To say that this was a movie year like no other is a massive understatement. When the COVID-19 pandemic forced movie theaters to shut down in mid-March, it led to a feeling of fear and hopelessness among habitual moviegoers like myself. Studios intent on waiting for the profits that come from theatrical exhibition immediately announced release date delays instead of offering home viewing options for film fans stuck in quarantine, causing despairing questions to arise: Will there be any new releases to dig into while we're all stuck at home? Since I always get into making my best-of-year list and even all the Oscars madness once the year's wrapped up, will there ultimately be enough titles released in 2020 for those occasions to still take place? And will I die of COVID before getting the chance to see Christopher Nolan's crazy-looking new movie?!?
If you're reading this, you know that I'm very much alive--and I've seen Tenet twice now! Also, thankfully, indie distributors and even a couple major studios eventually became more generous in delivering new films to quarantined consumers once it became clear that the pandemic was going to last a really long time. The Academy also saw fit to adjust its rules, granting eligibility to films that premiered via streaming as long as they had documented initial plans to play in theaters, and extending the window of eligibility to the end of February 2021. In that spirit, for this list, I'm also counting January and February 2021 releases as 2020 films. Sure, it feels a little strange considering a 14-month-long period as a year and writing this a couple months later than I usually do, but it's easy enough to adjust to. Besides, the extra two months allowed me to catch up with a healthy amount of 2020's releases--I've seen just over 160 of them!
What's much harder to adjust to is the blurring of lines of what's considered cinema and what's considered TV in this era where movies have only been watched on TV out of necessity. I'll get into that more in some of the more medium-ambiguous choices on my list below, but I might as well say right away that the five films that brilliant British director Steve McQueen made to be released on Amazon as anthology series Small Axe most definitely register as cinema in my mind. Plus, it's always fun to celebrate when a filmmaker at the top of his/her game makes more than one standout movie within a year; McQueen appears on my best-of-year list four times (and it's not like the Small Axe film I didn't include is chopped liver!), while Spike Lee makes two appearances, including one at the very top of my list of the best films of the year:
1. Da 5 Bloods (Spike Lee). At this point, Lee's command of the medium is so assured that he can organically combine classical and postmodern storytelling modes into one gloriously cinematic package. This is a big-canvas, visually transporting war-movie epic that incorporates a The Treasure of the Sierra Madre-influenced treasure hunt and elegantly arranges its five central characters in numerous immaculately blocked and framed classical compositions. But it's also thrillingly abstract in its archival montages, aspect ratio alterations, and jazzy sense of experimentation. Delroy Lindo gives the performance of the year as the PTSD-plagued loose cannon of the central veterans, and Lee vitally and provocatively explores how the Vietnam War represented yet another case of America sacrificing Black lives for its own interests.
2. Lovers Rock (Steve McQueen). The best of McQueen's Small Axe films is an immersive musical like no other that's ever been made. McQueen invites the viewer to a house party in an '80s London Black immigrant neighborhood, and he nails the vibe and the awe-inspiring choreography of the camera and the actors' moving bodies so thoroughly that you feel that you're on the dance floor yourself, soaking up the tangible sweat and hormones. When the partygoers partake in a singalong to "Silly Games," what transpires is a sequence of uncanny communal catharsis that literally made my jaw drop on first viewing; it's a scene so emotionally overpowering that I'll never forget it.
3. David Byrne's American Utopia (Spike Lee). There's a Zen calm and elder-statesman authority to the Byrne we see in this euphoric concert movie that contrasts nicely with the hyper, geeky eccentricity that the musician exhibited in director Jonathan Demme's landmark '80s Talking Heads concert film Stop Making Sense. Cementing this as the perfect bookend to that film is how Lee, like Demme before him, thinks beyond the proscenium of the stage to conceive of the concert as occurring in cinematic space. So while this premiered on HBO, it's definitely not TV in my mind. In fact, when watching this for a second time and noticing how Lee visually represents Byrne's plea for an America based in human connection, I made the choice not to consider the stylistically rudimentary filmed version of Hamilton for this list (but it may yet be mentioned below when I recognize non-eligible work...)
