FOF Best of 2024

A YEAR OF CINEMATIC SURPRISES

At the start of this past year, you could have been forgiven for assuming we were in for a down year. The aftershocks of the writers' and actors' strikes had delayed productions, shuffled release dates, and cast a bit of a shadow over the industry. The hype machine was quieter. The big tentpoles weren’t as dominant in the conversation. Even some of the most anticipated films felt like question marks rather than sure bets.

Yet somehow, against all odds, 2024 delivered a solidly stacked lineup of films. I mean, the year had everything. A Palme d’Or winner (Anora) that crashed the Best Picture race. Horror/thriller films that weren’t particularly scary, but emotionally shattering (I Saw the TV Glow, Red Rooms). Animated pics (The Wild Robot) that packed more emotional depth than most adult dramas. Furthermore, Challengers was a sweaty, enthralling love triangle that turned tennis into warfare of the heart. The Beast and I Saw the TV Glow burrowed under the skin in ways no one quite saw coming. Even Clint Eastwood, at 93, dropped Juror #2, his best film in ages.

Animation had a big year at the box office. A24 had a weird year, horror kept evolving, and Denis Villeneuve proved once again that no one does epic like he does (Dune: Part Two was a visual and sonic juggernaut). Even Netflix surprised with Rebel Ridge, one of the best action thrillers in years.

Needless to say, it wasn’t the year we expected. But maybe that’s what made it great. Alright enough with the aperitif - here are the 25 best films of 2024.

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# 25 Hundreds of Beavers

Here lies a batshit insane, black-and-white, silent film-style slapstick comedy that somehow TOTALLY works. It's like the logic of video games meets Looney Tunes. Think Buster Keaton on ‘shrooms, and a plot that involves beaver warfare in order to win the hand of the girl (yeah, you read that right).

Fun for the whole family, this is the kind of singularly bizarre vision that makes you wonder how it got made, while simultaneously making you incredibly grateful that it did. Oh, and did I mention the titular beavers are humans in costume?

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# 24 Molli and Max in the Future

I mean, this entire movie is mostly two people cosplaying goofy sci fi and romantic concepts in front of a green screen, while jazz piano like something out of a Woody Allen flick plays delightfully in the background. 

It is CHEAP. It looks cheap and embraces lo fi at every turn. And that is entirely the point! Yet all around these retrofuture trappings, there are a series of vignettes which build to something extremely profound. Something soul-stirring. 

Call it When Harry Met Sally in space. Call it an indie darling with moments of nihilistic hilarity. Call it whatever you’d like, but I promise you where this thing ends up in terms of its reflections on selfhood, love, and the vicissitudes of life, is completely rarified air.

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# 23 The Substance

Coralie Fargeat’s The Substance takes the idea of extreme beauty standards and cranks it to eleven. Demi Moore plays Elizabeth Sparkle, an aging starlet who injects a mysterious neon goo that promises youth and perfection—only to spiral into a full-blown body horror nightmare. The film is a gruesome, over-the-top takedown of Hollywood’s obsession with youth, blending films like The Fly, The Picture of Dorian Gray, and Requiem for a Dream into one gnarly package. It’s loud, relentless, and visually stunning, with Fargeat’s signature hyper-stylized direction keeping things tense and unpredictable.

But what ultimately makes The Substance work is Demi Moore. At 61, she delivers a fearless, unhinged performance, completely throwing herself into the chaos. The film even plays with her own history. (After all, this is the same actress who built a career off of roles where her body was scrutinized, commodified, and weaponized). That meta-layer adds an extra scintillating punch. Still, for all its shocking body horror and striking visuals, The Substance has just one idea, and it beats you over the head with it for over two hours. Some will call that bold, others exhausting. Either way, it’s impossible to ignore.

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# 22 All We Imagine as Light

All We Imagine as Light is a quiet, contemplative Indian drama about friendship, longing, and the ways women carve out space for themselves in a rapidly shifting world. It's a tale about three nurses in Mumbai, each searching for stability and fulfillment through love, work, or simply a place to call home. Ligth unfolds at its own unhurried pace, letting emotions simmer rather than spelling everything out through overwritten dialogue. The performances are deeply felt, and the world feels rich and lived-in.

