The Best Movies of 2025 Without a Single Oscar Nomination

Always appreciative that the fine folks at RogerEbert.com let me pay tribute to the forgotten films of Oscar season. Here's my annual rundown of 10 great movies that you won't hear mentioned during the Academy Awards on March 15.

Best of 2025: The Top 10 Albums of the Year

Before I was a full-time film critic, I spent years reviewing albums and interviewing bands. I enjoyed it immensely, and while "music critic" is not my principal job now, I have never switched off that part of myself. 

Keeping up with new music isn't just good for the brain, it ensures you don't become one of those people who laments, "I don't know any of these acts on the Grammys/at Coachella." At the start of every January, I create a folder of notable albums that get released that year, adding to it as the months go by. (My 2025 playlist is here.) This becomes my go-to playlist, perfect for long drives across Los Angeles or time spent in my office writing. I like having music on all day, and I'd rather it be new music than songs I know by heart, no matter how much I love them.

It's been years since Pazz & Jop went away, although Uproxx did its best to keep the tradition alive in recent years. But now that Uproxx has stopped publishing its year-end critics poll, I have felt a little empty having nowhere to share my picks for the year's best albums. This is the advantage of having my own site: I can do it right here.

No matter how many years I put together a best-of album list, I always have to remind myself that you never really know a record until you listen to it from beginning to end. In our modern streaming age, the notion of the album as an artistic unit now feels terribly quaint. But that doesn't mean you shouldn't put in the effort to really understand a record by giving it your undivided attention. It's one thing to get obsessed with a song — it's something else to really live in the world of an artist's creative vision for 45-70 minutes. 

The 10 albums on my list all resonated more deeply when I devoted that uninterrupted time to them. As individual tracks, maybe they aren't the most dynamic. As a cumulative experience, though, they were undeniable.

Without further ado... 

10. Dijon, Baby 
The inner workings of Dijon Duenas' mind, set to jittery, sensual, exuberant tunes. Detailing his experiences with marriage and fatherhood with vulnerability and candor, Baby expresses love in all its forms: carnal, paternal, utter devotion, endless adoration. So many marriages don't work out. So many parents fail their children. But this album's beauty and anguish suggest a deep soul who's been thinking about commitment for a good long time. The more the music surges with doubt, the more resilient it simultaneously becomes. The results aren't just moving — they're downright inspirational.  

9. Backxwash, Only Dust Remains
Zambian-Canadian rapper Ashanti Mutinta's previous records contained more of a metal influence. She hardly went safe or mainstream with her most recent album: As Mutinta put it in May of last year, "instead of a slasher, this one is more like a weird A24 movie.” The abrasive, riveting Only Dust Remains acknowledges her struggles with suicidal ideation and the world's transphobia and bigotry, and the music is as explosive as her anger and insecurity. By the closing title track, she isn't yet out of the woods. But she's raising a "middle finger to these racists and idiots," refusing to let the bastards grind her down, including the ones in her head.

8. CMAT, Euro-Country
My favorite country album of 2025 came from Ireland. Ciara Mary-Alice Thompson taps into the genre's just-folks relatability to create a collection of sad, funny songs about dumb guys, chasing your dreams and losing a friend. The lap steel guitar is as shiny as the pop hooks. And then there's the singer who puts those big feelings across. Actresses are often praised as having a "girl next door" energy: I have mixed feelings about that compliment, but CMAT's unassuming warmth certainly brings such cliches to mind. (That said, you don't have to be a woman to feel "Take a Sexy Picture of Me" in your bones.)
 
7. Sudan Archives, The BPM
I flipped for Brittney Denise Parks' last album, Natural Brown Prom Queen, and this new one might be even better. Edging further into full-on dance music, The BPM ripples with confidence, the tracks barely able to contain her creative ebullience. But the faster tempos belie the anxieties she sometimes feels about love and being herself. And she's still making room for that terrific violin of hers. "I'm the finest," she brags at one point. "Yeah, I said it." She can back up her swagger.

6. Turnstile, Never Enough
This Baltimore band had largely escaped my notice until Never Enough was everywhere in 2025. Hardcore punk is not a go-to genre for me, but Brendan Yates' yearning vocals got to me. Not self-absorbed, not overly ponderous, never boringly mopey, he strikes me as a decent guy wrestling with the agonies of the world with genuine sensitivity at a time when a lot of guys are good at faking it. And his band never stops bringing the noise, which can be exceedingly lovely when it's not just downright stirring. I've heard some longtime fans mock Turnstile for suddenly turning into the Police. I suppose that means they're just getting more tuneful with time.  