4. First Cow (Kelly Reichardt). Throughout her career, Reichardt has possessed a downright Malick-esque gift for beautifully capturing the natural world on screen. But her formal rigor, patient rhythm, and focus on the authentically inhospitable aura of certain environments--instead of the cosmic potential of nature that Malick draws from--makes her a singular, invaluable auteur in her own right, and this is her richest, most haunting film yet. She locates a potent metaphor for capitalism in how a cook (John Magaro) working for fur trappers and a Chinese immigrant (Orion Lee) in the depleted Oregon frontier team up for a culinary business venture that involves stealing milk from a landowner's cow. Even more powerfully, she finds within these two entrepreneurs a model of how friendship can be a sustaining force in fallow times.
5. Soul (Pete Docter). The best films from animation giant Pixar are as gently profound as they are visually wondrous and emotionally satisfying. This metaphysical adventure/comedy proudly continues that tradition, concerning itself with nothing less than the joy we take from life that makes it worth all the setbacks and disappointments. The relationship between a music teacher (voiced by Jamie Foxx) and an errant soul (Tina Fey) eager to get its journey on Earth started can be seen as representing either a mentor/protege or a parent/child bond. Either way, there's a genuinely wise sense of how older generations can gain a new appreciation of the world from younger ones.
6. Nomadland (Chloe Zhao). It's always a special moment when an emerging filmmaker you're initially skeptical of turns around and proves to be the real deal. I felt Zhao's previous critical success, The Rider, was too schematic in portraying marginalized lives, but Nomadland manages to be both beautifully poetic and generously open-heated in depicting the wandering lifestyle of those living on the fringes of America. As Fern, our guide through this subculture, Frances McDormand achieves a magically unforced state of being that feels like it transcends acting. Zhao is as compassionate digging into Fern's past as she is in allowing the nomads who Fern meets tell their stories, making this a character study of vast scope and insight.
7. Palm Springs (Max Barbakow). This manages to be not only an endlessly fresh and inventive riff on the Groundhog Day premise of being stuck in a "same day over and over again" time loop, but also the funniest, most perceptive romantic comedy in years. Wedding guests Nyles (Andy Samberg) and Sarah (a revelatory Cristin Milioti) aren't squeaky-clean genre archetypes, but neurotic, dysfunctional messes we can all relate to. Writer Andy Siara's ingenious script has unintended resonance for viewers stuck in the monotony of quarantine, and on a more timeless level, gets at how weathering the repetition of life is more bearable with someone at your side.
8. Collective (Alexander Nanau). The moral urgency and engrossing procedural meticulousness of this Romanian documentary grab you by the shirt collar and leave you powerfully shaken by the end. Director Nanau executes a deft genre switch within his non-fiction storytelling, starting out in the mode of an All the President's Men-style journalistic procedural before shifting halfway through to the corridors of power to offer a real-life political thriller. What connects the two halves is a disturbing unmasking of the many-tentacled corruption of Romania's health care system. Nanau lays in glimpses of victims' fates with mosaic-like artistry, ensuring that his film hits the heart as mightily as it does the head.
9. Another Round (Thomas Vinterberg). Danish provocateur Vinterberg has examined man's capability for uncivilized beastliness in films such as The Celebration and The Hunt, so it makes perfect sense that he's made an uncommonly insightful, non-moralistic movie about our addiction to alcohol and the carefree youthfulness it can make us feel. While much funnier and more accessible than Vinterberg's past work, it also has a complex dark side acknowledging the collateral damage of its drunken middle-aged protagonists' carousing. I'm not gonna say which side of the expertly struck tonal balance the final scene lands on, but hoo boy--what an ending!