But then, in the third act, it shifts into a beach movie, a change that allows some of these women's buried longings to have their day in the sun. That final stretch brings a sense of release, especially in how the protagonist Prabha’s arc ties everything together. Thoughtful, melancholic, and deeply human, it’s an exquisitely made film. A Cannes breakout that deserves all the attention it gets.

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# 21 Didi

Does Didi really do anything new in the increasingly crowded market of coming-of-age indie dramas? Eh, not really. You've seen this story told before, but fortunately, Didi does it better than most. The strength of this one is how beautifully observed it is in its tale of immigrant identity and generational tension. It gives us a Taiwanese American protagonist (modeled after the real life experiences of director Sean Wang's youth in CA) who is essentially caught between two worlds: the expectations of family, the peer group in which he struggles to fit in, and his own burgeoning sense of self. The film is emotionally rich, balancing humor with heartfelt moments while rarely resorting to clichés.

As for the performances? I still can’t decide if the lead actor is quietly terrific or just one-note, but what I do know is Joan Chen delivers an absolute tear-inducing revelation as his mother. Her presence elevates the whole affair, adding layers of warmth, disappointment, and quiet, steadfast resilience. Didi feels like the kind of underseen gem that, years from now, people will rediscover and wonder why they didn’t watch sooner.

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# 20 A Real Pain

Long live the almost forgotten Hollywood middle! The original, mid-tier story!! I can hardly believe my ey...

Alright, enough grandstanding about the IP machine. Jesse Eisenberg’s A Real Pain is one part road movie, one part character study, and wholly about the complicated bonds of family. It follows two Jewish-American cousins, Benji and David, who travel to Poland to honor their late grandmother. But the trip quickly turns into an emotional collision course. Benji, the free-spirited, self-sabotaging provocateur, pushes every boundary, while David, the neurotic overachiever, struggles to hold things together. As these two careen off each other, we sometimes want to look away, but don't want to miss a beat.

Eisenberg crafts the film with an understated visual style, letting the stark Polish landscapes and historical weight of the setting add to the film’s reflective tone. The humor is sharp and biting, but it never undercuts the story’s emotional heft. Eisenberg and Kieran Culkin both play to their strengths, fully embodying their roles as two men who once shared a childhood but now feel like strangers. Finally, make no mistake, this is in the cringe-movie hall of fame! Scene after scene of awkward provocation where Benji pushes people just to watch them squirm. As Eisenberg’s character puts it best, “You make everyone in the room fall in love with you, and then you shit all over them.” A Real Pain is awkward, funny, and deeply sad, a film that lingers long after its conclusion.

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#19 A Different Man

Whew, you want to talk about blackly comic. Here's a film about a man who has neurofibromatosis, a condition which has left him disfigured and covered in facial tumors. So naturally he decides to undergo a miracle surgery that makes him look like, as luck would have it...Sebastian Stan! But by that point his apartment mate, an always game Renate Reisve, has penned a stageplay based on his own experience of alienation. Stan will be perfect for this role, right? Oh, but now he's handsome, and off the top rope comes Adam Pearson! All the same disfigurement but none of the self-shame. Instead, he's gregarious, warm, and winning. Soon he's sweeping our leading man's dream-role right out from under him.

Sebastian Stan delivers his best performance yet in this eerie psychological thriller that grapples with identity, reality, and paranoia. Who are we really - our internal monologue or who we project ourselves to be? Do others care more about external appearances, or the way we carry ourselves? The film is rife with such provocative questions. Both deeply unsettling and darkly funny, A Different Man is a movie that sticks in the brain like a half-remembered nightmare. (And what a final sequence).

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#18 Conclave

Edward Berger’s Conclave is a talk-driven thriller set inside the Vatican, where 120 cardinals gather to elect a new pope. Naturally, chaos ensues. Think 12 Angry Men meets Mean Girls with political allegiances instead of burn books. The film turns papal succession into a high-stakes chess match, balancing weighty theological debates with pulpy intrigue. Ralph Fiennes is phenomenal, bringing a quiet intensity to his role, while Stanley Tucci, John Lithgow, and Isabella Rossellini all sink their teeth into a script filled with power plays and shifting alliances. Berger’s direction blends austere compositions with a sly sense of humor, making the entire process feel both deeply serious and, well, fairly ridiculous.

