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.

2023 was a challenging year full of many changes for me; 2024, on the other hand, was a chance for me to get back into the space I love so much. I spent a lot of the year growing, from being back in school full-time to writing reviews regularly (thank you, Dave, for putting up with me). With that, I made the time and effort to watch many excellent films. This year is a broad one, filled with just about every genre and style of movie you could find—musicals, horrors, action legacy sequels, a CGI monkey biopic, and some of the most creative filmmaking in quite some time took the theaters by storm and showed consistency in general audiences longing to be back in cinemas. My top 10 of the year reflect 2024 in a way that shows not only consistency in quality films returning but also just how inventive filmmakers were this year.  Without further adieu, here are my top 10 films of 2024.

Honorable Mentions: Dune Part 2, Saturday Night, Longlegs, A Real Pain, Gladiator II

10. Better Man

2024 is a year when a few movie musicals are battling it out for awards, while the best one might just be one about a British pop star who, if I’m being honest, I knew nothing about. However, I feel like that is precisely what Williams would want as Better Man isn’t just one of the most electric musical biopics in years; it’s also one of the most honest as Williams lays out what he thinks of himself as a performer, the music industry, and his messed up place in it all as someone coming to terms with how little he has respected an industry and art that has given him so much. The odd premise works so extravagantly well as Michael Gracey has such a vision for musical numbers. Every significant number is done in a way that goes above and beyond, and the attention to detail (the “Rock DJ” sequence being mostly practical, closing down Regent St. in London, and using 500 dancers, is wild) is unmatched. Better Man is the year’s surprise and one of my favorites.

9. I Saw the TV Glow

As someone who is, admittedly, not a big fan of We’re All Going to the World’s Fair (I don’t hate the movie; it just wasn’t for me), I entered Jane Schoenbrun’s newest film with caution, and I have to say, the reviews out of Sundance were not helping as much as one would think. Truthfully, it worried me more about seeing the film because most people hardly ever want to be on the wrong side of the consensus. It took me a while to see this movie, but when I finally did, I was entranced throughout. Schoenbrun’s direction takes such a monumental step as they can control every scene in entertaining, heartbreaking, and thought-provoking ways. The creation of “The Pink Opaque” (the show within the film) highlights the depth the director went to perfecting every little bit of this film. However, it’s the last 15 or so minutes that propel I Saw the TV Glow from good to great. Are they giving you the film’s thesis on a silver platter? Sure, but it works because of Schoenbrun’s fantastic script and direction, and it features one of the best performances of the year from Justice Smith. The words “There Is Still Time” will never hit me the same. Not to mention, it’s probably the best original soundtrack of the year, nonstop bangers.

8. Sing Sing

Sing Sing has had the most bizarre release schedule, which is a shame because it is one of the year’s most beautifully told, acted, and well-made films. The story of RTA (Rehabilitation Through the Arts) and, more specifically, Clarence Maclin’s actual time in RTA is told with an authenticity that is rarely seen in film nowadays. Almost all of the characters in the film play themselves and are nearly all former incarcerated men, aside from Colman Domingo, who has been delivering consistent top-tier performances ever since he was finally able to showcase his skills as a performer on the big screen.

7. A Different Man

A Different Man is up there with another film on my list in contention for being the funniest movie of the year, but the humor isn’t what you would expect. It’s dark and disturbing but never crosses the line of being in poor taste. It is self-hatred to the most extreme extent, led by career-best work from Sebastian Stan, who continues to deliver clever and captivating performances. Adam Pearson is also fantastic in the year’s most charming and charismatic role. A Different Man might have been one of the most underseen films of the year, but there is so much depth, life, and despair, making it one of my favorites.

6. Nickel Boys

I would love to give some elaborate reasoning as to why Nickel Boys is here on my list, but it is a film one must experience themselves. Like a film that will show up later on my list, the filmmaking style that RaMell Ross opts for shouldn’t work; in the past, it hasn’t. It is a film of changing perspectives and first-person camera work that, in the wrong hands, could have been more of a gimmick than an advantage; however, Ross understands the frame and the scene in a way that makes almost every shot feel as immersive as he intends. Alex Somers and Scott Alario also do some heavy lifting, creating one of the year’s best scores (something I have come to expect from Somers, who might be the most underrated composer in film), one that magnificently enhances every scene. This is one that, even though the story is difficult to endure, deserves to be seen several times. RaMell Ross’s direction and film handling are the best of the year.

