The Grierson & Leitch Podcast: The 10 Best Films From Our First 500 Episodes

To celebrate our 500th episode, we each listed our 10 favorite films since the podcast started in early 2016. It is wild to think we've been doing this so long. Thanks for listening: This is a fun episode.

Cesar Lopez - "Memoria"

Here's a little instrumental beauty for your first Friday of 2026. 

Best of 2021: The Top 10 Movies of the Year

Back before Louis C.K.'s disturbing history of sexual misconduct came to light, there was a bit he used to do that I really loved. He would talk about the perils of turning 40 and the physical changes he was going through — including dealing with a bum ankle that had been bothering him lately. He went to see a doctor, who informed him he'd need to take Aleve or stretch to mitigate the pain. But there was no "fixing" the ailment: As the doctor explained to him about his suggested workarounds, "That's just a new thing you do until you and your shitty ankle both die." The whole point of the bit was the comedian's realization that he'd reached an age where he'd just have to learn to live with undesirable realities. He was now always going to have a shitty ankle, and there was nothing he could do about it. That's just the way life works.

I'm well into my 40s, and I've experienced a few versions of the "shitty ankle" as I get older — my eyesight isn't as sharp, I don't sleep as well as I used to — and each time one of these developments enters my life, I think of that old bit. There's no cure for these hindrances — I just learn the new thing I have to do to tackle the problem.

We've now endured two years of a pandemic, and so much of life these days seems like that metaphorical shitty ankle, requiring us to make the best of a not-ideal situation. In early 2021, it was tempting to get excited about the news that vaccines were on the way — a miracle, truly — and to hope that, finger snap, life would suddenly get back to normal. But that hasn't proved true: While much of our old lives has returned, Covid and its different variants have been persistent in dictating what reality will look like. Similar to the shitty ankle, it's not going away — at least not for a good long while — and we've all had to cope. 

Not unlike 9/11, your relationship with the pandemic has probably been profoundly informed by your age at this moment. The 2001 terror attacks and their aftermath occurred in my late 20s and, coupled with some personal stuff I was dealing with, helped shape my not-yet-30 view of my emotionally undeveloped self. (My inner turmoil was reflected in the unspeakable tragedy happening outside my little world.) In the same way, Covid has been merely the most overt manifestation of the strange transition into middle age that I've been experiencing lately. Whether it's Trump's rise to power or a general sense that the country is teetering on the edge of catastrophe — Biden's victory last year has mostly seemed like a brief respite, not a cure — everything around me feels less certain than it ever has. (I often think I don't have to worry about having a midlife crisis since there are enough real-world crises to distract me.) And even though I've been fortunate not to have faced much death personally because of Covid, the last two years have only thrown into sharper relief my anxiety about losing those closest to me. Everyone I care about is vaccinated, thank god, but the pandemic has been a reminder of how fragile life can be.

More and more, I have to make peace with having a shitty ankle — all those things I can't control or make better, all the worries that take up permanent residence in my head. (Come to think of it, Louis C.K.'s bit is itself a shitty ankle: Every time his standup segment enters my mind now, I'm reacquainted with my disappointment and anger over what he did in real life.) Best as I can figure, you don't ever conquer these things — you just make room for them, accepting them as part of being alive. 

And then you remember to be grateful. You think about the fact that your parents are still here and in good health. You think about your sister and her husband and their kids. You think about your friends, the people who really know you. You think about your wife's family — they're all good, too. And then you think about your wife a little longer than all the others. You think about being married for 15 years and how it feels like it's flown by and also been so substantial. You remember that you're lucky and that everybody has a shitty ankle. A limp isn't the worst thing in the world. 

* * * * *

Without further ado, let's get to my Top 10 list...

1. Petite Maman
2. Memoria
3. Passing 
4. The Worst Person in the World 
5. Summer of Soul 
6. Red Rocket 
7. Dune 
8. The Green Knight
9. Test Pattern 
10. Days

And because it was such a strong year, here's a salute to the films that just missed the cut: From 11-15, they're C’mon C’mon, Licorice Pizza, The Lost Daughter, About Endlessness and Drive My Car. International cinema dominated 2021, with four of my Top 15 premiering at Cannes, although you may notice those rankings have shifted over the last five months. And it was an exceptional year for Neon, which distributed three of my four favorite films of 2021. (If you're looking for an easy way to see the films on my list, may I suggest JustWatch, a very helpful guide to what's streaming where.)

