{"id":110755,"date":"2020-11-12T05:13:00","date_gmt":"2020-11-12T02:13:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/en.buradabiliyorum.com\/the-best-movies-on-netflix\/"},"modified":"2020-11-12T05:13:00","modified_gmt":"2020-11-12T02:13:00","slug":"the-best-movies-on-netflix","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/buradabiliyorum.com\/en\/the-best-movies-on-netflix\/","title":{"rendered":"#The best movies on Netflix"},"content":{"rendered":"

“#The best movies<\/a> on Netflix
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Clockwise from top left: Moonlight (A24); Spider-Man: Into The Spider-Verse (Sony Pictures); Scott Pilgrm Vs. The World (Universal Pictures); Homecoming (Parkwood Entertainment\/Netflix); Uncut Gems (A24) <\/figcaption>
Graphic: The A.V. Club<\/figcaption><\/div>\n

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Streaming libraries expand and contract. Algorithms are imperfect. Those damn thumbnail images are always changing. But you know what you can always rely on? The expert opinions and knowledgeable commentary of The A.V. Club<\/em>. That\u2019s why we\u2019re scouring both the menus of the most popular services and our own archives to bring you these guides to the best viewing options, broken down by streamer, medium, and genre. Want to know why we\u2019re so keen on a particular movie? Click the title at the top of each slide for some in-depth coverage from The A.V. Club<\/em>\u2019s past. And be sure to check back often, because we\u2019ll be adding more recommendations as films come and go.<\/p>\n

There are plenty of great classic films available on Netflix, but this list is manly compiled of movies featured on The A.V. Club<\/em>\u2019s Best of the Year lists and ballots going back to 2010. Some newer (and much older) movies have been added over time as Netflix announces new additions to their library.<\/p>\n

Looking for other movies to stream? Also check out our list of <\/em>the best movies on Amazon Prime<\/em><\/span>, <\/em>best movies on Disney+<\/em><\/span>, and <\/em>best movies on Hulu<\/em><\/span>.<\/em><\/p>\n

This list was most recently updated Nov. 11, 2020.<\/em><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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A towering symbol not just for the world of boxing, but for the world at large, Muhammad Ali isn\u2019t anyone\u2019s idea of an everyday boxer, but director Michael Mann\u2019s skills are put to good use as he attempts to get behind the symbol in the new biopic Ali<\/em>. Dramatizing the eventful decade between two upsets that won Ali heavyweight titles\u2014his first encounter with Sonny Liston in 1964 and the Rumble In The Jungle with George Foreman in 1974\u2014the film employs an episodic structure that focuses on key phases of his development, showing him as a brash young fighter, a spokesman for Black Power, a legal martyr for his refusal to be drafted for Vietnam, and an international icon. Will Smith plays Ali, and while the choice might seem odd, it proves inspired. Mann\u2019s Ali<\/em>, like its subject in his prime, seems incapable of making a false move. [Keith Phipps<\/span>]<\/p>\n

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The first film from Barack and Michelle Obama\u2019s Higher Ground Productions is inherently political, but it\u2019s more complex than agitprop. Following the reopening of a shuttered factory in Dayton under the new ownership of a Chinese auto-glass company, directors Steven Bognar and Julia Reichert offer a startling intimate look at the struggle to blend two working cultures. Never descending into xenophobia or condescension, their documentary makes the point that the issues matter because of the effect they have on the people. [Allison Shoemaker<\/span>]<\/p>\n

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Andrea Arnold presents a dynamic vision of young, weird America in American Honey<\/em>, a sprawling road movie that winds its way from wealthy suburban cul-de-sacs to poverty-stricken trailer parks on a cross-country trip<\/a>. Newcomer Sasha Lane stars as Star, an impulsive teenager who abandons her abusive home life to sell magazines town to town and door to door with some misfits she meets dancing to Rihanna in the middle of Kmart, including rat-tailed heartthrob Jake (Shia LaBeouf). Driving the barren highways of red-state America in a white-paneled van, the kids tell their stories in between swigs of vodka and hits of an ever-present joint, each of them a block in the patchwork quilt of the U.S. underclass. Arnold allows her actors\u2014many of whom were cast off of the street\u2014to improvise organic, loosely constructed scenes that bring a documentary feel to their adventures. Take the aesthetics of a Harmony Korine movie, but substitute the nihilism with boundless humanity, and you\u2019ll come close to understanding American Honey<\/em>\u2019s wild charm. [Katie Rife<\/a><\/span>]<\/p>\n

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From its opening scene, Amy <\/em>is almost more noteworthy for what it doesn\u2019t do as a documentary than for the sad story of its famous subject. Director Asif Kapadia (Senna<\/em><\/a><\/span>) opens his film not with a montage of talking heads spouting money quotes about Amy Winehouse, but with a home movie of teenage Winehouse hanging out with friends for someone\u2019s birthday. A few of them begin tunelessly singing \u201cHapp<\/a>y Birthday To You,\u201d their voices fading when an off-camera Winehouse finishes the song with the kind of overstated flair possessed by someone who likes showing off her knockout pipes. [Kyle Ryan<\/span>]<\/p>\n

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Novelist and moonlighting screenwriter Nick Hornby shifts his perceptive gaze from pop culture-obsessed men dragged into the scary world of adulthood to the coming-of-age perils of a pop culture-obsessed teenage girl in a terrible hurry to grow up in early-\u201960s England with An Education, <\/em>a fine adaptation of journalist Lynn Collins\u2019 memoir directed by Lone Scherfig. An Education <\/em>shares with Hornby\u2019s best work trenchant insight into the way smart, hyper-verbal young people let the music, films, books, and art they love define themselves as they figure out who they are and what they want to be. In a star-making performance, the radiant Carey Mulligan plays a precocious schoolgirl whose life changes when mysterious businessman Peter Sarsgaard spots her carrying her cello down the street and whisks her off into a glamorous adult world of nightclubs, shopping, trips, and art. An Education <\/em>is brutally candid about class in ways that never feel didactic or heavy-handed. It captures with tenderness and wit the exquisite ache of growing up as Mulligan evolves into the architect of her own destiny only after incurring the scars, pain, and brutal disappointment that separate the genuinely wise from the merely precocious. [Nathan Rabin<\/a><\/span>]<\/p>\n

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For a very brief period in the late \u201980s and early \u201990s, Brazilian actress Sonia Braga looked poised to become a major Hollywood star. Her significant supporting role in Kiss Of The Spider Woman<\/em> (1985), a Brazilian-American co-production that won William Hurt the Oscar for Best Actor and was nominated for Best Picture, got studio suits\u2019 attention; a few years later, she appeared in Robert Redford\u2019s The Milagro Beanfield War <\/em>and Paul Mazursky\u2019s Moon Over Parador <\/em>(both of which, oddly, are set in fictional locations, with Milagro somewhere in New Mexico and Parador an entirely invented South American country). Neither film was a hit, and the same tepid box-office fate met her last big Hollywood showcase, The Rookie <\/em>(1990). So it\u2019s marvelous to see Braga setting the big screen ablaze\u2014speaking her native language, for once\u2014in Aquarius, <\/em>a Brazilian drama constructed entirely around her. [Mike D\u2019Angelo<\/a><\/span>]<\/p>\n

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It\u2019s hard to imagine anyone being more perfect for the Marty McFly role than Michael J. Fox. In Back To The Future<\/em>, Fox is small and squinty and breezily charismatic. Fox was 24 when he shot the film, but he was so good at stammering disbelief that he easily passes as a high schooler. On top of that, Fox was already famous for playing Alex P. Keaton, a sort of avatar of Reagan youth. The central conceit of Family Ties<\/em> was that the aging-hippie parents can\u2019t understand how their son has become a square and uptight young Republican. In the \u201980s, a big part of the Republican sales pitch was a return to \u201950s values. Marty McFly and Alex P. Keaton are two very different characters, but there\u2019s still something primally satisfying about seeing this kid go back to the \u201950s and learn that \u201950s values are not what he thought. [Tom Breihan<\/span>]<\/p>\n

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Arriving four years after the original, Back To The Future Part II <\/em>faced the difficult task of following one of the most beloved movies of the \u201980s. And it\u2019s successful, partly because it shifts focus. Whereas the original Back To The Future<\/em> was, at its heart, a personal story about a kid learning to understand his parents, Part II<\/em> is a straightforward time-travel adventure. Its shifting time-space continuum sends Doc Brown and Marty McFly to the future, then back to an alternate 1985, then back to the 1955 of the first film, with a trip to the Old West waiting in the wings. [Kyle Ryan<\/span>]<\/p>\n

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As strange as it may seem, an entire subgenre of black film can be traced to Joel Schumacher, the flashy hack behind such high-gloss, low-substance, whitebread fare as St. Elmo\u2019s Fire<\/em> and Batman & Robin<\/em>. Schumacher wrote the screenplay for 1976’s delightful Car Wash<\/em>, which became the template for 1995’s Friday<\/em> and last year\u2019s abysmal semi-remake The Wash<\/em>. Like those films, Barbershop <\/em>borrows Car Wash<\/em>\u2019s 24-hour timeframe, brassy ensemble cast, and prominent soundtrack. But where lesser Car Wash <\/em>progeny only incorporate their predecessor\u2019s most obvious elements, Barbershop <\/em>replicates the intangible qualities that made it special: its sunny spirit, stellar supporting cast, and surprising sociological savvy. Barbershop <\/em>tackles serious issues (assimilation, reparations, class conflict) without reducing its characters to mouthpieces for differing viewpoints. Much of the credit belongs to the director, music-video veteran Tim Story, who does a terrific job juggling multiple subplots and a sprawling, uniformly fine cast while maintaining a breezy pace. [Nathan Rabin<\/span>]<\/p>\n

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The name Obama is never once uttered in Barry<\/em>, Vikram Gandhi\u2019s minor-key presidential origin story. <\/em>Only in the film\u2019s final few minutes does the title character even call himself Barack\u2014and then only in his head, reading a letter to his absent father. Dramatically announcing that some sprightly figure is actually a famous person before they were famous is an especially hackneyed biopic convention, but Barry<\/em> doesn\u2019t avoid it just to stay out of <\/em>Walk Hard<\/em><\/a><\/span>\u2019s <\/em>sphere of parody. It also does so because the young man we\u2019re watching here\u2014a smart, lonely college kid new to New York, and originally from \u201cHawaii, Indonesia, Kenya\u2014you name it\u201d\u2014is decades and miles removed from the commander-in-chief he\u2019ll one day become. He\u2019s not President Barack Obama yet. For the modest moments chronicled, he\u2019s just Barry. [A.A. Dowd<\/a><\/span>]<\/p>\n

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Though many years and straight-to-video Shannon Tweed knockoffs have passed, Paul Verhoeven\u2019s Basic Instinct<\/em> retains a special allure, one that can be attributed in large part to the uncrossing of Sharon Stone\u2019s legs. Granted, there\u2019s much more to the movie than that notorious interrogation scene, but no better example of the film\u2019s unique mix of vulgarity and elegance, which brought Old Hollywood into a world of trashy explicitness. Sitting with her blond hair pinned back like Kim Novak\u2014one of several nods to Alfred Hitchcock\u2019s Vertigo<\/em>\u2014Stone carries herself with the supreme self-confidence of a classic femme fatale, yet her candor is unquestionably modern, liberated from more than just undergarments. Unapologetically sexual, as free as a man to pursue her appetites, Stone\u2019s character became an instant post-feminist icon, even though she\u2019s a diabolical sociopath. [Scott Tobias<\/span>]<\/p>\n

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When Being John Malkovich<\/em><\/a><\/span> hit theaters in 1999, many critics considered it, rightly, as the most original American comedy in years. Spike Jonze\u2019s insistently surreal headtrip featured, among other odd flourishes, an office designed to accommodate miniature ladies (\u201cThe overhead is low!\u201d), a production of The Belle Of Amherst<\/em> featuring a 60-foot-tall Emily Dickinson puppet, and, of course, a portal into the consciousness of respected character actor John Malkovich. And while it\u2019s as uproarious now as it ever was, the film\u2019s themes about identity and desire have only deepened with time, as the Internet has grown into a place where personae are fluid and sometimes false, and the fantasy of accessing the minds of celebrities\u2014or anyone\u2019s mind, for that matter\u2014is just a Twitter<\/a> feed away. What technology<\/a> hasn\u2019t changed, however, is the impulse to transcend who we are and experience the world through a different set of eyes, and Being John Malkovich<\/em> addresses this wish literally and touchingly, even as it goofs on Alice In Wonderland<\/em>, Brazil<\/em>, the austere art of puppetry, and John Malkovich ordering bathroom towels over the phone. [Scott Tobias<\/span>]<\/p>\n