But, if I'm honest (and I usually am), that tonal mix is also where Conclave stumbles. At times, it can’t decide if it’s a gripping crisis-of-faith drama, a political allegory (wait...you mean this may have been PURPOSEFULLY released in an election year??!), or a juicy melodrama. So, it tries to be all three at once. The final twist lands with a little too much weight, hammering home its message in a way that feels almost too neat. And while the film is undeniably entertaining, some may find its depiction of church politics oversimplified, reducing ideological divides into broad caricatures. Still, with sharp performances, a tense atmosphere, and some stunning visual compositions, Conclave is papal pulp at its most entertaining.

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#17 Hit Man

"All pie is good pie!"

Richard Linklater’s Hit Man is a royal admixture of disparate genre fare: a little screwball comedy, a little more steamy romance, a dollop of existential identity crisis, and part twisty neo-noir to boot. Rather than feeling like a tonal mess, however, it’s all stitched together with ease by the master of the hangout picture, Richard Linklater. Glen Powell, who also co-wrote the script, is a philosophy professor moonlighting as an undercover decoy for the New Orleans police, luring would-be criminals into hiring him as a hitman before slapping the cuffs on. He spends the film slipping into different disguises and personas, donning goofy costumes and voices in a way that makes the whole thing feel playful, until suddenly, it isn't. When he meets Adria Arjona’s Madison, one of his supposed “clients," his performance as a hitman starts to bleed into real life, and the movie shifts into something much...trickier.

What makes Hit Man work isn’t just its sharp writing or the way it constantly shifts between genres. It's Powell himself. He is in turns charming, funny, sexy, and capable of playing different shades of the same character in a way that keeps you guessing. The chemistry between him and Arjona is undeniable, and their scenes crackle with the kind of old-school heat you rarely see in modern rom-coms. Sure, the police work in this film is laughably ineffective, and some of the coincidences stretch credibility, but Hit Man is too much fun for that to matter. One of Linklater’s most purely enjoyable flicks in years.

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#16 The Beast

Bertrand Bonello’s The Beast is a haunting, genre-blending epic that explores love, fear, and fate across multiple timelines. Spanning 1910, 2014, and a dystopian 2044, the film follows Gabrielle (Léa Seydoux) as she undergoes a futuristic procedure meant to rid her of emotion by confronting her past lives. Seems easy, right? Well not when the same tall drink of water, George McKay, keeps showing up in every era, and the magnetism between them is palpable. What unfolds is a hypnotic mix of sci-fi, period drama, and psychological horror, with echoes of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and Mulholland Drive. Bonello masterfully shifts between styles, crafting each timeline with its own distinct mood—Victorian repression, Lynchian unease, and sleek, clinical futurism. Seydoux is the film’s emotional anchor, delivering a performance that is at once fragile and fearless, while MacKay, as her ever-present counterpart, bleeds into his separate roles nicely.

The Beast is, however, more than just a genre experiment—it’s a deeply existential meditation on how fear shapes our choices. It asks questions like, is it worth it to risk love when entropy comes for us all. Bonello suggests that the real monster isn’t some external force, but our own hesitation, our refusal to fully embrace love before it slips away. The final act delivers a gut-punch of an ending, one that reframes everything before it. It’s a sprawling, messy film, too long in places, occasionally indulgent, but its ambition is undeniable. In a year filled with bold cinematic swings, The Beast stands as one of the most fascinating, even if its full impact takes time to settle.

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#15 Juror # 2

Clint Eastwood’s Juror #2 is the kind of movie Hollywood doesn’t really make anymore—a lean, unfussy legal thriller that values moral complexity over spectacle. It follows a man selected for jury duty who slowly realizes he may have had a direct connection to the crime he’s now tasked with judging. What starts as a straightforward courtroom drama turns into something much thornier, grappling with guilt, truth, justice, and the weight of personal conscience. Donning his "one take Clint" appellation with aplomb, Eastwood directs with his usual no-frills efficiency, keeping the tension simmering without ever resorting to melodrama. At just over 100 minutes, it’s refreshingly tight, a throwback to the kind of sturdy, mid-budget thrillers that used to dominate cable TV in the ’90s.