5. Apathy, Mom & Dad
As we suffer through the Trump years, Chad Bromley would like to remind us that Ronald Reagan was a pretty terrible president as well. Mom & Dad's title refers not to Bromley's birth parents, who had him when they were teenagers, but Nancy and Ronnie, whose smiling faces adorn the record's cover. Although not quite a concept album, Mom & Dad takes the listener back to the 1980s as Bromley recalls with no fondness the crack era and Reagan's war on drugs. (The rapper's parents battled drug addiction in his youth.) Turning 47 in March, Bromley grabs old-school samples and dusty pop-culture references to paint a portrait of an unhappy past that still casts a shadow on our shared horrible present. Mourning the death of the middle class, recalling the murder of Lee Harvey Oswald, this album turns nostalgia into a poison pill, every line a killer.
 
4. Wednesday, Bleeds
Why does this Wednesday album work so well for me when their last, Rat Saw God, didn't? The answer couldn't be more rudimentary: Because it rocks harder. From the gathering storm of its opening track, "Reality TV Argument Bleeds," to the snarling destitution of "Wound Up Here (By Holdin On)" to the fire of "Wasp" into "Bitter Everyday," Karly Hartzman's band has attitude to burn and the guitars to back up their surliness. Sometimes Bleeds allows for a quieter interlude, but the focus never slips. And the Phish and Human Centipede joke in "Phish Pepsi" is a good one 
 
3. Blood Orange, Essex Honey
Beware albums made by brilliant songwriters/composers that are overstuffed with cameos from their famous friends. That is, unless it's Essex Honey, in which Devonté Hynes brings along so many buddies to enrich his already formidable soundscape, letting them blend into the mix rather than sticking out. The result is a glorious record whose whole is greater than the sum of its parts, Hynes' sumptuous voice on top of one incredible arrangement after another. (My god, the saxophones on this album.) Who else would pair the frontman of Turnstile with the dude from Everything but the Girl? Who else would find so many ways to express grief and explore his childhood memories, yet leave so few breadcrumbs, hiding those knotty feelings in endlessly emotional, dreamlike tunes? Recommended listening for your next nighttime drive.

2. Blondshell, If You Asked for a Picture
With all due respect to the more famous Sabrina (Carpenter), I preferred Sabrina Teitelbaum's follow-up to a successful breakthrough in which the artist is bummed to discover that a higher profile does nothing to improve the quality of men in her orbit. If You Asked for a Picture doesn't have Man's Best Friend's winning sense of humor, but its well-crafted indie-rock convincingly articulates the excruciating frustration of being in your late 20s, worried that your romantic life is never ever going to get any better. There's nothing self-pitying about Teitelbaum's observations, recognizing that she's as much at fault as the jerks she decides to date. "Why don't the good ones love me?," she asks with a clarity any heartsick soul will understand. And when she closes the album with "The problem is I don't know what I want anymore," her voice reaching for a falsetto, it crushes me every time. On her debut Blondshell, she toured with Liz Phair, which made sense. Here, she continues to honor that indie legend by further roto-rooting her psyche, finding plenty of hooks if not much in the way of solutions.

1. Craig Finn, Always Been 
The Hold Steady frontman always has stories to tell. But from top to bottom, I don't think he's ever crafted anything as uniformly terrific as what he achieves on his sixth solo album. Always Been mostly focuses on a former clergyman making sense of his life after leaving the church behind. But that's just one of the broken individuals whom Craig Finn embodies on this remarkable record, which musically doesn't shy away from his Springsteen-ian aspirations while also embracing a more colorful indie-rock palette. I've been making fun of the War on Drugs for years, but Adam Granduciel's production provides the perfect sonic framework for these emotional, dying-of-the-light songs.

"I told Adam that I wanted to make a direct record — I didn’t want it to be tricky," Finn said in April. "The music is very straightforward. Sometimes we’d try something and find it to be too much. It’s a storytelling record, so it was like, 'Is it getting in the way of the story? Is it supporting the story?' I think that’s a question that you just keep asking yourself."

Always Been's simplicity is its strongest asset and also the reason why listeners might overlook its greatness. Finn is the sort who's easy to take for granted: "Oh, he made another literary album about beautiful losers?!?" But the more you immerse in the record, the more its stories seem to speak to something deeper than these individual lives. It's an album about the loss of religious faith, but all different kinds of faith and hope are shed along the way on Always Been: the idea of the ideal version of who you might become, the belief that things will work out, the delusion that America was ever not rotten. The record has no hint of the momentous, and yet its unfussy directness feels plenty grand. Its landscape of depression, romantic disillusionment, crime, poverty and oblivion is as good a way of encapsulating this failed country as any album I heard in 2025. 

