Favorites from the decade in film so far

Starting with the very best…

Anatomy of a Fall

Directed by Justine Triet 

Here’s to the films that never truly end…

Days, months, now years after watching, Anatomy of a Fall sticks, the question remains… It stands as both a remarkable thriller and one of the finest courtroom dramas of all time—on par with 12 Angry Men in its impact and execution. A remarkable achievement. The P.I.M.P subplot solidified its place at the top.

The Banshees of Inisherin

Directed by Martin McDonagh

Pádraic Súilleabháin: …And anyway, we're talkin' about niceness. Not what's his name. My mammy, she was nice. I remember her. And my daddy, he was nice. I remember him. And my sister, she's nice. I'll remember her. Forever I'll remember her. Colm Doherty: And who else will? Pádraic Súilleabháin: Who else will what? Colm Doherty: Remember Siobhan and your niceness? No one will. In 50 years' time, no one will remember any of us. Yet the music of a man who lived two centuries ago… Pádraic Súilleabháin: "Yet" he says, like he's English. Siobhan Súilleabháin: Come home, Padraic. Pádraic Súilleabháin: I don't give a feck about Mozart. Or Borvoven. Or any of them funny name feckers... I'm Pádraic Súilleabháin. And I'm nice.

Oppenheimer 

Directed by Christopher Nolan

Impeccably directed and brilliantly acted, Oppenheimer is a visual and narrative powerhouse that stands among the greatest technical achievements in modern cinema history. Christopher Nolan delivers a billion-dollar blockbuster for people with brains, featuring profound dialogue, emotional weight, and stunning craftsmanship. It was high time the Academy recognized Nolan. It might not end up being the consensus fan favorite in the future (that’s trending towards Interstellar). But it’s kind of a perfect movie made by the 21st century goat. 

The Beast 

Directed By Bertrand Bonello

The Beast is about love and fate and the choices we make and the choices we avoid. In short, it’s about everything. The movie simply offers itself up, brimming with ideas about sacrifice and the existential weight of our decisions, and asks you to sit with it. To bask in the discomfort. To be temporarily haunted by it. I went into this movie blind, knowing nothing except that Léa Seydoux was on the poster, and what I got was an experience—everything I didn’t know I needed. It was like nothing I’ve seen but everything I’ve loved. Like Eternal Sunshine retold as a psychological thriller; a Lynchian fever dream that, to me, felt like my own Mulholland Drive.

MacKay and Seydoux are revelations, the glue that holds the unwieldy structure in place. MacKay, shifting seamlessly between centuries—from a silver-tongued aristocrat to a deranged incel, to something like a robot-zombie hybrid in the future—gives a wonderful performance. It’s as if the film is asking through his character: how much of who we are is simply where we’ve been placed? The best storytelling uses character driven action to get its point across. This does that in spades. And Seydoux, navigating the melancholia of a pianist in 1910 and the recklessness of a lost soul of an actress in 2014, gives a masterclass in walking the line between restraint and abandon. Her dual performance blurs the boundaries between past, present, and future, all while preserving Gabrielle across time. It’s an Oscar worthy performance that was overlooked by the academy (and many others too).

The final act in 2044 crystallizes the film’s central question: is emotion worth sacrificing for the sake of serenity? It’s here where The Beast becomes almost unbearably relevant—where the messy, chaotic humanity at its core smashes against the sterile, digitized future that we know awaits. The film doesn’t provide answers because it’s not trying to. It’s asking whether we are prisoners of our circumstances or if we can transcend them. It’s asking so many questions. And its ultimate message is simple: live. Live in the mess, in the chaos, in the terror of the unknown. In the moment.

The Portrait of a Lady on Fire 

Directed Celine Sciamma

According to my own list, Céline Sciamma is my favorite filmmaker. Making this list felt more like a celebration than a challenge. It wasn’t work, rather a reprieve from it. I’d come home from a long day of writing and pick a favorite to re-watch. Wendy Lee’s way to wind down. But choosing between Portrait of a Lady on Fire and Petite Maman was agonizing. After multiple rewatches and an embarrassing number of tears, I’ve decided—barely—that Portrait takes it. I guess. It’s not that Petite Maman lacks anything; Portrait simply has a grander cinematic scope all without losing an ounce of emotional weight. It looks like a 21st century Barry Lyndon. It also, just barely, has the superior final scene. (Portrait qualifies for this list thanks to its 2020 U.S. wide release, which finally reached my Midwest theater on Valentine’s Day 2020.)

Petite Maman 

Directed by Celine Sciamma

Whether you are twelve or eighty-six, this astonishingly insightful and heartbreakingly hopeful 72-minute cinematic poem will affect your heart, expand your imagination, and delight your soul, all while you wipe away tears. A fairy tale for the ages. For all ages. Perhaps the greatest pg-rated film I have ever seen, totally devoid of visual effects.

