Foreword. If there’s one impression I’ve gotten about movies in the past few years, it’s that the space in culture that movies used to occupy is now overflowing with limited series. It’s the natural endpoint of the prestige TV era introduced by Tony Soprano and his family in 1999 combined with a moviegoing experience that increasingly became a binary between big-budget spectacle and a booming indie scene, combined with the exponential growth of streaming services. The beginning of this decade saw a pandemic that only exaggerated these trends. With all that said, I think a general return to the movies is around the corner given the sensations of Top Gun: Maverick, Dune: Part One, Avatar: The Way of Water, and of course the historic powerhouse combo of “Barbenheimer.” Most of those are franchise entries/sequels, but crucially they aren’t a part of the MCU, the franchise that defined the 2008-2020 box office; in this new decade, the success of Marvel has been fading, and though it will still make money, its best days seem to be behind it. I don’t know what the rest of the decade of moviegoing will look like, but given the Writers’ and Actors’ strikes of 2023, 2024 might be a bit fallow – why not pause and take a quick survey of where we are? As much as my purpose in this blog and list is to advocate for the movies that mean the most to me and at the risk of spoiling my list, there was a miniseries that I saw in the last 3 years that was so exquisitely done, and so criminally underseen, that I felt the need to include it. My list, after all, is my list.
In making a list like this, I’m trying to both applaud the excellence I find undeniable while reflecting my own taste and predict which movies are going to last, whatever “lasting” means these days. It’s also worth noting that I’m not a real paid critic, just a guy who likes this stuff a lot (too much?); there’s a ton of stuff, especially international fare, that I haven’t seen! Looking all the way back to 2020, my thoughts have already changed on what impressed me most and what I haven’t been able to shake from that year. I tried my hardest to avoid recency bias, but still ended up with 4 movies from 2023 and 2 from each of the preceding years. 2023 really felt like an excellent year, and I feel more strongly about my #3 and #4 choice from those years compared to the previous, but maybe in two years my mind will have changed again. The joy of making a list like this is that it’s immediately incorrect, but I still spent decent time on it.
Honorable Mentions:
2023: The Zone of Interest, Asteroid City, John Wick Chapter 4, The Killer, Afire
2022: Decision to Leave, The Banshees of Inisherin, Petit Maman, Aftersun, Armageddon Time
2021: West Side Story, The Tragedy of Macbeth, The Power of the Dog, The Green Knight, The French Dispatch
2020: Nomadland, Minari, Judas and the Black Messiah, Da 5 Bloods, Mank
Special Recognition: The Underground Railroad (2021)
Now that I’ve addressed the mild but present consternation about putting a miniseries on a list of greatest films of the decade (though the Criterion Collection announcing a special edition puts me at ease), I can just rest in the fact that this is a masterpiece and one of the recent Great American Epics – you’ll find another further down this list. Barry Jenkins tackles Colson Whitehead’s lauded historical fantasy novel with more than just aplomb, but profundity in every choice. You’d expect something powerful from the collision of the auteur behind Moonlight (2016) and If Beale Street Could Talk (2018) with this kind of source material, and if “powerful” reads as “weightiness” to you, at times you’d be right; parts of this 10-hour behemoth are quite difficult to sit through. But there is also such staggering beauty and a sense of fantastical realism in nearly every moment that is, in its own way, magic. It’s genuinely as artistically accomplished as any movie you’ll see from this decade, and up there with any of my following 10. This went largely unseen (and under-nominated by awards bodies) thanks in no small part to Amazon’s unceremonious release of the entire series at once, which is both criminal and perfectly emblematic of our time.
Top Ten Films of the Decade:
10. Nope (2022)
Jordan Peele’s writer-director debut, Get Out, was a sensation that introduced a boom of socially minded horror copycats and propelled Peele to a Best Original Screenplay win at the 2018 Academy Awards. This film, his third, received stronger reviews than his second feature, Us, but fell short of the acclaim Get Out received. That’s a mistake. Working on his biggest canvas yet, Peele proves himself to be an immensely talented filmmaker by wending together several genres – horror, to be sure; sci-fi, without question; but he also captures vistas as if he were making a classical Western yet has never betrayed his penchant for comedic timing. The premise drew comparisons to Close Encounters of the Third Kind, but the real comparison point for this thriller is Jaws. Both films feature some genuinely harrowing scenes leading to a protracted showdown that is as viscerally thrilling as it is intellectually stimulating. And while this film has a little less to say in its characters than Jaws (though not by much), Peele’s conception of the alien threat is one of the most inspired ideas made literal you’ll ever see, that essentially boils down to one question: why do we continue to look at things that are exploitative or that will hurt us?
