My Favorite Movies of 2021
2021 was almost as unusual a year for cinema as it was for the world. We saw a handful of months of relative normalcy as the distribution of the COVID vaccine saw the reopening of movie theaters and the release of many large-scale movies that had been delayed due to fears of COVID impacting their box office. At the same time, we had Warner Brothers releasing all of their notable films day-and-date both in theaters and on HBO MAX, representing an unprecedented experiment in film distribution. Disney did the same with several of their releases appearing on Disney+, and Marvel’s expansion into streaming TV has further blurred the lines between the big screen and the small one.
This innovation and experimentation was a varied and exciting year of movies as many studios dumped out two years’ worth of films in one year. There were a ton of major blockbusters and tentpole franchise releases, foreign and indie break-out hits, and new entries in the catalogs of established auteurs. The most surprising thing was the consistent level of quality across many releases this year. There have certainly been some stinkers (Eternals, The Little Things, Reminiscence) and disappointments (House of Gucci, Halloween Kills, and Candyman). Still, the fact is that the hit-to-miss ratio was higher than usual. That is great to hear, but it also means that crafting this list was even more challenging than normal. As a result, this will look a little different this year. The most significant change is that I have moved to an unranked list. Every movie will appear in alphabetical order because rankings change so frequently, and also comparing different genres and cinematic approaches is arbitrary at best. Each of these is worthy of exploration on its merit. I am also not making any assertion that these are the “best” films of the year, merely my favorites. Experiences are not universal, and I have not seen everything. If you are interested in a full ranked list of all the 2021 movies I saw, it can be found here: https://boxd.it/eu8NW
Thanks to limited releases, my busy schedule, and the Omicron variant making it less safe to go to theaters again, there are a good number of releases I have not seen yet. My list’s most prominent blind spots include Ryusuke Hamaguchi’s Japanese awards darling Drive My Car, Steven Spielberg’s long-anticipated musical remake West Side Story, and Joachim Trier’s fantasy rom-com The Worst Person in the World. I will also shout out a few other films I have not gotten to see, including Petite Maman, C’mon C’mon, The Lost Daughter, The Harder They Fall, Mass, The Medium, No Sudden Move, Riders of Justice, Tick Tick Boom, Zola, Coda, and Annette all could have easily made it onto my list if I had time to see them.
Speaking of things that didn’t quite make the cut of my top 22. Shang Chi represented a blockbuster of unusual depth and quality of craft from the media conglomerate with unusual attention paid to fight choreography and action. Zack Snyder’s Justice League was the biggest surprise of the year for me and stood as one of the largest improvements between a theatrical and director’s cut in modern memory. F9: The Fast Saga delivers one of the most exciting and fun entries in its franchise, and Adam Wingard delivered all the kaiju mayhem I wanted in Godzilla vs. Kong. Netflix’s Fear Street Trilogy was a hybrid coming-of-age and supernatural slasher masterfully helmed by Leigh Janiak. The horror genre, in general, had a strong year with original films like Synchronic and Antlers and solid franchise entries A Quiet Place 2, Spiral: From the Book of Saw, V/H/S 94, The Conjuring 3: The Devil Made Me Do It, and The Forever Purge. But most of all, my number one honorable mention goes to the not-quite a movie Inside. Bo Burnam has long been a favorite of mine, and his one-man quarantine return to comedy was heartfelt and hilarious in equal measure. It captured the feeling of quarantine in a way no piece of media has managed to do for me and has stayed in my mind all year long. But that is enough honorable mentions and shout-outs. So without further ado, here are my favorite films of 2021 and a short discussion of why they stood out to me:
Benedetta (dir. Paul Verhoeven)
Benedetta is a based-on-true-history lesbian erotic thriller about a nun convent facing the black plague when a novice begins experiencing visions and claiming Jesus Christ possesses her. It is directed by legendarily successful director Paul Verhoeven (of Robocop, Total Recall, Starship Troopers, and Basic Instinct fame). Based on that pitch, you should immediately know if this movie is for you, and admittedly this is a divisive one. But it is also delightful in its perverse blasphemy, and it is hilarious. Verhoeven tackles the premise with his typical unrestrained sensibility, effortlessly switching between the tones of a vying-for-power political thriller, religious satire, and romance. Meanwhile, Virginia Efire commands the screen as the central messiah figure, delivering confidence and delusion in equal measure. Don’t let the gross-out humor fool you: Benedetta has a lot on its mind. It depicts a society where religion and politics are intimately intertwined, where a plague is downplayed and dismissed for the sake of control. Sound familiar? The poignancy of its themes is matched only by the care and craft put into its construction.