Top Gun: Maverick

Directed by Joseph Kosinski

The movie that saved the movies! I love, fucking LOVE this movie. It struck that perfect balance between self-aware vanity and sly self-deprecation, packed with quotable zingers and emotional moments that you never expect. Oh, right, and the action—the absolutely insane, batshit crazy action! The jaw-dropping aerial set pieces! The breathtaking sound design! Glen Powell in a white T! Miles Teller in a white T! Tom Cruise in no T! Jennifer Connelly! It was and is and forever will be the perfect summer blockbuster. And it arrived when we needed it most. In the chaos following a global pandemic, it’s not an exaggeration to say Maverick brought us back together—and made us fly!

Anora

Directed by Sean Baker

With Anora, Sean Baker cements himself as a master of transgressive cinema, elevating his quiet revolutions of the past into a full-fledged coup, detonating the margins of society into the center of cinematic discourse in a way nobody else can. Mikey Madison delivers a career-defining performance as Ani, a charismatic sex worker navigating the perilous intersection of survival and self-destruction, in a story that’s both intimate and epic. With its breathtaking visuals, seismic final moments, and a new actor-director partnership destined for greatness, Anora doesn’t just define Baker’s career so far—it redefines my expectations for him and Madison going forward.

“Louis, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.” - Rick Blaine

Dune II

Directed by Denis Villeneuve 

High-energy action. Rich narrative. Emotional depth. The three keys to any successful blockbuster sequel. The Top Gun: Maverick blueprint. Denis Villeneuve gets that. His understanding of the source material shines bright here, his thoughtful adaptation choices catapulting the story while keeping essence intact (keeping Alia in utero was a work of small genius). Pair that with the impeccable production value, Zimmer's score, and a superb cast led by Timothée and the modern day brat pack and you get a great movie. Gritty and immersive like the sands of Arakkis, pt. II is already among the best sci-fi sequels of all time.

Poor Things

Directed by Yorogos Lanthimos

Poor Things and the Substance are easily the two most outrageous and wildly original films on the list. Blending fairy-tale surrealism, unabashed eroticism, razor-sharp wit, and a dose of that good feminism, Yorgos’ fourth English feature is a masterclass in experimental and accessible  cinema. None of it works without the goddess that is Emma Stone. Her Oscar winning performance is one of the all time unforgettable modern day turns, a masterclass in physical acting and comedic timing. A generational talent.

Pearl

Directed by Ti West

Technicolor horror was not something I expected to fall in love with. I didn’t even see the idea as possible. Thankfully, Ti West did. Pearl is a stroke of genius. A “Wizard of Oz” meets “Mary Poppins” meets “Psycho” masterpiece that redefined the parameters of psychological horror. Mia Goth’s performance as Pearl is insane. The more she spirals, the more she kills it/them. The eight-minute monologue, where the camera doesn’t cut away, is some of the best raw acting you’ll ever see. It reminded me of Emma Stone auditioning in La La Land. It’s tied up in a trilogy, but Pearl, in my opinion, stands alone, head and shoulders above the other two films that play in this universe. This is lighting in a bottle you might only strike once!

The Father 

Directed by Florian Zeller

This is a horror film, plain and simple. Florian Zeller’s direction, with its disorienting cuts and shifting details, pulls you headfirst into the mind of a man trapped in his own unraveling. Hopkins inhabits his sickness so fully and with such aplomb that each glance and lost beat chips away your own perception of time and place. It’s almost like, for two hours, Hopkins and Zeller give the viewer the disease. It’s shot with profound empathy. Then, before hopelessness, a pathway to peace will appear just before the end credits… A doorway to solace. A life-affirming experience. 

Another Round

Directed by Thomas Vinteberg

Denmark's Another Round, directed by the other Dogme boy, is a deceptively sad film about the devastation of middle-aged drift. It’s also the most accessible work yet from the Danish film scene, its story of men turning to alcohol to fill their emptiness, using a kinda-scientific study as an excuse to keep the buzz, feels all too familiar. It’s ripe for misinterpretation as a frat-boy anthem. Like Clapton’s Cocaine or Kendrick’s Swimming Pools (Drank). But beneath the buoyant surface, AR is a melancholy exploration of fragile masculinity and the fleeting solace drugs and booze can willingly provide—an anti-alcohol film so intoxicating it risks its own message being drowned in the fizz. If this film were ever to be remade, shot for shot, for American audiences, it would kill. I’m just not so sure it would be any good. 

First Cow

Directed by Kelly Reichardt

A mellow western with a heart of gold, First Cow stands as Kelly Reichardt's finest work on this list. Its quiet beauty shines through in every frame. It’s gentle and unassuming, delicate and precise in its depiction of friendship. Of the landscape. It has comfort and grace. Surprisingly familiar. It’s like your favorite sweater. 

