2020-2022 spoiled me with a streak of masterpieces that’s yet to be matched, but this year was stronger than the one preceding it. I can’t say I completely fell in love with any of the movies I’ve seen over the past twelve months (except maybe one or two, which is already a lot to be thankful for), but there were plenty of solid efforts that gave me reason to be excited about the medium even when I thought they fell short in some critical way—stuff like Challengers, MaXXXine, The Bikeriders, Blink Twice, Cuckoo, and Saturday Night. And those aren’t even my honorable mentions, which, for what it’s worth, I had difficulty selecting. That’s generally a good sign. While the order of my list changes every few days, the top three spots do not.

Notable titles I missed include Janet Planet, The Beast, Armand, Better Man, The Glassworker, The End, Evil Does Not Exist, Bird, and Girls Will Be Girls.

Honorable Mentions (alphabetical order):

Back to Black – Marisa Abela deserved a real awards campaign. Good on BAFTA for longlisting her.

Dune: Part Two – Whaddaya want? It’s really, really good—too much chanting, face-serving, and fist-pumping, but it’s really good.

Longlegs – Seeing Nicolas Cage’s makeup job for the first time halfway through the year’s most original horror movie after months of an ingenious marketing campaign that promised to show the icon in a radically new way is an experience viewers years from now won’t be able to replicate.

Love Lies Bleeding – Kristen Stewart incredulously saying “whhhaaaaatt” after witnessing a violent act remains one of my favorite moments in any movie this year.

A Real Pain – Couldn’t stand this Sideways riff (“A Real Payne,” my pal likes to joke) when I saw it in January, but after Jesse Eisenberg’s next directorial effort was announced as a musical, everything I’d initially found off-putting started to make sense.

10. The Wild Robot

Though I wish The Wild Robot had taken a pointer from the ending of The Iron Giant—kids can handle a little bit of melancholic uncertainty!—I cried harder during this movie than I have in years. All I wanted to do afterwards was play Kris Bowers’ score on a loop and read my Jack Londons again. A win for nature fakers everywhere!

9. Femme

I wish Steve McQueen and Andrea Arnold were still making movies like Femme. The shifting power dynamic between a drag performer and the closeted bully who one night viciously assaults him makes for the grittiest and most complex thriller I’ve seen in a long time. Despite two incredible performances and an immediately arresting hook, Femme hasn’t received much attention, but future retrospectives of the new genre known as “queer noir” will ensure its reappraisal. The film has held up nicely for me in the year since I first saw it at a local festival. In 2023, I would’ve probably listed it closer to my No. 5 slot.

8. The Apprentice

The version of this film made by Adam McKay or Craig Gillespie is easy to envision and far less interesting. Like Pablo Larraín’s Jackie (the best film of 2016), The Apprentice is advantaged by its non-American perspective. Will Ali Abbasi’s snuff pic retain any edge upon review a decade from now? Hard to say, but there’s no doubt that in 2024 it’s a hella ballsy film. What will forever remain undeniably brilliant about it are Sebastian Stan and Jeremy Strong’s performances. As another film on this list demonstrates, Stan is unusually gifted at embodying the arcs of the characters he plays. His gradual transformation from an insecure slumlord into today’s most controversial figure is a masterclass in fine-tuned vocal and physical modulation. An urgent, entertaining, and fearless swing (by a director of Iranian descent, coincidentally) in the face of extreme opposition, The Apprentice is an oddly appropriate pairing with my next pick.

7. The Seed of the Sacred Fig

You’d think a movie made with the sort of risk Mohammad Rasoulof has taken is an Important™ piece of political filmmaking, but underneath its significance as a bona fide act of rebellion in an era of self-righteous grandstands, The Seed of the Sacred Fig is a plain old banger of a thriller. For all the talk this year of independent artists who’ve turned water into wine, there hasn’t been enough about Rasoulof making out of what is essentially a guerilla production a film that has the look and feel of a mid-aughts Soderbergh or Iñárritu studio release. The third act’s redirection hasn’t paid off for everyone, but thanks to a lean script constructed with the razor focus of a man’s mind on the eve of his execution, I was fully invested by the time this paranoid domestic potboiler literally veered off the road. Soheila Golestani is terrific. 

6. Conclave

A use of Volker Bertelmann’s score early into Edward Berger’s deadly serious, irresistibly fun papal thriller reminded me of May December’s hotdog line, and that’s when I knew what sort of ride I was in for. Between its high camp, stellar ensemble work, and fantastic photography, Conclave served me the best time I’ve had at the movies this year (with a matching curial vape-and-robe set on top).

5. Anora

At least one movie every year enthralls and frustrates me in equal measure and I end up, after an ungodly number of rewatches, loving it despite its flaws. This year, that movie’s probably Anora. The lead character is thinly drawn, and just as I thought the film’s rhythm should’ve escalated, things flatlined and grew repetitive. But the arrival of Vanya’s parents in the third act (Darya Ekamasova is better than nearly every actor currently contending for an Oscar nomination) delivers the highly specific type of dark humor I want from Sean Baker. My feelings about this one are all over the place, but Anora is ultimately a movie I can’t take for granted. To this Jew from Brooklyn with Resting Ruski Face, the madcap adventure through Coney Island that Baker takes us on has a special kinda something.

4. I’m Still Here

I’m Still Here is the only entry on this list that I’ve seen just once, which is possibly why it continues to grow on me. What I first considered a very good movie with an absolutely incredible lead performance I now think might simply be great. A lesser drama would’ve presumed the stakes inherent to its central dilemma are reason enough for us to care, but Walter Salles’ film takes its time introducing the Paiva family and immersing us in their home—making the event upon which the movie pivots all the more heartrending. Finding the distinction between an actor’s contribution to a role and what’s on the page is tricky, but there’s no question from where the intelligence and quiet dignity of I’m Still Here’s lead character resonate: Give Fernanda Torres all the awards.

3. A Different Man

Ari Aster apologists wish he could make a movie as good as A Different Man. This genre-bending exercise in hysterical realism marries theme and technique more successfully than any other movie I saw in 2024, which is perhaps why the months I’d spent after Sundance thinking and writing about it were my most rewarding movie-related experience this year. But before I could understand how A Different Man’s sardonic visual metaphors for cosmic misfortune and allusions to Woody Allen romcoms and Toni Morrison all tied together, I had already become immersed in its De Palma-coded aesthetic. The textures and colors of the urban hellscape director Aaron Schimberg creates with the help of cinematographer Wyatt Garfield and production designer Anna Kathleen would look as stunning on the pages of an underground graphic novel published in the ‘90s and set in the ‘70s as they do on the big screen. 

2. Nosferatu

Call me a snob, but labelling Robert Eggers’ Nosferatu a horror movie feels reductive. This nightmare is just too much of a cinephile’s wet dream. Does the narrative lose some steam toward the end? I was too busy marvelling at every intricately detailed composition of this folkloric tragedy to care. Eggers’ films have always played like anthropological discoveries; Nosferatu is his most exquisite artifact yet, as well as the most visually immaculate movie I’ve seen since 2022’s Babylon.

