sense of the word; they have been bent but never broken, wounded, but refusing to be crushed.

    Procession is a remarkably clear-eyed and profound portrait, one that cuts deep by once again showing the healing that art can bring to long-festering wounds. The film balances an appropriate mix of rage and kindness, as the pure evil of what these men experienced is given the full weight it deserves. And yet, the emotional arc of their journey is one that rises out of the darkness into light, where all evil is exposed, and true reconciliation can occur. All the men who participated seem to realize that, while anger is an appropriate and useful emotion, it is not a place in which to make your home. Only by living a life of significance and purpose can we defeat those who have caused so much harm. This documentary is beautiful, haunting, and essential, and for those reasons it is the best film of 2021.

    And here are my 11-20 picks, all great movies that I wish I could have left room for above.

    11. Passing

    12. King Richard

    13. Minari

    14. Spider-Man: No Way Home

    15. Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings

    16. Last Night in Soho

    17. Derek Delgaudio’s In & Of Itself

    18. Judas and the Black Messiah

    19. CODA

    20. Spencer

    Blind spots: I saw a heck of a lot of movies this year, but not everything. Some major misses as of this writing include: Quo Vadis, Aida?, Drive My Car, Flee, Days, The Rescue, The Disciple, Limbo, Bergman Island, Mass, C’mon C’mon, Red Rocket, The Hand of God, The French Dispatch, Nine Days, Saint Frances, Pieces of a Woman, Annette, House of Gucci, and The Tragedy of MacBeth. Please let me know if any of these films are worth checking out, or if they rank as some of your favorites of the year!

    My top films of 2020

    To say that 2020 was a transitional year for film would be a massive understatement. All anyone could seem to talk about when it came to entertainment news was the Coronavirus pandemic. The ensuring confusion caused theaters to shut down and forced studios to either postpone their expensive blockbusters or attempt a digital mode of distribution in the hopes of drawing people to pay for streaming platforms (Mulan on Disney+ and WW1984 on HBO Max being the most notable examples).

    The relative disappearance of high-profile event cinema throughout the year caused many movie fans to bemoan a perceived lack of quality content. Thankfully, the reality is that 2020 was a terrific year for cinema, if not for “movies” in the traditional sense. There was so much to celebrate in the cinematic-year-that-was. For one, stellar documentaries gained widespread acclaim on many streaming platforms, running the gamut from indie oddities like “My Octopus Teacher” and “Dick Johnson is Dead” to highly anticipated events like “Crip Camp” and “Boy’s State.” Not to mention that my favorite film of 2020 happens to be a documentary (see more below).

    Another highlight of 2020 was the number of female directors stealing the spotlight and dominating the awards conversations. Yes, women got some blockbuster love with Niki Caro helming Disney’s “Mulan” live-action remake, but female-led efforts also dominated the critical conversation. For example, Emerald Fennell’s “Promising Young Woman,” Kelly Reichardt’s “First Cow,” Regina King’s “One Night in Miami,” Chloe Zhao’s “Nomadland,” and Radha Blank’s “The Forty-Year-Old Version,” to name just a few.

    But perhaps the most important highlight of 2020 was the sheer amount of quality black voices. In a year that featured massive civil unrest as protests against unjust treatment of black men at the hands of police reached a fever pitch, the movies kept pace by giving us soulful, emotional black stories, ones that defied easy categorization and thankfully steered clear of “black Oscar bait” or “white savior” tropes. Special recognition should go to Steve McQueen for his sensational “Small Axe” anthology, released on Amazon Prime. But compelling stories from people of color were everywhere. I’m thinking of the tragic passing of Chadwick Boseman and his blistering performance in “Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom,” almost certain to win him a posthumous Oscar nomination for Best Actor. Other standouts include the devastating documentary “Time,” Spike Lee’s magnum opus “Da 5 Bloods,” Kemp Powers’ one-two punch co-writing both “Soul” and “One Night in Miami,” Aaron Sorkin’s sensitive treatment of the Black Panthers in “Trial of the Chicago 7,” and the fight against black voter suppression documented so powerfully in “All In: The Fight for Democracy” and “Slay the Dragon.”

    2020 was a chaotic year for Hollywood. But, out of that chaos, lovers of cinema had almost unprecedented access to a variety of voices and perspectives, making the year a rich cinematic journey for those willing to seek out its many treasures.

    And now, my 10 favorite films of 2020, along with my 11-20 picks at the end. I hope you enjoy!

    10. The Invisible Man

    Thanks to the lack of available theatres to screen them, this was a sad year for traditional genre films. Thankfully, The Invisible Man came out in February, so a few folks still got to see it on a big screen (or on demand, where it hit shortly after theaters shut down). And this one was more than worth checking out for fans of quality horror/thriller movies. Helmed by actor-turned-director Leigh Whannel who made a name for himself with the severely underrated action flick “Upgrade,” this modern update of the classic universal monster story is heart-pounding nail-biter from its terrifying opening scene to its savagely brutal and cathartic ending. It should be no surprise that Elisabeth Moss is amazing in this, but the way she imbues Cecilia with a weighty determination to not only survive, but get revenge on her murderous ex-lover makes her a feminist badass almost on par with the likes of Ripley from “Alien.” This is one of those “water cooler” movies, where everyone who sees it must talk to someone else about just how cool the whole thing was. This is the unfortunately rare thriller that just simply works, and works with style, from beginning to end.

    9. First Cow

    Writer-director Kelly Reichardt has earned herself a small but vocal following among cinephiles who swoon over her richly drawn characters and slavish attention to period detail in films like “Meek’s Cutoff,” “Wendy and Lucy” and “Certain Women.” Though I hesitate to say that “First Cow” will win her tons of new fans, it is certainly the best film she has made to date. The script, adapted from a novel by Jonathan Raymond, is so fascinating that it you almost forget you aren’t really watching much “happen” in terms of plot. But no film this year has felt more richly lived-in than this; the grimy re-creation of 19th century Oregon is a stark reminder of the savagery and poverty that drew such a stark contrast with the stunning natural beauty of the land. At her best, Reichardt draws favorable comparisons to Terrence Malick, and that comparison fits here.

    But, what really makes “First Cow” such a memorable experience is the relationship at its center. No, not between man and cow, although such a bond is present. I’m talking about the unlikely friendship between traveling chef Cookie (a quietly compelling John Magaro) and Chinese immigrant King-Lu (Orion Lee). The film telegraphs early on that these two will form a strong bond, but the actors sell that idea and draw us ever closer to the intimacies of the story, little by little. This is a film that speaks with a quiet and reverent voice, which somehow makes its impact even more powerful. Sometimes, we need to slow down and appreciate the beauty of a simple story, exquisitely told.

    8. Dick Johnson is Dead

    What a kooky, heady, weird, profound delight this film is. Kirsten Johnson’s strange tribute to her father is both a love letter to a man and a mourning, as that man slowly suffers from the effects of dementia. This somber meditation sets director Johnson’s mind on the inevitability of death, and she has an interesting mode of therapy: theater. That is, dressing her father up and “killing” him in various ways. He falls down a flight of stairs. He is struck by falling debris. He acts out his own funeral and a fantasy sequence where he enters Heaven’s gates. The humor is, obviously, pretty dark, and the behind-the-scenes footage of how the “kills” were set up, complete with stunt doubles and squib packs, doesn’t lessen the shock of seeing Dick die over and over.

    But the movie works mostly because it is so funny. Richard Johnson is an absolute character, and I’m thankful that Kirsten decided to share him with the world. His ability to so willingly go along with his daughter’s bizarre experiments reveal a sweet and tender man who is also absolutely down for pretty much anything. You will cackle with laughter, but watch out, because the very next scene may have you reaching for tissues, as it did me. This movie is weird, but, much like “The Act of Killing,” the artifice of the drama allows us to approach some heady topics in a way that doesn’t feel like a manipulative chore. Leave it do a “dead” man to teach us all what it means to live.

    7. Sound of Metal

    “’Sound of Metal’ is the kind of riveting drama you have to unglue your eyes from the screen after watching. I felt such a special connection to the characters and themes of this film, and I appreciate everyone involved for making such a raw, compassionate dramatization of the experience of being deaf.

    Riz Ahmed’s award-worthy performance as Ruben, a drummer in a metal band who quite suddenly and inexplicably loses his hearing, gives us a unique outsider’s perspective into coming to terms with a disability and the prospect of a radically changed life. Ruben, like many of us would, I suppose, does not transition gracefully into his disability. In fact, he is constantly scheming to raise money for a costly procedure that he believes will restore his hearing and allow him to resume a semblance of a normal life with his faithful girlfriend Lou (Olivia Cooke). But Ruben is also a recovering drug addict, and so he ends up in a recovery center run by a man named Joe (a scene-stealing Paul Raci), who has plans for Ruben to integrate into the community and accept his disability as part of his new normal. But Ruben still has other plans for his future.