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Oz Perkins\u2019 deeply unnerving directorial debut requires no \u201ctrick\u201d to be properly appreciated, provided you like your horror slow-roasted to atmospheric perfection. All the same, it\u2019s diabolically fun to pretend that The Blackcoat\u2019s Daughter<\/em> is actually a genre-jumping spinoff of one of the most acclaimed TV shows of the decade. Remember how Sally Draper spent the last couple seasons of Mad Men<\/em><\/a><\/span> away at boarding school? Well, Blackcoat<\/em> drops Kiernan Shipka, the young actress who played Sally, into a nearly identical academic setting. When no one comes to pick her up for holiday break (classic Don move), Shipka\u2019s character falls under the influence of an unholy force. Or does she? It wouldn\u2019t take too big of a mental leap to deduce that poor Sally, after years of repressed traumatic events (catching her father cheating, confronting a burglar), just totally snapped. Of course, one might hope for a brighter future for the eldest Draper kid than the strangely, powerfully sad denouement Perkins cooked for his terrific inaugural creepshow. [A.A. Dowd<\/a><\/span>]<\/p>\n

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Everyone knows the old saw about anthology movies being less than the sum of their parts; it\u2019s a tale as old as the singing cowboy or the stagecoach ghost story. Joel and Ethan Coen should be especially familiar, having contributed to Paris, Je T\u2019Aime<\/em><\/span> <\/em>and faced assumptions that The Ballad Of Buster Scruggs<\/em> was really supposed to be a TV series. But it\u2019s hard to imagine breaking their six Western mini-movies into a Netflix \u201cseason,\u201d because they complement each other so gracefully. Set in a beguiling netherworld between unforgiving real-life grimness and heightened tall-tale pulpiness, the stories range from delightfully mordant musical slapstick starring Tim Blake Nelson to a heartbreaking gut-punch starring Zoe Kazan, to name just two standouts. Death haunts the whole thing, which builds toward the simultaneously hilarious and hushed \u201cThe Mortal Remains,\u201d as satisfying and language-besotted a closer as the Coens have ever concocted. Their sometimes-fatalist outlook has seen them tagged as nihilists, a group they savaged as well as anyone in The Big Lebowski<\/em>. But nihilists don\u2019t put this much thought into endings. [Jesse Hassenger<\/span>]<\/p>\n

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To call Blue Ruin<\/em> a \u201crevenge thriller\u201d would be accurate but somehow insufficient, as doing so makes it sound ordinary and crass. Some have already compared the film to the work of the Coen brothers, by which they must mean No Country For Old Men<\/em><\/a><\/span>; the bloodshed comes nearly as fast and hard as it did there, and there\u2019s a comparable focus on the details of life on the run\u2014on staking out a location, or acquiring a weapon, or getting away from somewhere fast. But in its unusual cross section of moods, Blue Ruin<\/em> rarely resembles anything but itself. Much of the singularity can be attributed to the film\u2019s atypical hero, surely one of the year\u2019s great characters. Actor Macon Blair makes Dwight driven but hapless, locating a lot of sly comedy in his imperfect foray into crime: He disables a vehicle, only to realize he needs it as a makeshift getaway car; later, he makes an amateur attempt to treat his own leg wound. (Don\u2019t try his method at home.) But Dwight is also a lost soul, his face sunken with ancient grief, and Blair invests him with the reckless forward momentum of someone running on last-ditch desperation. [A.A. Dowd<\/a><\/span>]<\/p>\n

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Netflix\u2019s strategy of buying up films and then ignoring them is always frustrating, but it can be fatal for a film like The Body Remembers When The World Broke Open<\/em>. Released on the streaming platform in late November after a handful of festival dates, the first film from Ava DuVernay\u2019s distribution company ARRAY is so unassuming, you might not even notice that it\u2019s composed of a handful of long takes stitched together to create the illusion of a single shot. But this is also a movie with a lot to say about indigenous identity in the 21st century, told through the story of two native women\u2014one middle class and white-passing, the other working class and dark-skinned\u2014who meet one afternoon on a Vancouver street corner. Even critics seemed unaware of the film\u2019s release; had more of them seen it, I bet it would have popped up on a number of best-of lists this season. [Katie Rife]<\/p>\n

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A bone-dry comedy of class warfare. A perplexing missing-person mystery worthy of Hitchcock or Antonioni. An existential meditation on the little hungers and great hungers that drive us. There\u2019s no single right way to classify Burning<\/em>, so why not just call it the best movie of the year and leave it at that? Returning after an eight-year hiatus from filmmaking, South Korean master of the slow burn Lee Chang-dong (Poetry<\/em><\/span>) did more than perfectly capture the subjective ambivalence of Haruki Murakami\u2019s original short story, \u201cBarn Burning.\u201d In stretching it out to fill two-and-half perfectly paced hours, he also teased from his source material a wealth of new meanings and ambiguities, percolating through the love triangle of sorts that envelops an introverted writer (Ah-in Yoo), his hometown classmate-turned-crush (Jong-seo Jun), and her slick, wealthy new beau (Steven Yeun, rivetingly loathsome in a tricky role). You didn\u2019t have to look hard to see a disturbing relevance in the film\u2019s simmering stew of resentments, the working-class and explicitly male rage that boils over into a shocking climax. (Not for nothing does Donald Trump make a televised cameo.) But Burning<\/em>\u2019s power is more timeless that it is timely, located as it is in big questions without clear answers: real riddles of desire, longing, and motivation, none any easier to solve than the disappearance at the center of this captivating enigma. [A.A. Dowd<\/span>]<\/p>\n

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For years now, I\u2019ve found it strange that there were only two or three good movies about the internet, the most important thing in the world. My wish for a film truthfully capturing all the connection, gratification, desperation, and despair of living online came true with this sophisticated thriller, in which a cam girl (Madeline Brewer, making a convincing argument for herself as a bona fide star) discovers that an automated doppelg\u00e4nger has taken over her channel. There\u2019s a lot to love here, from the low-key sex-positivity to the cringe comedy to the delectable supporting turn from former love witch<\/span> Samantha Robinson. But I like Cam <\/em>best as our most ruthlessly honest film about the nightmares of full-time freelancing. [Charles Bramesco<\/span>]<\/p>\n

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The most telling, period-defining moment in Carol<\/em>, <\/em>Todd Haynes\u2019 superb adaptation of Patricia Highsmith\u2019s 1952 novel The Price Of Salt <\/em>(originally published under the pseudonym Claire Morgan), gets no particular emphasis and could easily be missed. It occurs not long after young aspiring photographer Therese Belivet (Rooney Mara) and middle-aged housewife Carol Aird (Cate Blanchett) meet at the department store where Therese works, exchanging a few torrid glances but no overt declarations of romantic interest. Carol leaves her gloves on the counter\u2014perhaps intentionally\u2014and subsequently finds an excuse to bring Therese to her house, providing her with a grand tour. At this point, the two women haven\u2019t so much as touched one another, much less voiced their attraction; both are models of Eisenhower-era propriety. Carol has removed her shoes, however, and when she hears her husband, Harge (Kyle Chandler), walk in the door, she immediately scrambles to put them back on, before he can see her with Therese in her stocking feet. Again, nothing is made of this\u2014it\u2019s shown at a distance, uncommented upon, mundane. But like the man, riding the elevator with his wife, who removes his hat when a pretty girl steps on (courtesy of Raymond Chandler, discussing visual storytelling in a letter to his agent), it speaks volumes all the same. [Mike D\u2019Angelo<\/span>]<\/p>\n

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Though still grimly hilarious, Armando Iannucci\u2019s historical farce The Death Of Stalin<\/em> adopts a more serious tone than his TV series Veep<\/em><\/a><\/span> and The Thick Of It<\/em><\/a><\/span>. For this satirical recreation of bloody power grabs in the early 1950s Soviet Union, Iannucci sacrifices some punchlines in order to underscore the ferocity of Nikita Khrushchev (sharply played by Steve Buscemi), Lavrentiy Beria (Simon Russell Beale), and others. As with his television work, Iannucci is depicting high-stakes politics as the clumsy work of petty boobs, more interested in frat-boy pranks and cruel machinations than in good governance. [Noel Murray<\/a><\/span>]<\/p>\n

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Divines, <\/em>written and directed by French-Moroccan filmmaker Houda Benyamina, rivals Girlhood<\/em><\/a><\/span> <\/em>as a portrait of combustible banlieue <\/em>femininity, emanating raw energy and scrappy good humor even as it builds to an unexpectedly tragic and horrifying finale. The film also showcases a potentially star-making performance by Oulaya Amamra, who happens to be the director\u2019s younger sister. Chosen despite a cattle call in which Benyamina looked at over 3,000 other young women, Amamra is so arrestingly alive onscreen that thoughts of nepotism seem ludicrous. [Mike D\u2019Angelo<\/span>]<\/p>\n

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For a movie where someone says \u201cmotherfucker\u201d every few seconds, Dolemite Is My Name<\/em> is surprisingly wholesome. The film is a biopic about stand-up comedian and blaxploitation leading man Rudy Ray Moore, an Arkansas native who, after several failed attempts at becoming famous, finally succeeded by combining the rhythms of traditional African American storytelling with the sexually liberated energy of the early \u201970s on raunchy X-rated \u201cparty records\u201d with titles like Eat Out More Often<\/em><\/a><\/span>. <\/em>And as such, any film about Moore\u2019s life that <\/em>didn\u2019t <\/em>include wall-to-wall dirty jokes would be a disservice to his foul-mouthed legacy. At the same time, however, Dolemite Is My Name <\/em>posits Moore\u2019s story as a feel-good inspirational tale about outsiders succeeding despite all odds. And while Moore\u2019s sexuality was more complex<\/a><\/span> than this movie lets on, characterizing him as an underdog who forces Hollywood to notice him through sheer talent and force of will is right on. [Katie Rife<\/span>]<\/p>\n

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\u201cI\u2019m a driver,\u201d says Ryan Gosling in Drive<\/em>, and he doesn\u2019t need to say another word. With that simple utterance, Nicolas Winding Refn\u2019s minimalist thriller defines its aesthetic\u2014lean, efficient, and sharpened to the finest point. At a time when action films routinely pass off freneticness as excitement, Drive<\/em> is a reminder of how powerful the genre can be when every shot and every line of dialogue has a purpose, deployed for maximum impact. Owing a debt to the Zen-like simplicity and nocturnal L.A. ambience of Walter Hill\u2019s The Driver<\/em>\u2014which, in turn, took a page from Jean-Pierre Melville\u2019s Le Samoura\u00ef<\/em>\u2014the film is little more than an exercise in style, but it\u2019s dazzling and mythic, a testament to the fundamental appeal of fast cars, dangerous men, and tension that squeezes like a hand to the throat. [Scott Tobias<\/a><\/span>]<\/p>\n

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It\u2019s very early morning and still dark as an armored car moves west through the Los Angeles suburb of Gardena. The armed crew hits during the guards\u2019 coffee stop at a donut shop. They are shit-hot and move tactically, so it\u2019s obvious that these guys are professional, probably ex-military. But shots are fired, leaving behind four dead bodies as the crew speeds off in the armored car toward the airport. \u201cBig Nick\u201d O\u2019Brien (Gerard Butler, looking like he just ate Russell Crowe), the gruff and loud boss of a major crimes squad in the Los Angeles County Sheriff\u2019s Department, stuffs a dead guard\u2019s donut into his mouth as he looks over the scene hours later. Why go through all this trouble to steal an empty armored truck? And could a movie that stars Gerard Butler, the undisputed king of junk, be actually kind of good<\/em>? [Ignatiy Vishnevetsky<\/a><\/span>] <\/p>\n