10. Mangrove (Steve McQueen). This marks the ideal entry point to McQueen's Small Axe, introducing us to the London immigrant neighborhood the films take place in via restaurant owner Frank Crichlow (an extremely moving Shaun Parkes) and showing us why the neighborhood is a home worth fighting for. In a year in which Black protestors have fought for their right to exist against the police, it's hugely resonant to show the seeds of necessary radicalism sprout within Frank as cops repeatedly tarnish his business and customers. And when Mangrove becomes a courtroom drama, it emerges as one with detailed specificity, huge emotional force, and the stylistic imagination and control of a master filmmaker.
And here are the next ten runners-up:
11. Dick Johnson Is Dead (Kirsten Johnson). The conceit of director Johnson coping with the prospect of her father dying soon by staging and shooting various scenarios of his demise may sound head-scratching, but you need only watch Johnson collaborating with her dad on this unusual project to understand how much the two are gaining from the experience. Ultimately, the film is a touching plea to celebrate those we love while they're still with us, and Johnson's adoration of her dad proves infectious.
12. Sound of Metal (Darius Marder). When Ruben (Riz Ahmed, in one of the year's most unforgettable performances), a drummer for a metal band, begins losing his hearing at an alarming rate, the way he lashes out with angry denial seems at once immature and also admittedly like how any of us would react to such a devastating development. That makes this a drama of complicated, strongly empathetic humanity, and the immersive magic of Marder's sound design makes it just as impressive on a technical level.
13. Quo Vadis, Aida? (Jasmila Zbanic). It's forgivable to hear the phrase "Bosnian genocide drama" and assume that what you're in for with this film is a dull, academic lecture--but luckily, that's not at all what Zbanic delivers. Instead, she's made a gripping, tense ticking-clock thriller in which every bad decision made by the UN as the Serbian army invades Bosnia has a visceral, enraging effect. Jasna Duricic puts a movingly human face on the tragedy as a UN translator fiercely dedicated to getting her family out safe.
14. Tenet (Christopher Nolan). When I first saw this, I was blown away by Nolan's characteristically intricate and spectacular action sequences, but honestly pretty damn confused and left wondering if there was any meaning to the beautifully orchestrated madness. On second viewing, though, it really clicked for me, engaging me much more with its crazed narrative density and revealing that Nolan's choice to name the hero literally the Protagonist (embodied with star-level swagger by John David Washington) is the key to what it's about thematically--the kind of rare heroism that finds moral value in saving a single life even as the future of the entire world hangs in the balance.
15. And Then We Danced (Levan Akin). "There is no sex in Georgian dance!" insists an instructor of Georgia's national dance troupe, which seems like an absurd statement to make, but it's indicative of the conservative extremism that dominates the nation. That gives this queer coming-of-age romance, which has been crafted by Akin with an excellent balance of authentic naturalism and expressive, dance-based formalism, unusually high stakes. As a dancing student (Levan Gelbakhiani, in an impressively modulated performance) falls for a new arrival (Bachi Valishvili), we fear the worst for their future. And in a climactic, defiant assertion of identity I don't want to say too much about, we get cleansing catharsis.
16. I'm Thinking of Ending Things (Charlie Kaufman). Always a cerebral innovator in the comedy writing world, Kaufman had a richly productive year between his 700+-page (!) satiric epic novel Antkind and this layered, absorbingly puzzle-like curio. In Kaufman's hands, a woman's (Jessie Buckley) trip to meet her boyfriend's (Jesse Plemons) parents becomes a characteristically witty and melancholy reflection on mortality, the passage of time, and our personal relationship to the art and pop culture we love. I regret that I didn't get a chance to watch it again before writing this, to sift through its many narrative and thematic complexities with a more trained eye.