Best of 2025: The Top 10 Movies of the Year

It has become a nearly annual tradition that, over the holidays, Susan and I go on a road trip. If it's an even-numbered year, we rent a car and drive to and from Texas, where her family lives. But this year for the first time, we decided to drive home from Illinois, where my family lives. We first flew to Cleveland to visit a friend for a couple of days, then drove to Chicago for a one-day getaway, then spent Christmas week with my parents, my uncle, my sister and her family. And then for four days, we drove across America until we reached Los Angeles last night.

There are two types of people: the ones who get very excited when Susan and I share our road-trip plans and then those who think we're nuts. The two types distinguish themselves very quickly, and you can't persuade either type to see the other's perspective. But I will say that, before Susan, I was not a fan of road trips. To me, they were relationship-killers, swiftly and often awkwardly revealing in real time why my then-girlfriend and I were not well-suited for one another. But Susan loves them, and I soon came to love them, too. The arrangement is almost always the same: She drives, and I DJ. You'll know when we have a road trip coming up because, for weeks in advance, I will not shut up about the playlist I'm working on. (Because this question comes up: The playlist is not thematically organized or meant to be played in any particular order. It is merely a collection of songs spanning many styles, genres and eras that I think she will enjoy hearing — and that I will enjoy hearing as well.)

The argument against a road trip is that it takes a whole lot longer to get where you're going than if you flew there. This is also the argument for a road trip. I've never been a "Not all who wander are lost" kind of person — I emphatically always know where I'm going, thank you very much — but what I discovered about our lengthy road trips is that they have a way of stretching time and distance in a way that more traditional travel does not. When we hit the road over the holidays, our strategy is not to drive more than eight hours a day. We stop somewhere for lunch — probably for fast food, a greasy, salty, unhealthy indulgence we only allow ourselves on these trips — and we stay at a cute hotel/motel in the city where we'll be spending the night. (Also, we eat at a local place we've read good things about.) In other words, each day has its own destination that we are trying to get to. We're not pulling over every hour or so to check out this national park or that adorable-looking pawn shop. Mostly, we are zooming down the highway, soaking in the landscape and listening to music or podcasts. And, of course, we're also talking. People ask what we talk about. Honestly, everything, depending on whatever the views or the tunes are inspiring in us. Each day of our road trip, I exist in this reality outside of my normal existence. I usually don't have anything to write or review. To quote a line from Apichatpong Weerasethakul's Memoria that I think about a lot, "In here, time stops."

In some ways, I am describing the benefits of any good vacation: You mentally unplug, you leave behind the day-to-day, you reconnect with what matters. But as someone who has long been vacation-averse, always fearful that I'd be missing something important work-wise by being away, the road trips have been an opportunity to put aside my usual self and be someone else for a while. Granted, a holiday-season road trip is a little easier because it's a quiet time for most everyone — I'm not really risking missing writing assignments — but it's been good practice in learning how to actively enjoy one's life. Don't get me wrong: I love my life and love the work that I do. But turning off work mode and just being? That has been harder. The road trips teach me how to get better at it.

But even so, my brain doesn't switch off entirely. And this year during our trip — through Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Missouri, Oklahoma, Texas, New Mexico, Arizona and finally California — I spent considerable time looking out the window at the gorgeous, changing landscape. And both Susan and I had the same reaction constantly, blurting out randomly, "God, this country is beautiful" before reflexively adding, "Well, except for ____." You can fill in the blank yourself: Donald Trump, MAGA supporters, anyone who's transphobic, etc. A big part of our love of road trips is seeing one knockout view after another. (Pictures never do the vistas justice.) And these past four days did not disappoint. But we sometimes caught ourselves mid-revelry. It's such a rich, incredible country as you drive through it. And yet.

We traveled through red states — not to mention the red areas of blue states — so we were constantly pondering the political tensions within America. The contrasts were striking. We saw endless amounts of farms, no shortage of small towns, but also big cities and baseball stadiums and mountains and cacti and truck drivers. You would not believe how many billboards there are promoting injury and accident attorneys — as well as cannabis dispensaries and guns and fudge. (Seriously, fudge is apparently a huge selling point for weary, hungry travelers.) Jesus is advertised a ton. Some places wanted you not to have an abortion. Some places wanted you to know that there was help out there if you did want one. And all the while we were listening to our favorite music — often, by American artists — and quietly noting those juxtapositions. Everywhere we went, we met friendly people at cool hotels and hip coffee shops and lonely gas stations and stunningly efficient, reliable McDonald's restaurants. But I never stopped thinking about the potential invisible divisions between me and some of the folks I interacted with. (Although I tried not to stereotype based on location: We all know lefties in red parts of the United States and Trumpers in blue parts.) 