But Juror #2 isn’t just about legal maneuvering. It's about the blurred line between responsibility and self-preservation. The moral choices are difficult, the ethical dilemmas aren’t clean-cut, and Eastwood refuses to spoon-feed the audience a resolution. The film avoids sensationalism, instead letting its performances, particularly from Nicholas Hoult, Toni Collette, and JK Simmons, carry the weight. Sure, some of the peripheral characters could’ve used an extra take or two, and the film doesn’t reinvent the genre, but what it does, it does exceptionally well. The ending, in particular, is a masterstroke, landing in a morally gray space that lingers. Juror #2 is a film about searching for truth in a world that often feels like it has moved past the idea entirely.

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#14 Nosferatu

Robert Eggers’ Nosferatu feels like the movie he was always meant to make (I guess that's what happens when you watch the original and mount a stage play of it when you're in middle school, you weeeirdo). No modern director does gothic horror quite like him, and here, he leans fully into the eerie, hypnotic storytelling he’s perfected. It’s a stunningly crafted reimagining of the classic 1922 film, shadowy, oppressive, and steeped in Victorian dread. Sure, the story is familiar: a mysterious count in Transylvania, a doomed sea voyage, a young bride caught in a battle of obsession and desire. But in Eggers’ hands, it becomes something even darker. The film drips with tension, each frame meticulously composed and exquisitely blocked, each pan slow and deliberate. The production design is impeccable, transporting us into a world that feels both mythic and, oddly, phantasmagorically familiar. And then there’s Bill Skarsgård’s Count Orlok, more specter than man, lurking in the periphery with his rasping breath and monstrous hunger.

Still, Nosferatu is more than just an exercise in gothic aesthetics. It's a film about obsession, repression, and the thin line between desire and destruction. Lily-Rose Depp gives a performance that teeters on the edge of over-the-top but lands in something mesmerizing, her physicality adding vulnerability and defiance. Nosferatu features some of the best opening and closing sequences of the year, moments that now feel burned into my subconscious. You don’t watch Nosferatu so much as sink into it, letting its haunting imagery and suffocating atmosphere pull you under.

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#13 Evil Does Not Exist

I've got season tickets to Ryusuke Hamiguchi after Drive My Car. The dude just makes great art often using non-professional actors and extremely plainspoken dialogue. This time around, we're dropped into a Japanese fishing village that is about to be beset by a glamping site so keen on making a dollar that they have no concern for the ways that their incursion will damage the water table for the native villagers.

I was positively blown away by three sequences in this film. One features an older man and a younger woman, who have the ignominious task of defending the faceless corporate bigwigs setting this project in motion, simply conversing about life in a car. Another is the most captivating town hall scene I've seen since Field of Dreams. It's simply bursting with local flavor, as these villagers share their own truth in the face of what feels like a hostile takeover from the outside. Finally, Evil Does Not Exist has trenchant thoughts on climate change, and it features maybe the most memorable, if enigmatic, conclusion of the entire year. Down ten Reddit rabbit holes and back again, I'm still picking it apart and trying to piece it back together.

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#12 The Brutalist

So. Um. If I were truly gonna get myself in the headspace of director Brady Corbet here, this review would be 12 paragraphs long and be filled with the kind of inflated self-importance that DEMANDED it's inclusion in the pantheon of all film review-ery. LOOK AT ME. TAKE ME SERIOUSLY! I MUST BE ONE OF THE GREATS!!

Ok, I digress. Let me be kinder: Brady Corbet’s The Brutalist is a grand, uncompromising epic—one that explores the American dream through the lens of immigration, ambition, and exploitation. It follows an architect, fresh from the trauma of the Holocaust, as he attempts to build a new life in America, only to find that dreams don’t come without a cost. Brutalist architecture becomes the film’s central metaphor, designs built with stark efficiency, stripped of ornamentation, standing as artistic monuments to endurance rather than beauty. Corbet structures the film the same way: monolithic, deliberate, and unyielding. The writing is airtight, with dialogue that feels almost sculpted rather than spoken. There’s no improvisation here, just precise, unwavering craftsmanship, like the protagonist’s own creations.