1. Sasquatch Sunset

Nothing during the past twelve months has fully entranced me as much as Sasquat Sunset. As I wrote in my review of the film, the Zellner brothers’ chutzpah alone couldn’t have produced this 

miracle without an actor of Riley Keough’s expressivity. How did such a beautifully realized, strikingly original piece of work get written off as scat porn with bigfoots because of a few contextually appropriate examples of humor involving bodily fluid (by the same people, no less, who don’t mind when movies pair unseemly amounts of it with violence)? The Zellners’ masterpiece runs on the stuff of pure moviemaking magic.  

It seems that, nowadays, everybody on Film Twitter likes to say it was a bad year for movies. To that I say: there’s no such thing. 2024 is no different. There was such an eclectic range of cinema to be found regardless of where your tastes might lie, from indie darlings and mega-blockbusters to midnight genre films. On a personal note, 2024 was the year I attended several film festivals for the first time. Sundance, TIFF, Fantastic Fest, and NYFF. Attending these festivals for the first time presented me with the opportunity to discover even more exciting films. So with that being said, there’s nothing more exciting than gushing over film. Let’s get into what I believe are the best films of 2024. As a slight disclaimer, I will be holding any films off this list that didn’t have an official 2024 release. Two films in my Top 10 (Mike Flanagan’s The Life of Chuck and Kiyoshi Kurosawa’s Cloud, both seen at festivals) did not officially release in 2024, so they are the only outliers in my personal top 10 films of 2024.

10. Dìdi (弟弟) – Directed by Sean Wang

What a special film Wang gave to the world. In 2008, I was 12 years old. Chris (Izaac Wang) plays a 13-year-old in 2008, and in his character, I was instantly whisked back to a period in my life that has been long dormant. It’s the power of cinema working its magic. There are moments in life which feel so specific, and yet, Dìdi is a testament to many of these moments actually being rather universal. It’s a brutally honest film about what it meant to grow up in a time where the Internet was deeply ingraining itself in the behaviors, decision-making, and everyday lives of youth culture. I can so vividly recall the moments in this film that echoed my real-life experiences: friends stealing cell phones to text a crush embarrassing messages. The thrill of making absurd YouTube videos for personal enjoyment and the hopes of capturing a viral hit. The anxieties and worries that come with not understanding how we fit into the world around us. Bolstered by a great lead performance in Wang and a deeply touching supporting turn from Joan Chen as Chris’ mother, Dìdi is a special film that allows us to look back at our own lives with plenty of fond laughs to go alongside the retrospective thoughts. My original review from Sundance 2024 can be found right here.

9. Nickel Boys – Directed by RaMell Ross

Upon the premiere of Nickel Boys, there were a lot of extravagant statements being thrown around about the magnificent quality of the film. And I have to be as frank as possible when discussing Ross’ film: believe them all. Nickel Boys is a staggering achievement any way you look at it. Adapted from the Colson Whitehead novel, Ross and Joslyn Barnes’ script soars with a humanity that few films this year could hope to achieve. Some may hear about the film being shot in a first-person POV and think it’s nothing more than a gimmick. That couldn’t be further from the truth. In a just world, cinematographer Jomo Fray would be a lock for the Best Cinematography Oscar. The visual language of this film is otherworldly, capturing the beauty to be found around us despite such horror and ugliness perpetrated by prejudiced systems of power. There is a moment where Fray and Ross pivot from their style, and it’s equal parts exhilarating and devastating. It is a marvel of a film and a massive achievement. My Chasing the Gold piece highlighting Fray’s cinematography from NYFF 2024 can be found right here.

8. Queer – Directed by Luca Guadagnino

Going into Queer, the second Guadagnino film we received in 2024, I think many people had some preconceived notions about what it was going to be. Many suspected it to have certain links, either stylistically or thematically, to Call Me By Your Name. And while there are similarities, I was beyond thrilled to walk out of my screening feeling as if it had much more in common with Guadagnino’s 2018 take on Suspiria. This film was so excellent it even made me want to revisit Bones and All with the intent of a possible reassessment. Never taking the easy way out, Guadagnino and screenwriter Justin Kuritzkes’ adaptation of William S. Burroughs’ novella is a surreal look at the pain and longing that comes with love. This isn’t just a story about love. It’s instead about what the lack of love can do to us. So much of Daniel Craig’s performance, paired with the beautifully haunting score from Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross, make Queer feel more like a ghost story than anything else. And by the time its soul-crushing finale rolls around, Guadagnino will have once again proven himself as one of the most exciting filmmakers currently working today. My original review from NYFF 2024 can be found right here.

7. Hit Man – Directed by Richard Linklater

Hit Man quickly became a comfort film of mine. It’s no surprise that Linklater has provided the world with yet another breezy and entertaining film to bask in. And of course, there’s the Glen Powell of it all. Anybody who knows me personally knows the love I hold for Powell at this point. He brings a truly dynamite presence and charisma to the big screen that is simply unmatched. And Hit Man, which he co-wrote alongside Linklater, almost operates solely as a vehicle to allow him the opportunity to shine bright. There are two sequences in this film that are worth the price of admission alone. The first is one that proves Powell can practically do anything on screen, and you can wholeheartedly buy into his performance. It’s hysterical and exciting and fully solidifies his status as a movie star in the making (as if he’s not already one). The second scene comes late in the film, and it’s just a potent example of the chemistry Powell can share with his co-stars (in this case, Adria Arjona). It’s explosive and tense, building to a crescendo that was justifiably talked about for months online. Glen Powell forever, I’ll watch Hit Man many more times in my life whenever I need a pick-me-up.

6. Anora – Directed by Sean Baker

Baker’s film is much more than the bubblegum pop visuals it initially lets on. It’s more than the modern-fairytale logline audiences sat down for. Beyond being a brilliant comedy inspired by screwball comedies and classic slapstick antics, Anora is a film about America. It’s a film about how America is the land of excess. It’s about how capitalism can distract us with enough bright lights, extravagant parties, and reckless spending in the name of vanity, while all the while bleeding us dry emotionally. It traps individuals, especially those in marginalized communities, in vicious cycles. All of this is funneled through Anora, a character that feels destined to be remembered as one of the greats of the decade. Certainly of the year. She’s hilarious, ferocious, layered, headstrong, and confident. It’s an unbelievable performance from Mikey Madison that’s more than deserving of all the acclaim. And while this film, or rather its antagonistic family of characters, seems determined to knock Anora back down to her Brighton Beach home quietly, audiences will instantly latch onto the battle of seeing her trying to desperately hold onto the life she feels she deserves. And best believe she puts up a fight that’s both wildly entertaining and moving. It’s cruel to show somebody the upper crust of life and then snatch it away from them due to boredom or immaturity. That shouldn’t be a criticism of how Baker treats his character. It should be understood as Baker criticizing the very systems that encourage this type of behavior.