The longer we drove, the more I thought about my work. I often quote a line from the late film critic James Rocchi: "I write about movies. Which means, really, I get to write about everything." That's very much how I look at my job, and while I write about all types of films from across the globe, it is impossible for me not to think about America when I'm writing about American films and culture. It would be foolish not to: If you believe that all movies (and music and television and...) are inherently political, then the entertainment we make says something about us — just like Jafar Panahi's It Was Just an Accident says so much about Iran or Jia Zhangke's Caught by the Tides expresses the reality of China. So it's probably no surprise that I wrestle with what America means all the time. 

But this year's road trip made me ponder the country in a different, more expansive and intimate way. It's one thing to think about America as an abstract concept — it's a very different experience when you're logging hundreds of miles of actual road each day as the nation passes across your windshield. I'd look out the window and marvel at the beauty — both the big, empty expanses and the bustling cities — and I'd realize all over again how lucky I am to have been born here, to do work that means so much to me, to be sitting by this woman I love so intensely, to have family and friends I care about. Those things are gifts. But they don't fully compensate for what this year has been like politically — just how mean, cruel and stupid so much of our daily lives has become. And then I'd think about my fellow Americans who seem completely cool with all of it — who may actually be actively cheering on that cruelty. I tried to stay off social media as much as possible over the two weeks we were out of town, but news still seeped in, and it made me mad all over again. Such a beautiful country with so much ugliness inside. 

Parts of me didn't want to go back to Los Angeles — not because I hate L.A. (quite the contrary), but because I didn't want to go back to reality. But the truth was, I had never fully left reality, even as I was awed by all that scenery. I'm home now, and I'm still trying to reconcile the wonders of our road trip with the nagging discontent I feel about the country. I wanted the break from real life, and I got it, but not entirely. 

It's pretty common for me to feel down after a vacation: You have all that fun time off, but then you have to return to the grind. So what I try to do is savor that holiday period and maximize its value. And I try to hold onto the electric emotions that a vacation stirred up. This year, though, those feelings seem a bit more pointed and urgent. I'm vowing to retain the sense of the vastness, grandeur and complexity of America as a physical space. And I want to remember that this is a country worth fighting for, even more so in the new year when there will be midterm elections and inevitably even more things to protest and condemn. Time stops during a road trip, giving you the chance to recharge. But then we're back on the clock, and we have to make the most of it.

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With all that said, let's now talk about movies. This was a great film year, even better than last year. Starting with a superb Sundance and then continuing with an all-timer Cannes before concluding with a fairly strong Venice/Telluride/Toronto, 2025 had no shortage of excellent movies. Here's my Top 10:

1. My Undesirable Friends: Part I - Last Air in Moscow 
2. Sound of Falling  
3. The Mastermind  
4. Grand Tour  
5. Sorry, Baby  
6. Sirat  
7. Below the Clouds 
8. Resurrection  
9. One Battle After Another  
10. If I Had Legs I’d Kick You   

This year for my list, I decided to do something different: The links lead to information regarding how to see each movie. I know how frustrating it can be to hear about potentially fantastic movies and then be unable to track them down. Hopefully those links will help. (And when in doubt, JustWatch is an excellent resource.) 

There were several films I felt sure would make the Top 10. Alas, there simply wasn't enough room for all of my favorites, including Caught by the Tides (No. 11), Peter Hujar’s Day (No. 12), A Little Prayer (No. 13), Marty Supreme (No. 14), and Blue Moon (No. 15). 

I'm dying to name more movies, but I'll stop there. However, if you'd like to see another take on this year, check out my ballot for Screen International, which only includes films that premiered in 2025. (In other words, My Undesirable Friends, which played at the New York Film Festival last year, is nowhere to be seen, but Sergei Loznitsa's fantastic Two Prosecutors, which was unveiled at Cannes this summer, is.)

And, as always, you can hear my extensive thoughts about my Top 10 on the end-of-the-year Grierson & Leitch podcast episode right here. 

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I'd like to thank everyone who read, watched or listened to me this past year. It is always nice to be in-demand, and I never take my good fortune for granted, especially when I reflect on everything I did in 2025. 

To start with, I have to acknowledge a professional milestone: In 2025, I celebrated my 20th anniversary of writing for Screen International. (My first review for the publication: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. My most recent: the Jack Black/Paul Rudd Anaconda.) I can't say enough good things about our team, and I remain immensely proud to be Screen's Senior U.S. Critic. 