It’s a film about power, wealth, and art, the tension between personal vision and the compromises demanded by patrons (read:those with money). ((If you detected more than a little crossover between the artistic process in this one and the director's own battle with the studio system to get pictures made, good on you)). Adrien Brody delivers a towering performance, carrying decades of quiet suffering in his expression, while Guy Pearce brings a slippery menace that keeps the film’s moral compass spinning. The score is immense, shifting to match each time period, and the cinematography, shot in VistaVision, gives everything an almost mythic quality. That said, I must say the film’s second half loses some of its earlier nuance, leaning into overt symbolism and on-the-nose storytelling. Regardless, ambitious, immersive, and deeply felt, The Brutalist is a film that demands patience but rewards those willing to engage with its vision.

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#11 Love Lies Bleeding

Rose Glass’ Love Lies Bleeding is a neon-soaked, blood-splattered neo-noir where lust, love, and violence collide with exhilarating intensity. Kristen Stewart plays Lou, a small-town gym owner whose life is flipped upside down when bodybuilder Jackie (Katy O’Brian) walks through her doors, as a pitstop on the way to Vegas. Their connection is immediate, sweaty, raw, and utterly consuming. But in classic noir fashion, passion quickly curdles into something far more dangerous. Glass drenches the film in a feverish physicality, whether it’s the slow-motion flex of muscle under dim gym lighting or the kinetic bursts of action that spiral into full-blown carnage. O’Brian is a force of nature, her imposing presence matched by surprising tenderness, while Stewart imbues Lou with a nervous energy that makes her eventual transformation all the more compelling.

This is a noir in both the classic and modern sense. Shadows stretch long, moral lines blur, and desire fuels destruction. But Glass isn’t just paying homage; she’s pushing the genre into new surreal, hyper-stylized territory. The film’s third act takes some wild swings, and the sheer commitment to excess—the bodily intensity, the erotic charge, the delirious, near-mythic violence—makes Love Lies Bleeding impossible to shake. It’s sweaty, pulpy, and relentlessly stylish, a film that doesn’t just flex but fully rips through the screen.

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#10 Red Rooms

Pascal Plante’s Red Rooms is a puzzling psychological thriller that lures you in with clinical detachment before tightening its grip in ways you never see coming. Set against the backdrop of a high-profile trial involving dark web crimes, the film follows a young woman (Juliette Gariépy in a mesmerizing performance) whose obsession with the case leads her down a rabbit hole of voyeurism and unsettling self-discovery. But here’s the kicker - Red Rooms isn’t about solving a mystery or catching a killer. It’s about the psychological toll of staring into the abyss, and whether doing so makes you complicit. Plante’s direction is cold and clinical, evoking shades of Fincher while carving out a distinct identity of its own. The film refuses to hold the viewer’s hand, keeping its protagonist at arm’s length while we wrestle with what her motivations truly are.

Yet what makes Red Rooms so haunting is that it never indulges in gratuitous horror. The camera withholds rather than exploits, making every chilling implication land with even greater force. It’s a film about modern-day isolation, the true-crime-obsessed digital age, and the thin line between curiosity and gross voyeurism. Yet, despite its restraint, Red Rooms delivers one of the most terrifying moments of the year: a simple look, a shift in sound design, and a realization that sends ice through your veins. It’s a picture that dares you to unpack its layers. Disturbing, thought-provoking, and masterfully controlled, Red Rooms cements Pascal Plante as a director to watch in the days ahead.

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#9 Rebel Ridge

Civil. Assset. Forfeiture. What? Don't all your slow-burn pressure cooker thrillers have heady concepts like these at the center of them??...

Jeremy Saulnier’s Rebel Ridge is a tense, modern neo-Western that mixes high-impact action with razor-sharp social commentary. Aaron Pierre delivers a commanding performance as a man who finds himself tangled in the deep-rooted corruption of a small-town legal system, where power is wielded through bureaucracy just as much as brute force. Saulnier, known for his mastery of slow-building tension (Green Room, Blue Ruin), once again builds a powder keg of simmering conflict, layering in real-world complexities like civil asset forfeiture and judicial backlogs without ever losing the film’s pulpy intensity. This is a movie where every blow lands with weight, both physically and thematically. And with Don Johnson delivering his best work in years as a morally compromised police chief, Rebel Ridge becomes more than just a standard revenge thriller. No, this is a searing indictment of institutional rot disguised as a high-stakes action film.