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Back in the late 18th century, while England was dealing with rebellion in its colonies and a call for greater democratization at home, Georgiana Spencer married William Cavendish, the Duke of Devonshire, and via her husband\u2019s Whig-affiliated circle of associates, she began taking an interest in politics, primarily by supporting the career of future prime minister (and lover) Charles Grey. In Saul Dibb\u2019s The Duchess<\/em>\u2014adapted by Jeffrey Hatcher from Amanda Foreman\u2019s biography Georgiana<\/em>\u2014Keira Knightley plays the duchess as a freethinking fashion plate, admired by the ladies of London for her sense of style and her insistence that there\u2019s no such thing as \u201cfreedom in moderation.\u201d But her domestic situation tests her public calls for universal liberty, as her husband\u2014played with creepily calm menace by Ralph Fiennes\u2014reminds her that she has no real power in their relationship. He can sleep with whomever he wants, and squelch her ambitions at any time, just by threatening to take away her children. To some extent, The Duchess<\/em> recalls Sofia Coppola\u2019s Marie Antoinette<\/em>, in that it\u2019s about bed-hopping and courtly ritual during a time of revolution. Dibb isn\u2019t interested in delivering an audience-unfriendly art film, though. His Duchess<\/em> is thoroughly populist and middlebrow, full of all the high wigs, thick powder, perfect diction, and straightforward dialogue that define bodice-ripping prestige pictures about silently suffering souls. Knightley\u2019s brand of muted iconoclasm has always been well-suited to just these kind of coach-and-corset movies, and as a result, the story of her character\u2019s fall from idealism to practicality becomes fairly moving. [Noel Murray<\/span>]<\/p>\n

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By the time Emma Stone starred in the breezy teen comedy Easy A<\/em>, she had already become a recognizable face in American cinema. Thanks to attention-grabbing supporting turns in hugely popular films like Superbad<\/em><\/span> and Zombieland<\/em><\/span>, Stone\u2019s easygoing and charismatic presence marked her as a character actor who could imbue her roles with a grounded, relatable charm. Easy A<\/em> flipped that equation: Instead of occupying the likable supporting role in a big film, Stone took center stage away from the movie itself, delivering a performance of such larger-than-life magnetism that, 90 minutes later, she was no longer the same actor. She was Emma Stone, Movie Star. Stone\u2019s hyperverbal nerd Olive Penderghast now sits proudly alongside other too-smart-for-their-own-good teen icons like Ferris Bueller and Pretty In Pink<\/em>\u2019s Andie Walsh. The story is a deeply superficial, postmodern gloss on The Scarlet Letter<\/em>: After making up a fake story about losing her virginity, Olive\u2019s bullied and closeted gay friend, Brandon (Dan Byrd), asks her to concoct a fake sexual encounter with him as well, in order to ease his torment at the hands of jock assholes. Soon, Olive becomes the go-to source for other unpopular boys to score an easy (and fictional) sexual anecdote, and it\u2019s not long before her burgeoning reputation as the school slut makes her an outcast of a wholly different sort. Leaning into the rep, she begins wearing Hawthorne\u2019s scarlet \u201cA\u201d on her clothes as a badge of defiance, until she starts to realize that reputations actually do mean something in the world. [Alex McLevy<\/a><\/span>]<\/p>\n

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Voracious readers of the late David Foster Wallace, an author of massively ambitious fiction and casually revealing nonfiction, could be forgiven for regarding a movie about his life with some skepticism. How, after all, could one normal-sized film hope to capture the spirit and legacy of a writer who many came to regard as a voice of his generation? Wouldn\u2019t any attempt to get into his famously bandana-wrapped head feel insufficient, at least compared to the sheer volume of work Wallace himself produced on the subject? But that\u2019s the gentle genius of The End Of The Tour<\/em>, James Ponsoldt\u2019s witty and poignant new gabfest. Not only does the film productively narrow its time frame, dramatizing just five days in the life of the revered wordsmith, it also unfolds from an outside perspective\u2014that of the reporter who accompanied Wallace on the final leg of the Infinite Jest<\/em> book tour. The result is less portrait of an artist than snapshot of a brief, meaningful encounter, shared between two men enjoying different stages of professional success. That one of these men happens to be a modern literary hero is almost, if not quite, incidental. [A.A. Dowd<\/a><\/span>]<\/p>\n

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Compared to their last film, the genre-bending\u00a0<\/em>Spring<\/em><\/span> (2015), Justin Benson and Aaron Moorhead\u2019s The Endless <\/em>is positively straightforward\u2014but only in the sense that you can comfortably call it a sci-fi drama. The subject matter, a heady brew of quantum physics, time travel, doomsday cults, and callbacks to the filmmakers\u2019 earlier movies, is both convoluted and ingeniously applied, allowing The Endless<\/em> to intrigue rather than confound. Keeping the whole thing grounded are Benson and Moorhead, starring as brothers who return to the rural California UFO commune where they grew up. There, they discover that while flying saucers may not be real, there\u2019s definitely something uncanny going on in the scrub-covered hills around them. [Katie Rife<\/span>] <\/p>\n

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Horror fans and art-film aficionados alike have struggled some with what to make of writer-director Nicolas Pesce\u2019s debut film, which is disgusting enough for gore-hounds and pretty-looking enough for aesthetes, but which doesn\u2019t push either the genre or prestige buttons especially hard. That, though, is exactly what makes this story of a lonely, psychopathic farm-dweller such a kick. At only 76 minutes, Pesce\u2019s stark black-and-white nightmare lingers just long enough to leave a strong impression, without forcing itself into any confining boxes. The Eyes Of My Mother <\/em>is ultimately a darkly alluring vision of one deranged human\u2019s struggle to engage with others, and striking for how it keeps taking the most appalling narrative turns possible. Does it have a deeper point to make? Maybe not. But that doesn\u2019t matter as much as how melancholy and uncomfortable an experience the movie is. [Noel Murray<\/a><\/span>] <\/p>\n

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In Frost\/Nixon<\/em>, Frank Langella and Michael Sheen each play men aching for redemption. Langella\u2019s Richard Nixon longs to rehabilitate his public image after the long national nightmare of Watergate and a tidal wave of bad press and public derision. Sheen\u2019s David Frost, in turn, wants to prove to a snickering world that he\u2019s more than just a blow-dried entertainer, at home chatting with starlets and celebrities, but woefully out of his league conducting a makeshift prosecution of a former president of prodigious intellectual gifts and ferocious intensity. Ron Howard directed the film, but its auteur is undoubtedly playwright-screenwriter Peter Morgan (The Queen<\/em>, The Deal<\/em>, The Last King Of Scotland<\/em>), who continues his ongoing exploration of the 20th century as filtered through crucial interpersonal relationships. [Nathan Rabin<\/span>]<\/p>\n

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Every once in a while, a particularly effects-heavy blockbuster gets singled out as being particularly post-actor, usually due to a reliance on CG imagery. David Lowery\u2019s A Ghost Story<\/em> earns that distinction better than most, but it uses only a common bedsheet to obscure its central performer. Casey Affleck plays a musician who dies, then returns to haunt his lover (Rooney Mara) and their house as a stereotypically garbed specter, visible only to the audience. As the ghost cannot or will not leave his former home, the world moves on without him. The film initially resembles a close-up study of relationship strife and grief, but as it drifts forward in time, it turns into something both sweeping and unknowably intimate. Lowery continues to separate his actors with blocking, a taller 1.33 frame, a Will Oldham monologue, and, as ever, that bedsheet, yet the effects aren\u2019t entirely isolating. Quite to the contrary: This is one of the year\u2019s most transporting experiences. [Jesse Hassenger<\/span>] <\/p>\n

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Abel Ferrara\u2019s downtown Manhattan is long gone, replaced with sterile, half-filled high rises and wildly overpriced bistros. But there\u2019s still plenty of grit left on the streets of New York City. You just have to travel to the outer boroughs, as directors Josh and Benny Safdie did for their frenetic crime drama Good Time<\/em>. The film pulses with the energy of the city as manic scumbag Connie (Robert Pattinson, practically unrecognizable in a dirty hoodie and ratty goatee) fumbles his way through a hastily conceived rescue mission after his disabled brother Nick (Benny Safdie) gets arrested at the end of a foot chase following a botched bank robbery. The breakneck pace and scuzzy desperation of Connie\u2019s quest gives the film\u2014which takes place entirely over the course of one night\u2014a certain fun-house quality, enhanced by the delirious close-up cinematography, aggressively stylized lighting, and synthesizer score. The fact that part of it literally takes place in an amusement park doesn\u2019t hurt, either. [Katie Rife<\/span>]<\/p>\n

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In Gran Torino<\/em>, Eastwood plays a man from another era, and the film around him often feels similarly out of time. For what\u2019s reputed to be his final acting role, Eastwood has crafted an old-fashioned melodrama, but one in service to a story about changing times, which makes it a far more interesting film than the sum of its squints and snarls. After aimless teenage neighbor Bee Vang attempts to steal Eastwood\u2019s prized 1972 Gran Torino as part of a pressured gang initiation, Eastwood reluctantly becomes a neighborhood hero when he drives off the gangstas at gunpoint. Drawn into Vang\u2019s family, Eastwood befriends both the boy and his bright, spirited sister (Ahney Her), apparently without relaxing a bit of his bigotry. For all the broadly drawn characters and well-worn story tropes at work\u2014most prominently a kid teaching an old man to open his heart\u2014Gran Torino<\/em> never lets viewers relax. Eastwood\u2019s character seldom eases up spewing epithets that already sounded dated coming from Archie Bunker. Sometimes the film seems uncomfortably close to excusing his racism as a generational quirk, but it ultimately never lets Eastwood off the hook or tries to hide the ugliness of his thoughts, even as that ugliness starts to erode. [Keith Phipps<\/span>]<\/p>\n

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The first half of Alice Rohrwacher\u2019s Happy As Lazzaro<\/em><\/span> unfolds in a sharecropping tobacco farm known as Inviolata, its name (literally, \u201cinviolate\u201d) redolent of a place pure and untouched, sheltered from the ravages of time. When the film opens, an electric light bulb\u2014that enduring marker of human progress\u2014is being shuttled through a house in which there are evidently too few. Though it\u2019s soon clear that we are in a secluded pocket of rural Italy, a viewer would be forgiven for mistaking precisely when <\/em>this tale takes place. And that\u2019s no accident, since the Italian director\u2019s beatific third feature (which took the Best Screenplay award at Cannes, alongside Jafar Panahi\u2019s 3 Faces<\/em><\/span>) fully evokes a sense of temporal dislocation\u2014a feeling of being unstuck from the flow of history\u2014and in doing so, clarifies our very relationship to modernity. [Lawrence Garcia<\/span>] <\/p>\n

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Quentin Tarantino\u2019s stubbornly theatrical, three-hour-long snowed-in Western is a difficult movie by a director who\u2019s not known for making them. Keeping action to a minimum up until the intermission, it then explodes into the nastiest, most gruesome and nihilistic violence of Tarantino\u2019s career, before ending on a disquieting note of hope. This is the writer-director\u2019s take on the promise of American ideals, even more so than Django Unchained<\/em><\/a><\/span>, for which it was originally intended as a sequel. (Hence the protagonist, an anti-heroic black bounty hunter who, in the movie\u2019s post-Civil War setting, is about the age Django would be.) Who could have guessed, in the days of Reservoir Dogs <\/em>and Pulp Fiction<\/em>, that Tarantino would become an overtly political filmmaker? [Ignatiy Vishnevetsky<\/span>] <\/p>\n