5. Challengers – Directed by Luca Guadagnino

Guadagnino decided he was coming to take over 2024 from very early on in the year. A trio of lead performances with unreal chemistry, visuals from the great Sayombhu Mukdeeprom that electrify anybody who lays eyes on them, and a Reznor & Ross score designed to break speakers in movie theaters and nightclubs alike. Challengers literally has it all. Alongside Brat (my personal album of the year, but let’s not get into ranking albums right now), Challengers captured the zeitgeist in a way few modern films have the ability to. It reaffirmed the notion that audiences still want to see exciting films and stories play out on the big screen, and they want to see movie stars being energized off one another in the process! It’s a film riddled with sexual tension that bubbles and bubbles until reaching one of the great climaxes of the decade thus far. The extended final sequence is guaranteed to raise your heart rate based simply off pure tension and release alone. It’s an electrifying piece of cinema, and I adore it deeply. My Chasing the Gold piece highlighting Mukdeeprom’s cinematography can be found right here.

4. I Saw The TV Glow – Directed by Jane Schoenbrun

I briefly met Schoenbrun when walking to grab lunch at TIFF this year. They were incredibly kind throughout the conversation. When we got to discussing films, I had to mention how I Saw the TV Glow has remained in my top 5 since I’d seen it at its premiere at Sundance. Schoenbrun replied very humbly and mentioned how many great films were at the festival that might possibly surpass it. I politely replied with something I had been telling friends and colleagues since I first saw the film. That it’s unlikely, for I Saw the TV Glow is a once-in-a-generation film. Beyond the quality of its filmmaking (which is stellar) or all the ideas bouncing around throughout its runtime (which are poignant and moving), it is an astonishing film that feels like it will define this generation. Upon watching it, you can imagine all the artists it will inspire. More importantly, it will possibly help countless individuals examine parts of their lives they may have repressed or felt worried about living in truthfully. This is a film that will help and inspire change, while also piercing you with a true dread that many horror films wish to achieve. That it can do both, serve as a vital piece of art and an exciting piece of entertainment, makes this one of the best films of the year. My original review from Sundance 2024 can be found right here.

3. Dune: Part Two – Directed by Denis Villeneuve

There was obviously no reason any of us had to doubt Villeneuve when settling in for the second half of his Dune adaptation. But of course, the bar has been set incredibly high. Even if we ignore his stellar run of films which has few rivals, if any, he still would have to match quite a lot of expectations set by his first chapter of Dune. Lo and behold, from the first moments of this second half, many sighs of relief were likely taken as Villeneuve whisked us right back to Arrakis in one of the most cinematic moments of the year. From there, Dune: Part Two is a treasure trove for fans of hard sci-fi, thrilling adventures, and above all, a twisted morality tale about the ways in which absolute power can corrupt even the most noble of individuals. As somebody who is not a fan of the source material, I find this film to be quite the miracle. It effectively condenses so much of the dense novel, while also expanding upon its ideas in fascinating ways. It certainly helps that its visuals are perhaps some of the most impressive we’ve ever seen in blockbuster filmmaking. In a just world, the look of this film and the care that was put into it would be the template for any big-budget spectacle moving forward.

2. The Brutalist – Directed by Brady Corbet

Perhaps the most dense film of the year, Corbet’s The Brutalist has so much for audiences to chew on. And it’s one of the great films where, upon rewatch, its ideas continue to layer atop one another to perfection. For every revelation you might have about its plot, or characters, or setting, countless more fascinations pop up. It’s a film that you want to revisit again and again, yet also savor for understanding how special it is. As soon as that 70mm projection begins rolling, and the beautiful brass of Daniel Blumberg’s score kicks in, you feel as if you’re being whisked away to a time where films like this would still announce themselves on a regular basis. The Brutalist is a deeply special film, with Adrien Brody turning in an undeniably profound performance that will likely be one of the defining roles of his career. I’ll never forget when the intermission card first popped up, and the air of bewilderment swept around my audience as if we’d never seen anything like it before. My Chasing the Gold piece highlighting Lol Crawley’s cinematography from NYFF 2024 can be found right here.

1. Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga – Directed by George Miller

There’s a moment in Furiosa which basically caused me to ascend out of my seat. I found myself in that rare situation so few films pull out of me nowadays. I was truly breathless, and the only thing I could do was begin making noises to myself quietly. Of course, I’m referring to the extended “Stowaway” sequence that arrives around halfway through this film. At 79 years old, Miller is serving up some of the best action and best uses of VFX and digital-heavy filmmaking we’re likely to see all decade. There’s an energy that pulses throughout Furiosa where you feel like absolutely anything can happen. And I can almost assure you that it will, though you may not expect what it hides up its sleeve. This is a film set just before the world seems to have completely lost its mind in Mad Max: Fury Road. With that, there comes a sense of hope. The entire thematic battle taking place between Furiosa and an astonishing Chris Hemsworth as Dementus is the opportunity to pull back from the cliff’s edge we’re racing towards. In a current society that feels discordant and frightening, where it feels like people amongst us and those in power are actually losing their minds, the final act of Furiosa is beyond powerful. If we fight for the chance to move forward peacefully and it still fails, perhaps there’s some hope in knowing that we remained true to ourselves along the way. And holding onto that, if not for the immediate future but for the future that is still on the horizon, is essential. Furiosa is an absolutely wild film any way you look at it. And Miller certainly “made it epic.” But he also made it very beautiful, fun, and moving. May he be allowed to return to the Wasteland whenever he likes, and we’ll be all the better off for it as a movie-going audience.  

On a recent, appropriately lengthy episode of The Big Picture podcast, host Sean Fennessey was joined by the critic Adam Nayman to discuss Brady Corbet’s new film, The Brutalist. The more skeptical of the two, Nayman nevertheless made note of how the craft of The Brutalist shows that Corbet, his partner and co-writer Mona Fastvold, and the other members of the film’s crew have seen some other movies. Nayman went on to mention that plenty of the films he, Fennessey, and cinema-goers everywhere have sat through this year were “made by people who don’t seem to have seen a movie before in their life… Movies that were greenlit by people who also don’t want people to see movies, or are subsidized by streamers who would prefer that movies were actually just static.” Fennessey agreed, and I found myself thinking about how true this was of my own year at the movies. Had there been that many stinkers, their bellows just barely drowned out by the precious few films that made a two-century-old medium feel like it was being born anew?

Then again, I suppose you could say that this is true of any year. Every single trip around the sun since the dawn of cinema has seen its own hefty share of films that seem to have been made with heart and a (perhaps heftier) share of those that weren’t. But as I look back at our most recent run of 366 days (Leap Year!), something about them stands out, especially as it relates to movies. You could blame my career choice, that of sitting in dark rooms glancing at illuminated screens practically every day – “Our deadly passion, our terrible joy,” as a certain luxury automobile magnate said just 13 months ago. I might credit it to the year I had, one of personal downs and ups aplenty, but quite significantly the first year I actually spent the majority of working in this space. I saw more new movies this year than I have in any one prior; the same can be said for old films fired up for the first time. I wrote more about film this year than ever before, both in reviews of individual offerings and in snapshots of the industry as a whole. For that, I have many editors, writers, friends, and audience members to thank. To not mention the filmmakers behind the works I spent much of my time thinking about among that lot feels wrong, however varied the returns on the inspiration I experienced because of them may have been.