When the action erupts in this one, it’s thrilling. Pierre is a force of nature, and the film’s stripped-down, close-quarters combat feels refreshingly raw and realistic. More than just another rogue-hero-wages-war-on-corruption story, Rebel Ridge updates the classic First Blood formula for a new era, proving that Saulnier remains one of the most exciting voices in modern genre filmmaking.

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#8 The Count of Monte Cristo

Alexandre Dumas’ The Count of Monte Cristo has been adapted countless times, but this latest version might be the best one of all. It proves that a great story never loses its power. This sweeping, gorgeously mounted epic brings fresh energy to the classic tale of betrayal, vengeance, and redemption. The film follows Edmond Dantès, wrongfully imprisoned and left to rot, only to rise from the ashes with a single goal. Revenge. It’s a timeless premise, but what sets this adaptation apart is its sheer craftsmanship. The cinematography is breathtaking, draping every frame in rich, painterly compositions of seas and coastal landscapes. The production design is impeccable, from the shadowy prison cells to the lavish halls of high society, and the period costuming is stunning in its attention to detail. And then there’s the score—so grand and evocative that it gets in your head like an earworm. I liken it to The Last of the Mohicans soundscape in its sweeping, emotional resonance.

Beyond its technical brilliance, this Monte Cristo thrives on gripping performances from its French ensemble cast, who bring new layers to these well-worn characters. The film doesn’t try to reinvent the wheel, nor does it need to. Rather, it leans into the novel’s inherent drama, letting the story’s internal suspense and explosive moments of retribution play out with operatic intensity. While it hasn’t generated the same buzz as some other literary adaptations this year, it absolutely deserves more eyes on it. This is the kind of big, bold, old-school storytelling that feels increasingly rare, and this The Count of Monte Cristo delivers in every way that counts.

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#7 Sing Sing/Ghostlight

Yeah, I get it. I cheated and put two films as my number 7. But honestly, two works this year tackled the transformative power of art, and I couldn’t separate them. (And they both "star" one Billy Shakespeare). Sing Sing and Ghostlight might come from different worlds (one inside a prison, the other in a small-town theater) but both explore how storytelling can provide redemption, healing, and even salvation. Sing Sing, based on a real-life Rehabilitation Through the Arts program, features former inmates playing versions of themselves, delivering raw and deeply human performances. Clarence Maclin, in particular, gives one of the most astonishing turns of the year. Opposite him, Coleman Domingo is magnetic, though almost too good. His presence is so imposing and commanding it nearly overwhelms the naturalism of the nonprofessional actors. Yet the film’s sincerity and optimism shine through, showing how performance isn’t just escapism. For some, it’s a means of survival.

Where Sing Sing calls out its themes explicitly, Ghostlight weaves them into its fabric, letting its central mystery unfold like drops of water from a leaky faucet. A construction worker stumbles into a community theater’s production of Romeo and Juliet, and the deeper he immerses himself in the play, the more we realize just how much he (and his family) needs it. With a Triangle of Sadness follow-up performance from Dolly de Leon and some of the most deeply felt moments of the year, Ghostlight is the best film no one talked about in 2024. Between these two, Sing Sing articulates the power of art, but Ghostlight makes you feel it in your marrow.

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#6 Dune: Part Two

Dune: Part Two is the rare sequel that doesn’t just build on its predecessor, it surpasses it in nearly every way. Denis Villeneuve takes the world of Arrakis and expands it into a full-blown spectacle of staggering scale, combining jaw-dropping visuals, thunderous sound design, and pulse-pounding action. It’s a work that begs to be seen on the biggest screen possible, whether it’s in the sheer enormity of its set pieces (that worm-riding sequence? Unreal.) or in the sonic assault of Hans Zimmer’s score.

But beneath all the grandeur, the film wrestles with deeper themes: faith and power, exploitation and resistance, the thin line between savior and oppressor. Paul Atreides’ arc is a masterclass in complexity. He’s both hero and cautionary tale, prophet and pawn, as he grapples with destiny and the terrifying cost of leadership. While the first film featured a somewhat lumbering, methodical setup, this one moves at a relentless clip, throwing us into chrysknife duels, political betrayals, and war on a biblical scale. Timothée Chalamet and Zendaya anchor the story with brooding intensity, while Javier Bardem brings some much-needed levity to the proceedings. Villeneuve’s world-building remains second to none, crafting a vision of Dune that feels both eerily ancient and wholly futuristic. This isn’t just a sci-fi epic; it’s a cinematic event.