9. Anatomy of a Fall (2023)
There are two courtroom dramas on this list, though neither is American, which is a shame. Maybe it’s my personal bias talking, but I think they’re a reliable way to both entertain and engage in character study and social issues, which is what great films do best. This French thriller adds dynamic filmmaking, editing that explores flashbacks and “what ifs”, stellar performances, and a deliberate refusal to show us the truth that creates an enthrallingly ambiguous watch. This is both a murder mystery and a courtroom drama which brilliantly posits that the truth is in fact subjective and that narrative matters more than objectivity, which likely doesn’t exist. What better a metaphor for our era of poisoned media/online discourse, “Fake News”, and the idea that “innocent until proven guilty” is backwards in most people’s imaginings. Writer/director Justine Triet has created a story where each piece of the puzzle doesn’t just add to a rapidly thickening and intentionally contradictory plot, but provokes the viewer to decide what they think, because the movie’s greatest strength is that it won’t do that for you. Oh yeah, it’s also a blast to watch and debate about.
8. Licorice Pizza (2021)
Writer/Director Paul Thomas Anderson has evolved his sensibilities from the thrilling indie aesthetic of Boogie Nights into the refined and restrained of Phantom Thread. Yet, he’s never stopped provoking though that provocation has been more intellectual and thematic than visceral since the ‘90s. On the surface, this is his gentlest film yet; hazily beautiful visuals, glam-rock music, lots of humor and a sweet tone all blanket this story of an adolescent romance. However, the aesthetic pleasures of this film are a dressing for the story’s teeth and complexity, which extend far beyond the fact that the romance in question is a 15-year-old boy’s pursuit of a woman probably in her early 20’s. Nearly every adult figure, particularly those with power or influence, is a racist/liar/pervert/has-been, and sometimes multiple of those. The nostalgic fugue state that surrounds this tricky subject matter heightens our awareness of this rather than obscure it, but ultimately this is still a loose and vibes-forward experience in the mold of Dazed and Confused. Every technical aspect, needle drop, performance, story choice and episodic plotting decision are all on the same wavelength, which is of a dreamy, surreal, occasionally thrilling, tedious, awkward, uncomfortable but ultimately warm experience. I can’t say for sure if that’s what the 70’s in the Valley were like, but that’s sure how it feels to look back on growing up – mess, and all.
7. Past Lives (2023)
Before I get into this excellent debut, I want to acknowledge the extraordinary indie film boom that we’ve been experiencing, and that those films are being embraced by the Academy in an unprecedented way. A24 and Neon are the studios/distributors with the most name recognition in this space, and I think their ascendancy is a result of excellent taste, smart risk-taking, and an acceptable form of counterprogramming to the increasingly generic blockbuster scene with increasingly smaller budgets. There have been dozens of exciting debut features in this young decade, but the one that most moved me and had me most spellbound was this one from Celine Song. The scope of this story is small; we’re just following the possible formation of a love triangle, and not even one that creates much conflict. However, Song uses this framework to introduce ideas of diaspora and racial identity while also building to an emotionally yearning and bittersweet final 45 minutes that is quite sophisticated. If you’ve ever found yourself wondering “what if” when thinking of either past loves or leave/stay decisions about places you’ve lived, this film will strike a true chord.
6. Oppenheimer (2023)
I’ve been guilty of describing how unique this film is, whether among billion-dollar grosses or awards contenders or Christopher Nolan’s oeuvre, rather than how good it is; it’s exceptional. Nolan adapted the account of Oppenheimer’s life in American Prometheus in a typically nonlinear fashion, this time crafting a triptych narrative of moral complexity, ethical dilemmas, legacy, escalation, and the Red Scare. It is nothing less than compelling across its extended runtime and is occasionally transcendent. With this dense of material told at this pace, his decision is genius, as the ideas and developments speak to each other across the plotlines seamlessly. I’ve also come to understand that Nolan’s great obsession, stretching all the way back to his microbudget debut Following, isn’t performing temporal narrative gymnastics for their own sake, but inevitability. In Oppenheimer, we’re introduced to the post-atomic world where our Prometheus is being examined and rejected by the society that he told himself he was saving with his death machine. At the same time, he first begins to “hear the music” because of how he’s cursed to see the world. At the same time, a desperate bureaucrat attempts to complete his own ascendency after Oppenheimer’s downfall. We can, and do, debate his complex morality until we’re blue in the face, but nothing can change the past/future.
5. First Cow (2020)
My discovery of this beautiful little film was partially a product of the mainstream film industry grinding to a halt because of the COVID pandemic. Like Past Lives, it’s a low-budget movie featuring John Magaro giving a great and subtle performance; unlike Past Lives, this movie was completely missed by the Academy. I don’t just think that it was deserving of nominations but should have contended for the top award. Kelly Reichardt brings 1800’s Oregon to incredibly natural – if not traditionally “cinematic” – life complete with mud, dirty faces, and terse exchanges; this is the setting for her gently and patiently told parable of capitalism and friendship. The relaxed pace allows the setting and characters to fully breathe, something that many contemporary movies don’t leave as much time for, even the great ones. In a way, this movie both fits in with and counters the glut of stories about the founding of popular companies that has marked the past 5 years, as this is a story of two strangers who become friends and business partners together, selling hot cakes to fellow settlers. The catch: they must steal the milk for the cream from the only cow around, property of the only wealthy man around. This underdog story is ultimately a tale of the merit-based ideal of the American Dream meeting scarcity of resources; something the rich are desperate to protect.