It’s with this in mind that I can confidently say that in 2024, I too watched an unfortunately substantial amount of movies that were made by people who don’t seem to have seen a movie before in their life, as well as many movies that were greenlit by people who don’t want people to see movies, or would rather shuttle them off to streaming services where they can and will be static objects, those not even worthy of serving s background noise. (Or, furthermore, too grating and soulless to even watch on mute; I’m looking at you, whoever ushered Jerry Seinfeld and the folks from the company formerly known as Kellogg’s into the same room.) On the flip side of that deadly, terrible coin, I saw even more films that seem to have been made by people who clearly have an interest in the significance of cinema, new and old, and want to watch it evolve, live on, and outlive all of us. Occasionally, those examples came as pre-packaged franchise-adjacent romps that didn’t reinvent the wheel so much as they aggressively spun them in an interesting fashion (Twisters, The First Omen, Smile 2, even The Fall Guy). Once in a while, they were efforts that shouldn’t have necessarily moved me one way or the other, yet elicited a profound response from me given the passion that was visibly being projected (Horizon: An American Saga – Chapter 1, The Animal Kingdom, Hundreds of Beavers, and Civil War, to name a few). Other times, they came in the form of feature-length debuts about awakening adolescent sexuality (like Shuchi Talati’s Girls Will Be Girls and Molly Manning Walker’s How to Have Sex); or clever and resonant dramedies about specifically-crafted adults that I recognize because of their nuances, not in spite of them (Jesse Eisenberg’s A Real Pain, Nathan Silver’s Between the Temples, and Mike Leigh’s Hard Truths come to mind); or a transgender tale that doubles as a systematic takedown of the corporate overlords that govern comic book universes (hats off to you, Vera Drew).

I guess what I’m saying is this: More than any other kind of film that I saw in 2024, I saw a great number of movies that felt human – performed by them, made by them, lived by them. The following 10 were those that stood out above the many.

Writer’s note: Each year since 2019, I’ve put together a video countdown to honor my favorite films of the year – 25 of them, to be exact – not unlike what I’m sure you’ve seen from IndieWire’s David Ehrlich, whose still-annual efforts serve as an initial inspiration for these projects. I’m the proudest of this year’s iteration, which I pray is different enough from the others you might have come across, and perhaps will add a few films to your watchlist. It’s long, but it takes longer to put together than it does to watch. I hope you won’t mind indulging me before scrolling to read some brief thoughts on the top 10. (A big thanks to InSession Film Editor-in-Chief David Giannini for encouraging me to include this here; he’s a good egg.)

10. The Beast (Bertrand Bonello)

Léa Seydoux makes a compelling case that she is the best – and if not best, then at least the most versatile – actor on the planet in Bertrand Bonello’s time-hopping mindf*ck, which simultaneously takes place in 1910’s Paris, 2014’s Los Angeles, where a murderous cretin based on Elliot Rodger (George MacKay as one Louis of the three he plays here), and 2044, where “DNA purification” seeks to purge willing participant’s souls of the emotions they may have felt in past lives. Startling, prescient, and wholly original, Bonello’s curiosity with the future has never been so inventively-rendered. (Read my review here.)

9. Nosferatu (Robert Eggers)

The most fully-realized work of Robert Eggers’ career, not solely because the tale of Nosferatu has been living in his mind for the better part of four decades, but because of the craftspeople he continues to surround himself with for every project. A stunning, grim tale of obsession that ends on the year’s most elegiacally composed shot, Nosferatu is a crowning achievement in Eggers’ filmography, further proof that he is one of the most inspired filmmakers working today, no matter the genre. That he’s often turning in such stirring work in the horror landscape, a realm continuously peppered by the lazy, persistent regurgitation of old tropes, is perhaps most exhilarating of all. (Read Dave Giannini’s review here.)

8. Challengers (Luca Guadagnino)

Josh O’Connor turns in the best supporting performance of 2024 in a movie that still manages to belong to a scowling Zendaya, who not only convinces the audience that she could compete for a Grand Slam tomorrow, but that marrying Mike Faist would be a glitzy life’s consolation prize. Then again, maybe that credit should go to O’Connor… I’m getting dizzy. The only thing that helps me regain control of my balance is Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross’ rhythmic, synth-heavy score, to which I’m writing at this very second.

(Read Nadine Whitney’s review here.)

7. Anora (Sean Baker)

When I first saw Anora at last year’s Toronto International Film Festival, I called Sean Baker’s eighth directorial feature his “magnum opus,” a collection of his go-to thematic devices – sexuality, class, chaos – that was anchored by an all-time performance from Mikey Madison in the same vein of what Baker has gotten in the past from Simon Rex (Red Rocket), Brooklynn Prince (The Florida Project), and the Mya Taylor-Kitana/Kiki Rodriguez tandem of Tangerine. A much-needed rewatch not only reasserted those truths, but solidified Anora as a deeper tonal experiment on top of the electric dramedy it proves to be on its face. Its much-discussed final scene – performed to the nines by Madison and Yura Borisov – is a near-perfect gutter. (Read Hector A. Gonzalez’s review here.)

6. Queer (Luca Guadagnino)

While only one film on this list deploys La Bionda’s “One For You, One For Me” as its closing credits needle drop, it would have been a clever nod at the audience for Luca Guadagnino and Justin Kuritzkes’ second collaboration of the year to conclude on that note. The duo’s adaptation of William S. Burroughs’ novel of the same name is a more audacious film than Guadagnino has ever made, an experimental triumph that is most rewarding if you can get on its wavelength and let it transfix you. It’s not hard when Daniel Craig and Drew Starkey are in front of the camera, with Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross composing what is the cerebral inverse to what they created for Challengers. It pairs beautifully with Queer’s swooning arc, charting what is less the tale of a passionate affair than a rich drama about obsession and yearning in agony. And let’s face it: Is anything more terrifying than unrequited love? (Read Alex Papaioannou’s review here.)

5. Evil Does Not Exist (Ryusuke Hamaguchi)

Where Drive My Car had its centerpiece audition scene and its closing performance of the “Uncle Vanya” production that the prior three hours had been building toward, Ryusuke Hamaguchi’s latest meditative masterwork has a town hall meeting and a devastating conclusion that is both too brilliant to spoil and too layered to pin down. Perhaps what has kept the film on my mind since seeing it for the first time at the 2023 New York Film Festival, then twice more in theaters this year. It’s one of a small number of films that I have continued to return to in an effort to further explore its meaning. The most fascinating thing about Evil Does Not Exist, among the many, is how it’s the evolving world itself that pits the film’s characters against one another, not solely their personal desires. (Read Alex Papaioannou’s review here.)

4. No Other Land (Rachel Szor, Basel Adra, Yuval Abraham, & Hamdan Ballal)

It’s true that the courageous Israeli-Palestinian collective behind the work of activism that is No Other Land have made a movie that hovers above any other documentary I’ve seen this year, and, in many ways, is the best thing I’ve seen all year. But it’s more than great, transcendent, essential, or whatever other distinction one wishes to apply to it in their assessment. It is a series of shattering images and acts that directs a flood light toward the malicious acts one nation’s militia is happy to execute in order to punish another, from soldiers teaming to fill a water well with cement to the film’s final frames, which feature perhaps the most vicious of all crimes committed on screen over 95 minutes. It can be strangely hopeful: Abraham was willing to risk his own life, defying his government in order to aid innocent people in their fight against injustice; Adra, meanwhile, remains in Masafer Yatta, continuing to organize efforts to save his home despite the many attacks it continues to suffer from outside forces. Yet that hope, as it attempts to creep into the frame throughout, is swiftly swept aside, another demolition unfolding down the road, gunfire ringing through the fills from a nearby settlement. “We need people to make a change,” Adra says late in the film. “They watch something, they’re touched. Then what?” Perhaps turning No Other Land into a document that is eternal as it is vital could get the ball rolling. In order for that to happen, it would need a distributor. At the time of this writing, none have been brave enough to step up. (Read my review here.)