The Card Counter (dir. Paul Schrader)
After being convicted of war crimes in Iraq, a veteran is released from prison and uses his well-honed poker skills to make some cash. He carefully controls every small variable of his life until he is presented with a living reminder of his past. Confronted with those memories, he is offered a chance at redemption or vengeance. No one has as firm a grasp on the American psyche as Paul Schrader. Tortured, angry, and riddled with guilt, William Tell (Oscar Isaac) never thought of himself as a villain until he was confronted with the horrific consequences of his actions, and now he has to live with it. Is absolution possible when you have done horrible things, no matter the reasons? Schrader does not deliver any easy answers here. Isaac is the perfect Schrader leading man, delivering an intimidating presence and a thousand-yard stare that you cannot look away from. Each gesture contains more meaning than whole dialogue’s in other films. As the film slowly creeps up on a violent explosion, its examination of guilt, catharsis, and the cycle of American political violence will leave you transfixed.
Dune Part 1 (dir. Denis Villeneuve)
Dune was my most anticipated blockbuster in years. Veteran sci-fi director Denis Villeneuve (Blade Runner 2049, Arrival) tackles the notoriously hard-to-adapt epic by Frank Herbert. Galactic in scale and theme, Dune is about religion, global politics, prophesy, and colonialism. Oh, and worms. It is also about giant worms. Many fans feared that there was no way that any movie could do the source material justice, but Villeneuve delivered. He meticulously crafts this world, using production design, beautifully rendered VFX, and precise visual language to communicate more about this world than mountains of exposition could deliver. It feels lived in and leaves the audience craving more. It is a film that rewards attentive and repeat viewings, carefully adding layers of foreshadowing, symbolism, and prophesy in the smallest of details. Its all-star cast delivers on all fronts. In particular, Timothee Chalamet impressively delivers as the leading man, and Jason Momoa steals every scene. Its moments of action are thrilling and maintain an intimate tension even when the scale is enormous, thanks to Villeneuve’s careful staging and eye for detail. It is a testament to the craft of Dune that I do not even care that this is very much half of a story (thankfully, Part 2 has now been confirmed by Warner Brothers). This movie is everything you could want from a blockbuster: intelligent, thrilling, and evocative.
The French Dispatch (dir. Wes Anderson)
Wes Anderson has made a career out of hyper-stylized storybooks. Each film pushes its artifice further than the next with Anderson’s trademark symmetrical framing, doll-like sets, slow-motion, and his actors’ muted, deadpan delivery. However, the artificiality in his film is more than a quirk. The stunted delivery of his actors, hyper-stylized direction, and razor-sharp dialogue all build up a layer of emotional artifice. The films are always about lonely people, desperate for a connection to another person in a cold world. His latest film is no exception. Each story is a poignant exploration of how we connect: through food, community, art, and politics. In many ways, The French Dispatch is a metaphor for Wes’ relationship to filmmaking as it is a biography about The New Yorker. The artifice of each chapter (framed around articles in a single issue of the magazine) reveals more about the author than the events themselves. This is an interesting parallel with how Wes’ films are as much about his perspective on the world as about individual stories.
This is the exact type of film you expect from Wes Anderson, perhaps “the most” Wes Anderson of his films. The cinematography is haunting and beautifully composed, each still a carefully crafted painting in its own right. The humor is deadpan, never winking at the camera in its moments of slapstick silliness. The score is melancholic and nostalgic. But more than anything, The French Dispatch is achingly human when the artifice breaks away. He breaks from his style, giving us tiny glances into the inner heartbreak and loneliness that define all of the characters. These moments, where the walls are broken down, and the universal human experience of love and loss is left plain to see, are what I remember about The French Dispatch. This film is Wes at his best in its dichotomies: it is his most artificial, but his most human as well. One of his funniest, but also one of the most achingly sad. Anderson understands how core those contradictory emotions are to life, and the way he deploys that understanding makes this truly special.
The Green Knight (dir. David Lowery)
Writer-Director David Lowery reinvents the Arthurian legend of Gawain and the Green Knight, turning out a dream-like existential nightmare of a boy desperately trying to become a man. Lowery makes a few crucial changes to the ancient tale, most notably making Gawain a young man desperate to prove himself instead of an already famous knight in this adaptation. He lives in the shadow of his uncle King Arthur, and his desperation to live up to that reputation makes him reckless. When a mysterious knight appears in Arthur’s court, challenging one of the knights to a duel. The catch is that he will let them strike him once on the condition that he must meet the Green Knight the following year, and the giant gets to return the same blow. Gawain, desperate for glory, beheads the giant man. Everyone cheers then cry in awe as the knight picks up his decapitated head and says, “One year from today.”