4. Killers of the Flower Moon (2023)
Martin Scorsese’s late period run has been historically excellent and can stand up to any legendary stretch of any legendary auteur’s career. While I prefer The Irishman, there’s something undeniably powerful about Scorsese turning his lens on subject matter that he’s not as comfortable tackling. However, his choice to involve Osage consultants and shift the focus of the source book from investigation to origins of the titular crimes isn’t just bold in its radicalness, but by bravely eschewing traditional entertainment value (whodunnit?) he puts his audience face-to-face with American Evil for a protracted amount of time, where every turn reveals new depths of depravity. This film still manages to grip, and occasionally entertain, but overall, it is starkly serious, requiring the commitment of not just its master filmmaker but extraordinary cast. Leonardo DiCaprio is the best he’s been in years, making himself physically and morally repugnant while remaining madly multi-dimensional and contradictory in his participation in the Reign of Terror. Robert De Niro, aged 80 years old, is still doing new and great things as William “King” Hale, the ultimate wolf in sheep’s clothing, as likely to scowl and breathe murder as he is to offer false smiles and biblically minded platitudes of kindness. Lily Gladstone, a comparative newcomer to mainstream film, more than holds her own against them, and the supporting cast is excellent down to every extra. It’s also got the best and boldest endings of any film I’ve seen in years, and I’m not going to forget it anytime soon.
3. Small Axe: Mangrove & Lovers Rock (2020)
It’s a shame that, for the purposes of awards season, this collection of films from master filmmaker Steve McQueen about the West Indian community in London spanning the ‘70s and ‘80s was considered a miniseries when two installments were included in the Cannes Film Festival. I’ve paired together the first two entries, not just because they’re the best, and not just because it’s fun to cheat on a list like this, but because they make a double feature that’s even better than the sum of its great parts. The first, Mangrove, is a rather straightforward docudrama about the “Mangrove Nine”, a group of people tried by the courts for inciting a riot after a protest of how the police mistreated a local restaurant got out of hand. Similar events in America in 2020 added depth to this story that I wasn’t familiar with, and McQueen expertly directs his cast in this powerful retelling. The second feature, Lovers Rock, is the real standout achievement for me, as Mangrove feels far more traditional compared to this staging of a house party and basically little else. Despite that, Lovers Rock features scene after scene that’s as well choreographed as your favorite action movie, maybe even better. The songs are perfect, the camera drifts through a crowd of people who occasionally dance a little too close; new love blossoms; men mosh out their rage; sweat drips down the walls; most importantly, this house is a haven where people are free to do this without needing to justify their existence, thanks to the sacrifice of the Mangrove Nine.
2. Drive My Car (2021)
Casual viewers might approach this 3-hour long Japanese drama about grief and art with some trepidation; I want to assure you that it’s worth your time and mental investment, as there isn’t a wasted frame. Writer/Director Ryusuke Hamaguchi and co-writer Takamasa Oe brilliantly construct an emotionally charged story that resists melodramatic tropes yet is full of tension and is utterly entrancing. Despite its length and patience, it never drags as every scene is layered with interpersonal and interior complexity that is communicated exquisitely by the entire cast. It’s a story of a Japanese man who, two years after losing his often-unfaithful screenwriter wife, seeks to mount an interlingual telling of Uncle Vanya, and casts his wife’s paramour as the lead. This premise morphs into a study of how art can help us heal from our grief, though we’ll never lose our scars (nor should we), and how the lines between art and life are often blurred but don’t disappear. That sounds like pretty heady stuff, but Hamaguchi skillfully shows rather than tells. It’s not about artists, but these artists; not grief, but these characters’ grief; not communication, but how these characters communicate. All these choices lead to deeply riveting conversations between characters that are as richly poetic as anything I’ve seen penned in a screenplay. This would make an excellent double feature with Oppenheimer, not just because of their verbose lengths, but because this story of artists making art to process their lives is set in Hiroshima, the meaning of which the film is keenly aware of.
1. Tár (2022)
Finally, my pick for the best film of the young decade is Todd Field’s fictional story of a famous conductor’s professional and personal life completely unraveling, anchored by a stunning performance by Cate Blanchett. She is as ranged, physically committed, and uniquely towering as Daniel Day-Lewis was in There Will Be Blood, and Todd Field brings just as much prowess behind the camera as Paul Thomas Anderson did in that film. Just as Anatomy of a Fall is perfectly ambiguous in its morality and statement of “fact”, this film is ambiguous in its nature of reality and what kind of story this is. Is it a ghost story? A thriller? A surrealist comedy about a kooky gal who can’t keep it together? A treatise on how “cancel culture” is out of control? Or how it’s necessary? A drama about a monstrous personality? The answer, exhilaratingly, is just yes. Like the recently-concluded Succession, it’s just as successful when read as a satire about the foibles of those at the top of our food chain (and their lack of merit – I mean what does a conductor really “do”?) as it is a compelling contemporary drama about power and how tenuous it is. Not every film that is set now has something to say about its “now-ness”, but this film has an awful lot of “now” on its mind while it creates a dense and well-researched world of classical music and ego. It’s also a perfectly-and-I-mean-perfectly-made character study, where character drives plot as opposed to the other way around; that this character is likely a monster only amplifies this story’s genius.