3. Dune: Part Two (Denis Villeneuve)

The very existence of Dune: Part Two is astonishing, a work that has historically been deemed “unadaptable” having been adapted as meticulously as anyone can get to the source material without veering the worm off the side of the sand dune. Not only does Denis Villeneuve’s second installment take the path laid out by his first and elevate it, but it does something few sequels have ever been capable of doing: it elevates its genre to unprecedented heights that all sci-fi films in its wake will be chasing. Timothée Chalamet deserves award consideration for his work as Paul Atreides, but both Zendaya and Javier Bardem steal the movie having been given far more to do here than they were in Dune (2021)’s final 30 minutes. (Read M.N. Miller’s review here.)

2. The Brutalist (Brady Corbet)

Is Brady Corbet cinema’s next Francis Ford Coppola, Martin Scorsese, or Paul Thomas Anderson? I’m not yet sold. (Though it’s fair to assume he’d be reasonably happy with any of those three careers, as would fans of his first three features.) If The Brutalist, a staggering, grand epic unlike any American film of the recent past, is any indication, such reverence is just the beginning. What Corbet has built with this ever-rich, decades-spanning film about a Hungarian-born architect who survived the Holocaust and later flees post-World War II Europe to take a job in America, one that unexpectedly changes the course of his life, is the cinematic equivalent of the Great American Novel. Despite a runtime of 215 minutes, you never once feel as though Corbet is lengthening the proceedings for sport, as The Brutalist is entirely engrossing, meticulously detailed, and warrants how massive it is, in both scale and scope. At the time of my first viewing, it was without question the best film I’d seen in 2024; even at number two, it’s a true masterpiece in every sense of the distinction. (Read my review here.)

1. Nickel Boys (RaMell Ross)

In a 1996 interview with Charlie Rose, the late, great critic Roger Ebert gave what is, for my money, the foremost quote about the cinematic experience. When Rose asked why Ebert believed “no other artform touches life the way movies do,” he replied, “It takes us inside the lives of other people. When a movie is really working, we have an out-of-body experience.” Rose laughed: “You’ve seen too many movies, Roger.” Standing his ground, Ebert countered, challenging his interviewer to recall a time where he found himself so wrapped up in the story unfolding on screen that he wasn’t aware of his surroundings, let alone where his car was parked or what was going to happen the next day. “You only care about what’s going to happen to those people next. When that happens, it gives us an empathy for other people who are there on the screen that is more sharp and more effective and powerful than any other artform.”

RaMell Ross’ Nickel Boys is a revelation that inspires such a feeling, not solely because of the technical command that lies within, and not even strictly due to the magnetic turns from its breakout star duo and the established supporting players that surround them. Adapted from Colson Whitehead’s Pulitzer Prize-winning novel of the same name, Ross’ film is uniquely-striking in just how potent and formidable it is, both as a feat of storytelling and as a triumph in emotional hijacking. I am certain that I was out-of-body while watching Nickel Boys, a film that is so sensitive and immense that it is wholly indicative of having a visionary talent at its helm. Much like Ross’ prior film, the Oscar-nominated Hale County This Morning, This Evening, its artistic ambitions are features, not bugs or gimmicks, no matter how many short-sighted viewers wish to reduce them to such empty terms. It’s the rare sort of feature that feels like it is reinventing its format while simultaneously moving the craft forward. Nickel Boys the single best film to be released this year, and as powerful as many others managed to be, the margin isn’t particularly close. (Read my review here.)

The cinematic moment is the key to enjoying the filmgoing experience. It’s that instance in which the viewer is locked inside a scene, able to escape but unwilling to. A great director keeps the audience captive, but through a willing captivity situation, the filmmaker and the audience members become participants in a game that only they truly understand. It could be a horrifying moment that only one audience member feels or an emotional tangent that hits a nerve in one person rather than the other. Since last year has been spectacular for cinema, with solid films ranging from Lynchian surrealist dreams to emotionally-grabbing prison dramas through psychosexual thrillers and erotic nightmares, I chose a few acting moments that I found influential but also inspirational from last season as my favorites

10. Kelly-Anne dresses as the murdered Camille in court – Red Rooms

There’s no film like Red Rooms; the Canadian psychological thriller is a morbid commentary on modern voyeurism but also sheds a spotlight on the psychology of post-social media era voyeurs. In one of the film’s most disturbing scenes, Kelly-Anne (Juliette Gariépy), the main protagonist, a creepy, dark-haired successful model, dresses as one of the serial killer’s victims, the youngest one whose murder video has not been found yet, and her true sinister nature is revealed. Kelly-Anne, the latent voyeur psychopath, unleashes her reality on a horrified world, and connects with the one person with whom her soul vibes the most, the sadistic serial killer as he finally recognizes her. A terrifying scene that Pascal Plante cements in the brain, and what makes it more profound is Gariépy’s unapologetic, chilling performance. It does not make sense but in all its depravity, it’s the culmination of what the film wants to say not only about voyeurism but also about the voyeurs themselves, who are in some way as guilty as the sickening pleasure they find in other people’s crimes.

9. Arthur tosses the statue’s head into the ocean – La Chimera

There was probably no more sensitive performance last year than Josh O’Connor’s turn as Arthur in La Chimera, Alice Rohrwacher’s gift to the world, bringing to mind golden age Italian movies of the ‘60s. The way he caresses artifacts, statues, and buried treasure speaks volumes of his character. A man feverish with a love for nonexistent times, mourning a lost love, and having visions of concealed grave goods. In one scene, Arthur’s gang tries to sell the head of the statue of Artume to a greedy art dealer, and as the sale is about to be locked, Arthur carefully touches the head as if breathing life into it or asking it to give him life, then tosses it into the ocean. He’d rather it drown than fall into the wrong “unappreciative” hands, the mindset of a man possessed, and O’Connor perfectly portrays him with a distant look, a haunted expression on his face, and the physicality of a man on the verge of passing out.

8. Rita confronts corrupt politicians and sings – Emilia Pérez

Emilia Pérez will always be a film that divides audiences and critics alike. Still, there’s no denying Zoe Saldaña’s electrifying performance as Rita, the lawyer-turned-personal-assistant to former drug cartel and present-day do-gooder Emilia (Karla Sofía Gascón). In a particular culminating point, Rita dances around corrupt politicians and money-laundering drug lords at a fundraiser, calling them out one by one, each after the other while singing the film’s iconic song “El Mal.” She dances in a sexy, red suit that allows her freedom of movement but gives her the air of a ballad’s jester, adding a light-hearted tone to the melodramatic underlying themes of the film while still giving her agency to call out what she’s been observing at the beginning of her life. Rita commands the scene, and her dance moves are aggressive and ritualistic, she’s a possessed woman denouncing a rancid circle of people in expensive suits and designer gowns whose hands are washed in blood. Choreographer Damien Jalet’s training for Saldaña came to fruition with her presence stealing the spotlight, giving her a dance number worthy of classic Hollywood musicals, something that viewers familiar with Saldaña’s game will be surprised and enamored by witnessing. She carries the film with her star presence, her dedication, and her passionate portrayal of Rita in every moment of this film.