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A vision of the modern West that ranks up there with No Country For Old Men<\/em><\/a><\/span>, the offbeat, entertaining, and elemental Hell Or High Water <\/em>made for an unlikely breakthrough for the gifted Scottish director David Mackenzie (Young Adam<\/em><\/a><\/span>, Starred Up<\/em><\/a><\/span>). Two bank-robbing brothers are pursued by a couple of lawmen across a landscape dotted with wildfires and foreclosures. Hearkening back to the creative wild days of 1970s American cinema, Mackenzie\u2019s direction strikes a perfect balance between the relaxed atmosphere and eccentricity of the West Texas setting and the tension and desperation of the characters; his long takes put viewers in the moment and never feel ostentatious. The screenplay (by Sicario<\/em><\/a><\/span>\u2019s Taylor Sheridan) has earned well-deserved praise for its dialogue, but is just as impressive for the richly novelistic structure it gives to a fairly straightforward tale of crime and pursuit. Full of evocative detours, memorable bit characters, and potent reminders of the West\u2019s legacy of theft and exploitation, the film builds to an epilogue that more than earned its place on our list of the year\u2019s best scenes<\/a><\/span>. And we haven\u2019t even mentioned the cast. [Ignatiy Vishnevetsky<\/a><\/span>] <\/p>\n

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Joaquin Phoenix is Theodore Twombly, a soon-to-be-divorced, cubicle-dwelling ghostwriter in near-future Los Angeles who develops a strong bond with the Alexa-like assistant of his new operating system. Samantha, as he names her, helps him regain confidence and a more positive outlook, while he helps her discover emotions (her own included) and a firmer grasp on humanity and culture. Eventually, their relationship evolves into a romantic one, beginning with a late-night encounter that\u2019s like a digital variant on phone sex. Nearly every aspect of the film is superlative, from the inventive and oft-subtle production design (imagining a plausible five-minutes-from-now society) to a terrific supporting cast. (To name but one of the many idiosyncratic yet powerfully innovative flourishes that help Her<\/em> stand out, cinematographer Hoyte van Hoytema all but eliminated the color blue<\/a><\/span> from the film\u2019s palette, feeling like it was overused in science<\/a> fiction and too cool for the material.) And yet none of that artistry would matter if the central relationship didn\u2019t work. The romantic pairing succeeds because both actors submit so completely to the notion of extra-organic love, and invest Theodore and Samantha with real depth and soul. That\u2019s an especially impressive achievement on Johansson\u2019s part. With nothing but her vocal cords, she creates a fully three-dimensional character, all the more human for her literally inhuman origins. [Alex McLevy<\/span>]<\/p>\n

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Steven Soderbergh\u2019s filmography is dotted with portraits of people who are very good at what they do professionally, from Brad Pitt\u2019s constantly eating con artist in the Ocean\u2019s<\/em> franchise to Gina Carano\u2019s thigh-smothering operative in Haywire<\/em><\/span>. In High Flying Bird<\/em>, Soderbergh applies that same interest to the high-powered world of the NBA, where everyone is grasping for power and paper. During a six-month lockout, agent Ray Burke (Andr\u00e9 Holland) plans to revolutionize how basketball is played. His vision is of organized labor, worker solidarity, and profound upheaval, and Moonlight<\/em><\/span> playwright Tarell Alvin McCraney deftly moves Ray from penthouse offices to community courts as he criticizes each component of this multibillion-dollar system. \u201cThey invented a game<\/a> on top of a game,\u201d says Bill Duke\u2019s Coach Spencer of the capitalist structure of professional sports. How High Flying Bird<\/em> dismantles that makes it one of Soderbergh\u2019s most urgent films in years. [Roxana Hadadi<\/span>]<\/p>\n

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\u201cWhen I decided to do Coachella, instead of me pulling out my flower crown, it was more important that I brought our<\/em> culture to Coachella.\u201d Though she chuckles warmly at her joke, there is a quiet power couched in Beyonc\u00e9\u2019s mission for her historic 2018 festival set, stated roughly 32 minutes into the Netflix documentary Homecoming: A Film By Beyonc\u00e9<\/em><\/a><\/span>. The idea of carving out a space at the largest music event of the year\u2014one that is not-so-secretly consumed by a predominately white audience\u2014to unabashedly celebrate black culture might ring as too ambitious of an undertaking for most to seriously entertain. But as we witness throughout this vibrant documentary, the journey isn\u2019t exactly for the faint of heart and can be an upward climb for even the most time-tested of legends among us. [Shannon Miller<\/a><\/span>]<\/p>\n

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By now, the story of Martin Scorsese<\/a><\/span> has become legend: As an asthmatic kid, he watched from his bedroom window in Little Italy as other children played on the street, and he retreated into the fantastical worlds conjured up by filmmakers like Alexander Korda. Based on Brian Selznick\u2019s popular illustrated book The Invention Of Hugo Cabret<\/em>, Scorsese\u2019s enchanting Hugo<\/em> burnishes that legend, filtering a whimsical half-fiction about silent pioneer Georges M\u00e9li\u00e8s through a childhood of loneliness salved by the movies. In other words, it\u2019s both a movie about young Scorsese and a movie that young Scorsese would have loved, while also bearing the distinct signature of the filmmaking world\u2019s most passionate historian and preservationist. [Scott Tobias<\/a><\/span>]<\/p>\n

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Hunt For The Wilderpeople<\/em>, <\/em>an enjoyably goofy adventure that manages to bring some freshness to the moldy \u201ccantankerous adult reluctantly bonds with adorable kid\u201d subgenre. Starring Sam Neill as the cantankerous adult, the film plays a bit like Jurassic Park <\/em>minus Lex and dinosaurs, mining humor from the incongruity of its odd-couple pairing and basic fish-out-of-water elements, plus some Flight Of The Conchord-ish wit. [Mike D\u2019Angelo<\/span>]<\/p>\n

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The horror renaissance continued unabated in 2016, as films like The Witch<\/em><\/a><\/span>, The Invitation<\/em><\/a><\/span>, The Eyes Of My Mother<\/em><\/a><\/span>, Under The Shadow<\/em><\/a><\/span>, Don\u2019t Breathe<\/em>, brought increased respectability to this frequently disrespected genre. But one of the year\u2019s most singular horror movies, I Am The Pretty Thing That Lives In The House<\/em>, still slipped through the cracks. Maybe it was the unwieldy title. Maybe it was the fact that the movie, an immersive sensory experience, went straight to Netflix. I\u2019d wager the real reason Oz Perkins\u2019 one-of-a-kind ghost story was slept on or even disliked (average grade from the A.V. Club<\/em> comment community: C+) is that it\u2019s entirely out of step with contemporary horror conventions and trends. It\u2019s an exercise in pure unsettling atmosphere\u2014one so off-kilter that it seems downright haunted itself. A small cult following, as opposed to widespread popularity, is probably apropos for something this rewardingly unusual. [A.A. Dowd<\/a><\/span>]<\/p>\n

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The best animated film of 2019 is partly about a luckless, lonely young man falling in love, and partly about a severed hand that\u2019s slowly crawling across a city filled with small-scaled dangers. The two pieces complement each other, frequently pushing I Lost My Body<\/em> toward the poetic and metaphorical. But the movie is also just beautiful and exciting on a moment-to-moment basis\u2014as both a low-key romance and as a gory thriller. [Noel Murray<\/span>]<\/p>\n

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Jesse Plemons and Jessie Buckley in I\u2019m Thinking Of Ending Things<\/figcaption>
Photo: Netflix<\/figcaption><\/div>\n

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\u201cIt\u2019s good to remind yourself that the world\u2019s larger than inside your own head,\u201d Jake (Jesse Plemons) says to Lucy (Jessie Buckley) early into I\u2019m Thinking Of Ending Things<\/em>, Charlie Kaufman\u2019s maddening plunge down the rabbit hole of his boundless imagination. Is Kaufman assuring us or himself? By the end of this strange movie\u2014possibly his most uncompromising and discombobulating, which is really saying something\u2014we have no guarantee that the world it depicts exists outside of someone\u2019s head. The question may just be whose<\/em>? It\u2019s a head trip in the form of a road trip. Jake has invited Lucy, his girlfriend of just a few weeks, to come meet his parents in downstate New York, a long drive through worsening weather. The two are smart and anxious millennials; they talk in heady references, though often at<\/em> instead of to<\/em> each other. They seem more superficially compatible than Joel and Clementine, the once and future lovers of Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind<\/em><\/span>, but a breakup may still be imminent. Lucy is thinking of ending things, after all\u2014something she tells us repeatedly through a running internal monologue that keeps getting stepped on by intrusions of chitchat. (One is reminded that Kaufman does voice-over more cleverly and purposefully and emphatically than almost anyone working today.) [A.A. Dowd<\/span>]<\/p>\n

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Tom Holland and Naomi Watts<\/figcaption>
Screenshot: The Impossible<\/figcaption><\/div>\n

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Whether it\u2019s a responsible choice to turn a real-life disaster into a stunning special effect\u2014or to depict the natives of Thailand as \u201cobstacles,\u201d as opposed to people who\u2019ve just had their own lives upended\u2014is worth debating further. But The Impossible<\/em> ultimately isn\u2019t about the tsunami and its victims per se; it\u2019s about this one family, and their resourcefulness in the face of disaster. Bayona\u2019s tsunami sequence is bound to garner accolades\u2014and rightfully so, since it\u2019s 10 of the most harrowing minutes in recent film history\u2014but the film is filled with smaller but no less gripping scenes of the characters scrambling toward each other, agonizingly slowly, amid a landscape of wreckage and strangers. On the whole, The Impossible<\/em> is a superb example of the \u201cman against the elements\u201d film, driven by the panic that sets in when one family member fears never seeing the others again. With that as his starting point, Bayona deftly pushes the audience\u2019s buttons. [Noel Murray<\/span>]<\/p>\n

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One day, Martin Scorsese will die. That\u2019s a difficult thing to accept\u2014difficult because it will be a staggering loss for film culture, but also pretty hard to even believe<\/em>. Scorsese, at a very spry 77, was everywhere in 2019: igniting a debate<\/a><\/span> about what is or isn\u2019t cinema; inspiring autumn<\/span> hits<\/span> so indebted to his style that he should have received royalties; executive-producing two of the other<\/span> movies<\/span> on this very list and piecing together a lost Bob Dylan concert<\/span>. And yet to watch The Irishman<\/em>, his gangster opus to end all gangster opuses, is to be constantly reminded of the promise of mortality\u2014his, ours, everyone\u2019s. Make no mistake, this is a remarkably brisk three and a half hours, dramatizing half a century of organized crime through dark-comic confrontations (and an outsized Al Pacino performance) so deliriously funny, they\u2019ve already generated a whole library of memes. But right from his opening shot, a morbid parody of the Copacabana sequence in Goodfellas<\/em>, Scorsese <\/em>foregrounds the inevitable. And his film becomes, in its magnificently bleak final stretch, a meditation on the true consequences of the mob life, the ignoble end awaiting men like Henry Hill, Sam Rothstein, and the film\u2019s own protagonist, mafia hitman Frank Sheeran (Robert De Niro, weaponizing the sleepiness of his latter-day work into a devastating portrait of moral absence). One of the many ironies of the movie <\/em>is that it uses distinctly modern means\u2014from de-aging technology to streaming-platform resources\u2014to eulogize a time-honored genre and the careers of the artists who shaped it. But however firmly Scorsese has planted himself on the vanguard, however relevant and vital and, yes, alive<\/em> he remains as an artist, his latest triumph is a stark acknowledgment of what\u2019s coming. If we\u2019re lucky, The Irishman<\/em> says, we get to pick out our own coffin. Watching <\/em>the movie, it\u2019s hard to shake the feeling that Scorsese has picked his. [A.A. Dowd<\/span>] <\/p>\n

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The Lost World<\/em> is just refreshingly short on pretense. It\u2019s a monster movie, pure and simple, with nothing on its mind except which of the human characters (and even cute animals! Spielberg did retain some of the brutality from Schindler\u2019s List<\/em>) are going to become dinosaur chow. There are no melancholy conversations over ice cream; no long stretches of patronizing exposition about the vicious nature of a dinosaur we\u2019ll be seeing in action half an hour later; no laughably superficial explanations of chaos theory. There\u2019s just running and screaming, plus some chomping. Furthermore, the film\u2019s big set pieces\u2014the trailer on the cliff, the raptors in the grass, the compys that should have eaten Richard Attenborough in the first film eating a different slimeball in this one\u2014are vintage Spielberg, blessed with a spatial-temporal precision that few of the folks directing today\u2019s blockbusters can muster. [Mike D\u2019Angelo<\/span>]<\/p>\n