By the way, if you've read my end-of-the-year list over at Screen International, you'll notice it's slightly different. For Screen, we only count 2021 premieres — so pictures like Test Pattern and Days (which both started screening prior to this year) don't count — and documentaries are separate from features. Even so, some movies have moved up or down on my list since I submitted my Screen ballot. What can I say: There was too much good stuff this year, and it made putting together a Top 10 delightfully torturous.  

* * * * *

It's hard to know what the future holds for either my industry or the film business in general. But it sure was great being back at Cannes, and back in regular movie theaters here in America. I took Susan to see Dune opening night after having seen it once already in advance of its Venice premiere, and I enjoyed the film even more the second time, jazzed by sharing such a big-screen film with a huge crowd. Nothing beats that.

As for my own work, I kept busy, which makes me happy. I remain your loyal Senior U.S. Critic over at Screen, where I felt honored to write the Memoria review out of Cannes. As for MEL, we had a brief (and unexpected) hiatus during the summer, but we're back and better than ever. I got to start moderating Q&As in person again — boy, how I'd missed that — and, unbelievably, I did my fourth interview with Spike Lee, this time while he and I walked around his exhibit at the Academy Museum. That was for Rolling Stone, where I also got to talk to Riz Ahmed about his music career and how it feeds into his film career. For GQ, I wrote about John Lennon and Harrison Ford. Over at InsideHook, I discussed Bob Dylan's singing voice and interviewed Victor Kossakovsky about Gunda. And my seventh book, This Is How You Make a Movie, came out in March. (Thanks to the podcasters who had me on to talk about it.) I was once again part of the Gotham Awards nominating committee, I showed up on KCRW a bunch, and the Grierson & Leitch podcast continues to roll along. Like I said, it was a busy year.

But perhaps my favorite piece of writing in 2021 was never published. My parents celebrated their 50th anniversary this year, and as a joke I thought, "Wouldn't it be funny if I put together an oral history of their wedding?" Soon, the joke became serious as I clandestinely interviewed their friends and relatives to hear their stories, many of which were new to me, and I learned a lot about these two people who raised me. (As a friend of mine put it, "It's like you're writing your own origin story.") I surprised my mom and dad with what turned out to be an 8,300-word piece. I printed only two copies, one for each of them. I think they got a kick out of it. Man, 50 years — that's really something.

Happy 2022. When Petite Maman opens, I hope you check it out. It's a special little movie, and at least one thing to look forward to in the new year.

Cannes 2021: The Wrap-Up and the Rankings

For most of the year, I assumed I wouldn't be attending the 2021 edition of the Cannes Film Festival. Partly, that was because I figured there wasn't going to be a festival due to the ongoing pandemic. (And if it was held, the odds were good that American journalists wouldn't be allowed to travel to it.) Well, all that changed in late May, and quickly I found myself throwing together plans to fly to France, which included figuring out Covid protocols that seemingly changed on a daily basis -- not just for air travel but for the festival itself. I was hardly alone in feeling a little discombobulated: The other U.S. critics I knew who were going were all trying to decipher confusing and contradictory information, too.

But I made it, and I'm so glad I did. I haven't traveled to a film festival since Sundance 2020, and it's remarkable how quickly muscle memory kicked in. I joked over the last several months about being out of festival shape, which isn't so much about physical conditioning as it is the rush-rush-rush, grind-grind-grind of doing a festival on a daily basis, which requires a lot of patience, stamina and a willingness to be flexible. Considering we were taking part in an international event in the midst of a pandemic, not to mention enduring a new press ticketing system and an unpredictable Covid testing program, the ability to go with the flow was crucial. I wouldn't have missed it for the world.

Because this year's Cannes was super-sized, packed with more films than usual, it was inevitable that I wouldn't be able to see everything on my wish list. The 2021 edition may have featured more options, but there's still only a finite amount of time to see films, and with reviewing responsibilities taking priority, I had to make peace with the fact that I would have to let promising movies like Vortex, Petrov's Flu, The Velvet Underground, Ali & Ava and Paris, 13th District slip away. I'll get to them eventually. 

So, let's get to the rankings. Links lead to individual reviews....  