Lowery paints every frame of this movie with stunning imagery that mingles the real and surreal, the dream and the nightmare. Imagination, magic, ghosts, and visions are the same in this stunning tale of morality and fate, aided by Daniel Hart’s swelling, ghostly score. It is anchored by a phenomenal performance from Dev Patel, who captures the wide-eyed awe, insecurity, and dread of Gawain as he traverses the dangerous path to meet the Green Knight a second time. This is not a movie interested in giving easy answers, instead interested in bigger questions. It repeatedly presents moral quandaries to Gawain, challenging the traditional ideas of knighthood, chivalry, and fate. The film features some of the most virtuosic and bold filmmaking choices of any film this year, including a stunning 15-minute “what if” sequence towards the end of Gawain visualizing what might happen if he ran from his quest. It is a movie that lingers in your mind long after you see it, pondering its metaphors and symbolism and the painterly imagery seared into your memory.
A Hero (dir. Asghar Farhadi)
Oscar-winning Iranian director Asghar Farhadi delivers a compelling morality tale with A Hero. Rahim is on a two-day leave from prison for a debt he could not pay when he discovers a purse full of money. He ultimately decides to return to purse to its owner instead of using it to get himself out of prison. The story of his selfishness gets picked up by local news and brings attention to his plight and getting him released, but it also puts his actions and motivations under a microscope. As the meticulous drama unfolds, true intentions are revealed and repeatedly brought into question. Farhadi’s writing and direction leave you constantly questioning motives and the truth of what happened, leaving the audience to shift through the shades of grey and the white lies to attempt to find the truth. There are no easy answers or clear moral choices here, precisely the point. It is an exercise in empathy and ambiguity, as we slowly learn how Rahim has harmed each character despite his best intentions. Amir Jadidi is pitch-perfect as Rahim, generating a constant sympathy with his cute-puppy expression and sincerity while not shying away from his inner selfishness and manipulative tendencies. It is a riveting low-stakes drama that manages to tackle universal topics with startling intimacy.
The Last Duel (dir. Ridley Scott)
2021 has been quite a year for movies about dudes with swords. Ridley Scott’s The Last Duel tells the story of the last recorded legal duel in France. It tells the story of Marguerite de Carrouges (Jodie Comer), a woman married to a knight with a chip on his shoulder named Jean de Carrouges (Matt Damon). When she is raped by his bitter rival, Jacques Le Gris (Adam Driver), she eventually tells her husband, who demands a duel to the death to prove Le Gris’ guilt. Far more complex than its premise, The Last Duel tells its story from three distinct perspectives.
First, we see the story’s events from the point of view of Jean de Carrouges, then from Jacques Le Gris’ perspective, then finally Marguerite. Each time the story is told, we see it play out slightly differently based on the person’s point of view and how they view both the world and themselves. The screenplay, with the male perspectives co-written by Damon and Ben Affleck (who also delivers a hysterical performance as the egotistical duke of the region) and Marguerite’s perspective written by Nicole Holofcener, deftly weaves between the three. The events never get old when we see them from each perspective, and the different ways they perceive the events of the film reveal far more about the characters than the things they say about themselves. The story delves into the misogyny and patriarchy of the era (and is remarkably insightful in the ways that claims of sexual assault are handled today). The result is a tightly wound thriller that utilizes the medium of film to its maximum potential.
Last Night In Soho (dir. Edgar Wright)
Edgar Wright finally tackles the horror genre with Last Night in Soho, a high-concept, a time-bending slasher that pulls influence from Italian Giallo. It tells the story of Elouise (Thomasin Mackenzie), a young English girl obsessed with the past who arrives in London to go to fashion school. When she rents a flat, she finds herself having vivid dreams from the perspective of an aspiring young singer named Sandie (Anya Taylor-Joy) in the 1960’s. Elouise is at first enraptured to experience the ’60s London she had dreamed of through Sandie’s eyes, but she soon discovers a violent underbelly to that time, and that nostalgia has a darker edge.
Wright is known for highly stylized, slickly edited films, and Last Night in Soho is no different. It is filmed in sweeping Steadicam long takes, shifting from Mackenzie to Joy appearing in the frame and back again within the same frame. Every frame is full of neon-drenched mirrors, with reflections revealing hidden dangers and insights into characters’ deepest insecurities and fears. Wright delivers another spectacular feat of editing here, delivering pulpy genre thrills full of violence and paranoia. Mackenzie and Taylor-Joy are phenomenal (particularly later on as both grow manic and the line of identity between them grows thin), but the real star of the film is Wright: he twists audience expectations and uses his eye for tone, imagery, and the flow of editing to twist the knife and ratchet up the tension.
