This year, we traveled once more to the mystical world of Arrakis and wound up in Oz. Succumbed to the darkness and remembered we are one (you have no idea how hard it was to cut Fargeat’s incredible The Substance from this list…). Became human again and realized there is still time. But maybe most importantly of all, we learned what tennis really was. Each day at the movies this year was the greatest day of our lives but before it all ends (going by award season timelines here…) and we run out of time, let’s revisit some highlights of the year!
10. Universal Language (dir. Matthew Rankin)

Sleeping well tonight knowing that some of our oft-dreaded Can-con money was given to Matthew Rankin so he could make a Frankenstein ode to his favourite directors and Winnipeg. You don’t have to look far to find his list of inspirations but my personal favourite was the homogeneously dystopian architecture and the transient plot that felt straight out of PlayTime (a certain bus shot almost made me gasp out loud). Seeing someone riff on all the best parts of international cinema while throwing in gags about Tim Hortons and Louis Riel is kind of everything I never knew I wanted. Rankin’s work here is a major step forward in carving out a new lane for the aesthetics of our country: a hodgepodge of cultures, ideas, influences, and tones twisting in on itself. It feels appropriate.
9. Sing Sing (dir. Greg Kwedar)

Following a troupe of inmates participating in a institutional theatre program, Greg Kwedar’s Sing Sing is a beautiful, transcendent sentiment that captures something unique about our time and also stands to restore humanity to those it’s often stripped from.
The shots of the Sing Sing facility that punctuate each sequence are unforgettable as a reminder of the oppressive structures that are ever-present regardless of what the characters choose. Their choice is not to be physically “free” but to find freedom within their struggle by pouring into one another. By being vulnerable. Through creating and imagining together. When describing the purpose of the theatre program, one of the subjects manages through tears: “to become human again.”
It’s not the system that aids these men, this program is their way of finding hope in the midst of the brokenness of their oppressive institution – portrayed beautifully by Domingo and Maclin’s reverse, and yet complimentary, character arcs. Even though this real-life program packs enough emotional potency on its own (a majority of the cast members were actual participants), it’s the character work that really makes this feel larger than a standard documentary or biopic. It may be predictable or, at times, jarring but the thing Sing Sing understands more than anything is the importance of wearing your heart on your sleeve, stripes and all.
8. The Beast (dir. Bertrand Bonello)

The word Lynchian gets through around a lot these days (I’ll even reference the man himself once more later on) but The Beast truly earns the title. Though Bonello may owe the entirety of his conclusion to Twin Peaks: The Return, that doesn’t make the journey it takes to get there any less riveting. From the stunning cinematography, to the time-hopping, language-shifting drama of it all, to Lea Seydoux’s complex and devastating work, there may never again be a techno-fable delivered in as ambitious a way. In fact, the film itself seems to argue that the cost of technological advancement may be our own humanity – opting instead to shed the complexity of our emotions to further automate our behaviour to the point of total apathy. It feels strangely prophetic, even now we can see the signs with the progressive outsourcing of our talents and knowledge to AI to save time and effort. Without compromising its own craft, The Beast reckons with this trade-off in ways that will continue to intrigue and evolve in meaning upon repeat viewings.
7. Nosferatu (dir. Robert Eggers)

I’m happy to report I found Nosferatu to be a near-knockout. Eggers has steeped this film in shadow and dream-like (or more appropriately nightmare-like) transitions from dizzying set piece to natural-lit Victorian scene. This hallucinatory trip frames the titular villain in grand shadows, always lurking and encroaching on the Hutters – challenging them to foresake their culture’s sense of rationality to face the real, inexplicable nature of the horrors around them. For fans of previous adaptations – fear not! Eggers sticks close to the source material but finds new ways to squeeze every available moment of suspense and heartbreak from its pale blue palette. Hoult is still on his streak of slam dunk performances but it’s surprisingly Lily Rose-Depp who walks away with the whole thing. For me, she summoned the manic and unpredictable physicality of Isabelle Adjani’s iconic performance in Possession in the most haunting ways here which perhaps the biggest compliment I can give to any actor.
6. Dune: Part Two (dir. Denis Villeneuve)

An undeniable achievement in blockbuster filmmaking that left me breathless several times. Villeneuve just keeps demonstrating that he’s one of our most precious directors. On a technical level this is utterly flawless and, having read the source material after my first two viewings, it also stands out as an incredible adaptation of a notoriously slippery text.
The entire ensemble commits wholeheartedly to Villeneuve’s vision and the result is pure movie magic. There was nothing else quite like seeing Paul first ride the sandworm in IMAX – something that still has me scratching my head wondering just how they pulled off sure a visceral sequence. I anticipate much more muted reactions to the next instalment based on the book but, personally, I trust Villenueve to unravel these complex characters in the most fascinating and immersive way possible.
5. Nickel Boys (dir. RaMell Ross)

The kind of stream of consciousness, video essay-adjacent work that I can just live in for hours. Nickel Boys feels like a continued conversation with Ross’ earlier work, reframing our perception of the Black experience through media and, now, a pair of alternating protagonists whose viewpoint we literally come to inhabit for the better part of two and a half hours.
This is a highly ambitious work, one that not only adapts its prized source material but unearths the spirit of the text and brings to life its very psyche through carefully directed POV punctuated by historical footage and clever visual allegories. The whole thing almost feels as if it takes place in the subconscious mid-transference between Elwood and Turner before their fates become inextricably tied together. This is why I go to the movies: to see something wholly original, confidently constructed, and tragically relevant. Visceral filmmaking.
4. I Saw the TV Glow (dir. Jane Schoenbrun)