7. Divine G breaks down before a dress rehearsal – Sing Sing

Sing Sing is a film about the beauty of the arts, especially in confinement or under oppressive living conditions, but it is also about the danger of hope. No one other than last season’s acting mogul, Colman Domingo, can showcase that in different shades of a performance. Domingo portrays Divine G, a man unjustly incarcerated for a crime he hasn’t committed with such ease and positivity that makes audiences wonder about the nature of imprisonment, hasn’t the system been able really to lock down his heart and soul? But in subtle scenes, as he extends his hand outside a window to reach the Hudson River, or he tries to get Divine Eye (Clarence Maclin) to cooperate with the theater group, glimpses of his truth come out. Until his parole is denied, his whole world collapses, and Domingo’s performance reaches a crescendo as Divine G breaks down questioning the validity and essence of what they are doing. It is through this particular moment that Domingo shows how hard Divine G has been suppressing his true emotions of rage, disappointment, fear, and nihilism. 

6. Tashi talks about tennis – Challengers

One of last year’s sexiest scenes is about a woman talking about tennis. Wearing a stunning, recycled Loewe dress, Tashi (played wonderfully by Zendaya) dreamily forgets the existence of the two sides of her love triangle Patrick (Josh O’Connor) and Art (Mike Faist), and reminisces about tennis, the ultimate love of her life. Zendaya portrays Tashi in her prime as entirely different from her bitter, rough, power-woman ending. In the beginning, her youth and her brilliance give her an ultimatum, a carelessness only associated with young successful people who think the world is at the palm of their hands. Tashi describes what it feels like to play tennis, a woman possessed by a higher power, a love that outshines anything else in her life, even the two young men she’s coyly flirting with. As they watch her mesmerized, while Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross’s soundtrack plays in the background, one wonders if Art and Patrick in that special moment fell in love with Tashi, with tennis, or with each other after her passionate speech.

5. Rona dances alone on Christmas – The Outrun

In a conversation with director Nora Fingscheidt, she describes that special moment of Rona (Saoirse Ronan) dancing alone in her house on Christmas, raging against the music, not a sexual, feminine way of dancing, but more of a hip-hop, aggressive way of dancing. Rona attacks the music as she dances, and as Fingscheidt captures her skin in different forms and variations of the cold, the bruised, and the glitter of a night out with a lover, she also captures a thousand kinds of emotion on her face. In that scene, one wonders if Rona will persevere or relapse into her hard-drinking days. No one blames her, alone on Christmas, tough times call for tough measures. But Rona has gone so far off into her healing and sobriety journey that she dances like a wild stallion, crazed and feverish to the trance music. It’s not as if she is dancing alone and we leave her at that, but she’s letting off the steam of her frustration, pain, liberation, loneliness, and release. Saoirse captures that fierce, fight-mode-on physicality in her dancing perfectly and the scene is a stunning crowning to her tumultuous journey.

4. Gabrielle and Louis almost make love in the doll-making factory – The Beast

In this fascinating surrealist drama, Bertrand Bonello creates a Lynchian aesthetically inviting nightmare. Two lovers meet at different intervals of their lives, with their union cut before they make love. Bonello doesn’t reveal what The Beast is throughout, it’s mostly left for interpretation, but the way I see it, The Beast is desire unfulfilled, and love unresolved, hanging in between two people forever tormented by it. Gabrielle’s (Léa Seydoux) lifelong agony is her ability to feel too much, and as she fails one DNA purification process after the other, she aches for that one person she can give in to her craving with, and when she finds Louis (George MacKay), keeps meeting him at different time zones and purgatory-like night clubs, wondering if he’s like her, unable to be reprogrammed and emotionally depleted. In this particular enchanting scene, Gabrielle and Louis meet in the back room of the doll-making factory, they foreplay, caressing each other with such burning passion, but what elevates the scene to a higher level is Seydoux’s sensitive portrayal of Gabrielle, the way she reacts physically and emotionally to every subtle change, every touch from MacKay, and closes her eyes, her face a tapestry of hunger and desire, as the erotic moment turns sadly into a tragedy. The factory is flooded and both doomed lovers die in the process, sending Gabrielle back into the future of robotic emotions.

3. Orlok confronts Ellen with her nature – Nosferatu

Taming the wild feminine is a common theme in horror, but in Nosferatu, the tale takes an unexpected turn due to revisionary filmmaker Robert Eggers’s unique handling of the subject matter. Instead of a tale about an old German Count seducing and sucking the blood of a sensitive girl, it becomes a tale of two dark souls aching to be with one another, one who is unwillingly dark due to abuse of her improperly diagnosed mental illness, her huge sexual appetite for the repressive times, and her psychic sensitivity, while the other is a malevolent being, a vampire of the blood and the soul, hungrily stalking her to devour and consume her, eternally in the darkness. Of all Ellen’s (Lily Rose-Depp) scenes, the one where she finally confronts Orlok (Bill Skarsgård) in a somnambulist bout and he reveals her true nature, and how she, in a desperate moment, calls on him to possess her and release her from the prison of an unfulfilled body, of suppressed pleasure, and isolation of the soul. When Orlok appears and faces Ellen with the truth of her soul, and strips bare what she tries to hide even from herself, that willingness to be captivated by his voracious sexual energy that matches hers, Ellen finally realizes it’s not hysteria or melancholia that feeds on her mental and physical health, but the unconsumed lust growing inside her like a chronic disease.

2. Romy gets down on all fours – Babygirl

In this game of cat and mouse, director Halina Reijn returns to familiar territory of desire, power play in a sexual relationship, vulnerability, and unfulfilled lust. Like her previous film, Instinct, it’s all about the shame modern women go through for seeking a submissive sexual relationship with a dominant man. But when Nicole Kidman plays her female protagonist, a sexy, exciting film becomes a work of art. Babygirl sees the dazzling Harris Dickinson as Samuel going out of his comfort zone as a dominant young man, a Gen Z kid seducing an older, sexually unfulfilled woman. But it’s not about him, more about her and what she wants in life. And apparently, all Romy wants is to be conquered, cared for, cuddled, and loved like a child. Romy’s fantasies take her to sleazy motels and underground nightclubs where she lets go of all her restraints from her model home life to her power-woman status as a CEO. With Samuel, she finds that part of her that is tired of keeping it together, of modernity and the restraints of the empowered woman who vies for the Forbes Influential Women list. When she gets on all fours and submits to a sub/dom relationship, crawling to her daddy and looking up at him with docile complicity, the moment is thought-provoking but also sexually liberating and cathartic.