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Unfolding with the inevitability of a bad dream, The Killing Of A Sacred Deer <\/em>is Lanthimos\u2019 darkly intense, almost biblical spin on one of those thrillers about a yuppie family terrorized by a vengeful stalker. It\u2019s like Cape Fear<\/em> by way of The Shining<\/em>, just in the same absurdist register as all of the Greek director\u2019s trips to the Twilight Zone. To say where the plot goes would be unfair, but it involves a mysterious malady, an impossible choice, and a terrible reckoning. Those up on their Greek tragedy may recognize the outline of Iphigenia\u2019s tussle with Artemis\u2014a dispute that began, hint hint, with a slain deer. But you needn\u2019t know for mythology to recognize a false deity, courting comeuppance by deciding who lives and who dies. [A.A. Dowd<\/a><\/span>]<\/p>\n

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Writer-director Greta Gerwig accomplishes something extraordinary with Lady Bird<\/em>: a story that\u2019s both hyper-specific and universally relatable. The film takes place in Sacramento, California over the course of the 2002-2003 school year, where 17-year-old Christine \u201cLady Bird\u201d McPherson (Saoirse Ronan) dreams of ditching what she calls \u201cthe Midwest of California\u201d and escaping to New York City. Gerwig cradles Lady Bird\u2019s story like a delicate baby robin, allowing the tension between her characters to arise organically and daring to make them refreshingly, well, ordinary. And although it\u2019s also frequently hilarious, Gerwig derives real emotional impact from Lady Bird\u2019s strained relationship with her mother (Laurie Metcalf), whose desire to protect her daughter from disappointment manifests as a tendency towards cutting, critical remarks. It\u2019s a film deftly attuned to the tedious cycles of teenage life, an age where the present feels like a heavy weight pressing down on your chest and the future like a cloudless blue sky that goes on forever. [Katie Rife<\/a><\/span>] <\/p>\n

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In a bizarre near-future dystopia, recently divorced David (Colin Farrell, cast very effectively against type) is sent to a seaside compound full of single adults to find a new partner in 45 days or else be transformed into the animal of his choice. Perfecting his style of absurdist deadpan comedy, Greek director Yorgos Lanthimos (Dogtooth<\/em><\/a><\/span>) introduces new rules, activities, and gruesome punishments at every turn: Matches are made based on arbitrary similarities; trial couples are assigned children; and time extensions can be earned by hunting down renegade singles who live in the woods and only listen to electronic music. More than just a witty parody of meaningless couplehood, The Lobster <\/em>becomes more probing as it gets further and further into its strange and cruel world, building to a finale that asks whether two people can love one other on any terms except those forced on them by society. [Ignatiy Vishnevetsky<\/a><\/span>]<\/p>\n

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Danny Trejo<\/figcaption>
Screenshot: Machete Kills<\/figcaption><\/div>\n

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Robert Rodriguez\u2019s Machete Kills<\/em>, like its predecessor Machete<\/em> (and the fake trailer between Rodriguez and Quentin Tarantino\u2019s Grindhouse<\/em> movies that birthed it), concerns itself equally with comedy and over-the-top action, constantly tweaking the dosage so as not to tilt too far in one direction. Machete Kills<\/em> is gleefully ridiculous, one-upping the first movie\u2019s jokes, blood, and even its massively heightened self-awareness. No matter how Rodriguez would like to pitch it, Machete Kills<\/em> isn\u2019t really an homage to exploitation movies as much as it\u2019s a parody of them. Its tongue is jammed so far in its cheek that it scans, at least in parts, like an Austin Powers<\/em> movie, albeit one with multiple beheadings and disembowelings. Which isn\u2019t to say it\u2019s no fun\u2014in fact, it delivers pretty much exactly what it sets out to.<\/p>\n

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In Noah Baumbach\u2019s most complete<\/em> picture to date, the stalwart indie filmmaker combines the vivid slice-of-life vignettes of Frances Ha<\/em><\/span> with the unflinching self-examination of The Squid And The Whale<\/em><\/span>. He also tells a rich and provocative story, about two basically decent people who suffer mightily once they turn their irreconcilable differences over to the rough justice of family court. Adam Driver and Scarlett Johansson\u2014joined by an all-star cast of supporting players\u2014are at their best, bringing such nuance to their characters that the audience can see both why this couple fell in love and why they have to split. But Marriage Story<\/em> is really Baumbach\u2019s show, as he takes what he\u2019s learned from Brian De Palma and The New Yorker <\/em>short stories, breaking the arc of a messy divorce down to a series of riveting set pieces. [Noel Murray<\/span>] <\/p>\n

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Shot on a 65mm canvas, The Master<\/em> takes a format usually reserved for the grandest spectacles and deploys it to startlingly intimate ends; the true landscape of the film isn\u2019t a battleground or the outer reaches of the galaxy, but the contours of Joaquin Phoenix\u2019s face. Though no less ambitious than previous Paul Thomas Anderson<\/a><\/span> period pieces like Boogie Nights<\/em><\/a><\/span> or There Will Be Blood<\/em><\/a><\/span>, The Master<\/em> forgoes their sprawl in favor of intense chamber drama, focusing on the titanic struggle between two men rather than the clash of armies. It\u2019s a feisty, contentious, deliberately misshapen film, designed to challenge and frustrate audiences looking for a clean resolution. Just because it\u2019s over doesn\u2019t mean it\u2019s settled. [Scott Tobias<\/a><\/span>]<\/p>\n

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Menashe Lustig brings warmth and a lumpen charisma to Menashe<\/em>\u2019s lead role, giving life to a film based in part on his own experiences as a Hasidic Jew. It would\u2019ve been easy for documentarian Joshua Weinstein to make Menashe<\/em> into a melodrama about heroes and villains: the misunderstood free spirit versus the stodgy pillars of the community. Instead, the model here is more the classics of docu-realism, like Little Fugitive<\/em>, or anything by the Dardenne brothers. The focus is largely on the fascinating and strikingly filmed visual contrasts of an old-fashioned people against a modern city. [Noel Murray<\/span>]<\/p>\n

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No one second-guesses like Noah Baumbach; his characters would wonder aloud what they could have done to make the proper best-of list with a wryness belying their insecurities. Meyerowitz<\/em>, loosely structured as a series of short stories, bears some superficial resemblance to the films of Baumbach\u2019s pal Wes Anderson, particularly The Royal Tenenbaums<\/em><\/span>, but it inverts the family dynamics of a ne\u2019er-do-well father parenting stunted child geniuses. Harold Meyerowitz (Dustin Hoffman) is like a Tenenbaum kid in dotage, half-ignoring his successful but non-glamorous children, and Baumbach captures both the affection and the unpleasant reality of dealing with a middling-at-best parent whose frail humanity remains in full view. This movie isn\u2019t as snappy as his collaborations with Greta Gerwig, but it\u2019s very funny and beautifully acted, particularly by a career-best Adam Sandler as a stay-at-home dad who dotes on his smart teenage daughter. No second-guessing is needed for me to call this yet another Baumbach career highlight. [Jesse Hassenger<\/a><\/span>] <\/p>\n

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In the opening scene of Midnight Special<\/em>, two armed men sneak a boy out of a motel room and into a customized \u201972 Chevelle before peeling off into the dusk. The mulberry sky turns blue-gray with twilight, and then pitch black. The driver hits a toggle switch wired behind the steering wheel, cutting off the headlamps and taillights. The car disappears into the darkness. It will be about 40 minutes before the viewer even finds out how the men, Roy (Michael Shannon) and Lucas (Joel Edgerton), know each other, though by then they will have ditched the Chevelle for a plumber\u2019s white Ford Econoline van and, later, an Isuzu Trooper. Midnight Special <\/em>is very particular about its cars, just as it\u2019s very particular about its setting\u2014the gas stations, motels, and working-class suburbs of the Bible Belt\u2014and the cautious speech of its characters. In every other respect, Jeff Nichols\u2019 compelling sci-fi chase film is terse and elliptical, showing little and telling less. [Ignatiy Vishnevetsky<\/span>]<\/p>\n

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Brad Pitt and Jonah Hill<\/figcaption>
Photo: Moneyball<\/figcaption><\/div>\n

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For baseball traditionalists, the principles described in Michael Lewis\u2019 great book Moneyball<\/em> were an apostasy comparable to the Atkins\u2019 diet, a rejection of decades of received wisdom. In detailing how Oakland A\u2019s general<\/a> manager Billy Beane fielded a competitive small-market team with less than a third of the New York Yankees\u2019 payroll, Lewis notes a top-down shift in team-building philosophy. Suddenly, veteran scouts, with their unempirical observations, were cast aside in favor of Ivy League number-crunchers, and the longstanding value of sacrifice bunts and stolen bases gave way to the cult of on-base percentage and walks. It seems absurd on its face to convert Lewis\u2019 tale of front-office wrangling into a sports movie, but Bennett Miller\u2019s shrewd adaptation, scripted by Steven Zaillian and Aaron Sorkin, turns it into Major League<\/em> for stats wonks. [Scott Tobias<\/span>]<\/p>\n

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In the broadest sense, Moonlight<\/em> could be called a movie \u201cabout being black\u201d or \u201cabout being gay\u201d or even \u201cabout being raised in the drug-ravaged Liberty City neighborhood of Miami.\u201d But writer-director Barry Jenkins treats identity as more of a prism than a lens in his adaptation of Tarell Alvin McCraney\u2019s unproduced play In Moonlight Black Boys Look Blue<\/em>. In three haunting vignettes, set years apart, Jenkins examines the complicated urges and influences within a young man, Chiron, as a friendly dope-pusher (beautifully played by Mahershala Ali) offers the kid some guidance, and an affectionate classmate helps awaken his sexuality. From moment to moment, Moonlight<\/em> is small in scale. But its various echoes and callbacks coalesce into an at-times sweet, at-times heartbreaking portrait of someone who hesitates to articulate his desires. [Noel Murray<\/a><\/span>] <\/p>\n

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The best murder mysteries start small and build outward, becoming less about the crime and more about the community where the crime took place, and the evolving psyches of the investigators. Bong Joon-Ho\u2019s Mother<\/em> starts with the fairly pathetic case of a mildly developmentally disabled adult accused of killing a promiscuous teenage girl from an uncaring family. Then the movie expands to take the measure of the small South Korean town where the murder took place, and of the woman who sifts through clues in order to learn the truth. The woman (played by the remarkable Kim Hye-Ja) is the mother of the accused, and seeking more than vindication for her boy. She brought this kid into the world and taught him how to conduct himself, and if he actually killed somebody, then maybe he\u2019s merely the murder weapon, and she\u2019s<\/em> the culprit. [Noel Murray<\/a><\/span>]<\/p>\n

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Drawn from the pages of Hillary Jordan\u2019s 2008 international bestseller, Mudbound<\/em> has the heft\u2014the narrative and thematic meatiness, the thicket of characters and subplots and years-spanning incident\u2014of a book you can\u2019t put down. But if the film is novelistic in its sprawl, maybe sometimes to a fault, it\u2019s written in poetry as well as prose. For Dee Rees, writer and director of the tender (if dramatically overfamiliar) Sundance sensation Pariah<\/em><\/span>, this handsome literary adaptation is a big leap forward in scope and craft\u2014a sophomore swing for the fences. But Rees\u2019 singular sensibilities haven\u2019t dimmed with the expansion of her ambitions. They still glow brightly, illuminating Jordan\u2019s vision of hardship, simmering conflict, and racial inequity in 1940s Mississippi. [A.A. Dowd<\/a><\/span>]<\/p>\n

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Georgian writer-director Nana Ekvtimishvili (In Bloom<\/em><\/span>) brings a rare subtlety and sensitivity to this ironically titled domestic drama.<\/em> Ia Shughliashvili stars as a middle-aged woman named Manana, who one day decides to move out of the crowded apartment she shares with her grown children, her inattentive husband, and assorted in-laws. My Happy Family<\/em>\u2019s minimal plot mostly follows the family\u2019s efforts to shame her into returning\u2014or at least to understand why she left. What makes the movie so resonant is that Manana\u2019s choice feels so obvious. Leaving aside her clan\u2019s various personality defects and moral failings, the heroine\u2019s clearly much more content in her own place, with no responsibilities, listening to her own music, staring off her own balcony, eating sweets. Ekvtimishvili turns simple solitude into a fantasy more powerful than any science-fiction story. [Noel Murray<\/a><\/span>]<\/p>\n

