Okay, so here’s the deal.
Every year for the past five or six years, I’ve compiled a list of the ten best films I saw in that year. Usually, when people make similar lists, they focus on movies that were released in a given year. However, since I’m too poor to attend the cinema regularly (*sobs quietly*), I’m always playing catch-up on great films. So no, this list won’t include critically acclaimed titles from 2024 like Flow, A Real Pain, The Brutalist, Conclave, The People’s Joker, Good One, No Other Land, or All We Imagine as Light – stories that I can’t wait to see when their DVDs finally arrive at my local library like long-lost explorers returning from distant lands with tales of adventure (*sobs quietly again*).
This situation isn’t ideal for a cinephile, but it has its perks. Since I’m never up-to-speed on current cinema, I tend to watch older movies that friends and film critics have raved about. This means that I avoid seeing a lot of bad movies, and it also means that I’m usually impressed by the movies I see. 2024 was no exception. I’ve recommended many films on this blog, but I don’t think I’ve ever assembled a list as quirky, eclectic, and downright strange as this one.
Musicals, romances, ghost stories, medieval quests, time-traveling escapades, psychological thrillers, and… a Christmas movie?! The stories on this list might seem, at first blush, to have little in common. Nevertheless, I glimpse two threads running through them all: love and time. Each of the following films explores, in some way, the impact of time on human relationships – not just our romantic and familial bonds, but our relationships to the selves we construct, the art we create, the ambitions we pursue, and the legacies we leave. It can be difficult to find time to appreciate great movies in our increasingly frantic and fragmented world – to thoughtfully engage with their concepts, characters, and craftsmanship as we would with great works of literature. Yet the films that I’ve assembled here might just change your perception of the currents of time that swirl around you everyday, opening you up to the inestimable value of the attachments you form and the life you lead. In that sense, you could say they’re… (*cough*)… well worth your time.
And now that I’ve made that joke, I’ll see myself out.
Honorable Mention: Bottle Rocket, Children of Men, The Florida Project, The Game Changers, God’s Own Country, The Last Repair Shop, Moonrise Kingdom, Phantom Thread, The Royal Tenenbaums, The Theory of Everything
#10. The Green Knight
Directed by David Lowery (2021)
I thoroughly enjoyed this film the first time around, but I liked it even more after learning about the 14th-century Arthurian tale that inspired it. David Lowery’s retelling of Sir Gawain’s quest is simultaneously a show of reverence and an act of deconstruction. Here is a movie that revels in its medieval setting, that brings legendary characters to vivid life (the slow, branch-crackling entrance of the Green Knight into King Arthur’s court is a wondrous thing to behold), and that honors the strangeness of its source material.
Yet, as the spooky narration in the film’s opening scene tells us, we’re about to find ourselves in unfamiliar territory: “This is not that king, nor is it his son.” In other words, this story isn’t the familiar one we’ve been told. Arthur’s kingdom is darker, colder, and dirtier than his mythology might have suggested (and, in this film, swept by palpable weather), his lands blighted by poverty and internecine warfare. Gawain himself (played with gusto by Dev Patel) is no “white knight,” and his headstrong, fumbling shot at glory forces us to reexamine inherited notions both of what makes a man and what counts as heroism. As the story progresses, we realize that the Green Knight himself might not be the jolly, fanciful trickster of legend. His axe, which hangs over this film like a reminder of mortality, might have deeper and more troubling wisdom to impart by the time Gawain reaches the Green Chapel.
In other news, my man-crush on Dev Patel continues.
#9. Inside Llewyn Davis
Directed by Joel and Ethan Coen (2013)
I’ve been a fan of the Coen brothers for a long time, and I’m also a sucker for films about songwriters, so I was primed to enjoy this one. Yet Inside Llewyn Davis defies the tropes of the aspiring-musician-drama at every turn, confronting us with a lonely, cynical, smart-mouthed loser whose quest for glory goes hopelessly awry again and again and again. If that description doesn’t sell you on this movie, let me assure you that the story’s bleakness only amplifies its hilarity. Oscar Isaac’s comedic chops are on full display, only outshone by his live guitar performances (this is one of those soundtracks you listen to front-to-back on repeat). The film’s blunt coda may befuddle you, but it perfectly encapsulates the absurdity of Llewyn’s predicament, deepening our grasp of everything that came before. Film critic A.O. Scott makes this point in his review of Llewyn for the New York Times: “We are, as a species, ridiculous: vain, ugly, selfish and self-deluding. But somehow, some of our attempts to take stock of this condition – our songs and stories and moving pictures, old and new – manage to be beautiful, even sublime.”
#8. Take Shelter
Directed by Jeff Nichols (2011)
One of those great indie films that seems simple but has layers and layers to it. Is it a psychological thriller? An exploration of American masculinity and mental health? A meditation on the perils of ableism? (see Ross Showalter’s amazing review, “The Storm Around Us,” at Bright Wall Dark Room). An apocalyptic parable of Biblical proportions? Why not all of the above? Michael Shannon and Jessica Chastain both deliver performances of extraordinary power and subtlety. Didn’t think I liked the ending until I read a bunch of interpretations on it, and now I think it’s just about perfect. Jeff Nichols always surprises me, and this is my favorite of his films.
#7. About Time
Directed by Richard Curtis (2013)
Bring tissues to this one. An offbeat romantic comedy with a heaping dose of wisdom and a wide-open heart, About Time asks a perennial question – If you could go back in time, what would you do differently? – in ways I’ve never seen before. Sure, the movie has its fair share of corny lines and predictable beats. But it’s sincere from start to finish, and my God, what a finish! Don’t let Bill Nighy’s grave visage fool you – the old gent has tricks up his sleeve, and his low-key turn as Domhnall Gleeson’s father may have you blubbering by the time the credits roll.