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#5 Anora

Anora is Sean Baker at his absolute best. Somehow he grants us an electrifying, darkly funny, and ultimately heartbreaking story that starts like a chaotic romance (Cinderella meets Hustlers?) before morphing into something much heavier. The film follows a Brooklyn stripper (Mikey Madison, in a revelatory performance) who stumbles into a whirlwind relationship with the naive son of a Russian oligarch. What starts as a raucous, high-energy party movie, complete with drugs, sex, and an absurd, goon-filled chase sequence, gradually peels back layers to reveal a raw and unflinching look at power, class, and the false promises of the American Dream. Baker’s signature realism is on full display, with his handheld cinematography and immersive sound design making every moment feel like a documentary. The way he captures the grit and allure of Brooklyn strip clubs, the manic energy of sudden wealth, and the stark contrast of economic realities is nothing short of superb.

Though given all these accolades, where Anora really landed for me was in its devastating final act. Here, Madison’s performance takes center stage in the "come down." In terms of pacing, the film grinds to an almost painful halt, forcing us to sit in the slow, minute-by-minute loss of control as power drains from her hands. Yet Baker refuses to give in to pure bleakness. His ending is layered, leaving room for both tragedy and hope. Whether you see it as a moment of hard-won authenticity or a last grasp at something real, Anora cements itself as one of the year’s best. A hilarious, nerve-wracking, and deeply poignant portrait of survival in a system designed to break people.

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#4 I Saw the TV Glow

Jane Schoenbrun’s I Saw the TV Glow is a hypnotic, deeply personal exploration of identity, nostalgia, and the way media shapes who we are. Like their previous film We’re All Going to the World’s Fair, this one thrives on mood and atmosphere, drawing us into the dreamy, neon-lit world of The Pink Opaque, - a fictional ‘90s TV show. This one feels like a mix of Are You Afraid of the Dark?, Buffy, and Twin Peaks. (If your youth was anything like mine, this had you at hello). For Owen, the film’s protagonist, this show isn’t just entertainment but also an escape, a reflection of something truer than his own reality. But as the lines between fiction and real life blur, I Saw the TV Glow transforms into something far more profound: a story about self-denial and the devastating consequences of rejecting who we are. Schoenbrun masterfully builds this sense of existential dread through long, lingering shots, an eerie Alex G score, and a hazy, VHS-like aesthetic that makes everything feel both deeply nostalgic and unnervingly surreal.

At its core, I Saw the TV Glow is a trans allegory (see my year end video with Adam Kline where I pontificate on how freaking much better this one functions than Emilia Perez in this regard), but its themes of repression and longing resonate far beyond that. Maddie, the film’s catalyst, urges Owen to embrace the world of The Pink Opaque, to step into his true self. But instead, he chooses to stay in the mundane, drifting through a colorless adult existence where his emotions go unheard and unseen. Spoilers aside, the film’s final moments are among the most haunting and moving images of the year. This is a film that lingers, that worms its way into your subconscious, making you reflect on all the ways we bury parts of ourselves to fit into a world that doesn’t always see us. It’s one of the year’s most striking and emotionally devastating works - a slow, creeping horror film about the ghosts of the people we never became.

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#3 The Wild Robot

Chris Sanders’ The Wild Robot is the kind of animated film that sneaks up on you, wrapping you in warmth and humor before completely overwhelming you with emotion. Based on the beloved children’s book, the story follows Roz, a shipwrecked robot who finds herself stranded on a remote island. She slowly integrates into the animal community, eventually forming a powerful bond with a young gosling. This is a classic tale of belonging and survival, but Sanders elevates it with a visual style that blends the tactile richness of hand-drawn animation with the depth of CGI, creating a stunningly immersive world.