I was fully absorbed into I Saw The TV Glow: a vaporwave-y living nightmare whose spirals constrict the longer you remain in its funhouse mirror maze. It helps that Eric K. Yue supplies some of the most gorgeous cinematography of the year, basking every scene in cotton candy pink and sour apple green to match the pop fizz of a low-budget, late night horror special. Schoenbrun’s work feels visionary and distinctly of the internet in its relentless appropriation of aesthetics and ideas – from David Lynch to r/liminalspace. There’s never a moment where I felt like their vision wasn’t fully realized; every set piece was spot on, bringing an eerie sense of familiarly to the proceedings. The practical and visual effects, when employed, are both nightmarish and endearing in their recollection of the comforts of older TV.
It’s undeniably a very strong and obvious trans allegory, turns the camera back on its audience (with its penultimate scene taking place in front of a mirror) and boldly asks for us to consider the “horrors” of self-deception. And to me that’s where the film becomes universal – we’re all being formed by something. It’s never too late to adjust who or what is forming you but the longer you sleepwalk through life the harder it is to swim against the current. I Saw the TV Glow gives language and imagery to this phenomenon, recontextualizing nostalgia as a wistful longing for a past self, for the endless possibilities of youth, for the selves we try to hide with the hopeful reminder that “there is still time” to make a change.
3. Challengers (dir. Luca Guadagnino)

A film that’s so fun you *almost* don’t notice what a strong directorial vision it has. Guadagnino said he doesn’t trust filmmakers who don’t have a sense of humour because that’s not life – and it makes sense. Challengers is thrilling, laugh-out-loud funny, and somehow stays grounded with a strong emotional core. In all its contradictions, it works perfectly.
This is maximalist, Shakespearen filmmaking, framing its infamous love triangle in the language of the divine: choral suites, gorgeous strings, and hymns, all the while referencing Hitchcock over a club beat and then throwing you through the air from the perspective of a tennis ball. Somehow it all makes sense; sport is the arena for many where you can reach for something bigger than yourself and break all your rules, so why wouldn’t it be reflected in the film’s very structure? Guadagnino understands that as much as athletic competition is physical – and there is a lot of gorgeous framing of bodies here – obsession and desire also transcend that. It reframes how we view one another and ourselves. We play the role required for the points that matter.
For all that, Challengers is going to inevitably be the film I think of when discussing how film can be both entertainment and high art; how a seemingly insignificant moment, character, story can become something grand on the silver screen.
2. The Brutalist (dir. Brady Corbet)

Perhaps it comes at no surprise that a film which quotes Goethe’s “none are more hopelessly enslaved than those who believe that they are free” at its onset dwells heavily on the peaks and pitfalls of the American dream. But nothing in Brady Corbet’s sprawling epic ever just works on one level: the architecture itself functions as a mirror of its protagonist, a very explicit rendering of control is manifested physically, and, of course, the societal structures are only part of this problem of imprisonment.
Not only is the world in The Brutalist (and by extension our own) set up to favour some over others, but even when the characters aren’t fulfilling their societal obligations in their private spaces, they can’t seem to be free from themselves either. This hazardous cascade of overlapping personal desires creates a domino effect which is often forgotten or whitewashed by history but is integral to the structures around us – even if we only seem to care about the final result. Corbet’s work is one that stands in opposition to this idea; The Brutalist give us time and space to see (in gorgeous Vistavision), understand, and confront.
1. Anora (dir. Sean Baker)

From its serotonin-infused opening third to the gut-wrenching ending, Sean Baker’s Anora is perhaps the year’s best cinematic roller coaster – one that’s seen me come back six times (and counting). It’s a masterclass in storytelling with the ending in mind.
In many ways Ani is universal; disconnected from herself, trying to hold on to anything that feels real while shirking the opposition, looking so desperately to find someone genuine in a world of hustlers (it’s arguable that, despite her work, she is one of two truly “real” characters in the whole thing). It’s not just a class issue when some forms of employment are looked at as disgraceful or less effort. It deforms our sense of self and ability to let others in for fear that there is validity to the detractors’ claims.
To distill the essence of a film into a single scene is something masterful which Baker pulls off in the last twenty minutes of Anora. Here, we discover that the name means “honor”, “light”, and “bright”. In a stunning parallel, its these elements that are stripped not only from Ani throughout the film but the very film itself, descending from the music-heavy neon benders to the empty swipe of a wiper blade and a world of beige hues.
At the centre of it all is a truly towering and fearless performance from Mikey Madison. In one of my favourite shots, Ani is shown cradling her face an altercation and slipping in and out of the bottom of the frame. Somehow, Madison shows everything on her face in a matter of seconds – pain, horror, disbelief, renewed passion, doubt. As a multi-layered character study, Baker relies on Madison to convey the unspoken in almost every moment with the sheer amount of walls her character has constructed in self-defense. Even when she’s lost everything, she still can’t allow for any vulnerability – she always has to be on guard because the second she lets up the world devours her.
Thanks for reading!