Da 5 Bloods

A Spike Lee Joint

For a lesser director, crafting a heist film about gold bars that’s as entertaining as The Italian Job, while also landing a social message that doesn’t veer into the preachy would be damn near impossible… Not for Spike. Delroy Lindo heads a stellar ensemble. Maybe the best ensemble cast so far. It’s a must see film. A late career gem. His 4:44. A true Spike Lee joint. His best since 25th hour. It’s both thrilling and resonant… he tends to do that.

The Tragedy of Macbeth

Directed by Joel Coen

With stark black-and-white cinematography, meticulous set design evoking a theatrical parable, and magnetic performances from Washington and McDormand speaking in nothing but affecting monologues, Joel Coen crafts a sharp, visually arresting reimagining of Shakespeare that, unfortunately, no one saw. For those who did, you cannot unsee those witches. It stands alongside 2016’s Lady Macbeth, starring the wonderful, magisterial, gorgeous, everything that is and forever will be Florence Pugh, and Leo and Claire’s iconic Romeo + Juliet as the best Shakespearean retellings of the late 20-21st century.

The Fabelman’s 

Directed by Steven Speilberg

If you’re my age and you love movies it’s incredibly difficult not to love this one. I thought of all time experiences. Smoking pot for the first time before going to see Paranormal Activity in 07. My mom taking me to see The Phantom Menace when I was eight. Seeing Batman Begins in 2005 and having my brain rearranged and the possibilities of cinema open up. Enjoying the Day after Tomorrow  when I was a kid. On the Waterfront in high school cinema studies class, Brando. The Dark Knight. Potter. A Quiet Place 2 after the pandemic, all of us rejoining. Star Wars with my mom again, a family tradition. All this came back to be as I saw the Fabelman’s, unbelievably the first Spielberg film I’ve seen in theaters. The experience brought to light how much this art form means to me (storytelling), both the one I love to escape into, (cinema) and the one I love to create (letters).

Blonde

Directed by Andrew Dominick

“We can disagree about movies, not human rights. Except if the movie is Blonde.” - your girlfriend, probably

THIS MOVIE IS NOT ABOUT MARILYN MONROE

Blonde is brilliant. After seeing it again, I stand by that initial take. The movie is the musical equivalent of Nirvana’s Rape Me. Blonde, just like the brilliant Joyce Carol Oates novel it’s adapted from, isn’t a biopic in the traditional sense. It dismantles the myth of Marilyn to shed light on industry brutality. Ana de Armas delivers a performance of remarkable depth and vulnerability, capturing not just a tortured star's image but her anguish, as the film drags viewers through the raw, unrelenting emotional terrain of her life. Dominik’s artistic choices, from the surreal shifts in tone to the unvarnished depiction of Monroe’s vivid suffering, have alienated many, sparking debates that often overshadow the film’s achievements. At times, it felt like the Hollywood version of Mel Gibson's The Passion… Maybe it was so hated because Hollywood is so very much like that.

Yet, for Wendy Lee, Blonde endures as a fearless critique of fame, power, and exploitation—made by one of the best living American filmmakers.

Strange Darling

Directed by JT Mollner 

A woman in red hospital scrubs, her face smeared with mascara and tears runs through high fields. Music swells, dramatic, painfully so, as if it knows something we don't about her fate. Everything is in slow motion, what’s left of her bloody right ear dangling. Behind her, a man with a great mustache, dressed in red flannel, is shooting at her with a rifle. She hides, finds a handle of cheap vodka in a ditch in the woods left behind by high school kids. She bites down on the scrubs and pours the vodka on her gashed ear, wincing in pain as we wince with her.

She composes herself, continues to run. She enters the heart of the woods until it gives way to a Victorian house, standing alone, with outdoor speakers broadcasting Bigfoot warnings into the empty air for no apparent reason. The music cuts off abruptly and the disorientation becomes as real as it is necessary. Only six minutes in—after title credits the most thrilling opening sequence of the year, after an offbeat and violent language that refuses to play by the rules, after a missing ear—we are confronted with the inevitable comparison to Blue Velvet.

But this film, Strange Darling, doesn’t merely invite the comparison; it earns it. A transgressive, breakneck thriller that never skimps on fun for the sake of the offbeat and vice versa. The film juggles the balance beautifully, never sacrificing one for the other, and in doing so, it becomes its own beast—a b-movie Blue Velvet, if you will. The music, composed by Craig DeLeon, is insane and essential. It shifts effortlessly between blown-out organs, icy synths, and LaLa Land jazz pianos interspersed with Lana Del Rey-esque interludes sung by Z Berg. The score has a knack for placement too, when to bring which sound to which scene and more importantly, when to use silence. A brilliant, brilliant fucking score.