1. Anora breaks down in Igor’s arms – Anora

This tale of Cinderella in reverse is a more realistic rags-to-riches-to-rags commentary on real life. But as Sean Baker brings attention to the lives of showgirls, strippers, and sex workers, he also paints a rollercoaster ride for Ani (Mikey Madison), taking her on a fantastical trip to another dimension where she finds and loses herself in a short-lived brush with a life of luxury and royalty. In the last iconic scene, many viewers have been left puzzled; what does it symbolize? Why did Ani react in the way she did with Igor (Yura Borisov), the only one who felt her pain, and sympathized with her plight? Why seduce him, try to make love to him, attack him, then break down in his embrace? The windshield wipers create an atmospheric ASMR lull of comfort for audiences, as they watch Ani finally put down the brave upfront she’s been bearing ever since her home invasion from Ivan’s (Mark Eydelshteyn) parents’ henchmen. In a moment of truth, the brave working gal allows herself vulnerability and weakness in the arms of her one supporter, true friend, and possible future lover. It’s both beautiful and heartbreaking to see her finally succumb to exhaustion, fear, and confronting the trauma of hopes crushed, and a vulnerable woman terrorized and discarded by a spoiled rich brat. Madison brilliantly takes viewers on the different layers of emotions that her character goes through, and succeeds in doing so.

The 2024 cinematic year was filled with contradictions, disappointments, mediocrity, and lackluster pictures. But, many visionary projects broke the medium’s conventions in fascinating ways. These contain a potent, sensory visual language curated by some of the most brilliant minds in the medium, as well as new ones that have emerged–both veterans and newcomers from different places around the world who want to provide their perspectives on the world, our past, present, and potential futures, using their respective canvas as a way to pour their worries, joys, and melancholy for us to digest, reflect, and ponder. As always, many will argue that this year was weak. But if you know where to look, you will find beautiful gems waiting for you to bask in their greatness and stature. The films compiled in this Top 10 list were some of the ones that spoke to me and my cinematic sensibilities the most. So, here are some words on my favorite films of 2024, from Luca Guadagnino’s delicate and melancholic adaptation of William S. Burroughs’ ‘Queer’ to a brilliant debut by Lucy Kerr that has remained in my mind since I saw it last year at the Locarno Film Festival, and coincidentally has motivated me to pick up photography. The following are arranged in alphabetical order because I don’t like ranking films or putting one on top of the other, especially when I care and cherish all of the movies mentioned below. 

First, some honorable mentions: All We Imagine as Light, Babygirl, The Brutalist, Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga, Good One, I’m Still Here, The Settlers, The Substance

The Beast (La Bête) (Directed by Bertrand Bonello)

Bertrand Bonello is one of those directors whose early work, The Pornographer and Tiresia, I disliked heavily due to his pretentious and self-indulgent footing. However, in the last couple of years, he has taken a different route–tonally, stylistically, and narrative-wise more ambitious–with more panache to his visual language, becoming one of the most creative and fascinating voices to follow in French Cinema. He shifted his focus from indulgence to reinvention with pieces like Zombie Child and Coma, both criminally underseen and underrated. But now, with The Beast, his loose adaptation of Henry James’ short yet multilayered book ‘The Beast of the Jungle’, he creates something way different than before: a Matryoshka doll-like exploration of the erasure of emotions, doomed lovers, and artificial intelligence, similar to when the Wachowskis made Cloud Atlas, yet with a more idiosyncratic and unconventional note which’s big swings land heavily and emotionally. Through fractured timelines and broken hearts, Bonello navigates this tricky story into weird territories that made me think about everything and anything, from the loss of tradition to the worries about a technology-focused future where love is at the screen’s glance and not met by the physical and psychological. A year after I saw the film, I am still baffled by how this worked out.

Caligula: The Ultimate Cut (Directed by Tinto Brass)

In one of the most impressive acts of saving a film from the hell that it was in, Caligula: The Ultimate Cut is the new definitive version of the ‘70s film with the most backlash that gives way to Tinto Brass’s original vision. Technically, this is not a 2024 film, as it is a restoration and re-edit of the 1979 film Caligula. (This is not the only time I will try to cheat on this list.) But, due to it having nearly ninety percent of new material placed onto the film–removing the excess sex and violence that financier Bob Guccione shot and pasted on the film, basically flipping it from a porno picture to a study of excess and power in Ancient Rome–I decided that, for me, it does count. To see how the botched theatrical cut was met with backlash and hate from the cast and crew to the audience and now seeing this near masterwork is nothing but impressive, showing how restorations do serve an excellent service in reviving lost cinema–fractured pieces of art that one thought could not be saved, yet they are rescued by technicians and cinematic architects that want to preserve this medium. Caligula is now a staggering piece that works on many levels and is not just another project cursed by terrible financiers.

Close Your Eyes (Cerrar Los Ojos) (Directed by Víctor Erice)

Victor Erice is one of the best Spanish filmmakers ever to grace the world. He does not make films consistently, always with plenty of time between each feature. So, when one arrives, it is a special occasion for celebration. At 83 years old, Erice has been long-absent for several decades, doing occasional collaborative projects with Pedro Costa and Manoel de Oliveira. But the time has come; he has brought us his first feature film since 1992, Close Your Eyes (Cerrar Los Ojos). This film continues the strand of veteran filmmakers looking back at their legacies, careers, and fear of death alongside David Cronenberg, Francis Ford Coppola, Leos Carax, and Paul Schrader, to name a few. But these works all have their distinctive touch, the worries of the filmmakers attached and the reflection of their journeys from childhood to now, where a lot has changed both in and out of the art world. In Close Your Eyes, Erice reflects on his departures, the essence of memory, and the beauty of life’s passage through a self-reevaluation and a film-within-a-film format that provides optimism with the foreboding of the future’s uncertainty. A touching scene from Damian Chazelle’s Babylon (a film I loathe) reminded me of this film and its crux. Jean Smart and Brad Pitt’s respective characters discuss life and death and how cinema fits in between. The former says that each time a person sees a film, the people in them come alive for the duration of the movie–as she quotes: “And one day, all those films will be pulled from the vaults, and all their ghosts will dine together, and adventure together, go to the jungle, to war together.” Similarly, Erice is now reflecting on his work, its impact, and the long-lasting legacy of cinema as a whole, not only his contribution. He expands on this fracture that time has and invites the viewer to question their relationship with cinema–modern audiences to try and look at this powerful medium in ways that they haven’t before, not only see the surface but go further and see how these are memories that once were stuck inside the head of a creative being and is now shared to the world. 

Do Not Expect Too Much from the End of the World (Nu Aștepta Prea Mult de la Sfârșitul Lumii) (Directed by Radu Jude)

After delivering one of his least inspiring, yet still provocative, affairs with Bad Luck Banging or Looney Porn a few years back, Radu Jude delivers his most ambitious, complex, and experimental picture in Do Not Expect Too Much of the End of the World (Nu Aștepta Prea Mult de la Sfârșitul Lumii). It is a playful and testing metatextual exploration of capitalism, the 2020s influencer screen-infected era, and Romania’s political and societal history. The Romanian filmmaker interlaces his picture with Lucian Bratu’s 1980s work, Angela Moves On, to create a parallel portrait of how the world has changed and remained the same in many different aspects. As technology advances, the same exploits from the government are still predominant. Jude doesn’t shy away from pinpointing these injustices. Brave as always, he lets his thoughts about everything roam around this betwixt canvas. He uses real-life despair and cinematic absurdism to create a thought-provoking picture that remains poignant even in its most farcical sections riddled with mockery and questioning. 

