by Ryan Silberstein, Managing Editor, Red Herring

The thing that unites all 15 movies on this list is that they deal with the notion of self and how we define who we are in the face of the world and choices before us. They are all affecting in their own way, and interpret that in different ways. Regardless, these are the films that impacted me the most in what has been a very tough year for me personally. 

15. House of Gucci (dir. Ridley Scott)

Ultimately what makes House of Gucci such a satisfying experience is the way it rhapsodizes the lifestyles of the rich and fashionable. We live in an age with an increasing wealth gap, and being able to spend time in a world of Gucci, Versace, Audrito, Ferrari, and Lamborghini is a form of movie escapism that allows us to step into the fantasy for a short time. Gucci has all of the intrigue, globestrotting, and sex as a James Bond film, and just as much frivolity. Ridley Scott understands this as well as Aldo Gucci. One of the most humorous sequences in the film has Patrizia discover that their nanny has a Gucci bag. She ruthlessly traces the source of the bag to Canal Street. She brings the samples back to her husband and Uncle Aldo, the elder Gucci shrugs it off. “If a Long Island housewife wants to feel like she is living a Gucci lifestyle, why shouldn’t she?” he retorts. To Patrizia, Gucci is synonymous with exclusivity, the dream of owning “the second least expensive item” in the store an unattainable goal as referenced in the opening narration. But for Aldo, he sees these lower quality bags and wallets sold as ‘knockoffs’–as well as the mugs and other cheap accessories–as brand recognition, a taste of the luxury that Gucci represents. Buying a ‘fake’ Gucci or Louis Vitton isn’t about pretending that you own the real thing, it’s aspirational. Read the rest of my review here.

14. Passing (dir. Rebecca Hall)

At first, Passing seems like a simple film. A chance meeting of old friends that slowly and quietly crescendos into a full-blown existential crisis that comments on how concepts like race unite some of us while divide us from others. By playing with blurred lines, Rebecca Hall finds truth in some of the best performances in any movie this year and shows amazing promise as a director. Equally entertaining and thoughtful, I will be recommending this for years to come. Hear me discuss this in full with Managing Editor of MovieJawn’s zine, Ben Leonard, on the November episode of Intermissions, our Patreon-exclusive podcast (December’s episode features Staff Writer Matt Crump and a discussion on House of Gucci also!).

13. Petite Maman (dir. Céline Sciamma)

With Petite Maman, Sciamma creates a gentle yet deeply affecting story of mothers and daughters. So many times in my life I have found that by the time I feel like I understood my parents as people, it was too late to create new patterns in our relationship. Here, a little girl gets the chance to connect with her mother as a peer, which leads to deeper understanding. Yet, the film has a gentle and light touch, showing it is possible to have a transformative experience with minimal conflict. 

12. Bergman Island (dir. Mia Hansen-Løve)

To date, the only Ingmar Bergman film I’ve seen is The Seventh Seal because I had a minor in medieval studies in college. So my initial impression of Bergman Island was that I might have gotten more out of the film if I had seen more of his work (plus an even bigger desire to visit Sweden). But I was surprised by how much the film stuck with me, even as the Bergman-specific details faded into the background for lack of personal context. I will always appreciate story-within-a-story construction, and the way that Chris’ (Vicky Krieps) character perceives the world around her was fascinating. But what landed this just outside my top 10 was the way this film approaches icons that may be “problematic” from a present day lens. We can take the things that we appreciate about them as people and their work while also acknowledging the things about them that are deeply flawed, whether outdated or just awful. It’s not meant to be a backdoor to embracing terrible people, but this shows a great mental framework for working through our reactions to artists and art. 

11. Billie Eilish: The World’s a Little Blurry (dir. by R.J. Cutler)

There is so much to this documentary beyond the fact that Eilish is a captivating figure in pop music already. This really starts to grow beyond “music doc” territory the closer it gets to its central figure. Cutler’s film is at its best when it shows the impact of physical and mental health on Eilish’s life and career. Everyone has their struggles, and while her success means she has more means to deal with it, it also shows her reaction to attaining those means from the very thing that is causing her pain. When she says that "even if you fix it, it is still broken," there's a deep knowing there. When health becomes a barrier to everything you are trying to reach for, and it's hard to see a way out.