Licorice Pizza (dir. Paul Thomas Anderson)
This year, there was no film more joyous to watch, more lovingly crafted, than Licorice Pizza. Paul Thomas Anderson delivers an odd-ball coming-of-age comedy about a 15-year old actor and entrepreneur Gary (first-time actor Gary Hoffman, the son of the late Phillip Seymour Hoffman). He develops a massive crush on Alana (Alana Haim), a 25-year old he meets working for a photo company. He pesters her to go to dinner with him, and after making crystal clear to him that it is purely platonic, Alana accepts. What follows is their misadventures as their friendship develops. Gary and Alana have incredible chemistry, slinging witty dialogue back and forth as they vie for the mental and emotional upper hand. Unfortunately, they are both the wrong person at the right time for each other. Gary desperately wants to be an adult but is still naive and selfish in the way children often are. Alana is 25 but aimless. She loves that Gary respects her in a way the adults in her life don’t, and she appreciates the excuse to embrace her immaturity. They both know their friendship is ill-advised, but they both are who each other needs right now. They are an odd couple, and their flirtatious friendship is lightning in a bottle.
The movie is a tribute to that magic feeling of waining childhood, where the emotional intensity of youth meets with the dizzying fear and uncertainty of adulthood. Paul Thomas Anderson effortlessly captures that feeling with remarkable honestly. He is unafraid to depict their relationship from their perspective, trusting that the audience can sort out the truth. Each vignette plays out in this subjective perspective, capturing the absurdity, humor, messiness, and heartbreak for all it is worth. PTA shoots each scene with the scale and intense lighting of a classic Hollywood epic, despite the stakes being no higher than the friendship of these two misfits because it is life and death for them. At the moment, they are everything to each other, and this universal experience is what PTA hinges his coming-of-age hangout film on.
Licorice Pizza is pure movie magic in every regard, an intersection of once-in-a-lifetime talents. Gary Hoffman and Alana Haim are effortlessly lovable, delivering the dialog with a believable naturalism and an aching that captures their character’s desperate desire for something more profound. PTA’s camera flows between the characters’ subjectivity with ease while also capturing some of the most beautiful images of the year. Johnny Greenwood’s score (one of three outstanding scores he did this year, along with Power of the Dog and Spencer) captures the yearning and innocence of the story, along with its off-kilter complexity. The more I think about Licorice Pizza, the more in awe of it I am, and it is one that I feel will find itself equally enticing on repeat viewings.
Malignant (dir. James Wan)
Malignant is the triumphant return to the horror genre for James Wan, the creator of such massive hits as Saw, Insidious, and The Conjuring. It is an infinitely weird and silly film, bouncing between genres and tones with gleeful energy. It is goofy as hell and intentionally aware of its campy tendencies, and since it leans into them, it is a delight to watch. It tells the story of a pregnant woman named Madison (played with intensity by Annabelle Wallis), who is attacked in her home by a dark masked figure who kills her abusive husband. As she is recovering, she begins to experience strange visions of her attacker committing other murders. These visions are complicated because the murderer seems to share the name of her malicious childhood imaginary friend: Gabriel.
Wan has always worn his influences on his sleeve, and it has never been more evident than in Malignant. He is pulling from supernatural Italian Giallo films and the Dark Castle horror remakes from the ’90s and ’00s in tone and iconography. The killer, Gabriel, is clad in black leather and kills with a knife in various gothic environments. These styles mesh perfectly with Wan’s sensibilities, his eye for slick style, and remarkable sincerity. He has never shied away from silliness or authentic emotion, and here he doubles down on it like never before. This movie plays with absurdity and humor in such a refreshing and exciting way that most modern films altogether eschew.
His talent for formal craft is all over this film, using the creative framing and eye for wide-angled composition to create paranoia and a sense of voyeurism in the audience. Every shot is immaculately composed, using shadows and expressionistic neon lighting to craft this gothic and macabre tone without sacrificing the sense of camp and fun that defines the experience of watching this movie. Lightning strikes and buzzing neon lights highlight the bright red of blood. He knows exactly how to pace a scene, using camera movement and lengthy takes instead of rapid cuts to keep us in the moments of tension and fear (as well as to revel in the violence and insanity of the latter half of the film). Wan is a master craftsman who makes horror films with more consistency and style than any mainstream filmmaker. Malignant is a chance for him to go bonkers and use every tool in his considerable toolbox in this melodramatic story without restraint or minimalism.