    Along with the phenomenal performances, the film is also particularly noteworthy for its sound design, which is some of the best I have ever heard in a movie. The sound really immerses us into what Ruben is hearing at any given moment, as conversations become muted muddles and we struggle and strain to hear something, anything that sounds like normal. The cumulative effect is overwhelming, and it speaks to the power of cinema to take a very familiar redemptive story arc and imbue it with new life. I wouldn’t call the ending of the film happy, per se, but it does feel true, and I so badly want Ruben to be happy that I will follow him anywhere. It takes a special film to engender that kind of emotion, and “Sound of Metal” is certainly that.

    6. Da 5 Bloods

    Veteran director Spike Lee’s follow up to his incredible “BlacKkKlansman” is another oddly titled and extraordinarily unsubtle examination of the legacy of violence. Infused with Lee’s singular and urgent voice, “Da 5 Bloods” did not disappoint.

    Following a squad of black U.S. Army Veterans as they reunite in Vietnam in the hopes of digging up some buried gold, the film, in both playful and serious ways, powerfully explores the issues of black patriotism and the ways in which PTSD affects the machismo of the soldier who is either unable or unwilling to move on from the sins of the past. These themes are fleshed out with fascinating details, such as the fact that Paul (an amazing Delroy Lindo) wears a MAGA hat and gets ribbed by his fellow vets for being a Trump supporter. As the film moves on, the violence becomes surprisingly graphic, as the injustice of unexploded land mines serves as another visual reminder of the horrors of war being passed down through the generations.

    It should be noted that much of the film’s power lies on the shoulders of the late Chadwick Boseman. Along with his astonishing performance in “Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom,” his performance here as the heroic Stormin’ Norman was one of his last, and best. Although Norman was killed in the war, the legacy of everything he meant to his squad mates permeates almost every scene, and Boseman’s presence hangs heavy over the entire film. In a film full of provocative themes and stellar performances, his stands out as something truly special. He is, undeniably, a legend.

    5. Boys State

    As an alumnus of the California Boys’ State 2008, I eagerly awaited the arrival of this intimate documentary. I was even more excited when I realized that this exhaustively deep dive into the intricacies of mock politics was being brought to us by Amanda McBaine and Jesse Moss, who graced us with one of my top 10 (maybe even top 5) documentaries of all time, “The Overnighters.” And I’m glad my excitement was not overblown, because this one is pretty damn good, too.

    No movie this year captured our current political moment quite as potently as “Boy’s State.” Following a Texas delegation of high school juniors, chosen by the American Legion, to gather at the state capitol for a week and create their own mock government from the ground up, the film expertly threads the needle between giving viewers both hope and horror for the future of our nation. We watch as idealism is quickly overrun by blind party loyalty, as teenagers espouse values to a crowd that they themselves admit in private to not believing in. We watch the cutthroat use of social media to demonize “the other side,” taking them out of context and mocking them for their perceived hypocrisies. It’s all rather exhausting.

    And yet, the film reminds us that there is hope for the future in those who find things worth fighting for. This hope is exemplified most clearly in Steven Garza, a passionate advocate for gun reform who tries to mollify a rabidly pro-second amendment populace in his race to become the “governor” of Texas over the brilliant and fiery conservative Ben Feinstein. It is a cutthroat competition, but when the dust settles, many of the boys are surprisingly reflective about how it all went down, and how easily they reverted to their baser instincts and abandoned their better angels to win. This is all presented through breathtakingly thorough camerawork and brilliant editing and music. It’s truly the documentary as art form, and also as democratic self-reflection—chances are, though, that you may not like what you find staring back at you.

    4. I’m Thinking of Ending Things

    It’s safe to say that writer-director Charlie Kaufman is an acquired taste. From generally beloved weird classics like “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind” and “Being John Malkovich” to more impenetrable head-scratchers like “Synecdoche, New York,” the groundbreaking auteur has garnered his share of diehard fans as well as naysayers. His latest effort, “I’m Thinking of Ending Things,” based on the book by Iain Reid, is unlikely to change many hearts and minds. And yet, for the Kaufman diehards (and the adventurous cinema fan), it’s an absolutely rapturous experience.

    Kaufman’s scripts tend to excel at conveying the interior life of the mind through both trippy visuals and idiosyncratic dialogue, and this is perhaps the most purely entertaining and clear use of those elements. From the long, heady car-ride conversations between a “young woman” (played by a never-better Jessie Buckley—and yes, that’s really the character’s name) and her eccentric boyfriend Jake (Jesse Plemmons), to unforgettable images like an ice cream stand in the middle of nowhere and an animated, maggot-infested pig, the film is designed to sear into your memory, regardless of whether you really understand all that is going on by the end.

    Here, I think, is an important distinction between “Ending Things” and, say, Christopher Nolan’s “Tenet,” another highly anticipated 2020 film. “Tenet” is a headscratcher wrapped inside of an enigma, and it’s hard to shake the feeling that, while you need to watch it twice to comprehend everything that happens, you’re not sure there’s much “there” there to chew on. With this film, I got to a point where I was enjoying the journey more than the destination, and I would gladly watch it again to help myself unravel some of those threads. There’s a difference between complex and complicated and I think Kaufman walks that line brilliantly here.

    “I’m Thinking of Ending Things” comes with many caveats. Watch it without having any idea what it’s about. Immerse yourself in the stellar performances and rapturous cinematography (brought to us by the wonderful Polish cinematographer Lukasz Zal). Don’t watch the film if you’re dealing with depression, because, as enjoyable as it is, it is also existentially bleak and immensely heavy. You may find yourself needing a nap when it’s all over. But oh, the dreams you will have!

    3. Soul/Wolfwalkers

    This past year graced us with two animated classics. I loved them both so much, I decided to give them a shared spot.

    “Wolfwalkers” is the true masterpiece of Irish animation studio Cartoon Saloon’s impressive body of work. The third of director Tomm Moore’s unofficial “Irish folklore” trilogy, it is, put bluntly, the most beautiful animated film ever made. Cartoon Saloon has always excelled at invigorating traditional hand-drawn animation with an M.C. Escher-like energy, but the advances in technology, along with the gorgeous lines and vibrant colors, give the film the feeling of a painting come to life. There’s no way the story would have had the same impact if it was done with CGI animation, and it’s a testament to the power of the medium that a traditional 2D animated feature can still inspire such awe and wonder.

    The story is not exactly revolutionary. A sheltered city girl who befriends a half-human, half-wolf, helps her tribe fight back against encroaching industrialization that threatens their home and their ancient connection to the land. At times, it reminded me very much of Hayao Miyazaki’s “Princess Mononoke.” But “Mononoke” is my all-time favorite animated film, so I guess if you’re going to borrow, it might as well be from the best. Regardless of its inspirations, “Wolfwalkers” should rightly be considered a classic, thanks to its stunningly beautiful animation and richly defined characters.

    While we’re on the subject of beautiful animation, let’s talk about “Soul,” Pixar’s latest original stunner. The great Pete Doctor (who helmed such favorites as “Monster’s Inc.,” “Inside Out” and “Up,”) returns for another ambitious, joyful and thoroughly profound film. From first frame to last, “Soul” is bursting with creativity, imagination, and heart. Of course, we’ve come to expect nothing less from the geniuses at Pixar, but they have hit a few snags in recent years. This is no snag.

    This is the kind of flick that, were you to watch the trailers, you think you would have figured out, or at least understand the general direction it was going. Thankfully, Doctor and co-writer Kemp Powers manage to blindside us at every turn as the tale of jazz musician Joe Gardner and his increasingly desperate efforts to re-unite his spirit with his body after “dying” take on more elaborate and profound implications. Much as Docter did with “Inside Out,” he is obviously grasping for topics, emotions and themes that are way outside the bounds of traditional kids’ movies. Even for a company known for taking risks, it’s somewhat of a miracle that this ever got the green light. It is a weird movie, and I mean that as the highest compliment. I’d also make the argument that, like much of Docter’s other work, it’s not really a very good “kids” movie. Many of the ideas the film delves into are not exactly ones you want babysitting your child, prone as they are to reflecting on the afterlife, religion, art, and the meaning of life. But then, Pixar doesn’t often make movies to occupy kids’ imaginations. Instead, they desire to challenge them in ways that a parent should probably be on hand to discuss afterwards. All I can say for the adults in the audience is that “Soul” is everything I want in an animated movie. The fact that it is drop-dead gorgeous and features a superb score by Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross (along with compositions by the great Jon Batiste), make it even more endearing. For those who love art, music, or life in general, “Soul” is a deeply moving adventure that may just help you discover your purpose in life. How many animated movies can you say that about?