10. No Time to Die (dir. Cary Joji Fukunaga)

Personally, No Time to Die is a big step up from both Skyfall and Spectre, both of which floundered for me as they attempted to deconstruct the Bond mythos while being pretty boring about it. No Time to Die feels like a course correction and manages to be both an entertaining throwback (while lessening the misogyny and racism of older films) and a fitting sunset to Daniel Craig’s tenure as 007. While the previous two entries were overly concerned with looking ponderously inward, Fukunaga and a team of writers focused on giving James Bond meaningful character stakes. 

9. Luca (dir. Enrico Casarosa)

Director Enrico Casarosa has openly cited the works of Miyazaki Hayao as an inspiration for Luca. The name of the town is even Portorosso, an homage to the Japanese director’s 1992 film Porco Rosso. The bicycles and scooters that often appear in Miyazaki’s works also play a key role in this story. But aside from the vibrant color palette, the closest comparison to Luca might be the work of Cartoon Saloon. The Kilkenny, Ireland based studio’s cartoons often marry folklore to lessons for young people, with last year’s Wolfwalkers being the most recent example. These smaller-scale stories demonstrate the imagination and possibilities of the medium just as well as any story with world-ending stakes. Full review here.

8. Drive My Car (dir. Ryusuke Hamaguchi)

Rooted in interiority that is reflected in its main setting–and the private space of an automobile moving through the world–Drive My Car is a deeply literary film that explores language, memory, and bringing art to the public. While the full three hour runtime was a bit of a challenge at home due to the pressures of real life, the power of the film still came across even in an environment filled with distractions. It isn’t a slow movie per se, but it is one predicated upon following the routines of the characters and their evolving relationships. Hamaguchi lovingly explores human experience and the relationships that define our lives.

7. Spencer (dir. Pablo Larraín) 

Jackie is a film that has only gotten better in my mind since I first saw it, so Spencer was one of my more anticipated films of the year. Thankfully, I was not disappointed. Steven Knight (what a career of wild swings) and Larraín morph a Christmas weekend with the royals into a Henry James echo filled with ghosts both literal and metaphorical. While the central question of Jackie was “What will JFK’s legacy mean to the world and how will Jackie shape it?” Diana is more in survival mode, trying to grasp onto a sense of reality in a place where seemingly all control is stripped away. Kristen Stewart’s performance is palpable, making this an actual perfect double feature with Personal Shopper. 

6. In the Heights (dir. John M. Chu)

Like many great musicals, In the Heights doesn’t go for one emotion, and manages to deftly focus on hope, love, sadness, fear, and triumph in its music, giving many of the ensemble cast well-defined character arcs to play into, while the stories are woven together to tell the bigger picture. Bringing this story to life on the screen is no small feat, but John M. Chu manages to strike a balance between acknowledging In the Heights’ stage roots and embracing cinematic panache. The crowd scenes, involving myriad backup dancers, will bring the camera into the action while never losing focus on the dance itself. Some of these sequences–most notably “96,000,”  which is set at a community pool–take full advantage of not being bound by the stage, which provides a sense of immersion. Given his start with the Step Up franchise, it’s not a surprise that Chu delivers a modern movie musical that doesn’t feel embarrassed about being a movie musical, imbuing this story with its modern point of view, the kind of infatuation with song and dance that recalls Stanley Donen. The use of light in the blackout sequence, in particular, made my jaw drop, purely based on the images captured on the screen, while “Paciencia y Fe” takes stage choreography and creates something that beautifully encapsulates one person’s life. Full review here.