The Matrix Resurrections (dir. Lana Wachowski)
Lana Wachowski decided to revisit the world of the Matrix after almost two decades after the death of her parents. She wanted to create a story of two people coming back to life and having a second chance at love and happiness, and I, for one, am so happy she did. The Matrix Resurrections is a film brimming with ideas, but it is a love story between Neo and Trinity at its core. Anchored by Keanu Reeves and Carrie Ann-Moss giving their best performances in the franchise (and bringing their sensuous chemistry back in spades), Resurrections is a testament to how love and human connection can overcome the most oppressive powers. It also tackles the disdainful way that corporations use nostalgia to manipulate and control us and how only originality and rebellion can defeat that. Finally, the film serves as a meta-commentary on the entire previous trilogy, remixing scenes and revisiting settings but for a far greater purpose than mere nostalgia. As the film branches in new directions as it veers towards its final act, the set-pieces it stages, and the imagination of its story are awe-inspiring. The Wachowski’s have always worn their hearts on their sleeves, and this film is no different. It is earnest, vibrant, and exciting blockbuster filmmaking at its finest and most anarchistic.
The Night House (dir. David Bruckner)
The Night House is a precise and paranoid slice of psychological horror from genre master David Brucker (director of several segments in the V/H/S films and the nightmarish The Ritual). It follows Beth (Rebecca Hall), a woman reeling from the grief of her husband’s unexpected suicide. She is left alone in a labyrinthian house that he had built for the two of them. As she tries to process the loss and pack up some of his things, she uncovers some secrets that she never knew about him (after all, he committed suicide with a gun she didn’t even know he owned). Soon after, she starts getting messages claiming to be her husband and experiencing strange things around their house.
This film got under my skin in a way no other movie this year did. Just writing about it now is giving me goosebumps. It is a tightly constructed piece of horror, shredding the audience’s nerves from the opening scenes and taking advantage of every element of cinema to unnerve them. The sound is nightmarish and startling, and the visuals and editing find ways to make you recontextualize what you see to a spine-chilling effect. The film entirely rests on the shoulders of director David Bruckner’s talent for visual storytelling and the shoulders of Rebecca Hall, as the majority of the film is her by herself digging into her husband’s secrets. She delivers a spellbinding performance here, channeling the full spectrum of emotions from deep, silent grief, confusion, and anger at her husband’s secrets and the terror of what she is experiencing. She carries it entirely with her physicality and expressiveness. The movie would not work without her immense talent. If you are a horror fan, run to check out The Night House because it is the scariest, intoxicating, and disturbing cinematic experience of the year. Watch it on the largest screen possible. Turn the lights off, crank the sound, and enjoy.
Nightmare Alley (dir. Guillermo Del Toro)
Guillermo Del Toro tackled a carnival of noir and horror in his remake of Nightmare Alley. Like every Del Toro film, this movie oozes care from every frame. Bradley Cooper has never been better than here as a carnie conman who constantly uses his charisma to manipulate others. His character, Stanton, is a soulless man who uses his lack of convictions to fill the void of need in each person he talks to. He is one of those people who can read others like a book, figuring out their inner desires and offering them solutions (which invariably involve giving him what he wants). This is an amoral world that Del Toro presents, one filled in equal measure with danger and opportunity for a man like Stanton. Conning the right person can lead you to riches, and conning the wrong one can get you dead.
This film is slick, exciting, and mysterious. Every shot is captivating and filled with bright colors and dark, high-contrast shadows (fitting considering this film is both a remake of a black-and-white film and was originally shot for black-and-white. I have not yet been able to see the b&w version). As you watch Stanton’s rise in power from assistant to a carnival fortune-teller to a psychic for the rich and famous, it never lets up on the slow-burning tension as you wonder if this will be the time that his ambition betrays him. Each conversation is a tightrope of tension and danger as he manipulates and is manipulated in equal turn. Del Toro brings a stacked cast to bear here, and every performer delivers on all fronts. While Nightmare Alley does suffer from being over-long (it is a full 40 minutes longer than the film it is remaking and drags a bit in the middle as a result), it is still hypnotic and transfixing in the best possible way.
No Time To Die (dir. Cary Joji Fukunaga)
The long-awaited (and several times delayed) finale of Daniel Craig’s run as James Bond is finally here, and it delivers on all fronts! Bond is a franchise I have a special bond with. I watched them all with my mom growing up; it was one of the things we bonded the most over, and those experiences significantly inspired my love of cinema. I have loved Craig’s run in particular, as they were the ones I saw in a theater as they came out (despite the varying quality between entries). No Time to Die had a tall task: to manage to be a triumphant return to form after an awful film (Spectre) and wrapping up story threads from the four previous films. Thankfully, Cary Fukunaga tackles it with confidence and a sense of humanity often missing for this series.