The performances are great too, sharp and unsettling, grounding the film even as it spins a bit out of control down the stretch. And it does lose itself, just a bit, but in all the right ways. The film even passes the six-laugh test, a metric that most so-called comedies fail to meet these days. The ending may divide audiences, an ending that refuses to bend to sentimentality or easy resolutions. But it’s an essential piece to a perfect movie. With the weight, with the unyielding nature of the ending, more validity was lent to the fun cat-and-mouse game of murder that played out on screen, because through her eyes, you were made to see all of the victims laid waste to beforehand, before we met the Lady and the Demon.

“Sometimes, I don’t see humans. I see devils.”

The Zone of Interest

Directed by Jonathan Glazer

Some films you can’t watch twice because they are terrible. And others you can’t watch twice because they’re The Zone of Interest.

It’s not often that a film like Zone of Interest comes along. When it does, it feels like an alien artifact was dropped on our heads, (Under the Skin pun intended). Jonathan Glazer, does this, albeit not enough. Watching it, I couldn’t help but think of the broader conversation it seems to demand—not just about history or morality, but about the state of the here and now. The kind of film that Claudine Gay and Benjamin Netanyahu might benefit from seeing together, ideally in a theater with metal detectors at the doors. An invitation extended to Hamas, if only they’d bring an open mind. I guess that goes for BiBi too.

That’s not to say the film is flawless. Its tone is relentlessly bleak, its narrative as spare as open fields in a Steinbeck novel. Yet, that is exactly what makes it essential viewing. The Zone asks us to sit in discomfort, to grapple with history, with today, their relationship, and our place in it all as citizens of the world.  There are no neat arcs here, no catharsis, no ethical clarity handed to you on a platter. Just cold, dispassionate genocide, as seen from the POV of your friendly neighborhood Nazi’s. Yet, somehow, by the end, you feel something of an immense truth pass through you.

I hesitate to use the word “auteur”—so freighted with pretension, so overused. But if it applies to anyone working today, it applies to Glazer. He has that rarest of qualities: a commitment to challenging his audience, to engaging with complex, even impenetrable subject matter, and doing it all with a deliberate rigor that feels like a rebuke to the hyperactive banality of the mainstream. I’ll follow him wherever he goes.

Oh, and the music? It’s astonishing. Mica Levi’s score might be the best on this list. In fact, the final scene—the one that will stay with me forever—dispenses with dialogue altogether. Just a squeak, squeak, squeak, echoing into the void…

A film so good yet so indifferent to human life makes it all the more harder to place. For me, Wendy Lee, the position mattered little. But recognition was essential. 

TÁR

Directed by Todd Field

Cate Blanchett is a miracle. TÁR, on the other hand, is just okay. Todd Field’s film meanders, overstays its welcome, and at times feels convoluted. By its release, the wave of #MeToo-inspired narratives had already begun to feel overdone. Yet, Blanchett’s performance transcends the limitations of the film, elevating it so far beyond its flaws so much to render them silly. 

As Lydia Tár, the virtuoso composer undone by her decision to prioritize personal desires over artistic integrity, Blanchett delivers a performance so masterful, so fully realized, that it feels like a biopic. Lydia’s unraveling is both inevitable and deserving—a disservice not only to herself but to the people she claims to care about. And yet, as the film reaches its haunting conclusion, with Lydia reduced to the isolation of her childhood home, Blanchett makes us feel for her. Somehow, despite everything we’ve seen, we think Lydia deserves better. I couldn’t believe she was portraying a fictional character. I still can’t.

Everything Everywhere All at Once isn’t on this list. (I know, I know). I didn’t see what everyone else did. While others hailed it as a work of genius, I found it to be more like a two-hour Lil Jon music video, set in a metaverse that already feels overplayed. Still, many friends I respect stand firmly behind it, so I’ll defer—until we talk about the Best Actress Oscar that year.

I adore Michelle Yeoh, but I can’t help but feel that Cate Blanchett’s consistency, her unparalleled mastery, worked against her. Again. Leo disease. It’s as though her brilliance is taken for granted, leading to what I consider the Academy’s greatest robbery since The Social Network lost Best Picture.

Flow

Directed by Gints Zilbalodis

Flow may be the most ambitious film of the list, animated or otherwise. Its lush, high-resolution animation—alive with vibrant colors and a painterly imperfection—invites everyone, from wide-eyed toddlers to curious adults into its dazzling world. And at just 85 minutes, this silent masterpiece doesn’t waste a second, delivering visual storytelling of extraordinary depth while offering the Grandest accessibility: a toddler will marvel at its beauty, while an adult will grapple with its biblical themes and environmental message. It’s not a G movie parents can be happy just to tolerate. This is a movie everyone should pay close attention to. 

What sets Flow apart is its silence, which strips away the wisecracks of conventional animation. Instead of donkey jokes and talking fish, these animals cry and hiss. Instead, we’re given creatures who fight for survival in a way that feels painfully real. Human. It’s a film that trusts its audience to feel rather than be told, imagining with stunning clarity how these species might exist under pressure. There’s of course some quality dramatization; but if a lemur, black cat, golden retriever, wombat, and a secretarybird had to survive a natural disaster, it would look something like this. The instincts of the various species are perfectly intact.