29. Flag Day
28. Where Is Anne Frank
27. Stillwater
26. The Stronghold
25. Nitram
24. Annette 
23. Benedetta
22. Supremes
21. The French Dispatch
20. Ahed's Knee
19. Everything Went Fine
18. Belle
17. Cow
16. Val
15. Deception
14. Titane
13. Murina
12. Compartment No. 6
11. Bergman Island
10. A Hero
9. The Story of Film: A New Generation
8. After Yang
7. Hit the Road
6. Drive My Car
5. The Souvenir Part II
4. The Year of the Everlasting Storm
3. Red Rocket
2. Memoria
1. The Worst Person in the World

As I was putting together my list, I knew what my top two would be, but not in what order. Festival rankings are always a bit arbitrary, and picking a favorite often comes down to deciding between two very different films, and different impulses. Apichatpong Weerasethakul's return to the Cannes official competition for the first time in 11 years is an absolute triumph: a big, bold artistic stunner. It's the kind of film that invites "Masterpiece" hosannas. On the other side, there's Joachim Trier's thoroughly lovely and wise story of turning 30 and trying to figure yourself out. Hardly as formally inventive and singular as Weerasethakul's landmark, The Worst Person in the World nonetheless moved me beyond words and, for this moment anyway, wins by a photo finish. But it's worth pointing out that my Cannes rankings tend to shift over time: In 2013, Blue Is the Warmest Color beat out Inside Llewyn Davis, and in 2019, I slotted The Lighthouse higher than Parasite. By the end of their respective years, those films' placement had flipped. I would not be surprised if Memoria eventually reigns supreme.

My own indecision reflects that of my peers. There was no clear-cut critical consensus, with a wide range of films enjoying their own niche of support. Some people raved about The French Dispatch. Benedetta, Annette and Titane had their passionate champions. Everyone generally really liked Drive My Car and A Hero. Outside of Flag Day, another absolute stinker from Sean Penn after his The Last Face face-planted at Cannes five years ago, critics tended not to be too hard on the Competition films. And even Penn's folly inspired a few rave reviews. 

What was largely not commented on, at least among the people I was with, was the fact that ... we were watching movies in theaters again. A lot of movies in theaters. After basically avoiding theaters for more than a year, I was inside them for the last week and a half. That return couldn't have started better than by seeing the latest installment in Mark Cousins' The Story of Film series, which is no doubt why Cannes programmed it to open the festival. If it's perhaps a little too self-conscious about reminding everyone that, yes, movies still matter, A New Generation is stuffed with clips of the best and brightest films from this century, including a list of helpful suggestions for under-the-radar titles worth seeking out. Soon that initial giddy buzz went away and we went back to the grind of covering a film festival, as always. But, my god, the fact that we were there at all was a miracle I don't think enough of us paused to acknowledge.

I have a spectacular failure rate when it comes to predicting what will win the Palme d'Or, so I'm tempted not to even make a guess. But I'm going with A Hero over Titane or Drive My Car. Asghar Farhadi has never won, so the jury (headed by Spike Lee) may decide he's due. Plus, the film is seen as a return to form for him after the disappointing Everybody Knows. It wouldn't shock me if Lee went for something a little stylistically bolder, but it's always a risk to assume that the movie that most resembles the jury president's M.O. will win. So let me put it this way: If he gives it to The Worst Person in the World or Memoria, you won't hear me complaining.

Cannes 2021: 'Memoria' Review

Going into a film festival, it's always risky to set your expectations too high for any particular film. But I was hopeful that Memoria, Apichatpong Weerasethakul's first English-language film, would be something special. It is. My review is up at Screen International.

Cannes 2021: 'The Year of the Everlasting Storm' Review

Anthology films are often a mixed bag, but the seven shorts included in The Year of the Everlasting Storm are uniformly strong. It helps when you have directors like Jafar Panahi, Laura Poitras, David Lowery and Apichatpong Weerasethakul involved. Each of them tackles the pandemic in their own inimitable ways. Here's my Screen International review.

Cannes 2015: 'Cemetery of Splendor' Review

For a certain kind of filmgoer, director Apichatpong Weerasethakul is the man. Elliptical, mysterious, poetic, astonishing, his movies (like Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives) are a kind of religious experience. No director I can name crafts films that feel so restorative, so contemplative, so oddly life-affirming. His latest, Cemetery of Splendor, just premiered at Cannes. I'm still sussing some of it out, but the movie knocked me for a loop. My review is up at Paste.

'Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives' Review

The latest film from Apichatpong Weerasethakul is one of his best. (I may ultimately prefer Syndromes and a Century, but it's a close call.) Anyway, I sing the praises of Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives over at Yahoo.