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Jake Gyllenhaal<\/figcaption>
Screenshot: Nightcrawler<\/figcaption><\/div>\n

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Nightcrawler <\/em>is well worth seeing just for Jake Gyllenhaal\u2019s spectacularly creepy performance. Blinking as little as possible and speaking every line with robotic conviction, he makes Louis the sort of person who discovered early in life that it\u2019s possible to get away with nearly anything so long as one couches one\u2019s words in the right tone, except that he has a truly warped notion of what the right tone is. Even the most obnoxiously persistent door-to-door salesmen have nothing on this guy, who treats everybody he encounters as an obstacle to be politely mowed down with bland verbiage derived from corporate jargon. It\u2019s a mesmerizing turn from an actor who, while frequently quite good, has never really had a breakout role until this one. Nightcrawler <\/em>gave him a chance to make a lasting impression, and he takes full, fanatical advantage. [Mike D\u2019Angelo<\/span>]<\/p>\n

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Fusing the themes of a classic Hong Kong action movie with the mayhem of a modern Indonesian martial-arts flick and enough gore to satisfy fans of extreme, midnight-circuit horror, Timo Tjahjanto\u2019s The Night Comes For Us<\/em> takes \u201cheroic bloodshed\u201d to a new level of indescribable, gut-splattered ickiness. As is often the case, the symbol of innocence takes the form of a little girl: Joe Taslim is the dangerous killer who\u2019ll stop at nothing to protect her; his The Raid<\/em><\/a><\/span>\u00a0<\/em>co-star Iko Uwais is the former gangland partner sent to take him down. But the real central conflict in this panorama of death and dismemberment is between the archetypal, coded characters and the heaps of bloodied, chopped-up bodies they leave in their wake. [Ignatiy Vishnevetsky<\/span>]<\/p>\n

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Ocean\u2019s Eleven<\/figcaption>
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Ocean\u2019s Eleven<\/em>, a shamelessly commercial, superhunk-packed, briskly enjoyable caper comedy that\u2019s ostensibly a remake of the lumbering 1960 Rat Pack vehicle of the same name. <\/em>The prospect of a middling Rat Pack showcase being remade with 2001’s top pretty boys might initially seem as appealing as a re-imagining of Clambake <\/em>starring Ricky Martin, <\/em>but Eleven <\/em>is more a rehash of Out Of Sight<\/em>, with which it shares cast, crew, and a nearly identical tone, look, and sensibility. <\/em>This time, the act of grand larceny involves conspiring with fellow slickster Brad Pitt to rob silky-smooth casino owner Andy Garcia in revenge for Garcia\u2019s theft of Clooney\u2019s long-suffering ex-wife (Julia Roberts). Ocean<\/em>\u2019s Eleven <\/em>boasts an oily, secondhand charm that\u2019s transparent but strangely endearing. With his Oscar-winning direction of the similarly star-studded Traffic<\/em>, Soderbergh managed a remarkable balance between style and substance. In Ocean\u2019s Eleven<\/em>, style delivers substance a Dream Team-style pounding, but the results are so breezily entertaining, it\u2019s futile to resist. [Nathan Rabin<\/span>]<\/p>\n

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Deep into Ocean\u2019s 13<\/em>, the second sequel to the 2001 remake of the 1960 Rat Pack classic Ocean\u2019s 11<\/em>, there\u2019s a line about how a good con man never repeats a gag. It\u2019s delivered as a throwaway piece of dialogue, but it quietly acknowledges that what good con men can\u2019t get away with, good directors sometimes can. Rebounding from the frothy, bloodless Euro jaunt Ocean\u2019s 12<\/em>, 13 <\/em>returns Steven Soderbergh and crew to Las Vegas for a film that isn\u2019t exactly a remake of their first Ocean\u2019s<\/em> adventure, but isn\u2019t exactly not, either. It doesn\u2019t matter. Ocean\u2019s 11<\/em>‘s easy chemistry and effortless style return alongside the let\u2019s-take-down-a-casino plot. In this case, the target is the gorgeous\u2014and fictional\u2014Bank Casino, a spiraling, faintly Asian-themed high-rise run by Al Pacino and his scantily clad aide de camp Ellen Barkin. Having sent Elliott Gould into a coma after cheating him out of his rightful stake in the casino, Pacino rouses the ire of Clooney and his crew, who conspire to take him and his elaborately defended gambling palace down. The pleasure here, as before, comes from watching skilled professionals team up for a job well done. [Keith Phipps<\/span>]<\/p>\n

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With The Old Guard<\/em>, Love & Basketball<\/em><\/span> and Beyond The Lights<\/em><\/span> <\/em>director Gina Prince-Bythewood helms an action-fantasy hybrid that takes the beauty marks\u2014and warts\u2014of each genre and creates a sequel-starter for Netflix. The film follows an idealistic cadre of heroes who all share a common thread: They can live for centuries. The titular group is led by Andy (Charlize Theron), with Booker (Matthias Schoenaerts), Joe (Marwan Kenzari), and Nicky (Luca Marinelli) making up the rest of the crew. When a new immortal warrior, Nile (Kiki Layne), joins them, she sparks a reckoning with the Guard\u2019s ideals\u2014and the rosy picture they try to uphold. Greg Rucka pens the screenplay, refashioning his own graphic novel and doing as much to retain tone and character agency as Gillian Flynn did for her Gone Girl<\/em><\/span> <\/em>adaptation, for example. In a past life, this would be a standard B-movie shoot-\u2019em-up. But, as Prince-Bythewood presents it, The Old Guard<\/em> is an effective and tender bundle of contradictions, a franchise launchpad about (among other things) endings. [Anya Stanley<\/span>]<\/p>\n

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To quote Twin Peaks<\/em>: \u201cWhat year is this?\u201d After more than four decades languishing in post-production limbo, Orson Welles\u2019 final project arrives like a missive from a bygone era. No less than a Herculean act of reconstructive surgery, The Other Side Of The Wind<\/em> tells an ostensibly familiar tale of prot\u00e9g\u00e9 (Peter Bogdanovich\u2019s Brooks Otterlake) surpassing mentor (John Huston\u2019s Jake Hannaford), here in the context of \u201970s-era Hollywood. But it\u2019s also a delirious, wildly entertaining implosion of unstable meta-text, filled with nonstop callbacks, withering bon mots, and thinly veiled send-ups of then-contemporary personalities, not to mention some of the most electric (and unabashedly libidinous) filmmaking of Welles\u2019 legendary career. Shifting freely between black-and-white footage and lurid color photography, it\u2019s a veritably prismatic object, a kind of cracked crystal that\u2019s all the more fascinating for its supposed flaws. Putting it on a year-end list feels inadequate. [Lawrence Garcia<\/span>]<\/p>\n

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Opening with a diagnosis of cancer that\u2019s soon revealed to be terminal, Paddleton <\/em>more or less amounts to an hour and a half of slow-motion assisted suicide. Sound like fun? Remarkably, this low-budget two-hander\u2014arriving on Netflix just a few weeks after its Sundance premiere\u2014manages to generate a fair number of laughs, even as it does full justice to the scenario\u2019s underlying gravity. Written by Alex Lehmann (who also directed) and Mark Duplass (who also plays one of the two lead roles), Paddleton <\/em>takes its emotional cue from Terms Of Endearment, <\/em>expanding that film\u2019s final stretch into an entire feature and replacing mother-daughter bonds with the deep but usually unspoken love shared by two male buddies. A bit of cheating is necessary to achieve the stripped-down dynamic that Lehmann and Duplass apparently wanted, but the payoff is an atypically intimate portrait of testosterone-fueled friendship. [Mike D\u2019Angelo<\/span>] <\/p>\n

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The cin\u00e9ma v\u00e9rit\u00e9 horror film\/mockumentary Paranormal Activity <\/em>paradoxically feels more like a sequel to The Blair Witch Project <\/em>than that film\u2019s actual sequel. Like an ideal follow-up, Paranormal Activity <\/em>takes the same basic premise\u2014amateur filmmaker documents own descent into paranoia and terror at the hands of sinister unseen forces\u2014in a bold new direction. Where Project<\/em> got a lot of mileage out of the archetypal campfire-story spookiness of the wilderness where its hapless filmmakers got lost, Paranormal Activity <\/em>derives much of its power from juxtaposing supernatural otherworldliness with the mundanity of the apartment where its action takes place. At best, Paranormal Activity <\/em>makes the banal and commonplace deeply unsettling. The film\u2019s resemblance to Blair Witch <\/em>extends to unknown lead actors who are realistic and convincing enough to come off as shrill and unpleasant. After all, people are seldom at their best when confronted by dark powers beyond their comprehension. [Nathan Rabin<\/span>]<\/p>\n

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Written by Seth Rogen and his writing partner Evan Goldberg\u2014the duo also scripted Superbad<\/em>\u2014Pineapple Express<\/em> refers to an exclusive strain of weed that James Franco offers to Rogen, his favorite customer and secret best friend. Rogen\u2019s job as a process server allows him to toke up in his car between jobs, but one night, while waiting to hand out a subpoena, he witnesses a murder, and murderer Gary Cole witnesses him right back. As it happens, Cole is also Franco\u2019s chief supplier, and he traces the marijuana strain back to the source, sending Franco and Rogen on the run with a crooked cop (Rosie Perez) and a couple of bumbling henchmen (Kevin Corrigan and The Office<\/em>\u2019s Craig Robinson) hot on their trail. A subplot involving Rogen\u2019s relationship with a high-school student (Amber Heard) could have been excised, though at the expense of the one of the film\u2019s funniest scenes. But good stoner comedies like Pineapple Express<\/em> have a rambling, shaggy-dog nature that can make quirky little detours and non sequiturs more essential than story itself. [Scott Tobias<\/span>]<\/p>\n

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\u201cThis is my private life,\u201d cries Danny Elfman in the Oingo Boingo song of the same name. \u201cCome and get me out of here.\u201d That\u2019s more or less how Rachel (Kathryn Hahn) and Richard (Paul Giamatti) feel in Tamara Jenkins\u2019 long-awaited third feature, which explores in minute, often excruciating detail this infertile couple\u2019s Herculean efforts to either conceive or adopt a child. Jenkins apparently went through a lot of this herself (which partially explains why it\u2019s been 11 years since The Savages<\/em><\/span>), and she expertly threads the needle, finding ways to make her ordeal both scrupulously accurate and enormously entertaining. And the narrative that gradually emerges, in which Rachel and Richard become surrogate parents to their college-age niece (Kayli Carter), who volunteers to be an egg donor, beautifully conveys the idea that love and guidance don\u2019t necessarily require a traditional family structure, and that sometimes we find what we\u2019re looking for without even realizing it. [Mike D\u2019Angelo<\/span>] <\/p>\n

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Poltergeist<\/em> is a Spielberg film, no matter what the credits say. His stylistic fingerprints are all over the movie, never more so than in the opening third, which turns a suburban haunting into an occasion for Spielbergian movie magic before the ghosts get down to business. Even when things go awry, and a family loses its youngest to a spectral plane, the playful visual wit never ceases: Household objects dance harmoniously in the air, skeletons spring up like props in a Halloween spook-house, and tennis balls are tossed through the ghostly void. Maybe Poltergeist<\/em> really is a family film: Kids need to have nightmares about something<\/em>, after all, and Spielberg\u2019s dazzling contraption of a movie guarantees a safe landing. A real Tobe Hooper movie wouldn\u2019t offer such an assurance. [Scott Tobias<\/span>]<\/p>\n

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Helen Mirren speaks with flawless, imperious diction throughout The Queen<\/em>, but it\u2019s worth noting how much acting she does between lines. As Queen Elizabeth II, she reaches several turning points during the course of the film, most of them taking place when she\u2019s alone and silent, or as another character natters on about protocol, propriety, and what tradition states obviously must<\/em> be done. Meanwhile, Mirren has already accepted that changing times have sent \u201cwhat must be done\u201d out the window. [Keith Phipps<\/span>]<\/p>\n