It was also a busy year for me over at the Los Angeles Times, where I got to review films I had seen previously at festivals but hadn't the chance to sink my teeth into yet. Those include No Other Land, Grand Tour, It Was Just an Accident, Blue Moon, Resurrection, Caught by the Tides and April. I did some fun features for the paper as well. I talked to the folks at Neon who put together the company's coveted annual FYC box set. I interviewed the marketing teams behind Longlegs, Anora and Conclave to learn how they made those indies box-office hits. I chatted with RaMell Ross about the Nickel Boys screenplay. I profiled Embeth Davidtz and Naomi Watts. I spent time interviewing every major actor in Severance to see how they survived the show's terrific second season. I answered the question, "What exactly makes an HBO Documentary Film an HBO Documentary Film?" I got the inside scoop on the making of three of my favorite movie posters from 2025. I hung out with Marty Supreme breakout star Odessa A'zion. And I got to write about two Charles Burnett classics: The Annihilation of Fish and Killer of Sheep. But the two highlights were spending part of a day in April talking to cinephiles at the Criterion Mobile Closet and spending part of a morning in July interviewing Spinal Tap. (As a separate interview for the piece, I also talked to Marty DiBergi. Rest in peace, Rob Reiner.)

As you saw above, my favorite film of the year was My Undesirable Friends, which I went to the mat for as much as possible in 2025. This started in August, when I interviewed director Julia Loktev for Rolling Stone in connection to the film's New York opening. Then in November, I reviewed the documentary for its Los Angeles release. (In between, I moderated a Q&A for the film with Loktev and subject Ksenia Mironova. My thanks to the folks at the American Cinematheque for making that screening happen.) Now if the Academy's documentary branch will just have the wisdom to nominate My Undesirable Friends for the Oscar.

Also at Rolling Stone, I said goodbye to some luminaries, including Gene Hackman, Robert Redford, Diane Keaton, Rob Reiner (co-written with Althea Legaspi) and Brigitte Bardot. Those pieces are never easy to write, but I take great pride in being handed the responsibility of paying tribute to artists who made a difference.

I've been a member of the Gotham Awards nominating committee for several years now, but in 2025 I was asked to be part of a new category: Best Original Screenplay and Best Adapted Screenplay. What a blast Carlos Aguilar, Monica Castillo, Jon Frosch, Esther Zuckerman and I had coming up with our choices. In February, after our annual LAFCA awards dinner had to be postponed because of the horrible fires, I presented our prize for Best Cinematography to Nickel Boys' Jomo Fray. (I was quite pleased with my speech, although it was easily outclassed by Fray's sharp outfit.)

It was another great year over at KCRW's Press Play, where I frequently appeared to talk to Madeleine Brand about movies. I'm always tickled when Christy Lemire asks me to guest on Breakfast All Day. And is there anything better than the Grierson & Leitch podcast? No, there is not. We will be celebrating our 10th anniversary in 2026. It is a pleasure, week in and week out. 

In 2025, I also moderated a bunch of Q&As. As I look back through the list, a series of happy memories come to mind. There was RaMell Ross good-naturedly teasing someone for walking out of the theater in the middle of the Q&A. I met Bing, the massive dog in Naomi Watts' The Friend, who was the hit of the Q&A I moderated with filmmakers Scott McGehee and David Siegel. (Also, Bing's owner Bev Klingensmith is the best.) Homebound director Neeraj Ghaywan was a delight, not least because (as I learned) he's a Grierson & Leitch listener. There were the Q&As I did with director Shoshannah Stern and star Marlee Matlin for the documentary Marlee Matlin: Not Alone Anymore: It was the second time in my career that I had moderated an interview with deaf subjects. (The first time was almost exactly 10 years earlier for The Tribe.) I spoke with Ethan Hawke as part of a double feature of Blue Moon and Before the Devil Knows You're Dead, which I love as much as he does. There was the conversation with Errol Morris for The Thin Blue Line, which mostly consisted of Morris (who sat through the movie for the first time in forever) simply processing all his memories and feelings. I got to share Miller's Crossing with Gabriel Byrne, who couldn't believe the movie was 35 years old. (He told so many great stories.) I got to meet director Mascha Schilinski and cinematographer Fabian Gamper, who have been promoting Sound of Falling all year while raising a newborn. I spoke with director Geeta Gandbhir and producers Alisa Payne and Nikon Kwantu for The Perfect Neighbor (my No. 19 movie of the year) and director David Osit and producer Jamie Goncalves for Predators (No. 20). I was asked to moderate a special one-night-only event with OK Go. And I got to spend a very fun Saturday evening moderating two Q&As with Kelly Reichardt for The Mastermind. She didn't want people recording the conversations on their phones, and because people love her so much, they obliged her request. It was very gratifying to see so many in the audience come up to her afterward to just express their affection for her and her movies. I could go on — Oliver Laxe, Bi Gan, Gianfranco Rosi, Benny Safdie, Akinola Davies Jr., Jafar Panahi, Rose Byrne and Mary Bronstein — but that's more than enough.