#6. Portrait of a Lady on Fire
Directed by Céline Sciamma (2019)
Of all the films on this list, Céline Sciamma’s tale of secret romance in late 18th-century Brittany is the one I’m most keen to revisit. Like the pictures that Noémie Merlant’s Marianne paints for her elusive patron, Portrait of a Lady on Fire draws its power from lovingly layered details. The slow-burning mystery of the film’s opening scenes says it all: we’re in the hands of a master craftswoman. Many films have explored the intensely visual relationship between love and art, creator and creation, painter and muse. But few have delved as deeply into the female gaze, as numerous essays inspired by this film will attest. There are no men present in Adèle’s coastal town, and that absence is crucial to the movie’s singular account of seeing and being seen – experiences which, perhaps, are synonymous with love itself.
#5. All of Us Strangers
Directed by Andrew Haigh (2023)
Has a more tender film than this one ever been made? If so, I haven’t seen it yet. Adapted from a 1987 novel by Taichi Yamada, and loosely inspired by director Andrew Haigh’s own life in England, All of Us Strangers is a ghost story with a heartfelt twist. After meeting a flirtatious stranger in his nearly-empty apartment building (played by Paul Mescal) a reclusive screenwriter (played by Andrew Scott) returns to his childhood home, only to discover that his deceased parents are inside, waiting for him. What follows is a breathtakingly intimate meditation on grief, family ties, coming out, and reconciliation. Paul Mescal is quickly becoming one of my favorite actors (does anyone do vulnerability better?), and Andrew Scott’s unflinchingly honest lead performance proves that he can do it all (I wasn’t sure I’d ever see him as anything other than Sherlock‘s psychopathic James Moriarty, one of the all-time great screen villains; but I was wrong!).
#4. C’mon C’mon
Directed by Mike Mills (2021)
What a beautiful movie!
I mean beautiful in every sense of the word: beautifully shot – the crystal-clear, black-and-white palette utilized by cinematographer Robbie Ryan utterly transfigures the streets and citizens of cities like Detroit, Los Angeles, NYC, and New Orleans; beautifully directed – Mike Mills gives his cast abundant space to play and to discover moments of luminous verity; beautifully acted – a lovely, understated performance from Joaquin Phoenix and a star-making turn from twelve-year-old Woody Norman; beautifully scored by Bryce and Aaron Dessner of The National; and beautifully imagined – weaving fictional narrative with actual interview footage and literary excerpts, paying focused attention to children’s perceptions of the world, finding heartbreak and humor in universal struggles of parenting, and meditating on the fleeting, precious glory of the world. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.
#3. Almost Famous
Directed by Cameron Crowe (2000)
Not since Sing Street has a musical coming-of-age story delighted me so much. Cameron Crowe’s tale of a starry-eyed adolescent journalist “kidnapped” (?) by a rock band explores the glory and the cost of stardom with playfulness and poignancy. The entire cast is note-perfect, but it’s Patrick Fugit (poor lad) who steals the show with his earnest lead performance. In a world fixated on appearances, Almost Famous brims with heart, and it makes me feel a whole lot better about being – as Phillip Seymour Hoffman’s Lester Bangs puts it – “uncool.”
#2. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
Directed by Michel Gondry (2004)
The legends are true; this movie is as brilliant as everybody says it is. A mind-bending mix of romance, comedy, and science fiction, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind traverses the rocky terrain of making love last. Its lead characters (played by a never-better Jim Carrey and an arresting Kate Winslet) earn our sympathies by remaining – from opening shot to end credits – thoroughly flawed and achingly human. Eternal Sunshine features some of the most imaginative cinematography and visual effects I’ve ever seen, and it struck a deep chord with me when I first saw it early in 2024. The film’s closing dialogue is brave and profound; has the word “okay” ever meant so much?
#1. The Holdovers
Directed by Alexander Payne (2023)
Here it is, folks: my favorite film discovery of 2024. And (will wonders never cease?) it’s a Christmas movie! Like a certain green-furred hermit, I’m not on friendly terms with the Yuletide genre. Most Christmas movies are, in my humble opinion, mind-numbingly predictable, nauseatingly sentimental, infuriatingly commercial, or (most often) a combination of all three. Exceptions to the rule – like Klaus, It’s a Wonderful Life, and Die Hard – are as rare as a digestible fruitcake. Yet, against all odds, Alexander Payne’s Holdovers grew my cynical heart three whole sizes, launching itself into my all-time top ten list the moment I finished it.
There’s a lot to love about this movie: its wistful recreation of life in 1970 New England, its irreverent and whip-smart script by David Hemingson, its evocative soundtrack, its utterly believable characters, and so much more. The unlikely bond that forms between its three protagonists – Paul Giamatti’s disgruntled history teacher, Dominic Sessa’s troublesome student, and Da’Vine Joy Randolph’s grieving (and Oscar-winning) cook – unfolds with remarkable patience and nuance, setting up the emotional piledriver that concludes the film. I can’t remember the last time a movie made me weep with its depiction of goodness, not its hardships or sorrows. But I’m a blubbering mess each time that final interaction between Giamatti and Sessa rolls around. The hope offered by Holdovers is hard-won, and I’m so, so thankful for that. Glib assurances won’t do in these dark times; Giamatti’s parting words to the boy he has grown to love just might.
P.S. Old Mr. Hunham would be tickled that his pitch for Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations worked. I’m 15 pages in and it slaps.
Words for Wayfarers 