At once a visual marvel and a sobering ecological elegy, Flow is that rarest of films—one that dares to be both grand and restrained, enchanting and profound. It doesn’t just entertain; it asks you to see, to care, and perhaps, to change. It’s the greatest animated environmental film since Wall-E.

Godzilla: Minus One

Directed by Takashi Yamazaki

A film with a huge heart, as big as any on the list. One about characters first and Godzilla second. A concept so simple yet so refreshing in today’s landscape. (Godzilla x Kong came out within a year of this). And when he, Godzilla, finally does come around to terrorize Japan, you feel for the characters in ways you’d never expect. I was on the edge of my seat praying for their safety. I couldn’t believe it. In many ways, Zilla Minus One is the biggest, or at least my favorite surprise of the decade. A big monster movie with bigger emotions. It also should have Hollywood Studios reevaluating how they spend their money. GMO cost 15 million dollars to make and won the visual effects Academy Award ahead of films with budgets > 350 million dollars. A film that really should shake Hollywood the same way it did in post war Japan. 

I Saw the TV Glow

Directed by Jane Schoenbrun

TV Glow is one of the first true-blue slices of Gen-Z cinema I’ve genuinely loved. While many have interpreted it as a complex allegory for growing up with gender dysphoria, I found myself relating to it in an entirely different way—through my unhealthy relationship with television. My tendency to live vicariously through fictional characters, diving so deeply into their worlds that I forget my own, felt eerily mirrored in the film.

Sometimes, I prefer the depiction of life to life itself. TV Glow made me feel seen in that regard. It brought me back to binge-watching Mad Men during the pandemic, wondering if I was, for those hours, actually Don Draper. Jane captures that yearning for escape, layering it over an Alex G soundtrack and presenting it in a way that feels visually rich, fresh, and deeply personal.

This is a movie that resonates—not just as a story, but as an experience for anyone who’s ever sought solace in a screen. I can’t wait to see what they create next.

Mass

Directed by Fran Kranz

Mass is a tight film. Short but not exactly sweet. Mass takes place in one room, cost around 300k, and for 110 minutes you can’t look away. It’s really, really good.

La Chimera

Directed by Alice Rohrwacher 

There are moments when the quiet of an empty cinema is a gift, and then there are times when a packed house, with its shared energy, transforms a film into a communal experience. For La Chimera, I had the theater to myself, (subtitles), and the solitude matched the film’s spirit. A two-hour Italian fable starring Josh O’Connor felt like the kind of European cinema that thrives on understatement and whimsy, the movie mystical and deeply human.

O’Connor, plays Arthur, fresh out of prison, a man whose strange talent—using branches to locate buried Etruscan treasures—places him back with his ragtag crew of grave-digging thieves. His performance is striking in its softness, his angular features and intense gaze lending a haunting quality to a character who is both vulnerable and enigmatic. There’s a quiet charisma to him, he kind of looks like a more buffed up Troye Sivan, so it’s easy to see why he’s headed for mainstream success, soon to be starring with Zendaya in Luca’s next project.

The film flirts with the supernatural—Arthur’s ability to find treasure feels more like magic than talent—but it never leans too heavily into fantasy. Instead, it focuses on the human drama of ownership, of belonging. Can the dead truly own anything? And if not, does that mean everything belongs to everyone? These are the kinds of questions the film discusses without ever settling for easy answers. It’s a thoughtful meditation on loss and legacy too, presented in a way that feels distinctly European.

The film speaks a beautiful cinematic language—its pacing, its musicality, its sense of restraint—it offers reflection that’s absent from the big-budget movies dominating theaters. Props to the director, a badass female by the name of Alice Rohrwacher. I look forward to seeing the rest of her stuff, past and future.

The Invisible Man

Directed by Leigh Whannell

I don’t use the term Hitchcockian lightly, but Leigh Whannell’s film earns it. This is an impeccably crafted 2 hours, operating on a subconscious level that burrows under your skin with its masterful use of ambiguity and atmosphere before scaring the daylights out of you. While it’s undeniably a horror film, it’s more than that too, doubling as a poignant commentary on relationship induced PTSD and other traumas marred by manipulation and gaslighting.

At the heart of it all is Peggy Olson, wait, no sorry, Elisabeth Moss, our second-favorite Scientologist, delivering yet another powerhouse performance. Once again, she proves her uncanny ability to annihilate entitled, rich white men against all odds. Whannell’s vision, combined with Moss’s raw intensity makes the Invisible Man one of the best modern day adaptations of a western canon classic. The work of H.G. Wells, similar to Poe, continues to have a hold on even the youngest of today’s viewers.