    2. Small Axe Anthology

    The question has bounced back and forth across the internet: Is Steve McQueen’s five-film “Small Axe” anthology series, released on Amazon, a movie, or a limited TV series? When we have stories this personal and inspiring, who really cares?

    McQueen has gifted lovers of quality filmmaking five beautiful stories of celebration and resilience, focused upon the struggles and the victories of the West Indian Immigrant community in London between the 1960s and the 1980s. All five films, while distinct from one another, are woven together in a broad tapestry that celebrates the importance of community and brotherhood in the fight for liberation and equality.

    There are so many moments to celebrate in McQueen’s impeccably crafted and deeply emotional stories. The highlight, to my mind, is “Lovers Rock,” a near-perfect shout of joy that preaches the beauty of West Indian culture as a cast of memorable characters meet up at a house in West London. The swooning camerawork and incredible soundtrack are hypnotic in their celebration of black pride and the way that music is explicitly tied to the fight for people of color to let loose and be themselves.  

    McQueen also tackles the struggle for racial justice as he chronicles the trial of the “Mangrove” 9 in the 1970s, where black freedom fighters must come up against an entire justice system designed to oppress them. The film is brilliantly written and anchored by stellar performances from Letitia Wright and Shaun Parkes. The struggle for justice continues with “Red, White and Blue,” which stars a riveting John Boyega as Leroy Logan, a black officer with the London Metropolitan Police who attempted to reform the racist attitudes of the organization from within.

    The fight for black equality is given much funnier and lighter treatment in “Education,” which dramatizes the efforts of West Indian parents to get their children to receive academically equitable schooling, rather than resigning them to so-called “schools” for the “educationally subnormal.” It’s hard not to draw parallels to more modern strands of racism in education systems around the world, and some of the revelations of the film are indeed shocking. But it’s all handled with such a wonderfully light and humorous hand, and is anchored by a spirited Kenyah Sandy, one of the best child actors in recent memory.

    Finally, there is the true story of “Alex Wheatle,” which chronicles the British novelist’s life, from his childhood in a mostly white institutional care home to his embracing of West Indian community in Brixton, to his incarceration during the Brixton Uprising in 1981. The film continues the theme of music as a unifying force in the anthology, as Wheatle gains a passion for music and DJing that imbue him with a sense of purpose and connection to his true ancestry. The film is lively and graces us with another bright young actor in lead Sheyi Cole.

    Taken as a whole, “Small Axe” feels like a vital piece of art in a year where black people were faced anew with the struggle for equality. It may not seem like the George Floyd protests have anything to do with West Indian communities in London decades ago. With his trademark craftmanship and slavish attention to detail, McQueen has gifted us with an artistic statement on the ways that the cry for freedom rings throughout the generations, and how true loving community is the major healing force for oppressed minorities to find true liberation and purpose.

    1. Time

    This past year has been one of tremendous loss and grief for many. As we begin to pick ourselves up and put back the pieces, we begin to wonder how we account for the time we have lost. Garrett Bradley’s masterful documentary “Time” is a profoundly moving examination of one family’s struggle with that same dilemma.

    Bradley combines extensive home video with original footage to give his audience an achingly accurate snapshot of what true loss looks like. Through this, we get to know the daily life of Fox Rich, an inspiring woman fighting for prison reform as she struggles to commute the 60-year prison sentence of her husband Rob, serving time in the Louisiana State Penitentiary for bank robbery.

    Through Rich’s eyes, we see the exhausting struggle to fight what the world might call a losing battle, as Rich balances her mission of determination with her career and raising her children. In this process, we get an intimate glimpse into the injustices of the prison industrial complex and the devastation it can have on ordinary families, particularly families of color.

    What makes the film even more intriguing is the fact that Rich robbed the bank with her husband and served time herself. These are not innocent or wrongfully convicted people. Thus, the film occupies a unique space in confronting these issues head-on: what does it mean to “repay a debt” to society, and how is that debt viewed by those who hold the keys to freedom?

    These questions are driven home through stunning black and white cinematography, and astonishing camerawork, as Bradley lingers on faces and images that convey the anguish of waiting. This culminates in a breathtaking climax that delves into the fantasy of what it would look like to buy back time, recognizing, of course, that such a thing is impossible. “Time” reminds us that the passage of time is something we have no control over. What we do with that time, however? That is up to us.  

    Honorable mention: Hamilton

    I went back and forth on Disney’s filmed version of Lin Manuel Miranda’s Broadway smash hit “Hamilton.” Is this a movie? If so, it’s far and away the best I saw this year. But, in so many ways, it’s not a movie. Ultimately, I didn’t feel like it was fair to award something that has essentially been around for years—albeit, now, to a much larger audience—with a spot on my top 10 list. But I think it’s important to include a shout-out to it neverthless, because “Hamilton” is an absolutely incredible experience that shouldn’t be missed by anyone with a pulse. Look on YouTube any given day and you will see hundreds, if not thousands, of “Hamilton” parody videos. It’s a certified cultural phenomenon, and it deserves all of the accolades it has received and more. Shows like this come along rarely, so enjoy the brilliance for yourself. “Hamilton” is available to stream on Disney+.

    My 11—20 picks:

    • 11. The Trial of the Chicago 7
    • 12. Crip Camp
    • 13. One Night in Miami
    • 14. The Forty-Year-Old Version
    • 15. The Social Dilemma
    • 16. Palm Springs
    • 17. My Octopus Teacher
    • 18. Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom
    • 19. The Vast of Night
    • 20. Mank

    Blind spots:

    2020 was a strange year; films that I would have likely gotten to see ended up being pushed back due to extended eligibility windows for awards. And so, several of the most celebrated movies of the year are absolutely nowhere to be found for the average moviegoer. With that being said, both “Nomadland” and “Minari” are to be considered 2021 movies for my purposes, since I can’t see them until February at the earliest.

    Other films of note I have yet to see as of this writing include “Collective,” “Beanpole,” “Athlete A,” “Saint Frances,” “Bacurau,” “Bloody Nose, Empty Pockets,” “The Assistant,” “Kajillionaire,” “The Painter and the Thief,” “The Personal History of David Copperfield,” “The True History of the Kelly Gang,” “Color Out of Space,” “The King of Staten Island,” “News of the World,” “Promising Young Woman,” “Tigertail” and “Bill & Ted Face the Music.” Let me know which of these are worth checking out!

    Isle of Dogs review

    It’s no secret that I and many others have decried the decline of traditional hand-drawn 2D animation.  Although 3D computer animation is often visually stunning and technically accomplished, it’s hard to replicate that endearing hand-crafted feel. But, while hand-drawn animation is now more often the purview of indie and foreign films, alternative animation styles have been experiencing a much-welcome renaissance in the western world, thanks to the painstaking process known as stop motion animation. Stop motion, and its sibling, Claymation, have resulted in modern classics like Aardman’s Wallace & Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit and Laika’s Kubo and the Two Strings.

    But stop motion has also become the passion of specific American directors. Most notably, Tim Burton has adopted the painstaking process, where elaborate figurines are photographed frame by frame, for Corpse Bride and Frankenweenie. Wes Anderson, America’s indie darling, adapted a children’s book for Fantastic Mister Fox. Now, Anderson has returned to stop motion for his allegorical adventure Isle of Dogs, and the results should please both Anderson acolytes and fans of thought-provoking, visually stunning animation.

    The film takes place in a futuristic Japanese town where an outbreak of disease has threatened the dog population. To prevent the disease from spreading to humans, Mayor Kobayashi (Kunichi Nomura) banishes all dogs to a large, elaborate landfill, where all the other unwanted refuse of society goes to rest. Here, in this stark but oddly beautiful wasteland, a roving pack of dogs fights to survive. The pack is supposedly led by surly stray Chief (Bryan Cranston), but he frequently clashes with the strong-willed Rex (Edward Norton) and his posse of former house pets (voiced by Bob Balaban, Bill Murray and Jeff Goldblum).

    Their hardscrabble existence is upended when a makeshift airplane crash-lands on the island, carrying a boy named Atari (Koyu Rankin). The boy has stolen the plane and traveled to the island in search of his lost dog, Spots, but he is soon followed by the high-tech hounds of the Kobayashi empire. You see, Atari is Mayor Kobayashi’s nephew/Ward, and the suspiciously cat-loving mayor can’t have Atari wandering about spoiling his plans. Another fly in the mayor’s ointment: American foreign exchange student Tracy (Greta Gerwig), an intrepid news reporter with an unshakable hunch that there is a deeper conspiracy going on. Is all of pet kind really at stake? If so, Chief, Rex and the gang may have bitten off more than they can chew.