5. The Wild Robot

DreamWorks needed a win more than almost any studio, and, at just the last second, they hit one out of the park. It is a highly emotional (no film in this year or the past few years has made me cry this much) and uplifting film of family and community, mainly by a group of animals in a world where the water has risen and forced different species to interact (the fact that this and Flow released in the same year is pretty wild). Lupita Nyong’o’s and Pedro Pascal’s voice work is incredible, the animation is breathtaking, and the story doesn’t pull many punches, being as honest as it is thoughtful. A truly remarkable film.

4. Nosferatu

As much as people want to lump him in with other horror directors working – all of whom bring something completely different and original to the screen – there isn’t another Robert Eggers. His attention to detail, especially regarding period works, is immaculate, and every bit of him as a director is displayed in Nosferatu. It’s the most assured the director has been behind the camera, and it shows as his latest film almost feels like a culmination of everything he has done throughout his career so far. Nosferatu plays out like the horror myth Eggers wants it to be and the attention to detail that he has with every one of his films provides a level of authenticity that isn’t seen much in an era of film that is so reliant on over-exposure; muted colors, and CGI that forces you to suspend disbelief to the edge. The performances are also top of the line with Lily Rose-Depp shining like never before in a role that is as demented as it is seductive; like Nicholas Hoult’s Thomas, there are moments involving Rose-Depp that are so hard to watch, but you can’t take your eyes off of her. The same can be said for Bill Skarsgård, who, even though he is now typecaste as a weirdo freak, gives a truly haunting performance down to the impeccable voice work (where he came up with that voice, only he will know). But what is most excellent about Nosferatu is the longing and love that was put into the script, the plot, and the filmmaking. For a director as consistent as Eggers, I am sure he will make more films at or even above this level; however, it’s clear to see this being one of those moments in a director’s career where it all masterfully comes together.

3. Flow

Flow is one of those films that, as you’re watching it, you start to feel like you’re having a once-in-a-lifetime experience. There has never been anything quite like Flow, and to be honest, there probably never will be again just because nothing about this film should work. There is no dialogue, human characters (or even human-like characters), and the 3D animation looks more like something you would see in an old-school version of Zelda than on the big screen in 2024. However, everything that director Gints Zilbalodis (who also works on the music for the film) does manages to work to the greatest extent. Regardless of dialogue, the story brings forth immense depth and nuance. The pathos evoked surrounding family, community, sacrifice, and allowing yourself to be helped during times of crisis all meld to create a heart-wrenching film with a final scene I won’t soon forget. It is very Miyazaki-esque in terms of taking a simple story and making something otherworldly, beautiful, dark, tragic, and wholly authentic.

2. The Brutalist

Brady Corbet crafts a genuine masterpiece about the highs and lows of the American Dream. Adrien Brody has never been better, and Felicity Jones, Guy Pearce, and Joe Alwyn all have moments to shine. The craft of The Brutalist is impeccable, from unbelievable cinematography to a score that sticks with you long after the film is over. The comparisons to American epics are valid as this old-school film (I mean an Overture AND an Intermission??) shows that some filmmakers just get it.

1. Anora

Anora is the type of black comedy I love – and one of the reasons I have become such a fan of Sean Baker’s work. The connections to Uncut Gems were seen, felt, and heard throughout the chaotic moments of trying to keep up with the characters. However, Anora isn’t built on the chaos; it’s more than just a couple of hilarious fight scenes and screaming matches between the characters. It’s poignant, grimy, and brutally honest. Ani (or Anora) overcomes her working-class struggles to get a taste of “the good life,” only to have it ripped from her in the end, and there’s nothing she can do about it. She wants to fight it and keep what she deserves, but she is fighting from so far behind that it becomes pointless even to try. The film’s message is bleak, a staple for Sean Baker as a writer, and it makes the funniest film of the year and the most difficult to watch. However, throughout all the humor is immense pain, and the ending of Anora will stick with me forever, which is why this is my favorite film of the year. It is a moment of reflection where both Ani and the audience can reflect, and she is finally able to release all the pain that has been building. Baker’s writing, directing, and editing are top of his game, and Mikey Madison (who should win the Oscar) and Yura Borisov give two of the best performances of the entire year.