The Killers of the Flower Moon

Directed by Martin Scorsese

A towering, unflinching portrayal of an untold American tragedy brought to life with extraordinary performances by Leonardo DiCaprio, Robert De Niro, and the quietly powerful Lily Gladstone. Cinema at its grandest, a film with a deliberate pace that challenges audiences to feel and reckon with the depth of its themes. Though the runtime could arguably be trimmed, every second is fascinating and the result is yet another masterwork from Marty. A man who simply doesn’t miss. 

Dune 

Directed by Denis Villeneuve

I didn’t want the success of the sequel to overshadow the brilliance of the original. Acknowledging them together feels tempting but ultimately does a disservice to the stand-alone excellence of both films. While Dune: Part Two came with lofty expectations, Dune: Part One was more like a sigh of relief.

Watching it on HBO Max—regrettably, thanks to the pandemic—I felt the tension in my shoulders melt away in real time. One of my favorite novels, a book even the legendary David Lynch couldn’t fully tame, was finally getting the cinematic justice it deserved.

Part One set the stage for the sequel, lending legitimacy to the almost ridiculous expectations we carried into Part Two. Some fans argue it’s the superior film, and honestly, with its straight-forward world building, its explanation of complex themes through three-dimensional characters, and its focus on existential themes, a case could certainly be made—although the action packed narrative coupled with Paul’s evolution has me picking Part Two. Nevertheless, an essential movie.

The Substance 

Directed by Coralie Fargeat 

Nothing can prepare you for The Substance.

The plot is simple: a successful woman who owed a lot of that success to her good looks and well-maintained body has finally, according to the films Harvey Weinstein caricature, (a bonkers Denis Quaid, someone who was a great choice because I really don’t care for him personally), turned 50! Which is basically like dying.

She gets fired. She then pursues youth at any cost. And I do mean any cost. And here is where The Substance could have fallen into the usual pitfalls one does when commenting on unattainable beauty standards. One pitfall is it’s not exactly new, art has been commenting on unattainable beauty since the publication of Dorian Gray, but the Substance transcends all that with its sheer audacity to be so gross, so over the top, while still commenting on a bit on modern life.

Demi Moore is in rare form. Her performance walks the line between tragedy and farce, with every wrinkle, every sag of skin, and she ups her performance to match the madness of the movie each time the stakes are raised. And props to the makeup team. They deserve serious award season credit for making the human body look…not so human.

This is not a film for the faint of heart. My screening had three walkouts with the rest of us loving it. It’s the cinematic equivalent of a roller coaster that’s less about thrills and more about forcing you to confront the limits of your own comfort. There are moments that are downright nauseating, and yet Wendy Lee was unable to look away, fascinated by the extremity of it all. And you’ll laugh, because there’s simply no other way to process what you’re seeing. You’ll leave the theater in a kind of daze, the images (of the last 20 minutes especially) forever burned into your memory. Forever. You can’t unsee this movie.

Lamb

Directed By Valdimar Jóhannsson

Lamb is a surrealist fable that beautifully captures the essence of lucid dreaming—a film that resonates with me on a deeply personal level. I first discovered it during a tumultuous time when I shared a house with an insufferable roommate: a far-right, beer-bellied man who routinely belted out Matchbox Twenty in the living room after downing four or five Twisted Teas with no concern for me. Those nights often forced me to retreat into my own little world, headphones on, movies playing—a desperate attempt to escape.

To me, Lamb was more than a movie; it was medicine. This is ambient cinema at its finest, a gateway to a sleep filled with vivid dreams. The cinematography is breathtaking, making good use of Iceland's stark, windswept landscapes. Its quiet, deliberate pace mirrors the hypnotic rhythm of half-wakefulness, drawing you into its strange magic.

At its heart lies a peculiar, endearing character: a lamb-human hybrid so charming, so cute and strange that it feels plucked from the pages of a bedtime story. Watching Lamb with my eyes half-closed became its own kind of ritual. The subtitles—thankfully—demanded they stay open, keeping me tethered to the film even as I teetered on the edge of sleep, sometimes not knowing which state I was actually in. 

As the narrative unfolds, it grows more surreal, more magical, and even a touch unsettling. Yet it never loses its dreamlike, gentle wonder. For me, it transformed nights plagued by idiocy and Rob Thomas into something somewhat serene—a film that blurs the lines between sleeping and waking, reality and fantasy. Lamb is a friend. 

The Wonder

Directed by Sebastián Lelio

Wendy Lee is a sucker for theological stories, I just can’t resist the grandeur. Tales like The Grand Inquisitor, Wise Blood, and Silence are among my most read, and their cinematic counterparts—films like First Reformed and The Seventh Seal are among my most watched. The Wonder, written by Emma Donoghue, adapted from her own novel, deserves to stand as one of the best examples of this so far. It’s a low budget movie parable that ranks as one of the finest examples of storytelling and acting being far more important than budget and effects.