Craig’s final performance as one of cinema’s most iconic characters is his best yet. Bond here is not the confident, perfect superspy. He is grizzled and cynical, tired of the constant cycle of violence and betrayal. As he is pulled back in and forced to reckon not only with his past but the past of the woman he has grown to love (Lea Seydoux, providing the confident and calculated counterpoint to Craig). The set-pieces here are electrifying and kinetic, proving that a director with imagination who puts the care into crafting action can still find inventive new ways to excite long-time viewers of the franchise. This is enhanced by the knowledge that this is the last installment. Anything can happen. Our hero is not superhuman, and the stakes have never been higher. No Time To Die is genre filmmaking at its best, giving us what we expect from a Bond film while also finding ways to surprise us and delivering a beating heart and emotion in a way the franchise has usually shied away from.
Parallel Mothers (dir. Pedro Almodovar)
Parallel Mothers is distinctly Almodovar, meshing the melodrama of his earlier films with the introspection and political awareness that age has brought him. The plot of This film is something I am not going to share, except it follows the friendship of two women, one young and one middle-aged, who meet in the hospital while they are both pregnant. They view the event differently, both in terms of their perspectives on motherhood and the nature of their pregnancies, but the love of their children unites them. The film also explores the political legacy of fascism in modern Spain and how the sins of the past shape personal and national identity to this day. Almodovar tackles this film with his typical genre malleability, shifting from comedy to romance to thriller at a moment’s notice without it ever feeling jarring. He has a vice-like control of tone and character, making sure that we understand the psychology of even the most unexpected events. Almodovar’s razor-sharp script and the two lead performances make the film truly special. Milena Smit brings youthful energy and unpredictability, but Penelope Cruz is the real highlight here. A frequent collaborator with Almodovar, she channels every bit of that experience into being an emotional and tonal anchor here through the twists and turns of the story. Parallel Mothers is thrilling cinema and one of the best of Pedro Almodovar’s distinguished career.
Pig (dir. Michael Sarnoski)
Pig is a magnificent, understated drama that puts a unique and radically empathetic twist on your standard revenge movie premise. Nicolas Cage plays Robin Feld, a former big-shot chef in Portland who moved out to the woods where he lives with his truffle hunter pig, who is his best friend. One night he is assaulted, and the titular pig is kidnapped. He has to go to the city and reckon with his past to rescue what was taken from him. This classic revenge premise has been used in everything from Man on Fire to Ocean’s Eleven and John Wick. The latter is the most obvious inspiration from the film, as Robin has to dive into a secret society of the culinary world where his name draws instant recognition. The difference comes down entirely to execution. Instead of a neon-drenched world of satisfying ultra-violence, Pig is an exercise in compassion.
It is a film about the importance of loving someone and how we can handle the grief of losing that person. “We don’t get a lot to care about,” Robin remarks to a food critic who has given up his passion for commercial success. This one line channels the film’s heart and soul more than anything else could. Cage is devastating here, imbuing such a sense of soul to a tranquil and no-nonsense character. Each word and glance feels like a glimpse into his beating heart, and it is no exaggeration to say it is Cage’s finest work. The film is also a retelling of the ancient myth of Orpheus and Eurydice, where a man descends into hell to retrieve his dead lover. Yet this film is more interested in exploring how each character deals with the losses they have experienced with radical empathy. Here, a kind word or the simple act of cooking a meal for someone is enough to break down emotional barriers and allow us to process the grief we all experience in our way. It is a uniquely intimate and humanistic movie, slowly building to an emotional catharsis that left me weeping.
The Power of the Dog (dir. Jane Campion)
If Pig is a revenge film told through the filter of a quiet indie drama, The Power of the Dog is the opposite. It is a carefully controlled film, where whispers and glances are used to communicate a story of immense rage and battle for control. Benedict Cumberbatch has been the focal point of discussion about this movie, and for a good reason. He plays the lead, Phil Burbank, with a sense of presence and physicality that perfectly embodies such a charismatic and cruel man. He may be the opposite of the archetypical cowboy (educated, cultured, and absurdly slim looking in his ridiculous chaps and cowboy hat), but each of those deviances from the archetype is purposeful. Phil manages to torment and control the people around him despite these contradictions are simply a testament to his intellect and his iron will. When his brother (Jesse Plemmons) brings home a new wife (Kirsten Dunst) and her strange, reserved son (Kodi Smit-Mcphee), his life is disrupted, and he exacts his revenge on the two of them through calculated emotional torment.
This is the kind of movie that rewards multiple rewatches once you understand the direction of the film. Every moment is a battle for control, represented in offhand remarks and small acts of emotional sabotage. The motivations and purpose of specific actions are never certain until the film finally peels back the layers enough, and it becomes immediately apparent, even inevitable. The movie is made all the more effective by tight, nuanced performances from literally every member of this all-star cast. Director Jane Campion returns after a 13-year hiatus from making films with this masterpiece of tension, deftly contrasting the breathtaking landscapes of New Zealand (standing in for Montana) with the harshness and bitterness of the characters. This is a horror film masquerading as a romantic drama: playing against your expectations to leave you more vulnerable for it to slip a knife in the chinks in your emotional armor when you least expect it. Campion keeps the tension in a vice grip, aided by Johnny Greenwood’s tense string-filled score that channels slasher motifs through the prism of westerns. The Power of the Dog is a gripping romantic thriller at its absolute finest, and all involved deserve the highest accolades.