    Isle of Dogs is a movie filled with risky decisions, even for a filmmaker as in love with risk as Anderson. The first risk is making a good chunk of the human dialogue in Japanese, while giving the dogs English voices. What at first seems a strange disconnect soon turns into a bold and frequently entertaining creative risk. I love all the tactics Anderson comes up with to interpret for the audience: sometimes it’s on-screen text, sometimes it’s an on-screen interpreter (yes, that is Frances McDormand as Kobayashi’s official interpreter), sometimes it’s nothing at all (we never, for example, get subtitles for Atari’s frequent dialogue, and even the dogs are confused, since none of them speak Japanese). Anderson and the actors do a terrific job of mining the lack of communication for big laughs, and also leave room for a potent statement about modern communication and the ways in which we talk past one another.

    The gorgeous animation and memorable characters of Isle of Dogs should make this colorful confection irresistible to just about anyone.

    Similar to the dialogue, the visuals of the film also cobbled together in a way that somehow still feels impeccably crafted and deliberate. There’s just something so endearing and heartfelt about a film entirely crafted by hand, and it’s a joy as a viewer to recognize the extreme attention to the detail the filmmakers bring to the project. Is that cloud made of cotton? Is that parachute made of tinfoil? How many days of painstaking work did it take to film that very brief sumo wrestling scene? Or that miniscule cherry blossom wafting onto a dog’s cheek? Make no mistake: Isle of Dogs is a true game-changer from a visual perspective. It’s at the same level as Kubo and the Two Strings in terms of pushing stop motion animation forward, and like Kubo its filled with vibrant colors and details inspired by Japanese culture and myth. But, while Kubo was designed to look more like paper craft, this film feels more like a 3D felt board played upon by the most wild imagination in all of film-making. There are even sequences that transition to vibrant, traditional hand-drawn animation, showing that Anderson and company are aware of and grateful for the films of the past that inspired them.

    One of the main reasons I’ve been so ambivalent to Wes Anderson as a filmmaker in the past is that his characters can often feel more like caricatures than flesh-and-blood creations. It has nothing to do with style: Anderson creates fantasies and fables, and “realism” is not in his cinematic language. Rather, I feel as though his characters are often reduced to catchphrases and quirks, and the more odd chaps he adds to his elaborate dollhouses, the less they make an impact. While I enjoyed Fantastic Mr. Fox, it still mostly felt like a traditional Anderson movie with a different coat of paint.

    Thankfully, Isle of Dogs sidesteps many of those concerns by giving us richly drawn characters and a timeless fable about the bond between a boy and his pet. I love the film’s use of flashback scenes to flesh out its characters and, while not all of them get this treatment, the story’s most important players do. This context gives the film an emotional resonance that I feel Anderson’s work often lacks, as do the subtle-but-effective themes of death, racism, prejudice and government corruption.

    Isle of Dogs is, in many ways, a movie for adults. It’s certainly sad and disturbing enough to turn away little kids. But, for older kids and teens especially, I think there is an irresistible undercurrent of melancholy behind all the colorful visuals and adorable dogs (seriously, they’re cute) that many may find irresistible. And, along the way, they might get a valuable lesson on the importance of treating “the other” with dignity and respect (and, while we’re at it, the importance of a free and independent press in holding politicians accountable). Come to think of it, these are lessons many of us adults need to learn as well.

    Wes Anderson is no revolutionary when it comes to politics, and unlike recent animated efforts like Zootopia, Isle of Dogs isn’t at all didactic or heavy handed in its messaging. It’s simply a sweet, creative story, told with impeccable craftsmanship by a filmmaker at his creative peak. This is one of the more memorable animated films of recent years, and certainly one of Anderson’s best. The eccentric and beloved auteur may have finally (literally) crafted a film that anyone can enjoy.

    Ready Player One review

    Few people have more of a reason to be nostalgic for the 1980s and 90s than Steven Spielberg. The veteran filmmaker filled those decades to the brim with his most crowdpleasing hits (Raiders of the Lost Ark, E.T., Jurassic Park) as well as his most critically acclaimed and well-respected work (Saving Private Ryan, Schindler’s List).

    It seems like a match made in heaven, then, for Spielberg to bring an adaptation of Earnest Cline’s nostalgia-fueled novel Ready Player One to the big screen. And, for the most part, that assumption proves correct. Like the book itself, Spielberg’s latest sci-fi extravaganza is equal parts breathtaking, cheesy, self-indulgent and deeply geeky. Most importantly, however, it’s a ton of fun.

    The fairly boilerplate story is set in a futuristic, dilapidated version of Columbus, Ohio, the hometown of the legendary gamemaker James Halliday (Mark Rylance), where acolytes have flocked to gain some wisdom from the man who redefined their existence through his creation called The Oasis. Think of it as a virtual reality version of an MMO, with people plugging in to tune out of their semi-apocalyptic existence. In The Oasis, you can be whoever you want to be, go wherever you want to go and do whatever you want to do.

    Wade Watts (Tye Sheridan) is one of those acolytes, and like many others he is hoping to gain access to Halliday’s ultimate easter egg. Upon his passing, Halliday left announcement claiming that he hid three keys across The Oasis. Finding the keys leads to a door, which leads to a golden egg, which represents complete control over The Oasis and access to Halliday’s vast riches. In order to improve their real-life existence, thousands of people must obsessively pore over pop culture history and spend most of their days inside The Oasis in order to crack the code and overtake the most powerful company on earth.

    Wade enlists the help of a team of misfits including his best friend Aech (Lena Waithe) and a mysterious resistance fighter known in the virtual world as Art3mis (Olivia Cooke). After Wade, whose digital handle is Parzival, finds the first key, he becomes a celebrity, drawing the attention of adoring fans but also the murderous ire of Nolan Sorrento (Ben Mendelsohn). Sorrento leads a powerful corporation hell-bent on solving Halliday’s puzzle and using the Oasis to sell advertising, but their ownership of the company could have nefarious real-world implications as well.

    Ready Player One has gotten a lot of attention in recent weeks, not all of it positive. The backlash to the book has been severe, with many calling it glorified nostalgia bait, a series of references in search of a story. The same complaint could theoretically be leveled at the film version. Adapted by Cline himself along with Zak Penn, the script spends a great deal of time calling out pop culture references both visual and verbal. But, like the book, I think the film does a good job of tying said references into the main thread of the story. After all, to win Halliday’s challenge our heroes must obsessively geek out over small, minute details of pop culture past. I for one think it’s rather brilliant to essentially ask the audience to do the same thing along with the characters. Are there references for the sake of references? Sure, but they fit well into a virtual world where everything is a walking advertisement. I understand folks who despise the idea of a movie concocting a reason to show us a bunch of other stuff, but how many of these critics have stepped foot inside a comic convention, where every booth is pandering to our fondness for things we already like in order to sell us a product?

    Ready Player One is a visually stunning and fun tribute to pop culture past.

    That’s not to say that the film is flawlessly written. It’s definitely too long, and Spielberg struggles to make the real-world action match the intensity and thrills of the virtual set-pieces. Also lost in adaptation are some of Cline’s richly drawn characters. Parzival and Art3mis’ relationship is given enough depth, as is Art3mis’ complex reasons for desiring the egg. But Aech is less fleshed out than the character deserves, acting more as a walking set of references and phobias than an actual person. And Sorrento is a typical walking suit, obsessed with money and prestige and little else.

    I love seeing some of my favorite young actors working on such a massive project, but my favorite performance and character in the film is Rylance as Halliday. He brings a subtlety and a sadness to a story that doesn’t have enough of either. On the other side of the coin, I absolutely loved T.J. Miller’s I-R0k, a powerful shaman inside the Oasis who provides the film’s best comic relief. His one-liners are golden, and I’d put money down for a spin-off film starring him (especially since we don’t ever get to see his real-world identity here).

    One advantage the film adaptation has over the book is its visual design, and this is truly the movie’s selling point. This is a technological stunner, perhaps the biggest leap forward visually since Avatar or Rise of the Planet of the Apes. It’s often difficult for movies to convey the full visual weight of a universe where choice is at the center, but this is an easy exception. Every frame is bursting with color, every shot filled with something to dazzle the eye (were those Battletoads charging into battle alongside the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles?). So many of the references are fun precisely because you can’t catch them all. Half-second flashes of favorite characters fit nicely alongside the more blatant references, keeping us on our toes as we scan the screens for glimpses of our favorite character.