Because the heart of the film is Florence Pugh, delivering an unforgettable performance as a a half nurse half detective. Her character is relentless, driven to pierce through layers of religious confirmation bias and fanatical hopes in an effort to save a young girl from the cruelest consequences of people “believing in things.”

The collision of belief and humanity is always fascinating. The Wonder captures that, and the tension between faith and reason effectively, offering a poignant commentary on the cost of belief when taken to the extreme. Few films have tackled these themes with such grace lately. Come to think of it, after just writing about Lamb, I may have a soft spot for folk horror. I do love me some Midsommar.

Soul 

Directed by Pete Doctor 

Never forget, one of the men responsible for this sublime soundtrack—arguably the decades best score—one that effortlessly blends past and future jazz while repackaging Jamie Cullum and Miles Davis into something equally enchanting for kids and adults, is the very same man who wrote Closer back in 1994, the song that goes, ‘I wanna… f— ….nevermind…’ 

A Real Pain

Directed by Jesse Eisenberg

I’d love the chance to ask Jesse Eisenberg whether the idea for his script came to him while watching an episode of Succession. His directorial debut, A Real Pain, co-stars Kieran Culkin, who essentially channels Roman Roy once again—but this time, with a heart. This time the manic energy is earnest, the electric energy deeply relatable. He steals every scene he’s in (he’s winning the Oscar in two months).

I can’t help but wonder if Jesse simply told him, “Do the Romulus thing (Logan voice), but make instead of fascist psychopath, make it in good faith.” Because that’s exactly what Culkin delivers: a nuanced performance that feels both familiar and refreshingly new. Because that’s exactly what he did. A great film with two great performances about a topic that’s always important, A Real Pain heals. 

Riders of Justice

Directed by Anders Thomas Jensen

Fun. Violent. Tear-jerky. Mads, Mads, Mads. Mads. Nerds rule, terrorists drool. In Bruge on steroids. Cerebral. Action-Packed. Well-Bearded. Tender. Bellicose. Fun. Common Zentropa W. 

Past Lives 

Directed by Celine Song

Delicate, but potent, one of the decade's best love stories explored the topic fearlessly—in all its facets - your childhood, your culture, your first love, your hometown, your new love—all held together by real conversations, both online and in person. The definitive post pandemic romance. It takes a daring and emotional look at life’s what if’s, letting us enjoy the nostalgia of them, for a time, before they are washed away like sandcastles. From Surfrider crushes to past lovers in Florida, this film had me questioning my life, my past lives, which roads I should have traveled—and the roads I still have left…

Showing Up

Directed by Kelly Reichardt

A quiet slice of cinema about the everyday struggles and muted joys of creating art in a society that often doesn’t care about it if it's not on TikTok. The film’s dry, ironic, contemplative tone is brought to life with Michelle Williams’ trademark indie sensibility. A playful critique of the “artist’s life” and at the same time a reminder of how essential creating art is, it resonates deeply with Wendy Lee, and anyone compelled to create despite a world that may see it as silly. To me, it acted as the film equivalent to Jonathan Franzen’s essay Why Bother? Everytime I watch Showing Up, I show up to write the next day. Despite external noise or capitalistic limitations or the annoyance of smut saturation, I pick up the pen and write. 

May December

Directed by Todd Haynes

Todd Haynes and Julianne Moore first joined forces in Safe (1995), a quietly groundbreaking film that transformed the psychological horror genre by distilling it into something intimate and unnervingly and internal. Decades later, after Haynes' detours into romance (Carol) and music biopics (I’m Not There), the pair have reunited to grapple with a similar undercurrent of under the skin horror. If Safe was a diagnosis of suburban malaise, this new film—crafted with Haynes’ meticulous hand and Moore’s unerring ability to dissolve into her characters—feels like a sequel for an even more uncertain, all the more ethically bankrupt world.

May December’s horror lies in its atmosphere which is thick with dread. The film has a suburban banality to it that makes your skin crawl. Haynes hasn’t lost his touch. Moore and Portman were terrific, as usual. But it’s Charles Melton who surprises by delivering a performance for the ages, taking on a role so layered and emotionally complex that it really fucks with you. Together, the trio, and Todd, construct a low budget backyard drama that leans on campy folk horror as much as it does any other form of genre cinema. Todd understands genre cinema, which is why his films never succumb to it.  Like Safe, May December is another keen poignant and hard to admit societal mirror that reflects more of human nature than we’d like to admit. 

The Northman

The Menu

Last Night in Soho

Directed by Roger Eggers, Mark Mylod, and Edgar Wright.