17. Judas and the Black Messiah (Shaka King). Simultaneously an impassioned, relevant history lesson and a robust, energized cop-movie epic, this fashions the true story of Bill O'Neal's (LaKeith Stanfield) recruitment by the FBI to entrap Black Panthers Chairman Fred Hampton (Daniel Kaluuya) as a gripping undercover yarn. King makes an auspicious impression keeping the film both vital and exciting, while the two lead actors deliver stunning work--Kaluuya exhibits fiery command and strength as Hampton, while Stanfield makes O'Neal a rivetingly, affectingly conflicted Judas.
18. The Assistant (Kitty Green). It would be all to easy to render the story of working for a Harvey Weinstein-influenced boss as tabloid sensationalism. Green's remarkably assured fiction debut excels by taking the opposite approach, capturing the daily routine of an abusive executive's assistant (Julia Garner) with exacting, dread-tinged minimalism. The precise deliberateness of Green's filmmaking is entrancing, and Garner's intuitive performance matches that artfulness with a quiet control all its own.
19. Possessor (Brandon Cronenberg). The son of body horror maestro David Cronenberg, writer-director Brandon Cronenberg proves to be a chip off the old block with this wonderfully trippy, imaginative sci-fi thriller, which fuses his father's tendencies with the stylistic lushness and splashy gore of Korean extreme genre fare. The core premise of an assassin who inhabits other people's bodies allows Andrea Riseborough and Christopher Abbott to enact an expertly coordinated, All of Me-style acting duet, while Cronenberg's alternately gorgeous and disturbing imagery sears its way into your brain.
20. Beanpole (Kantemir Balagov). I'm not gonna pretend that this exquisitely directed post-World War II drama about two nurses (Viktoria Miroshnichenko and Vasilisa Perelygina) coping with trauma isn't bleak and occasionally hard to watch. But at the same time, it's beautiful to behold, with immensely gifted young filmmaker Balagov vividly using yellows and greens in his precise compositions, powerfully acted, and filled with guarded hope that the pieces of a broken land can be put back together. As we emerge from the other side of a devastating pandemic, here's a movie that attests to the potential for hard-won recovery.
And here are 14 more movie standouts from 2020:
21. Education (Steve McQueen).
22. Bloody Nose, Empty Pockets (Bill Ross IV and Turner Ross).
23. Let Them All Talk (Steven Soderbergh).
24. Welcome to Chechnya (David France).
25. The Climb (Michael Angelo Covino).
26. She Dies Tomorrow (Amy Seimetz).
27. Gunda (Viktor Kossakovsky).
28. The Trial of the Chicago 7 (Aaron Sorkin).
29. Alex Wheatle (Steve McQueen).
30. The Bee Gees: How Can You Mend a Broken Heart (Frank Marshall).
31. Deerskin (Quentin Dupieux).
32. Bad Boys For Life (Bilall Fallah and Adil El Arbi).
33. Circus of Books (Rachel Mason).
34. The Old Guard (Gina Prince-Bythewood).
Special Recognition for Non-Eligible Work:
Hamilton (Thomas Kail). Just because I earlier referred to this as more TV-like in its basic "filmed play" presentation doesn't mean I didn't fully love it as a way to experience Lin-Manuel Miranda's electrifying stage masterwork. It's so rousing I felt a literal surge in my chest after musical numbers ended.
Black Is King (Beyonce). The pop star continued her ascent as a filmmaking voice with this visually ravishing video album reimagining The Lion King as a celebration of Black excellence, which includes everything from Jodorowsky's The Holy Mountain to Guadagnino's Suspiria remake as reference points.
We Are Who We Are (Luca Guadagnino). Speaking of Guadagnino, his 8-part miniseries following two kids figuring themselves out on an American Army base in Italy is as sensual and evocative as anything he's ever done, with a specific sense of place and a palpable sense of youthful abandon.
The Queen's Gambit (Scott Frank). We all watched this and loved it. 'Nuff said.
As Yet Unseen: The Dig, The Life Ahead, Lingua Franca, The Glorias, Vitalina Varela, Miss Juneteenth, The Mole Agent, A White, White Day.