    Ready Player One is essentially half-animated, and thankfully Spielberg handily avoids the uncanny valley, with fun character designs inside The Oasis and expressive facial animations that rarely look creepy or unnatural (not anymore than intended, at least). However, it’s the action set pieces that truly knock this one out of the park. Check out the twisting car race that leads to the first key, featuring shifting courses, King Kong and a giant T-Rex. Or my favorite scene, a gripping bravura set piece set inside Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining. The epic final battle feels less engrossing, but perhaps that’s because, aside from the sheer variety of characters that fill the screen, it’s nothing we haven’t seen before.

    Ready Player One is pretty much exactly what most people will expect going in. It’s ambitious, silly, over-the-top and a total blast. Those who scoff at the film’s very premise are not going to be swayed. Those anticipating a good time will certainly find it here. But, at its core, the film has a genuinely good heart and a sprinkling of that inexplicable Spielberg magic. Think of it as a really long roller coaster ride: fun while it lasts, not exactly life changing, but something I can’t wait to ride again. This is one easter egg worth cracking.

    Black Panther review

    There was a time in not-so-distant film history when making a comic-based superhero movie would have been a major gamble. Think about movies like Tim Burton’s Batman, Dick Tracy or Sam Raimi’s Spider-Man series. But, in the span of little more than a decade, a superhero movie seems like one of the surest bets in Hollywood. Even seemingly unmarketable properties like Guardians of the Galaxy or Doctor Strange have seen incredible critical and commercial success.

    The ubiquity of the superhero sub-genre is an obvious win for Hollywood studios, but a potential hazard for movie fans. After all, what quicker way is there to spoil innovation and risk then the promise that sticking to the status quo will result in mountains of money? Marvel Studios, the Disney-owned harbinger of the modern comic book film era, has found itself at this crossroads in recent years, cranking out so many sequels and mash ups that the movies start to blur together. Their projects can sometimes feel as though they were directed by committee, rather than guided by any distinct artistic vision.

    Then, something, well, marvelous happened. The juggernaut studio started to give its franchises to successful independent filmmakers, the kinds of unique voices who in most circumstances probably wouldn’t step anywhere near a superhero flick. This risk has paid off handsomely, resulting in a renaissance of sorts within the Marvel brand. Think of the hallucinatory insanity of Scott Derrickson’s Doctor Strange, or Taika Waititi’s comedically subversive Thor: Ragnarok. An easy addition to that list: Black Panther, Ryan Coogler’s riotous and engrossing new movie, one that takes the Marvel brand and pushes it to new heights, resulting in one of the finest comic book flicks ever made.

    Part of what makes Black Panther stand out is the fact that it doesn’t really feel like a Marvel movie at all. Sure, there are some returning characters and references to the events of Captain America: Civil War, but they are in service to a story that reaches far deeper than most comic-based fare. This is one of the only Marvel flicks that feels like it takes place in the real world.

    We catch up with the panther, aka T’Challa (Chadwick Boseman) as he prepares to take the throne after the death of his father, T’Chaka in Civil War. He returns to the African kingdom of Wakanda, hidden from the outside world for centuries and filled with futuristic technology gifted to the people when a meteor containing the indestructible metal vibranium crashed to earth centuries earlier. The kingdom of Wakanda ranks with Asgard, the home of Thor, as the most fully realized and visually stunning locales in the MCU. Its deep hues of blue and purple contain a fascinating mix of high tech and African tribalism, where high-speed bullet trains and remote-controlled spaceships can exist alongside African tribal divisions, complete with colorful garb and other identifiers such as piercings, lip discs and dreadlocks.

    T’Challa returns to this complex ecosystem to perform in the ceremony where he will be crowned king of Wakanda. He is joined by his grieving but proud mother (Angela Bassett), his tech wizard sister Shuri (Letitia Wright), potential love interest Nakia (Lupita Nyong’o) and a royal entourage that also doubles as a who’s-who of great black actors (Danai Gurira, Daniel Kaluuya, Forest Whitaker and Florence Kasumba, to name a few).

    But T’Challa’s new rule is soon thrown into chaos, as the Wakandans race to stop some of their vibranium from falling into the hands of mercenary Ulysses Klaue (Andy Serkis, in full un-CG’d glory) and a mysterious outsider who goes by the name Eric Killmonger (Michael B. Jordan), who has his own reasons for wanting Wakandan technology to be unleashed upon the world. Such sentiment stirs up conflict among the Wakandans; with their people being oppressed around the globe, might it not be wise to share this wonderous technology with others of African descent and take up arms against anyone who would oppress or demean their people?

    Black Panther transcends its genre trappings thanks to excellent acting and a profoundly social conscience.

    The conflicts at the center of Black Panther are incredibly compelling, and they’re conflicts that director Coogler has taken an interest exploring throughout his body of work (his first two films were Fruitvale Station and Rocky franchise re-starter Creed). Tradition versus progress. Isolationism versus globalism. Peaceful, political protest versus violent revolt. The films touch deeply on subject matter that matters more to black communities than ever, and the result could not be timelier. It’s amazing that a superhero film with a predominately black cast would seem so revolutionary in 2018, but then again it we didn’t get a Wonder Woman movie until last year.

    But the film is more than just a showcase for great black actors; it’s also a film that is boldly, unapologetically African. From the vibrant costume and makeup design to the pulsating tribal score and Rachel Morrison’s gorgeous cinematography, this is the very rare blockbuster that aesthetically embraces the black experience, and that makes it completely refreshing in a film universe that has been sadly lacking in diversity.

    Thankfully, the film sails past simple eye candy. Like Marvel’s terrific Netflix series Luke Cage, it tackles head-on modern issues of black identity such as racial injustice and absentee fathers. I don’t know that a superhero flick has felt this necessary since The Dark Knight encapsulated America’s post-9/11 anxieties, and that potent realism helps the film to feel thrillingly current and alive.

    Speaking of lively, it’s certainly worth mentioning that Black Panther features some of the finest acting seen in the sub-genre. You can tell the actors knew they were making more than a fun popcorn flick: they were making something important, and it shows. I love Danai Gurira’s work on The Walking Dead, but her ferocious warrior Okoye is a marvelous creation on a whole different level. Particular praise should also go to Letitia Wright, whose Shuri should an inspiration to black women everywhere. Here’s a gorgeous young woman who is also a super-genius, leagues ahead of, say, Tony Stark; the implication that the Wakandans are the holders of ultimate knowledge and power is a brilliant and liberating reversal of reality, when black people are often the ones in positions of vulnerability.

    But the highest praise must go to the main leads. Boseman’s Panther was a highlight of Civil War, and here he’s given the depth he deserves. Boseman is an amazing actor who always seems to give his all to his work, and that shows here. T’Challa is a fascinatingly complex hero, burdened with a responsibility he doesn’t quite know how to bear, and often brought to his knees by his perceived failures. The brilliant Michael B. Jordan gives us the best villain in the MCU. Coogler and co-writer Joe Robert Cole easily side-step Marvel’s villain problem by making Killmonger equal parts ferocious and vulnerable. His motivations are complex but understandable, and he’s the victim of an egregious past wrong that ignites the central conflict and gains the character a certain amount of sympathy. There were times when I felt I sided more with Killmonger’s perspective than T’Challa’s, and that’s a remarkable step in the right direction, especially when you have an actor as good as Jordan in front of the camera.

    If there’s a complaint to level at the film, it’s a minor one, and one of preference. It’s easy to see that Coogler and company put less priority the traditional superhero antics and action scenes than they did the story, characters and social parallels. In my mind, that’s an easily acceptable trade, especially because any shmuck can blow stuff up. And yet, apart from an awesome car chase sequence, the film lacks the gorgeously choreographed action of Thor: Ragnarok or the epic scale of the Captain America series. For a film with this much on its mind and heart, I can accept a downgrade when it comes to the action, but Marvel fans looking for extremely memorable fight sequences might be a tad disappointed.

    Despite being based upon a decades-old property, Black Panther is very much a movie of the moment. In all the ways that count, it’s the finest example of its sub-genre since The Dark Knight. It’s vibrant, searing, and just plain fun. But even its most superfluous moments are cut with the undercurrent of profound social commentary that binds the film together. Coogler and company have crafted something special and, in some ways, groundbreaking here. There’s a new king in town, and I say “hail, hail!”

    Ranking the Stephen King adaptations of 2017

    Legendary author Stephen King has written so many books and short stories, in such a wide variety of genres, it’s easy to see why a year rarely passes by without some form of movie or TV adaptation of his work. Hollywood’s King obsession has resulted in classic films like Carrie, The Shining Stand By Me and The Shawshank Redemption, but it’s also given us experiences we’d rather forget; see The Langoliers, Dreamcatcher or Maximum Overdrive or, rather, don’t.