Family Portrait (Directed by Lucy Kerr) & Nickel Boys (Directed by RaMell Ross)

Yes, I know I am cheating by including two films into one spot, and now it is not “technically” a Top 10 List on my part. But there’s a reason I did so (apart from being unable to pick one or the other–note, I almost added a third one, but I know that is stretching this “cheating” too far). I paired these two films because of their singular, striking visual imagery, which has affected me since I saw each in their festival premieres. I just can’t take these images out of my head. In Family Portrait, Lucy Kerr creates some grounded, limited, haunting images that speak louder than monologues about the death of communication and our different versions of melancholy. Through the narrative of a woman wanting to reunite her family for a Christmas picture, she reflects on how we reflect those moments when we want to rapidly capture a moment passing us by and preserve it through photographs, videos, and other methods. We blink, and a month has passed. We blink again, and then a year goes by. Then that solemnity hits you… the longing of not being able to freeze time and memories becoming blurred. And all of that is done through simply constructed images: time through simple portraits. Then there’s RaMell Ross’ Nickel Boys, which has some of these same elements through the cinematography by Jomo Fray–a unique and intriguing voice in the medium that curates striking images so effortlessly–and a POV lens. But, it is less dark and brooding and more poetic and embalmed in tragedy. The characters in the film travel down distanced yet collective paths where they believe that escaping physical trauma will cause their suffering to end. The playfulness in Nickel Boys comes from this intertwining between showing glimpses of hope and letting the characters and viewers know that this “escape” will not save you entirely and that there is still pain deep in your soul that will not be easy to cure. This touched me. This made me anxious and worried in the theater. However, since that element of hope is still punctured in the film, those worries become reflections, and that reflection ensures the viewer that everything will pass and healing will come. 

It’s Not Me (C’est pas moi) (Directed by Leos Carax)

Leos Carax spills his mind, body, and soul in his cine-essay It’s Not Me (C’est pas moi), where he takes inspiration from his dear friend and French New Wave co-creator Jean-Luc Godard–saying goodbye to him in a cinematic form–to offer a “self-portrait” of his essence both on and off the art world. The French-Swiss director’s spirit is felt throughout the film, like a ghost who wanders through the world watching those it once cared for, Carax being one of them. From the collage feel of the project to the interlacing between social commentary and self-flection, the two filmmakers intertwine, hence why it is nearly impossible to separate It’s Not Me from Scénarios, Godard’s last short, two shorts that complement each creative mind and worries in the format they helped grow into a beautiful potent, and expressive medium. Carax, now sixty-three years old and one of the most fascinating cinematic voices working today, looks back at the past in all of its nostalgic and haunting glory and the troubled now–leaving you wondering, “Who is Leos Carax?”, which he answers in a poignant, dreamy manner, and “Who am I?”, you asking your inner self these same questions that Carax ponders in these 50 minutes. 

Last Summer (L’été dernier) (Directed by Catherine Breillat)

Catherine Breillat has been provoking audiences and thought since her directorial debut. Her latest film, Last Summer (L’été dernier), is yet another one of her pictures that does such a thing, but with a different tone. It is a remake of the Danish erotic-thriller by May el Toukhy, Queen of Hearts, where one of the few narrative changes made was switching Denmark’s icy setting to France’s sun-kissed streets. However, there is still a coldness to it. This feeling that emerges from the story comes via the reality of Breillat’s thematic exploration. Instead of being a one-sided shock factor that many American productions explore this type of narrative about an older woman grooming an innocent boy, Breillat is more interested in exploring what drove one to do such things–without leaving them as innocent–through a subtle, grounded manner that showers the film with brevity.  It is an exercise in the likes of Gaspar Noe transitioning from Love to Vortex, with the dramatic sensibilities of Last Summer being long-term wound-inducing rather than cutthroat. And that is why the film becomes more piercing than some of her work. 

Queer (Directed by Luca Guadagnino)

It is hard for me to talk about Luca Guadagnino’s Queer, which I believe is one of his best works to date, because of how invested I was in it–reading William S. Burrough’s book, researching Edward Hopper and Ego Schiele, whom I saw resemblances of in the postures of the bodies and the production design, as well as its the connection with Malcolm Lowry’s ‘Under the Volcano’. But I will try here to write a paragraph about why I love it so much. This intoxicating and melancholic story about a man so desperate for love and connection that he subjects himself to several forms of addiction, both literally and metaphorically, is so heart-rending and spiritual that it becomes a tragically euphoric experience, even in the few moments of happiness that are scattered throughout the runtime. Guadagnino is making a project that is dear to his heart. Burrough’s novel is an influential piece of literature that shaped his youth and artistic mind. However, he also makes a portrait of the influential Beat Generation writer in all of his desperateness and melancholy to connect the solemnity that Burroughs felt with the current generation’s despondency and isolation. I was transported to these locations through beautiful, delicate cinematic brush strokes that made me feel everything from a closer view. Each emotional pandering and heartache was felt because of the Italian filmmaker’s tactile touch. 

Ryuichi Sakamoto | Opus (Directed by Neo Sora)

In March of last year, Ryuichi Sakamoto, the legendary Japanese composer behind Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence and The Last Emperor, passed away, leaving many film lovers and classical musical enjoyers heartbroken. His son, director and artist Neo Sora, has constructed a parting gift from him to all of us who have been pierced by one of his pieces–something special after his unfortunate departure. Ryuichi Sakamoto | Opus is more than a concert documentary where Sakamoto plays some of his most significant pieces; it is a tribute and a goodbye. It has the feel of David Bowie’s ‘Blackstar’ and Leonard Cohen’s ‘You Want It Darker’, in the way that you sense that Sakamoto knew that time was simply running out. So he thought about his coda, one final piece of work to share with the world–playing for their funeral, a reflection method to face the next stage. And it is as emotionally staggering and heartbreaking as any other dramatic piece to release this year. As one piece ends and another begins, a massive wallop of sadness hits you like a sledgehammer as Sakamoto, weakened by his illness, continues to play these classic instrumental tracks with his head high, knowing he will soon head to the heavens. 

Vermiglio (Directed by Maura Delpero)

I may sound like a scratched record in this piece, but the visual language in Maura Delpero’s Vermiglio is mesmerizing. Something I look for in cinema is how these images on screen speak to me and make me think and reflect on the themes the director is planting and the worldview of today, tomorrow, and the past. Vermiglio has beauty and tragedy in each frame, shot by cinematographer Mikhail Krichman (Leviathan, Loveless), that talks about faith, femininity, and family through a snowy existentialist canvas that has some similarities with Pier Paolo Pasolini’s masterpiece Theorem in its backbone, yet without the elements of provocation and mystical eroticism. Delpero is a voice I have learned about for the first time this year. However, I hope to see more from her in the same vein as this: poetic instead of lyrical, subtle instead of overly emotional, and feeling like a photographic journey to the past instead of excessively expository.