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Atom Egoyan may never make another movie as great as Speaking Parts, Exotica, <\/em>or The Sweet Hereafter, <\/em>but at least he\u2019s finally figured out how to craft satisfying trash. Remember<\/em>\u2019s log line is breathtakingly dopey: A Holocaust survivor (Christopher Plummer) suffering from dementia leaves his nursing home in an effort to track down and kill the Auschwitz commander who murdered his family seven decades earlier, even though he can barely recall his own name from moment to moment. Egoyan leans into the absurdity, treating the material more like an exploitation flick than the prestige drama that Plummer\u2019s magisterial presence in the lead role would suggest. When the film was released in March, the alt-right hadn\u2019t yet penetrated national consciousness; a key scene, featuring Breaking Bad<\/em><\/a><\/span>\u2019s Dean Norris as a proud neo-Nazi, probably has even more of a disturbing charge now than it did in those comparatively innocent days. [Mike D\u2019Angelo<\/a><\/span>]<\/p>\n

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Alfonso Cuar\u00f3n followed up his blockbuster science-fiction picture Gravity<\/em><\/span> with something unexpected: an intimate, semi-autobiographical slice-of-life, set in early \u201970s Mexico City. Even more surprising? Roma <\/em>has just as much cinematic panache as the director\u2019s previous fantasy films and sex comedies. Shot in dreamy black-and-white (with Cuar\u00f3n himself serving as cinematographer), the film tracks the dissolution of a marriage, as well as the social changes in Mexico, all through the eyes of one middle-class family\u2019s maid, Cleo (Yalitza Aparicio). In long, astonishingly well-choreographed takes, Cuar\u00f3n creates the impression of a larger world rushing by outside the window of an increasingly dysfunctional home. But his camera keeps finding its way back to Cleo, as she manages the smaller domestic dramas\u2014including some of her own\u2014while quietly contemplating what gives her life meaning. [Noel Murray<\/span>] <\/p>\n

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She\u2019s Gotta Have It<\/em> was such a unique, personal, and effusive film that some wondered whether Spike Lee had anything left to say. He answered those questions with 1988\u2019s musical comedy School Daze<\/em><\/span>, a more broadly appealing but no less idiosyncratic movie. Laurence Fishburne plays a student activist who clashes with materialistic fraternity leader Giancarlo Esposito at a historically black university. School Daze<\/em> humorously\u2014and tunefully\u2014takes on the question of discrimination, though in this story it\u2019s discrimination within the black community, where people are divided by skin tone, hairstyle, political commitment, and education. Though not as artful as She\u2019s Gotta Have It<\/em>, School Daze<\/em> showed that there were plenty of \u201cblack movies\u201d that had yet to be made, about subjects other than super-pimps or nobly suffering servants.<\/p>\n

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Based on a series of graphic novels by Bryan Lee O\u2019Malley, Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World<\/em> is a manga<\/a>-doodle that draws from the wellspring of popular culture, viewing youthful infatuation through a filter of indie rock, action comics, and a selection of classic arcade and Nintendo games. It\u2019s a series steeped in irony, bestowing magnificent powers on an ineffectual Canadian who can barely muster the courage to talk to a girl, yet reluctantly does battle with her ex-boyfriends. There\u2019s perhaps no better director to bring it to the screen than Edgar Wright, whose Shaun Of The Dead<\/em> and Hot Fuzz<\/em> are similarly informed by a culture-addled mind, and he brings a great elasticity to Scott Pilgrim<\/em>, which stretches the medium to accommodate O\u2019Malley\u2019s comic-book universe. [Scott Tobias<\/a><\/span>]<\/p>\n

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Politically, there are no shades of gray in Shadow<\/em>, the latest from Hero<\/em><\/span> and House Of Flying Daggers<\/em><\/span> <\/em>director Zhang Yimou. You\u2019re either on the side of the patriotic freedom fighters who dream of liberating the walled city of Jingzhou from its occupiers, or you\u2019re on the side of the spoiled, cowardly king of Pei (Zheng Kai), who glorifies his own selfish inaction in the form of an epic poem called \u201cOde To Peace\u201d painted on screens placed around his throne room. Morally, things are a bit murkier. \u201cSome things don\u2019t have a right and wrong,\u201d says the wife of the king\u2019s right-hand man Commander Yu (Chao Deng, in a dual role), who has been secretly training a body double to take his place in court and on the battlefield ever since a festering combat wound forced him onto the sidelines of both. Visually, the film is nothing but shades of gray\u2014so much so that the tones of the actors\u2019 skin, and the blood pouring from their wounds, are the only other colors in Yimou\u2019s palette. [Katie Rife<\/span>]<\/p>\n

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In Singapore of 1992, Sandi Tan and her two best friends decided to make an independent road film with their enigmatic filmmaking teacher Georges Cardona. Inspired by American independent auteurs of the era, their film, Shirkers<\/em>, was poised to create a new national cinema. But at the end of filmmaking, Cardona absconded with the footage, never to be seen again. More than 25 years later, Tan recovered the footage (sans sound) and crafted a memoir-style documentary about the turbulent making of the film and its aftermath, effectively reclaiming it from the hands of her sociopathic mentor. While the story of Shirkers<\/em> fascinates in its own right, Tan\u2019s film also serves as a tribute to underground artists of yore. Tan and her friends, with their clandestine videotape syndicate and international zines, were countercultural pioneers when and where that still meant something. The Shirkers<\/em> documentary feels as much like a handcrafted relic from another era as its original, lost-and-found inspiration, which makes its Netflix release all the more ironic. [Vikram Murthi<\/a><\/span>] <\/p>\n

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When The Social Network<\/em> was released in 2010, some questioned whether David Fincher\u2019s film was being too hard on poor Mark Zuckerberg. Nine years later, as Facebook\u2019s true (and truly alarming) potential to undermine democracy is finally under discussion, it seems the real question is whether the movie was harsh enough. It certainly turned out to be prescient: As well as warning against putting too much power in the hands of the petty and vindictive, The Social Network <\/em>also diagnosed the bitterly misogynist, perpetually aggrieved cancer metastasizing throughout nerd-bro tech culture while most observers were still in the thrall of millennial techno-utopianism. In retrospect, the film also turned out to be a clearing house for young actors whose careers were at a turning point in 2010, including Andrew Garfield, Armie Hammer, Max Minghella, and Rooney Mara, who would go from supporting character to star in Fincher\u2019s next film,\u00a0<\/em>The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo<\/em><\/span>. (Speaking of transitions, the film was also the first to feature a full score from Nine Inch Nails\u2019 Trent Reznor.) One thing about The Social Network<\/em> that hasn\u2019t changed is the remarkable skill with which Fincher spins suspense out of abstract ones and zeroes, even if Aaron Sorkin\u2019s snappy dialogue doesn\u2019t feel as fresh as it used to. [Katie Rife<\/span>]<\/p>\n

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If you had told me at the beginning of 2018 that a new superhero movie, let alone one featuring multiple Spider-Men, would be one of the best films of the year, I wouldn\u2019t have believed it. All it took was a confident, funny script and comic-book-style animation to prove me wrong. If we\u2019re going to keep churning these things out until the end of time, please keep them animated and make them as powerful as this one. [Vikram Murthi<\/span>]<\/p>\n

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Lovers and genetic engineers, Sarah Polley and Adrien Brody play a childless couple in Splice<\/em>. That doesn\u2019t mean, however, that they\u2019ve never created life. As scientists, they can claim Fred and Ginger, two lab-grown specimens made from mixing material from several different animals. The creatures look a bit like what might happen if a slug devoured a turtle, but looks don\u2019t really matter in the world of corporate science. Yet despite their success, Polley and Brody soon face a change of duties that will take their gene-splicing toys away. But not, that is, until they make one last go-for-broke creation that throws in a little human DNA just to see what happens. That Brody and Polley\u2019s characters are named Clive and Elsa should alert fans of old horror movies what sort of story they\u2019re in for, and director and co-writer Vincenzo Natali (best known for the microbudgeted cult favorite Cube<\/em>) doesn\u2019t let down those expecting a 21st<\/sup> century twist on Frankenstein<\/em>. He throws in elements of David Cronenberg\u2019s The Fly<\/em>, too, but ultimately Splice<\/em> owes as much to David Lynch\u2019s parenthood-inspired Eraserhead<\/em> as any other film. For all the gleaming technology and echoes of cloning, stem cell research, and other contemporary issues, the horror here stems from the couple\u2019s attempts to keep a fragile, newborn creature alive and do right by her as she grows. [Keith Phipps<\/span>]<\/p>\n

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Spotlight<\/em> dramatizes, in step-by-step fashion, how a group of reporters at the Boston Globe<\/em> exposed the massive child-sexual-assault scandal in the Catholic Church, proving not just that pedophilia was a widespread problem among the clergy, but also that the conspiracy to cover up the abuse reached at least to the archbishops. The investigation began in the summer of 2001, when new Globe<\/em> editor Marty Baron (played here by Liev Schreiber, as a man of integrity but little warmth) cajoled the Spotlight department\u2014a small investigative unit, charged with producing bigger pieces over longer timeframes\u2014into looking deeper into the settled case of an accused Catholic priest. As they quickly discovered, the problem was much bigger than one man of the cloth. By the time the story was printed, in January of the following year, the paper had confirmation of more than 75 priests in Boston alone who had assaulted children and were then protected by the church. [A.A. Dowd<\/span>]<\/p>\n

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Having shot Trash Humpers<\/em> on VHS, Harmony Korine goes the opposite direction with this gorgeous, widescreen, neon-splattered approximation of a mainstream effort, achieving a near-perfect fusion of exploitation and poetry. It\u2019s certainly his funniest and most aesthetically accomplished film, from a long-take chicken-shack robbery seen from the getaway car\u2019s point of view to fragmented editing as graceful as any in To The Wonder<\/em>. Following the odyssey of four Christian-college students (mostly played by Disney TV graduates) who travel to Florida to test their boundaries of getting fucked up, the movie turns increasingly satirical as it becomes clear their definition of being bad doesn\u2019t stop short of violence. As Alien, the drug kingpin who ushers the women into a new world (and leads them in them in a jaw-dropping rendition of Britney Spears\u2019 \u201cEverytime\u201d), James \u201cI\u2019ve got shorts, every fuckin\u2019 color\u201d Franco delivers his most entertaining performance. [Ben Kenigsberg<\/a><\/span>] <\/p>\n

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Coming from a veteran of British intelligence, le Carr\u00e9\u2019s fiction offers a counterpoint to the glamorous spy tales of Ian Fleming and others. In his books, espionage is a high-stakes game of bluffs and double-bluffs played by unsmiling men in sparsely appointed rooms. Here, Gary Oldman<\/a><\/span> plays one of the most famous of those unsmiling men, frequent le Carr\u00e9 protagonist George Smiley, a British-intelligence lifer who, as the film opens, has been forced into semi-retirement following the high-profile failure, and subsequent death, of his mentor (John Hurt). When it becomes apparent that a mole remains in place in a position of power back at \u201cThe Circus,\u201d Oldman doesn\u2019t get to enjoy his time off for long. [Keith Phipps<\/span>]<\/p>\n

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Expanding the frenetic, panic-attack-inducing cinema of Good Time<\/em><\/span> with novelistic ambition, the brothers Josh and Benny Safdie created a thrilling study of one man\u2019s compulsive self-destruction with this tragicomedy about a hustling Manhattan jewelry dealer (Adam Sandler, in the best performance of his career) who owes a fortune in gambling debts. Already on the brink of implosion, Sandler\u2019s Howard Ratner can\u2019t stop making bets, convinced that his financial (and personal) salvation will come by way of a grapefruit-size lump of Ethiopian black opal. He\u2019s reckless, neurotic, self-deluding, an addict, equal parts sucker and scammer\u2014and perhaps more like us than we\u2019d care to admit. Packed with memorable supporting characters (and impressive turns from newcomers like Julia Fox, Keith Williams Richards, and NBA star Kevin Garnett, who plays himself), Uncut Gems <\/em>establishes the Safdies as masters of anxious existential grit; their style of overlapping dialogue and tension feels like the unlikely fusion of Robert Altman and Abel Ferrara. [Ignatiy Vishnevetsky<\/span>]<\/p>\n