    This past year was a particularly prolific one for King adaptations. We had six opportunities to get lost in King’s dark, twisted and often very entertaining world. But not everyone has the luxury of watching every King adaptation that comes into being, which is why I’ve decided to rank each adaptation from the past year, from worst to best. Which ones are most worth your time? Find out below.

    * Note: I have not read much of King’s work, so (with the exception of The Dark Tower), I will be judging the work on its own terms, not in how faithful it is to its source material.* 

     

    6. THE MIST 

    Spike TV’s adaptation of King’s 1980 novella (which itself received a fairly well-liked Fran Darabont-directed film in 2007) is one of the more frustrating shows I’ve seen in recent years. That’s not because it’s bad. On the contrary, quite often it’s close to riveting. It’s got solid acting, great atmosphere and decent visual effects. So, what’s the problem? Well, it’s also frequently maudlin, preachy and just…stupid.

    An eerie Mist rolls into a small town, and those who remain unprotected from its fumes experience hallucinations and, soon after, a gruesome death. The Mist acts as sort of a righteous judge, one that came before as “the black spring” in the 1800s to cleanse the populace of sin. Or, so says Nathalie Raven (Frances Conroy), who proclaims she is nature’s messenger and that The Mist is telling her what must be done to appease it. The film follows several interlocking storylines: in addition to Raven’s power struggle with a priest who believes The Mist is the beginning of the divine judgment foretold in Revelations, there is the Copeland family, who is separated early in the series; an amnesiac soldier; a recovering drug addict; the manager of a local mall; and Alex Copeland’s gay BFF Adrian.

    These characters range from intriguing (Adrian, played by Russell Posner, might be my favorite in the entire show, and the priest character is surprisingly complex and sympathetic) to flat-out annoying. I lost count of how many times I wanted to punch Raven in the face, yet her apocalyptic rambling might end up being the town’s only salvation.

    And that’s the show in a nutshell—an intriguing mystery undone by inconsistent characters and an undeniable mean streak. I feel like The Mist often punishes the good characters while the evil ones get to continue surviving. Characters do reprehensible things to each other, and, for my money, the show views them with a much too objective lens. For this, the show fails on a fundamental moral level.

    The internal logic of The Mist isn’t even consistent. Characters The Mist seems to “avoid” for unexplained reasons are later attacked by it, with no explanation of the sentient atmosphere’s change of heart. But the biggest flaw is not exactly the show’s fault; Spike cancelled the series after the first season, meaning many of the big questions (such as where The Mist came from) will not be answered anytime soon. I will say the last episode of the season is super messed up and all kinds of batshit crazy. I loved it, because it took risks and went places I didn’t expect. Sadly, you’ll have to sit through 9 sluggish episodes to get there. I might recommend this show if I knew there was another season coming, but as it stands, it’s just not worth it.

    5. THE DARK TOWER

    Oh man. What can I say about The Dark Tower? This long-in-gestation adaptation of King’s seminal sci-fi/fantasy/western series of novels (Ron Howard was originally attached to direct) has “troubled development” written all over it. And man, does it show. It’s hard to believe such a bad-ass epic could be reduced to such dull drivel, but here we are. The titular gunslinger, Roland Deschain, is played here by Idris Elba, which seems all around to be a smart casting choice. I love the decision to cast a black actor in this role; I don’t know if King ever envisioned Roland as black, but I sure didn’t. His paths cross with adolescent Jake (Tom Taylor), who begins having visions of a gunslinger, a large tower and a man dressed in black. Soon he finds a portal that transports him to Midworld, a sort of hub that connects different parallel universes and realities. It turns out Jake might have special abilities that will help Roland defeat the nefarious Walter, aka the Man in Black (Matthew McConaughey), who intends to destroy the dark tower at the center of all worlds, one that holds together the very fabric of reality itself.

    It’s hard to guess who this movie was made for. Fans of the books would notice vague similarities, but the film adds some strange sci-fi elements and plot points that are far removed from the world King created. Those who haven’t read the books will likely be scratching their heads, as the film attempts to squeeze in King’s complex, 7-book universe into 90 minutes. Hey, at least it’s short. 

    Elba is great here, but McConaughey seems completely miscast, and I can’t think of a more phoned-in performance he’s given in recent years. He almost looks like he’s sleepwalking through most of the movie, which doesn’t make for a very menacing villain.

    On the plus side, the film is nice to look at, and several of the bullet-whizzing actions sequences are impressively choreographed. But, the film’s biggest sin is not that it is bad, but that it is dull. I never really felt connected to these characters or this universe, and Roland’s mission is ultimately reduced to the most generic “save the world” plot imaginable. And, for an adaptation of such innovative, bizarre and frequently breathtaking source material, that is the biggest sin of all.

    4. 1922

    One of two Netflix produced King adaptations released in 2017, 1922 is a gripping, disturbing little nightmare, anchored by an excellent lead performance from Thomas Jane. Jane stars as Wilfred James, a simple farmer desperate to hold onto his land. His cold and distant wife, Arlette (Molly Parker) is intent on selling the land and moving to the city. In the center of the conflict is the couple’s son, Henry (Dylan Schmid), who is ready to side with his mother until he falls in love. Arlette, Wilfred suggests, would soon tear Henry away from her, and he thinks there’s only one thing left to do: murder Arlette and take hold of what’s rightfully theirs.

    It’s a nasty little premise, and the opening minutes of the film are indeed shocking. Thankfully, the film doesn’t relent during its entire runtime. As Wilfred deals with the consequences of his decisions, he begins to devolve into a hellish nightmare that contains equal parts regret and rodents (seriously, this movie has a disturbing obsession with rats).

    The film is well shot and doesn’t overstay its welcome. It’s nothing groundbreaking or mind blowing, and some might be disappointed at the lack of major twists in the story. But, for those looking for a gruesome little thriller, this is an easy recommendation for your Netflix watch list.

    3. MR. MERCEDES

    Released exclusively on the AT&T Audience Network, this TV adaptation of King’s 2014 novel likely remains underseen. Which is a shame, because it’s excellent. The always-brilliant Brendan Gleeson plays Detective Bill Hodges, who has turned to alcohol and isolation following his inability to capture the Mercedes killer, so named because he drove a Mercedes into a crowd of people, killing many. Hodges is reeling from his perceived failure when the killer begins to reach out to him, sending him sadistic messages and emails. The killer is a local nobody named Brady Hartsfield (a smarmy and creepy Harry Treadway) who lives with his addict mother (Kelly Lynch) and works a dead-end job at a regional electronics store.

    He gets a reprieve from his dull life when he begins to torture Hodges. But how far is he willing to take this at the risk of potentially getting caught? And, can Hodges find the justice that has so long eluded him? The psychological interplay between these two characters is fascinating, and both actors are riveting to watch. What makes the film even better is how much attention is given to the supporting characters, including Brady’s mother, Bill’s neighbors and a new friend and possible romantic interest (the great Mary Louise-Parker).

    I wouldn’t call this show “enjoyable.” It’s easily the most dark, disturbing and adult of this year’s King adaptations. But, despite some sluggish pacing in the middle, it’s well worth the time of anyone looking for a gruesome, psychologically fascinating character study. If there is a second season coming (I thought it was conceived as a limited series, but the ending suggests otherwise), I’m on board for this wild ride.

    2. IT

    The second adaptation of King’s infamous “killer clown” epic (the first was the memorably terrible 1990 miniseries starring Tim Curry), was a smash hit at the box office, and it’s easy to see why. The movie is a total crowd pleaser, and an absolute blast from start to finish.

    The film is anchored by sensational performances from a young group of actors, including Jaden Lieberher as Bill, Jeremy Ray Taylor as Ben, Sophia Lillis as Beverly, Finn Wolfhard as Richie and Jack Dylan Grazer as the frequently foul-mouthed Eddie. Together, these friends investigate the disappearance of Bill’s little brother, who’s not the only kid in town to disappear recently. Soon, they discover the terrifying monster known as Pennywise (Bill Skarsgard), a shape-shifting clown who lives under the sewers of Derry, Maine, abducting children and scaring them by manifesting himself as their greatest fears.

    This film, which sticks to half of King’s story (the other half, following the kids as they return to Derry as adults 30 years later, is already in development for a sequel), is a well-paced and terrifying affair, but it’s best moments have nothing to do with killer clowns. At times, the film resembles King’s coming-of-age classic Stand By Me, as the kids deal with love, loss and puberty. The writing is impeccable, and the actors bring it home all the way. Derry is a strange place where every adult seems wicked, almost as if we’re viewing everything from the distorted lens of childhood. And that means that everything is a potential threat.