5. Parallel Mothers (dir. Pedro Almodóvar)

When I first saw this film, I enjoyed it, but I have not been able to stop thinking about it. Penélope Cruz gives one of the best performances of the year as a woman who longs for motherhood and the future, while wrestling with Spain’s fascist past. The narrative starts simply enough, but grows and expands in ways that are surprising and emotionally wrought. This was my first experience with Almodóvar and it won’t be the last. Everything about this film, not just the story and performances, but the way Almodóvar uses editing and shot choice to convey information and emotion hit me on both the conscious and subconscious levels. 

4. The Last Duel (dir. Ridley Scott)

The script by Holofcener, Affleck, and Damon deftly uses the tripartite structure by being a bit more subtle than Rashomon. Each section has scenes that reoccur from each person’s point of view as well as unique scenes that fill in more backstory and context. In the repeated scenes, the same line will be said by a different character, or a look between two characters takes on an entirely different meaning. Scott bolsters this through camera placement, blocking, and sound design. The Last Duel is not only narratively interesting, but offers a textbook study in how these choices can dramatically affect the feeling a scene elicits in the viewer, even if they are not consciously noted. So much of film is about the subliminal experience, and this is an easy to point to example. Read the rest of the review here.

3. The Matrix Resurrections (dir. Lana Wichowski)

The Matrix Resurrections explores a multitude of ideas and operates on many levels. While I love the earlier sequels, the scripts feel rushed and unsure compared to the efficient confidence of the original. By contrast, this fourth cinematic entry feels as thoughtful and measured as the original, while expanding the scope and moving the entire world forward. There are metafictional layers throughout, although they are called out most in the first act. Repeated lines, deliberate callbacks via shot choice and fight choreography, are all used to give Resurrections the feel of a Matrix movie while not letting that limit the visual choices. Mostly gone are noir-inspired darkness and shadows, and sunlight becomes a dominant theme, especially in the new version of The Matrix. Colors are nicely saturated in both digital and the “Real” world, signifying a sense of progress and continuing the themes of hope embedded within the story. Read the rest of the review here.

2. The Power of the Dog (dir. Jane Campion)

Jane Campion trusts audiences with this tale’s secrets, and the ending forces all but the most attentive viewers to reconsider all of the moments that lead there. Upon reflection, Campion’s emphasis on small moments–a shared cigarette, the texture of a leather hide, the sound of a banjo or piano, the wind rushing over the hills–evokes the way memories work, allowing us to piece together a narrative from even the most disparate of events. When those things lock into place in our minds, it feels like a eureka moment, our desire for explanation is satisfied. But when we really think back to those small moments, we can also imagine how things could have gone slightly differently, creating a divergent timeline in our own past. The real secret is that those small, often wordless, moments contain so much possibility in their delicate existence–and how often does fear shape what happens next? Several times in The Power of the Dog, Phil (Cumberbatch) stares toward the hills beyond the ranch. While many characters theorize and ask what he is looking at, that moment is truly only shared with one other character. Phil never outright shares that part of himself, and his own self-hatred keeps him locked inside a prison of his own making, even as he tells himself he is free. Read the rest of the review here.

1. The Green Knight (dir. David Lowery)

Despite it being a winter tale, the closer Gawain gets to the Green Chapel, the more green there is around him. By the time he arrives at the Chapel, The Green–loosely echoing a concept Alan Moore and Steve Bissette Introduced to Swamp Thing–is shown to be a strong and all-encompassing power. The Green represents life. Not just the verdant, life-giving variety that we immediately think of, but permanent change. Not just seedlings sprouting from the earth, but the force which erases our footprints from the grass and climbing ivy that turns our buildings into ruins. The imagery of the Green evoked in the film is equally likely to sustain humans as it is to disappear any trace of us. Skulls and skeletons recur as well to represent this idea. Bodies placed in nature decay into the natural world, while the skeleton hanging in a cage is forever separated from that destiny. “Is this all there is?” Gawain asks the Green Knight. What of the future? What of the life not lived? Are we just “busy” until we are entombed in the earth? Not only are we not ready to die, but we are often not ready to change. We will change no matter what, but will we change into wistful bitter elders consumed with loss? Or will we try to keep pace with the world around us and embrace the moment? Read the rest here.

And the next 10 are here on the letterboxd version of this list!