The film tackles themes of identity, found family, and the profound responsibility of caretaking, all while delivering a masterclass in tone. I simply did not see any other picture this year which balanced humor, tenderness, and thrilling adventure so pristinely. Lupita Nyong’o’s voice performance as Roz is a revelation, conveying a full emotional arc with subtle inflections, while Pedro Pascal and a host of character actors breathe life into a lively and endearing forest ensemble.

Though some may dismiss The Wild Robot as simple or overly sentimental, the film proves that “simple” is a feature, not a flaw. Like the best fables, its message is universal, woven into a story that feels both timeless and deeply resonant. Sanders, whose animation pedigree includes Lilo & Stitch and The Croods, understands that real emotional depth doesn’t come from forced poignancy but from moments that feel genuinely earned. The film builds its emotional weight organically, culminating in a third act that takes bold narrative swings. In the end, it’s a visually breathtaking, profoundly moving exploration of love and the idea that kindness isn’t just a virtue—it’s a survival skill!

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#2 Nickel Boys

There are films that share history, and then there are ones that immerse you so deeply in it that you feel as though you are experiencing it firsthand. Nickel Boys belongs in the latter category. Director RaMell Ross adapts Colson Whitehead’s novel with an approach that is both visually groundbreaking and emotionally devastating. Doing so by utilizing a first-person perspective that forces the audience to live inside the story rather than simply observe it. Based on the true horrors of the Dozier School for Boys, the film doesn’t just depict systemic abuse and racial injustice. It makes you feel the weight of it through every blurred edge and every harrowing moment the camera refuses to fully show. What begins as a story of innocence quickly transforms into a relentless exploration of trauma, survival, and the quiet burden of memory. By the time Nickel Boys leaps into its third act, shifting perspectives in a way that reframes everything that came before, you realize just how deeply it has burrowed under your skin.

Now, I'll admit, when I began my viewing of this picture, I was fearful that the camera work would be more of a gimmick than anything else. But my trepidation was soon erased. This is because what makes Nickel Boys  most staggering is how its craft serves its emotional impact. The cinematography by Yomo Frey is revelatory, capturing the way memory distorts and fades, while Ross' signature blend of documentary realism and poetic abstraction gives the film an aching authenticity. The use of archival footage—some recognizable, some obscure—blurs the line between fiction and reality, reinforcing that these atrocities were not just stories, but lived experiences. And then there’s the unspoken grief, carried across decades, culminating in one of the most quietly gut-wrenching barroom conversations in recent memory. Nickel Boys doesn’t simply ask us to witness the past. It demands that we reckon with it.

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#1 Challengers

Luca Guadagnino’s Challengers isn’t just a love triangle—it’s a full-blown emotional minefield disguised as a high-stakes tennis drama. Or, as the director himself put it, a "love triangle where all the sides touch." From the moment Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross’ four-on-the-floor, EDM score kicks in, the film grabs you in its sweaty, seductive grip and never lets go. Structured around a single, tension-filled finals match between two former best friends, the film volleys between past and present, each flashback revealing more about the tangled mess of love, power, and competition at its core.

Zendaya delivers her most commanding performance yet as Tashi, a once-promising tennis phenom who finds herself orchestrating the careers, and hearts, of the two men caught in her orbit. (Think Whiplash or Black Swan, aka single-minded characters who will stop at NOTHING to achieve greatness). Josh O’Connor and Mike Faist bring smoldering chemistry and aching insecurity to their respective roles, turning this into more than just a battle for a championship trophy. Guadagnino, always a master of exploring desire, keeps everything kinetic and breathlessly intense, crafting a film that thrives on both physical and emotional tension.

What truly sets Challengers apart, however, is its exhilarating sense of movement, both in its storytelling and its on-court action. The tennis matches, filmed with dizzying close-ups, POV shots, and hypnotic slow-motion sequences, make you feel every rally as if your own reputation were on the line. The editing is razor-sharp, bouncing between time periods with a rhythm so precise it mimics the back-and-forth of a match. It’s stylish without sacrificing substance, playful while still being devastatingly sharp about power dynamics in love and sport. If you’re the kind of person who gets frustrated with messy, flawed characters making terrible decisions, Challengers might test your patience. And sure, for me personally, it might not have been the best or most capital A artistic flick I saw in 2024, but it was the most exhilarating theatergoing experience I had all year.

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Honorable Mentions:

The First Omen

The Order

The People's Joker