It's been a treat to start writing reviews for the A.V. Club, which allowed me to stick up for underrated movies such as La Grazia and tear apart bad ones like Eleanor the Great. For InsideHook, I wrote about seeing Paul Simon in concert, perhaps for the last time. For Cracked, I talked to comedians who intrigued me, like Roy Wood Jr., George Wallace, Riki Lindhome, Tom Green and Cheech & Chong. And for Paste, I interviewed Jonathan Gould about his exhaustive Talking Heads book.

Were there plenty of terrible and sad things that happened in 2025? Absolutely. For a moment, though, I am not going to dwell on that. Instead, I choose to be hopeful for a new year. Susan and I will be celebrating our 20th wedding anniversary in April. We haven't decided where we're going yet. I defer to her spirit of adventurousness. My job is providing the soundtrack.

(Photo by Susan Stoebner, taken in Heber, Arizona, December 29, 2025.) 

The 2025 Movies About the Making of Great Art

For Screen International, I wrote about three movies that came out this year that examined the behind-the-scenes drama that led to monumental works. They don't all take the same approach, though. You can read my thoughts on Springsteen: Deliver Me From Nowhere, Nouvelle Vague and Hamnet here. 

The Grierson & Leitch Podcast: The Best Films of 2025

The wait is over: It's time for our most popular podcast of the year. In this episode, Will and I both count down our 10 favorite films of 2025. Hope you enjoy.

Your Guide to the Must-See Awards Season Movies

I helped Screen International with its roundup of 50 essentials films of this Oscar season. Individual bylines aren't indicated, but I wrote about Bugonia, If I Had Legs I'd Kick You, The Life of Chuck, Marty Surpreme, The Mastermind, The Smashing Machine, Sorry, Baby and Sound of Falling. (I also sung the praises of Dylan O’Brien in Twinless.) Check the whole list out here. 

2025 Gotham Awards Nominees

It's always a delight to be asked to be part of the Gotham nominating committees, but this year I took part in the deliberations for two brand-new categories: adapted and original screenplay. Just as fun was the fact that my fellow committee members were all friends: Carlos Aguilar, Monica Castillo, Jon Frosch and Esther Zuckerman. I'm pretty darn pleased with our picks, which included Eva Victor for her fine script for Sorry, Baby. You can see our nominations here, along with those for all the other categories.

Venice/Telluride/Toronto 2025: The Wrap-Up and the Rankings

When I was younger, I assumed I would never go to a film festival. That was something other critics did — it felt too far away for me to even imagine. Then things changed: In December 2008, my editor asked me if I'd like to cover Sundance for him. Absolutely I wanted to. So we met up for coffee to strategize and for him to explain how Park City works, and I told him just how excited I was. "Oh, Sundance is terrible," he responded with an air of absolute authority. "The food is awful, and the people there are the worst." I don't remember being deterred by his warning, though. I was going to my first film festival. I couldn't wait.

When I arrived in Sundance a month later, a colleague and I went to grab our badges, the first thing you always do at a film festival. When we got to the press office, I ran into another colleague who had been attending Sundance for several years. I mentioned this was my first time. "Yeah, it's too bad we weren't going back when this festival was actually special," he said with an air of absolute authority. "We're sorta here at the end." This was 2009. 

I bring up these stories to say that, since the start of my film festival life, I've had cold water thrown on my enthusiasm. Since that first Sundance, I've been to Toronto, True/False, Cannes, Venice, Hot Docs and SXSW — to say nothing of the local festivals I've attended, including AFI Fest and the much-missed Los Angeles Film Festival — and invariably I will run into someone who's sour on the experience. There are reasons to be grouchy, of course: Festivals are an extraordinary amount of work, often forcing people to eat poorly and sleep worse while they're far from home as they drag themselves from screening to screening. (More than one colleague has advised younger festival-goers that, really, it's totally normal if you break down into tears at some point.) But on the other hand ... you get to go to a film festival, which is incredible. There's nothing else like it in the movie universe. It can instantly recharge your batteries being around other film-lovers, especially the public, as we all discover new movies together and debate their merits. Festivals can be emotionally, physically and spiritually exhausting. They're also the best.

Talk this way too loudly among your peers and you risk accusations of being a Pollyanna. You can inspire an eye-roll or two, for sure. But I never get sick of festivals, and I always take a moment to remember to be grateful to soak in the moment when I'm at one. For years, I thought film festivals would never be a part of my life. They have now long been a steady staple. I am incredibly lucky, and I don't want to ever forget that.