Red Rocket (dir. Sean Baker)
Red Rocket is a story of the dark side of Americana. Down-on-his luck ex-porn star Mikey (Simon Rex) arrives back in his hometown of Texas City, Texas without a penny to his name. But he is not one to let anything keep him down and immediately starts to hustle and find ways to elevate himself once again. Mikey cautiously reconnects with his estranged wife and her mother, dealing drugs to earn enough cash to get back on his feet. However, all of his short-term hustles are uprooted when he meets Strawberry, an energetic not-quite-18-year old working at a local donut shop. Once he sees her, all he sees is a way back into the porn industry, riding the upward trajectory of this potential starlet.
Director Sean Baker is true to his roots here of depicting the actual circumstances of poverty in America without the romanticism of Hollywood. The crushing defeatism of poverty is ever-present here for everyone… except Mikey. He is a charismatic smooth-talker, effortlessly manipulating everyone in the path of what he wants with no regard for his actions’ consequences for others. The backdrop of rural Texas in 2016, with Trump billboards in the background of the skyline and his speeches on TV, draws obvious parallels. Simon Rex is effortless and natural here, embodying the intense presence and likability of someone that manipulative and the incredible darkness at his selfish core. He has never been given such meaty dramatic material for it, and he proves himself more than up for the task as he is mesmerizing at every moment. Baker’s cinematic instincts have never been more evident, capturing the film in mesmerizing 16mm film.
While Red Rocket is darkly hilarious, it also feels like a slow-motion train wreck. There are no illusions about Mikey’s actions’ morality; the film shows why people are drawn to his bullshit, but Baker never mistakes understanding for endorsement of Mikey’s action or condemnation of those who could reasonably be called his victims. Instead, Red Rocket serves as a cautionary tale of the kind of people rewarded in America. The ruthless people unafraid of the human casualties they leave in their wake are destined to rise to the top in America; we see it all the time. Baker firmly has his finger on the pulse of American identity (a trait enhanced by his tendency to use non-actor locals for most roles in his films), and Red Rocket is his best yet.
Spencer (dir. Pablo Larrain)
Spencer is a historical biopic by way of supernatural horror. It follows Princess Diana as she is forced to attend the Christmas celebration of the royal family despite her disintegrating marriage, fraught relationship with the queen, and increased public scrutiny. Kristen Stewart embodies the immense persona of Diana to capture both her public confidence and her private insecurities through even the tiniest of mannerisms and quirks. Her depiction of Diana is haunted by her husband’s infidelities, the crushing rigidity of British aristocracy, and her unchecked eating disorder. Instead of exposition or showy monologues to reflect these struggles, Larrain and Stewart opt to fully immerse you in her paranoid perspective, turning the Sandringham mansion into a gothic house surrounded by roaming fog and haunted by ghosts of historical sins.
Diana hallucinates Anna Boleyn (the second wife of Henry VIII, who was beheaded at her husband’s behest) as she roams the endless hallways of the royal estate. Johnny Greenwood (in his most impressive showing of the three films on this list that he scored this year) uses haunting strings to generate a constant sense of paranoia and gothic macabre. At the same time, cinematographer Claire Mathon makes the vast, foggy grounds of the estate feel unsettling and dangerous and the endless corridors suffocating. Even the immaculately reconstructed wardrobe that Diana wears feels restrictive and oppressive. Larrain elevates the material of normal stuffy aristocratic biopics into the era of psychological horror and frays your every nerve.
Yet most importantly, Larrain and Kristen Stewart never forget Diana’s humanity. Her performance is not merely an imitation but an exercise in empathy for the tragically doomed princess who captured the hearts of so many. She is not left doomed in tasteless exploitation of her ultimate fate, but instead, there is a joy for life found in moments of rebellion and humanity in the inhumane system she finds herself in.
Spider-Man: No Way Home (dir. Jon Watts)
Spider-Man is the hardest to talk about of all the films on this list. This is partially due to the avoidance of spoilers and partially due to the mountains of discourse surrounding the film. While I do not want to reveal the film’s plot beyond what was shown in the trailers, I will say that I was dreading this movie. It seemed chock-full of nostalgia-baiting and fan service that I despise in modern blockbusters, but I am happy to admit I was wrong. It certainly has its moments of nostalgia and self-reference, but the quality of the film makes it worth it. This movie course-corrects all the flaws I have had with the MCU depiction of Spider-Man, from his ties to Iron Man and the larger universe to his well-known sense of moral responsibility. Holland delivers the kind of heart and earnest performance that we have only seen in glimpses of him, and the returning multiversal players bring a sense of soul to the characters they inhabit. This film is a reckoning of the identity of Spider-Man as a character, and he emerges on the other side well-rounded and exciting in a way none of the other MCU Spidey’s have been able to. No Marvel film has up-ended my expectations more, and I think this is one of the best possible versions of this story.