    That’s not to say that the clown at the center is nothing to sneeze at. Skarsgard takes a very different approach to Pennywise than Curry did. He’s much more menacing and deranged, which makes him more effective. There are a couple of legitimately terrifying moments that made me jump out of my seat, but that smile of his is something that will stick with you long after the credits roll. Alas, Pennywise, like Jaws, gets less scary the more we see him. And we see too much of him at the end. The film’s horror elements rarely match the perfect pacing and haunting brutality of the opening sewer sequence, but the film’s quieter moments more than make up for its sometimes-goofy Pennywise scenes and occasionally cheesy effects. It’s a fantastic film, and an easy recommendation for anyone without too much of a clown complex.

    1. GERALD’S GAME 

    Netflix’s other King adaptation from this year, Gerald’s Game is an astonishingly effective and nail-biting thriller based on King’s 1992 novel. From start to finish, the film grabs you and doesn’t let go. When done correctly, I’m a sucker for single-location thrillers. They often come off as gimmicky, but this one never does.

    Carla Gugino gives one of her fiercest performances as Jessie, who travels to a remote lake house for a little getaway with her husband Gerald (the always great Bruce Greenwood). Their goal: to spice up their marriage with some new sexual fantasies. Gerald ties Jessie to the bed, but Jessie, feeling uncomfortable, changes her mind, much to the chagrin of her husband, who proceeds with the affair. Suddenly, in the heat of the moment, and with his wife protesting, Gerald has a heart attack and dies. Jessie, still handcuffed to the bed, is forced to attempt an escape as time runs short. How long can she survive without food and water, and will she make it out alive?

    Most of the film takes place in the bedroom, and everything is perfectly manufactured to give Jessie the hardest time possible. Simple, everyday objects like a phone, a glass of water, a straw and one very memorable dog suddenly become characters in the story, items which, if used the right way, might spell salvation for Jessie. It’s a relentlessly stressful experience, and one made all the better by writer-director Mike Flanagan’s decision to view the story through the lens of a feminist psychological thriller. Both Jessie and Gerald show up as different parts of Jessie’s psyche; one speaking empowerment and one condemnation. Through this internal dialogue, we get a unique perspective into Jessie’s character and her history with Gerald. This turns a very simplistic concept into something much more memorable and engaging. Here’s a woman who’s had quite enough of felling trapped and controlled by a man, thank you very much.

    Gerald’s Game is, in its own way, a pretty perfect little movie. It’s nothing earth-shattering, but it nails both its thriller elements and its larger social message. I know this won’t be leaving my Netflix rotation anytime soon, and it should be on yours immediately.

     

    The Shape of Water review

    One of the many things I love about the cinema is the way it can effectively convey human longing for meaning, for connection, for passion through primarily visual means. Film is, first and foremost, a visual medium, and the best films recognize the old adage that a picture is indeed worth a thousand words.

    Prolific director Guillermo Del Toro understands this film making rule better than most, and his new strange concoction, The Shape of Water, is perhaps his most polished and profound meditation on the power of the moving image yet.

    Del Toro highlights this theme in bold font by introducing us to Eliza Esposito (played by an extraordinary Sally Hawkins), a woman incapable of speech since she was a little girl. In Cold War-era Baltimore, she spends her days in rigid routine, riding the bus to her job as a custodian at the high-tech Occam Aerospace Research Center. Her only friends in the world seem to be her sarcastic co-worker Zelda (who talks as much as Eliza doesn’t) and her eccentric artist next-door neighbor Giles (Richard Jenkins). But relationships generally don’t come easy for Eliza; no one wants to talk to a mute woman, and learning how to do so takes valuable time. Eliza seems to be drifting through life, taking pleasure and solace in masturbating and eating a borderline-unhealthy amount of hard boiled eggs.

    But Eliza’s life changes when the mysterious Colonel Richard Strickland (Michael Shannon) arrives at the facility with a pod containing a mysterious creature (played by Doug Jones). Strickland discovered this “Asset” in the rivers of South America, where it was apparently worshiped as a god, and now the American government is eager to figure out if it can be used as a weapon to turn the tide of the Cold War against Russia. Naturally, these folks don’t care much for the creature’s opinion on all of this, but Strickland is an especially cruel captor. Humans are made in God’s image, he says, and this thing doesn’t look like any human he’s ever seen. It’s an abomination, a tool to be used and discarded, nothing more.

    But Eliza and head research scientist Robert Hoffstetler (the always welcome Michael Stuhlbarg), disagree. Hoffstetler sees the creature as a thing of beauty that should be protected, and, for Eliza, the creature is something more. As she sneaks into the containment facility to see the creature, she forms an undeniable bond with it (him?). Soon, she is spending her lunch breaks feeding the Asset hard boiled eggs, introducing him to music and enjoying the quiet company of someone who finally seems to understand her. But Eliza also overhears some troubling things: it seems that Strickland’s plans for the monster might be even more nefarious, and she soon decides he must be rescued from the highly guarded facility and taken to a nearby canal, where he can swim free again. Can the silent woman, going so long unnoticed, save her friend and perhaps, in the process, find a voice of her own?

    The Shape of Water is the kind of film that swims in atmosphere. This is an intoxicating world, filled with deep shades of green and dark, warm tones. Del Toro’s films have always been visually spectacular, but this is surely his best looking film to date. The director reunites with Crimson Peak cinematographer Dan Lausten, and the results are breathtaking. That film was definitely a case of style over substance, but here, the gorgeous visuals are in service of a story worthy of them.

    The Shape of Water is a love letter to cinema, as well as to the power of nonverbal communication and nontraditional community.

    The Shape of Water could have easily been a fairly simple fable, told with visual flair and accomplished style. That could have been enough to make this work. But, much like Del Toro’s legendary fantasy Pan’s Labyrinth, this film is seeking something much deeper. At heart, this is a tale about people without a voice finding a way to make themselves heard in a world that isn’t interested in listening. Eliza and the Asset are both incapable of speech, sure, but Zelda, a black woman and Giles, a closeted gay man, often feel equally voiceless and lonely. These outsiders rally together around what they see as one of their own, a poignant take on what a non-traditional community can look like. Few films have more effectively conveyed the existential loneliness that threatens to drown those who feel marginalized. One of the film’s most powerful scenes takes place in a local diner over a piece of pie, where a conversation gone wrong forces Giles to confront a heart-rending revelation. It’s soul-searing, tear-inducing stuff.

    What really knocks the picture into the stratosphere are the performances. This is one of the best acting ensembles in recent memory, without a weak link in sight. I love Shannon’s perfect mix of menace and humor and Jenkins’ soulfully sad performance. But, this is Hawkins’ show, and she is amazing. It’s difficult to convey the gamut of human emotions without dialogue, but Hawkins does it all with her face and body. The joy of discovering something new exists alongside the sadness and desperation of her deep longing and loneliness. But Eliza is always, at heart, an optimistic dreamer, and somehow, we get to know all of that without her ever saying anything (not vocally at least; she often uses sign language to communicate). It’s one of the best performances in recent memory, maybe ever, and it deserves a truckload of awards.

    Like he did with his undisputed masterpiece Pan’s Labyrinth, Del Toro has once again taken a tumultuous historical period and infused it with an intriguing and wholly original sci-fi/fantasy twist. Unlike that film, The Shape of Water is not perfect. I feel that Del Toro could have easily cut out a lot of the unnecessary nudity, and the fact that the relationship between Eliza and the Asset is not exactly platonic is…odd, to say the least. And yet, even the more overtly sexual aspects of the film result in some of it’s most beautiful scenes, (keep an eye out for a scene that involves a bathroom and a lot of water–it’s stunning), so the film does a good job overall of thematically earning its more outlandish moments.

    For those willing to get lost in its bizarre and beautiful vision, The Shape of Water simply cannot be missed. I’m still not sure if it can be called a fantasy, a romance or a Cold War thriller; maybe it’s a bunch of genres mashed together. Whatever it is, it’s beyond wonderful, and one of cinema’s finest examples of the mysterious cosmic rule that love is best expressed not in word, but in deed. That’s a message we all should pay attention to.

    Mudbound review

    I have a confession to make. I’ve grown a little weary of “racially sensitive” dramas. They’re often heavy-handed, obvious and rarely convey much of a meaningful message beyond “racism is bad.” But look at the headlines any given day and you’ll see that, in some way or another, we need these stories and these conversations. I’m all for that, but the art that spurs such conversations needs to be engaging and unique enough to continue to draw audiences. Jordan Peele showed how you can make a film about race relations in America while delivering something new and special with his breakout hit Get Out earlier this year. Now comes Mudbound, Dee Rees’ new Netflix drama based upon Hillary Jordan’s novel. Set in Jim Crow-era Mississippi during WWII, the film could have easily been another dry period piece. Instead, it’s a vibrant, moving, essential work of art, one that no fan of film or history should miss.