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There\u2019s a moment in Under The Shadow<\/em> where the heroine does something that people in haunted-house movies almost never do: She grabs her child and bolts straight out the front door. Recent additions to the genre have devised some clever justifications for keeping the characters planted, ranging from financial incentive<\/a><\/span> to house arrest<\/a><\/span> to the explanation that the haunters will simply follow the haunted to their new digs<\/a><\/span>. But Under The Shadow<\/em> cuts through all that noise, allowing its scared-witless protagonist to make a sensible break for it. Trouble is, this young mother lives in Tehran circa 1988, and in her instinctive dash for safety, she fails to cover her head with a hijab. Forget abandoning the haunted house. How many horror movies feature someone fleeing the unholy terror in their home, only to be arrested for not wearing proper attire in public? [A.A. Dowd<\/span>]<\/p>\n

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Unfriended<\/em>, a fiendishly clever fright flick, may be the most ingenious addition to the \u201chorror movies that present themselves as raw documentary footage\u201d genre since the original Paranormal Activity<\/em><\/a><\/span>. The film unfolds entirely within the frame lines of a teenage girl\u2019s laptop screen, its characters squeezed into the tiny boxes of a group video chat, its protagonist toggling frantically between various browsers as her evening web time becomes an online nightmare. There\u2019s some precedent for this premise\u2014last year\u2019s Open Windows<\/em><\/a><\/span> attempted something similar, as did the Joe Swanberg short in V\/H\/S<\/em><\/a><\/span>\u2014but the filmmakers here completely commit to their gimmick, turning its limitations into benefits and exploiting the chosen technology for maximum effect. In the process, they hit the refresh button on the entire found-footage format. [A.A. Dowd<\/span>]<\/p>\n

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With An Inconvenient Truth<\/em>, <\/em>documentarian Davis Guggenheim and former vice president Al Gore set out to save the world from an environmental cataclysm beyond the imagination of even Roland Emmerich. With his muckraking new expos\u00e9 Waiting For Superman<\/em>, <\/em>Guggenheim wants to make sure we have a society worth saving. Having tackled global warming, he\u2019s now moved on to another important issue: turning around a failing public-school system that should be the shame of our nation. Waiting For Superman <\/em>surveys a grim academic realm where powerful teachers\u2019 unions reward apathy and treading water, rather than innovative thinking or excellence, and the only test where American students consistently score high is on academic self-confidence. We aren\u2019t No. 1, but we labor under the delusion that we represent the apex of academic accomplishment. With outrage, sadness, and compassion, Guggenheim examines the root causes of this public-school meltdown and offers suggestions for breaking the gridlock afflicting our educational system, most notably in the form of charter schools unbound by the institutional inertia that\u2019s killing our schools. [Nathan Rabin<\/span>]<\/p>\n

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Steven Spielberg<\/a><\/span>\u2019s adaptation of Michael Morpurgo\u2019s 1982 children\u2019s novel\u2014adapted into a popular play in 2007\u2014follows a boy and his horse from England to the battlefields of World War I. It\u2019s a self-consciously old-fashioned piece of storytelling that draws on past masters\u2014particularly John Ford\u2014to reaffirm film\u2019s ability to express humanistic values, even when the din of war threatens to drown those values out. It\u2019s idealistic but unflinching, growing grimmer and bloodier as it goes along, while letting the horse at the center reflect humanity\u2019s best and worst impulses. Spielberg directs with the control of a master craftsman, which should go without saying, but few directors this deep into their careers are still as committed to finding new ways to startle and move moviegoers. [Keith Phipps<\/span>]<\/p>\n

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Matthew Broderick<\/figcaption>
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In the opening scene of the 1983 blockbuster WarGames<\/em>, two missile commanders (played by Michael Madsen and John Spencer!) receive an order to launch a nuclear attack, and one almost kills the other in a dispute over how to proceed. Those kind of \u201cwhat if\u201d scenarios were rampant in the Cold War era, and if WarGames<\/em> were exclusively about nuclear paranoia, it would be an amusing nostalgia piece, quaintly reminding us of what we used<\/em> to worry about. But WarGames<\/em> is also about issues that still resonate, like Internet security, authoritarian arrogance, and coming of age. Director John Badham brings a light touch to Lawrence Lasker and Walter F. Parkes\u2019 tense, well-structured script, by keeping the action focused on what matters most to the audience. Matthew Broderick plays a high-school computer geek\u2014the prototypical model\u2014who accidentally hacks into the system controlling the U.S. missile-defense system, and starts a simulation that the system reads as real. With his girlfriend Ally Sheedy by his side, Broderick tries to duck the military and find the system\u2019s reclusive, misanthropic creator by using his phone-phreaking skills, his dot-matrix printer, and floppy discs roughly the size of a legal pad. What endures about WarGames<\/em> is the way Broderick keeps trying to talk sense to both the adults and<\/em> the computers\u2014the former when they blindly follow what enormous electronic screens tell them to do, and the latter when they innocently ask, \u201cShall we play a game?\u201d [Noel Murray<\/span>]<\/p>\n

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Even (maybe especially) for a practiced Sanderologist<\/a><\/span>, a new Happy Madison picture getting uploaded to Netflix does not inspire much genuine hope for a good time. Imagine my surprise, then, that Adam Sandler enlisted his old pal Robert Smigel to make his best broad comedy in at least a decade\u2014a funny and sweetly grounded story about a couple of dads hitting assorted bumps in the lead-up to their kids\u2019 wedding. Smigel ditches most of the usual Sandler hangers-on, keeps the best ones (Rock, Dratch, Buscemi), and makes a movie rooted in the specifics of suburban Long Island, rather than the latest Happy Madison-favored resort. [Jesse Hassenger<\/span>] <\/p>\n

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A title card at the outset reads, in full, \u201cThe Witch: A New-England Folktale.\u201d <\/em>Technically, in fact, it\u2019s The VVitch, <\/em>with two capital V\u2019s (more or less interchangeable with the letter \u201cU\u201d for centuries) instead of the modern \u201cW.\u201d These details matter, because Robert Eggers\u2019 singularly creepy debut derives much of its power from stringent period accuracy. Set early in the 17th century, among a Puritan family that\u2019s been exiled to a solitary existence in the woods, it features dialogue taken directly from diaries and court records of the era, creating an additional layer of distance that heightens the already pervasive feeling of strangeness. For those not disturbed by this alienation effect, there\u2019s also an infant-snatching (and -devouring) witch, as the title promises, along with escalating paranoia, multiple crises of faith, hallucinatory madness (culminating in one brief but unforgettable shock), and a literally diabolical goat called Black Phillip. In the end, The Witch <\/em>poses a question that some found irresponsible, but that makes first-rate nightmare fuel: What if the women who were hanged in Salem a few decades later were, to some extent, a self-fulfilling prophecy? [Mike D\u2019Angelo<\/a><\/span>] <\/p>\n

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Winter On Fire: Ukraine\u2019s Fight For Freedom <\/em>represents a new breed of documentary that reflects this major upheaval. Commissioned by Netflix and directed by Russian filmmaker Evgeny Afineevsky, Winter On Fire <\/em>isn\u2019t the first doc about the Euromaidan protests that took place from November 2013 to February 2014, nor necessarily even the best; Sergei Loznitsa\u2019s Maidan<\/em>, <\/em>which covers similar territory, was released in the U.S. almost exactly a year ago, to rave reviews. But where Maidan <\/em>focuses on the protesters themselves (emphasizing a \u201cbehind the scenes\u201d portrait of solidarity), Winter On Fire<\/em>, <\/em>which employed a dozen cameras shooting constantly for three months, provides what almost literally amounts to a blow-by-blow account of the entire nightmarish showdown, assembling so much harrowing footage that one can do little but gape in horror. There\u2019s a huge difference between seeing 20 or 30 upsetting seconds on the evening news<\/a> every so often and watching a gradual descent into sheer anarchy, as it happens. [Mike D\u2019Angelo<\/span>] <\/p>\n

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Running a mammoth four hours, this investigative whatsit (now available as a six-part Netflix series after a limited theatrical release) has zero interest in maintaining a strict line of demarcation between fiction and nonfiction. Much of Wormwood <\/em>consists of Errol Morris\u2019 usual probing interviews, digging into the details of a cold case dating back to 1953. This time, though, the Thin Blue Line<\/em><\/span> <\/em>director\u2019s speculation about events takes more concrete form, with actors like Peter Sarsgaard, Molly Parker, Tim Blake Nelson, and Bob Balaban acting out scripted scenes (written by Steven Hathaway and Molly Rokosz) that are intercut with the talking heads and archival footage. Cinema has been moving toward a hybrid form for ages, but leave it to a longtime innovator like Morris to push it this far. [Mike D\u2019Angelo<\/a><\/span>]<\/p>\n

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Screenshot: Yes, God, Yes<\/figcaption><\/div>\n

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A lot has changed since the heyday of teen sex comedies in the early \u201980s\u2014not least the revelation that adolescent girls are just as horny as their male counterparts. Projects on the big screen (The To Do List<\/em><\/span>) and the small (Big Mouth<\/em><\/a><\/span>) plumb the depths (pun intended) of puberty\u2019s lustful purgatory from a female perspective. But you\u2019d be hard pressed (pun also intended) to find a masturbation comedy as sweet and sensitive as Yes, God, Yes.<\/em> Stranger Things<\/em><\/a><\/span>\u2019 Natalia Dyer stars as Alice, a good girl who attends church with her dad every Sunday and is sincerely worried that she\u2019s going to hell because she stumbled into a dirty AOL chat one afternoon after school. The film shares its early-\u201900s setting and softly lit Catholic-school milieu with Greta Gerwig\u2019s <\/em>Lady Bird<\/em><\/a><\/span>. And like that film, this is a semi-autobiographical project for writer-director Karen Maine, who first made the film-festival scene as a co-writer of Obvious Child<\/em><\/span>. But Yes, God, Yes<\/em> is positively sex-crazed compared to those movies, though it focuses less on actually doing the deed than the single-minded desires that drive teenagers to distraction. [Katie Rife<\/span>]<\/p>\n

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For a brief period in the early \u201870s, the Zodiac killings transfixed the Bay Area, in large part because the killer used the media to hold the city hostage, forcing newspapers to run cryptic puzzles under the threat of further violence. But Zodiac<\/em>, David Fincher\u2019s masterful procedural about the elusive case, resonates at least as much for depicting what happened in the years after the murders faded from the public consciousness. A sort of flipside to Fincher\u2019s Seven<\/em>, which pulsed with the urgent need to catch a killer before he reached endgame, Zodiac<\/em> is about what happens after a case goes cold and only a dedicated few remain to follow a trail that grows murkier by the day. An obsessive movie about the nature of obsession, it stays in perfect step with the men who chased these phantom leads, not so much because they felt some noble connection to the victims, but because they simply couldn\u2019t leave a puzzle unsolved. [Scott Tobias<\/span>]<\/p>\n

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If you want to read more News articles, you can visit our General <\/a><\/span>category.<\/strong><\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

Source<\/a><\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

“#The best movies on Netflix ” Clockwise from top left: Moonlight (A24); Spider-Man: Into The Spider-Verse (Sony Pictures); Scott Pilgrm Vs. The World (Universal Pictures); Homecoming (Parkwood Entertainment\/Netflix); Uncut Gems (A24) Graphic: The A.V. Club Streaming libraries expand and contract. Algorithms are imperfect. Those damn thumbnail images are always changing. But you know what you…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":110756,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"fifu_image_url":"https:\/\/i.kinja-img.com\/gawker-media\/image\/upload\/c_fill,f_auto,fl_progressive,g_center,h_675,pg_1,q_80,w_1200\/xovsnctyahathl84osf1.jpg","fifu_image_alt":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[79549],"class_list":["post-110755","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-general","tag-best-of"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/buradabiliyorum.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/110755","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/buradabiliyorum.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/buradabiliyorum.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/buradabiliyorum.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/buradabiliyorum.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=110755"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/buradabiliyorum.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/110755\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/buradabiliyorum.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/110756"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/buradabiliyorum.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=110755"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/buradabiliyorum.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=110755"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/buradabiliyorum.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=110755"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}