In the space of a few years, Anya Taylor-Joy transformed herself into my favorite young actress. She is THE enigmatic screen presence of her generation. She has this resting face that’s never quite resting. Her wide eyes juxtaposing those angular jawbones make for one of the most naturally expressive faces in all of cinema. In The Northman, The Menu, and Last Night in Soho, she brings to life characters that, though vastly different in context, all share a deep and unsettling complexity (The Queen’s Gambit too!)

In The Northman, Robert Eggers’s bloody action epic, Taylor-Joy plays Olga, a sorceress caught in a struggle for survival. She plays a supporting role here, but the moment when she first meets Amleth (Alexander Skarsgård), her intensity is something that stays with you when she’s not on screen, reminding you what else he’s fighting for. The role is one of grit, of a primal understanding of the brutal forces around her, and Taylor-Joy finds a quiet dignity in Olga, similar to her character in their first collaboration, The Witch.

Then there’s The Menu, where Taylor-Joy’s performance as Margot is more of a lead—she’s an unexpected guest at an exclusive dinner on an island where the guests are slowly, methodically, devoured by their host. It’s a performance and a movie that begins with an air of mystery, her character seeming out of place but ever-watchful (those wide eyes). But as the movie unravels into a satire of wealth, privilege, and excess, Taylor-Joy reveals the sharpness beneath her character’s cool exterior and ends up burning down sinister chef Ralph Fiennes' party in riotous fashion. There’s a sense of survival here too, but it’s of a different kind: a survival of wit, a willingness to play the game until the moment when she can flip the odds in her favor. In an era of nothing but wealth and privilege satires like Glass Onion and Triangle of Sadness and The White Lotus and Bodies, Bodies, Bodies, and Don’t Worry Darling’s, The Menu serves up something fun and refreshing. 

Finally, in Last Night in Soho, a film that warps time, memory, and the dangers of nostalgia, Taylor-Joy’s portrayal of Sandie—a glamorous 1960s starlet whose life turns into a nightmare—is a masterclass in duality. In this one, she is both a product of the past and a warning about the past’s violent grip on the present. Her performance flips between fragility and power, between innocence and the opposite, making Sandie both a victim and a villain of her own story. The film’s structure demands that Taylor-Joy balance the role of a figure locked in a doomed narrative while also serving as a living, breathing symbol of every woman’s entrapment within the male gaze. It’s a great exercise in controlling chaos. 

Whether it’s the quiet sorceress of The Northman, the sharp-witted outsider of The Menu, or the doomed starlet of Last Night in Soho, (and Beth Harmon and Furiosa) Taylor-Joy’s ability to embody roles that oscillate between good and bad speaks to her prodigious talent and I can’t wait to see what she stars in next. 

The French Dispatch

Directed by Wes Anderson

Wait, how did Wes Anderson sneak onto this list?! Although some of his recent work, like Asteroid City, hasn’t quite hit the mark for me, The French Dispatch is pretty damn good. It’s whimsical, symmetrical, quirky, deliberate yet stylized, utterly fanciful, and, well, you know the drill by now… It’s a collage of everything he does best. The anthology format, with stories within stories, is both accessible and enjoyable to follow, especially when paired with his colorful set designs and such an great ensemble cast.

Because characters are pure Anderson magic: Benicio Del Toro as an incarcerated avant-gardist painting a naked Lea Seydoux, Timothée Chalamet as a revolutionary student having an affair with Frances McDormand’s character, and Owen Wilson giving us a guided tour of a fictional French town while sporting a felt hat riding a vintage bicycle. Willem Dafoe and Ed Norton make their usual appearances, Jason Schwartzman and other Anderson favorites stop by as well.

Somewhere at the beginning of the film, Bill Murray’s character, a magazine editor, says something like, “Just have it read like you intentionally wrote it that way.” Great advice. There is no right and wrong way to tell a story so long as it's true. Wes Anderson films can remind you of that. 

Bones and All

Directed by Luca Guadagnino

Patrick Suskind's 1985 novel Perfume: The Story of a Murderer is one of my favorite books ever but the film adaptation fell spectacularly short in so many ways. While flawed, Bones and All came the closest to capturing the vibe of the novel, especially the similarly poetic ending. It also feels like Twilight with cannibals and I can’t lie and say I hate that. I also love Mark Rylance, who gives one of the most unhinged and grotesque against type performances you’ll ever see. 

The Lost Daughter

Directed by Maggie Gyllenhall 

Complicated women brilliantly portrayed by two of Britain’s best, adapted by a formidable female filmmaker from the work of a mad genius, TLD makes for an incredible chaser for that bottle of red wine alone on a Wednesday night when the weekend can’t come soon enough and vacation isn’t on the horizon. The quintessential streaming movie. 

E.O

Directed by Jerzy Skolimowski

A movie of fragmented beauty and incomprehensible cruelty told not just through the lens but the eyes of the most innocent film protagonist, E.O the circus donkey. A sad albeit life-affirming docu-road drama that will have you questioning how you treat the external world. Animal, plants and people alike.