* * * * *  

My sunny mindset was challenged by this year's trip to Venice and Toronto. Not because I didn't have a good time — I did — but because I have never before encountered so many different colleagues who seemed full of despair and disillusionment. Those dark clouds were existential — about festivals, about our work in general, about the very industry we cover. And how could you blame them? On the eve of critics' arrival in Venice — the first of the three major fall film festivals — we were hit with three straight pieces of bad news. Respected critics Ann Hornaday, Richard Lawson and Michael Phillips all were leaving their jobs, whether through a buyout or a "change in editorial direction." It was the fitting end to a bad summer in which criticism itself seemed under fire, prompting strong responses from the likes of Richard Brody, Ty Burr, Kristen Lopez and others. As a result, fall festival season — usually a moment of optimism as we kick off a period of (hopefully) great movies — felt ominous this year. Like the beginning of the end.

I won't share individual stories I heard — those are theirs to tell — but I will say that I've never had as many conversations with friends and colleagues in which the tone was so dispirited. People were thinking of leaving the business. (Some already had.) Critics wondered if they were going to keep going to festivals. (Some were certain they weren't.) The general tone at both Venice and Toronto could best be described as "Try to find something that's bolted down and hang on for dear life." There was little optimism that things would eventually get better in our business — it was more a question of how much worse things would become. (The striking tagline for Kathryn Bigelow's A House of Dynamite, which premiered in Venice, seemed to take on a double meaning: "Not If. When.") 

My attitude about grim industry trends has always been to keep my head down and work — focus on what I can control and try not to worry about what I can't — but it was hard not to be affected by the general glumness. I had been feeling all the same things as my friends and fellow critics, but to have it mirrored and amplified by those around me made those sentiments all the stronger and more pervasive. And that's only the business side of things: In a world in which Trump infects just about every aspect of our daily life, there was an extra layer of anxiety on top of everything else at all times. (By the way, film critics are hardly alone in feeling these doldrums when they get together.)

In such a dire atmosphere, an extraordinary fall festival season would have been a blessing. At a time when art and culture feel marginalized and imperiled, it's natural to pin one's hopes on cliches like "the power of movies" to heal all. But that was probably asking too much. To be sure, there were great movies at Venice, Telluride and Toronto — some of which first played in Cannes or elsewhere — but there simply weren't enough to overcome the gloom I often felt surrounded by. 

When a festival (or a festival season) is slightly underwhelming, there is a tendency to overreact and ascribe larger meanings to what happens on the ground. It sure can be tempting: Hang out with film critics and journalists long enough, and a cynical malaise can set in, a pessimistic insistence that cinema is in a downward spiral, both critically and commercially, from which it cannot recover. But I think that's a self-fulfilling prophecy — it's the worst kind of confirmation bias, and must be avoided at all costs lest you close your eyes to the excellent films in our midst. 

There are too many vital filmmakers out there for me to discard my fundamental enthusiasm for the art form, and for festivals themselves. Also, there are too many colleagues who, despite it all, have held onto that belief, too. And if you're lucky, you can spend time with them, and with just everyday movie-lovers, who remind you that what we've devoted our lives to us is a wonderful, meaningful pursuit.

I have never lost that guy who, in 2008, learned that a long-held dream of attending a film festival was going to be realized. Sure, I grouse about the stupid TIFF ads before screenings and complain about the monsoon we all experienced one crazy night in Venice. But, also, I love that stuff. I love it. I've spent 17 years being told that the sky is falling, that things used to be better, that I arrived too late, that it's all downhill from here. That's not how I see it. And you can't make me feel otherwise. 

* * * * *    

Below are my rankings for everything I've seen that played at Venice, Telluride or Toronto, either over the last few weeks or at some point earlier this year. Links lead to individual reviews.

63. Eleanor the Great
62. Normal
61. Mother
60. The Man in My Basement
59. Roofman
58. Bad Apples
57. Nuremberg
56. Sacrifice
55. Fuze
54. At Work
53. Hedda
52. The Lost Bus
51. Ballad of a Small Player
50. Marc by Sofia
49. Sangre del Toro
48. John Candy: I Like Me
47. The Wizard of the Kremlin
46. The Smashing Machine
45. Ghost Elephants
44. The Little Sister 
43. The History of Sound
42. The Sun Rises on Us All
41. Made In EU
40. Pillion
39. The Christophers
38. The Ugly
37. Eagles of the Republic
36. Arco
35. Broken English
34. After the Hunt
33. Jay Kelly
32. Frankenstein
31. Notes of a True Criminal
30. Wake Up Dead Man: A Knives Out Mystery
29. No Other Choice
28. Landmarks
27. La Grazia  
26. Nouvelle Vague
25. The Secret Agent
24. It Was Just an Accident
23. Renoir
22. Orphan
21. The Testament of Ann Lee
20. Highway 99: A Double Album
19. Megadoc
18. Hamlet
17. Train Dreams
16. Cover-Up
15. Orwell: 2+2=5
14. BLKNWS: Terms & Conditions
13. Bugonia 
12. Sentimental Value
11. Blue Heron
10. Last Night I Conquered the City of Thebes
9. Father Mother Sister Brother
8. Remake
7. Hamnet
6. Below the Clouds 
5. Sirat 
4. If I Had Legs I'd Kick You
3. Two Prosecutors
2. The Mastermind
1. Sound of Falling