    Mudbound is the cinematic equivalent of a great American novel—epic and sweeping in scope, yet acutely aware of how a single choice can have effects that ripple across generations. The film opens on rural farmer Henry McAllan (Jason Clarke) digging a grave for his deceased father alongside his younger brother Jamie (Garrett Hedlund). Tagging along for the simple wake is Henry’s wife Laura (Carey Mulligan) and their children. Through the rain-drenched mist comes a black family riding a carriage, including Hap Jackson (Rob Morgan) and his wife Florence (an excellent, almost unrecognizable Mary J. Blige). Henry asks Hap to help get the coffin into the grave, and the look he responds with is ice cold. He begrudgingly assists, but Florence doesn’t move a muscle, refusing to even acknowledge the white folks’ existence.

    We soon find out this intense scene is a flash forward, but thematically it echoes of things to come. This is a film of people talking past each other, often ignoring each other because to acknowledge someone else, especially someone different, often means digging up something in our own souls that we’d rather not unearth.

    The remainder of the film focuses on the relationship between these two families. The Jacksons, it turns out, are (paid) servants for the McAllans, but Henry’s father Pappy (Jonathan Banks, excellent as always) isn’t too thrilled about having black people anywhere near him. In his world, black folks have to use the back door, should never ride in the front seat, and sure as hell should never copulate with or even befriend a white person. Tensions continue to rise as Laura enlists Florence’s midwifing skills to help take care of her children’s’ whooping cough.

    Then, of course, there’s the boys. Jamie McAllan and Hap’s son Ronsel (Jason Mitchell) both return from the war disillusioned and ill-at-ease in the America they thought they knew. Jamie soon turns to the bottle and Ronsel attempts to push down his anger over returning to a country he served faithfully whose citizens still see him as something sub-human. These boys seem to be the only two who understand each other anymore, and a friendship quickly blossoms. Such a relationship would all be well and good if they were in a different time and place than 1940s Mississippi.

    Mudbound is an urgent, essential, skillfully told tale that ranks among the year’s best films.

    Mudbound tells its story through layered voiceovers, creating a kaleidoscopic tapestry of voices and perspectives. It’s a technique very reminiscent of Terrence Malick, and indeed this feels like the type of film Malick used to make. Rees, who co-wrote the script with Virgil Williams, seems painstakingly committed to ensuring every voice is heard. This is one of the major effects that make the film extraordinary. This isn’t a simple story of poor mistreated blacks and white villains. It’s as much about the plight of the white rural farmer as it is the black man who can’t even look at a white man sideways for fear of physical harm or death.

    This is a historically important film, because it does such an incredible job at pulling us into a palpable sense of time and space. It’s hard to imagine an America like this existed, and yet it was not so long ago. Rachel Morrison’s moody cinematography along with the soulful performances draw the audience in and don’t let go. Every scene is filled with tension, because one look, one word, even one moment of silence can change everything.

    Particular praise should go to Mulligan, who acts as somewhat of a neutral audience surrogate, and Hedlund and Mitchell, whose characters’ relationship anchors the film’s emotions. Their scenes together are among the most moving I’ve seen this year. A simple conversation between two men who have much in common if you can look past the color of their skin. A scandalous act of kindness, camaraderie and affection in an environment where such virtues are in short supply.

    In less delicate hands, the film’s climactic eruption into violence could topple the emotional high-wire act the rest of the story so expertly balanced. But Rees’ hand is so deft, her characters so richly drawn, that I was more than willing to go with it.

    Mudbound is a tough, gritty, tragic film, but its ending is unexpectedly hopeful and moving. It says that we don’t have to continue to talk past each other, that people can change. Actions are ultimately more important than words, but we tend to have an abundance of the latter and precious little of the former. In an America that is still quite far from “post racial,” it’s far past time for that to change.

    Dunkirk review

    It’s hard to make a good World War II movie, and even harder to make a great one. It’s easy to see what would draw a filmmaker to this storied sub-genre: ready-made dramatic conflict, easily defined heroes and villains and inspiring stories of courage and valor are often the name of the game. But everyone seems to make one at some point, and such ventures are often lacking in originality or new ideas.

    With Dunkirk, however, the veteran filmmaker Christopher Nolan manages to make a war picture feel fresh again. He pulls this off with a combination of pure craftsmanship and creative storytelling and sound design, resulting in the best war film since, at least, Letters from Iwo Jima, and one that may go down as one of the best ever made.

    Nolan takes no time dropping us into the heart of the conflict (at a surprisingly brief 106 minutes, it’s his shortest movie besides Following, his very first film). Hundreds of thousands of Allied soldiers are stranded on the beach and Dunkirk, awaiting rescue. The British troops can see their homeland across the waters, so close and yet so far away. But the conflict is not over yet: German airplanes are bombing the beaches and making it difficult for any large military vessels to get close. Commander Bolton (Kenneth Branagh) is leading the effort to evacuate the troops, but time is running out, and he resigns himself to the possibility that only a handful of troops will ever leave Dunkirk.

    We also spend some time with a group of young soldiers trying desperately to survive. These lads are played by some very strong unknowns, including Fionn Whitehead, Aneurin Barnard, Tom Glynn-Carney and a surprisingly good Harry Styles (yes, THAT Harry Styles).

    For a while, it seems as though Nolan is going to have the audience view the conflict mostly from the perspective of Whitehead’s Tommy. This type of painfully intimate style has been used to great effect in foreign classics like Come and See and the recent holocaust film Son of Saul. But it’s soon clear that Nolan is reaching for a much grander scope, something more along the lines of The Longest Day or The Thin Red Line.

    Nolan utilizes three intersecting perspectives and timelines to give us a full scope of the conflict. In addition to the soldiers on the beach, we also spend some time inside the cockpit of pilot Farrier (Tom Hardy) and in a schooner manned by Dawson (Mark Rylance). While Farrier tries desperately to take down the German planes bombing the beach, Dawson is one of dozens called by the military to man their personal vessels to get as many soldiers off the beach as possible.

    Dunkirk is a gripping experience, and another masterpiece from director Christopher Nolan.

    This twisting structure gives us bits and pieces of the full picture at a time, and allows us to see the same events, such as a plane crash and a sinking ship, from multiple perspectives. This is a risky way to structure a film, and an easy way to confuse your audience, but Nolan is a master at pulling multiple threads without letting any of them go, and his script is air tight and perfectly paced.

    Speaking of masters, Hans Zimmer provides one of the film’s most memorable characters. His musical score is an active instigator in the action, providing ominous heavy bass and tight strings that slowly rise in speed and intensity until the effect is almost unbearable. It’s a brilliant piece of work, and one that contributes a great deal of the film’s emotional heft.

    Along with the gripping score, the overall sound design is some of the best ever put to screen. I watched the film in IMAX, and I jumped in my seat every time a bullet was shot. Every sound element is designed to drop us directly into the conflict, and, in one unbearably tense scene in particular, I felt like an actual soldier whose escape vessel was slowly being riddled with gunfire.

    This immersion extends to the cinematography, which is breathtaking. Nolan and Hoyte Van Hoytema shot the film with IMAX cameras, and the result is a sense of realism and scope that is unparalleled in modern cinema. The camera may have us inside the cockpit of a fighter plane one moment, and then in the air, taking in the beauty of the landscape the next. The claustrophobia underneath the decks of a sinking battleship, as water slowly rises and soldiers gasp for their final breaths, is quickly juxtaposed with sweeping shots of the beach and the vast ocean that laps its shores.

    All of these elements combine to make for one relentlessly intense viewing experience. Theaters should post a warning outside conveying the risk of heart failure. The cumulative effect is almost unbearable, and I’ve never seen a war film that has done a more effective job at immersing me in its time and space.

    Thankfully, Dunkirk isn’t the type of experience you endure and then forget. Like most of Nolan’s work, it reaches much farther into the guts of what it means to sacrifice. Seeing dozens of civilian boats come to the aid of desperate soldiers is inspiring, but the scenes that most grabbed me were the ones of quiet redemption. Without giving much away, a scene where Dawson decides to avoid telling a rescued soldier the most heartbreaking news imaginable reminded me of the grace and beauty of everyday acts of kindness. There is just as much honor and heroism in forgiving your enemy as there is in saving yourself from them.

    Don’t let the July release fool you: Dunkirk is a powerful work of art, and Nolan’s least commercially palatable film since Memento. His contemplative, poetic approach will not be for everyone. In both scale and theme, it very much recalls Terrence Malick’s The Thin Red Line, which is my all-time favorite war film. The fact that any movie could begin to approach the brilliance of Malick’s masterpiece shows just what a rare and wonderful experience Dunkirk really is, and what a true visionary we have in Christopher Nolan.