The Suicide Squad (dir. James Gunn)
Speaking of best possible versions, The Suicide Squad is the best possible version of a superhero team-up movie. James Gunn takes the reins following up the notoriously terrible 2016 Suicide Squad. He imbues this anti-hero actioner with his trademark sense of irreverent humor, ultra-violence, and immense compassion for his characters. The returning players are given a sense of humanity missing from their previous attempt to tell this story of supervillains forced to be heroes. The new entries are given equal depth and attention. Every actor in this immensely stacked cast delivers the goods, capturing the perfect balance between humor and sincerity. Yet Gunn’s love for these characters is not enough to keep all of them safe, as he immediately ensures the audience that the title of the film is no joke. No one is safe from the mortal stakes, which enhances the action with a genuine sense of danger and stakes. While the scale may be larger than a typical action film thanks to the presence of super-powered individuals, there is still vulnerability and much blood to be spilled. Gunn shoots the action with a clear eye and wide lens, showing us that big-budget superhero cinema does not need to lack in personality or style. This is a pleasant improvement from its predecessor and a reminder of the power and heart that comic book films can have. This film also serves as the foundation for one of the most entertaining shows of the last year with the film’s follow-up, Peacemaker. So it gets even more points for that.
Titane (dir. Julia Ducournau)
Titane is easily the most divisive film on this list, and for a good reason. Julia Ducournau follows up her cannibal coming-of-age film Raw with a film in a very similar vein, a body horror story about identity and the power of found family. Its premise should immediately alert you to whether it will be for you or not: a female serial killer has sex with a car and finds herself pregnant. While fleeing from the police, she poses as the long-missing son of a steroid-addicted firefighter. While she tries to lay low and keep her identity a secret, the two slowly bond. This film is absurd but also slick and stylistic. Ducournau’s camera flows and swivels with exaggerated lighting and long takes as it immediately immerses you in its world of violence and depravity. This sense of style serves as an anchor for such an absurd story. It is never questioned or ironically joked about; the characters accept it at face value. There is dark humor to be found here, but the story’s heart is the connection between Alexia and her new father figure Vincent.
First-time actor Agathe Rousselle is stunning as Alexia, anchoring the story with burning anger at the world (particularly men who try to mistreat her) and a longing for any emotional connection. She has no real friends, no one who cares about her until she meets Vincent. Veteran actor Vincent Lindon delivers a quiet empathy to his role here, his eyes reflecting his desperate need for a human connection to replace his lost son. The symbolism and metaphor run deep in the film, but two things have truly stayed with me: the disturbing and grotesque moments of body horror and the remarkable compassion shown to these two central characters in their moments of connection and love. The strangeness of these opposite sensibilities are central to Titane, but within its contradictions are an immensely rewarding and dizzyingly original piece of horror cinema.
The Tragedy of Macbeth (dir. Joel Coen)
The Bard’s greatest play of ambition and destruction is a perfect match for the sensibilities of one of cinema’s best absurd dramatists, Joel Coen. When this film was announced, my immediate reaction was, “how has no one thought to get him to tackle Shakespeare before?” Thankfully, The Tragedy of Macbeth is no disappointment. It strips Shakespeare’s prose to its bones and filters that minimalism through a black-and-white nightmare indebted to the german expressionism of The Cabinet of Dr. Calagari and Nosferatu. This cinematic tradition is a delightful match to the macabre material of the Scottish play, with its ghosts, witches, and murder beautifully rendered and made even more unsettling in this adaptation. Denzel Washington gives Macbeth his famed level of intensity, but he also plays an older Macbeth, more hesitant and thoughtful than typical depictions. The fact that he and Lady Macbeth (Frances McDormand) have heir is given more weight here, and their murderous actions are more understandable: this is their last chance at a dynasty. The world is filtered through their paranoid perspectives with long shadows and the stunning black-and-white cinematography putting us firmly in the paranoid perspective of Macbeth through his ascent to power and his battle to keep it. Everything about this adaptation feels effortless, with intelligent and effective adaptive choices making this feel original and exciting among an entire pantheon of Shakespeare adaptations. Even people who avoid the Bard’s plays will find stuff to enjoy here with powerhouse performances from Washington and McDormand and the nightmarish, ghostly atmosphere.