My biggest takeaway from fall festival season? This really was a great Cannes, with my top three all premiering at the French festival back in May. Looking up and down the list, several movies will need a second viewing to see where they're ultimately going to land in my end-of-the-year rankings. (I'm especially curious to give The Secret Agent, It Was Just an Accident and The Testament of Ann Lee another spin.) And, of course, there are the many films I wasn't able to get to, including A House of Dynamite and The Voice of Hind Rajab, among several others. But for now, I'm home and happy to be back with Susan. The next three movie-mad months are gonna be a whirlwind. Can't wait.

The Grierson & Leitch Podcast: 'Jurassic World Rebirth' and the Best Films of 2025 (So Far)

Welcome to the end of the first half of the movie year. On this episode, Will and I both reveal our favorite six films so far in 2025. Oh, and we also rip on Jurassic World Rebirth. Check it out below.

Cannes 2025: The Wrap-Up and the Rankings

About halfway through this year's Cannes, I received some bad news that I had been expecting: A good friend succumbed to cancer. Within 30 minutes of hearing of her passing that morning, I was off to a movie, which featured a father dying of cancer. The movie after that featured a mother dying of cancer. Death was on my mind anyway, but over the next several days it kept popping up in the films I was watching, almost as if they were channeling my inner monologue, projecting my new reality up there on the screen.

I should not have been surprised. After all, movies tackle dramatic subjects, and few are more dramatic than mortality. I pride myself on being able to block out the world's distractions when I go to review a film. (I consider that a crucial part of my job.) But I felt the occasional jolt of recognition when death came creeping into a film's plot: "Oh, right, that. There it is again." Repeatedly, I was reminded that I existed in a new world, one without that person I just lost.

At the same time, it was extraordinarily surreal to be here at Cannes while processing my friend's passing. The place is just so damn beautiful, and the movies are so rich and rewarding. All festivals are a bubble from the real world -- that's one reason why people love attending them -- but a big part of me was able to shut out my sorrow simply because of my stimulating environment. Death may have followed me from screen to screen, but Cannes is so alive that you can trick yourself into forgetting. Still, I'm smart enough to recognize that my sorrow will be waiting for me when I return to Los Angeles. Bubbles have a nasty habit of bursting.

* * * * *   

With that acknowledged, let me now add that I found this to be a deeply great edition of the festival. Some of the movies I was most anticipating let me down -- the Spike Lee, the Wes Anderson, most certainly the Ari Aster -- but there was ample compensation from the expected heavy-hitters who did deliver the goods. And, of course, there were the revelatory discoveries, like Oliver Laxe's Sirat and Mascha Schilinski's Sound of Falling, easily the best movie I saw in Cannes. God bless Mubi, who took a chance on her ambitious, kaleidoscopic drama that spans roughly 100 years and four generations of different families living in the same home. The esteemed distributor is actually behind my Top Two from the festival, which also includes Kelly Reichardt's The Mastermind, one of the finest films this very fine filmmaker has ever produced. From the dazzling execution of Bi Gan's Resurrection to the formal rigor of Sergei Loznitsa's merciless Two Prosecutors, the major auteurs came out swinging. And that's not even mentioning two movies beloved by many here and merely really, really liked by me: Jafar Panahi's It Was Just an Accident and Kleber Mendonca Filho's The Secret Agent. 

Before I reveal my rankings, let's now take a moment to mention the films I wasn't able to get to, like Adam's Interest, The Love That Remains, Mirrors No. 3, My Father's Shadow, Urchin, A Useful Ghost and Yes!, to name just a few. (Some may notice that I didn't review Mission: Impossible – The Final Reckoning. I was set to do so, but my L.A. screening got canceled midway through because of a fire. It's a long story, but everyone's fine, so don't worry.)

From worst to best, here's a list of everything I saw, with links leading to individual reviews: 

37. Eddington
36. Eleanor the Great
35. The Wave
34. Fuori
33. The Richest Woman in the World
32. Leave One Day
31. Splitsville
30. The Chronology of Water
29. Alpha
28. The Phoenician Scheme
27. Romeria
26. Highest 2 Lowest
25. Honey Don't!
24. The Little Sister
23. The History of Sound
22. The Six Billion Dollar Man
21. The Plague
20. Woman and Child
19. Case 137
18. Pillion
17. Eagles of the Republic
16. Arco
15. Young Mothers
14. Enzo
13. Nouvelle Vague
12. The Secret Agent
11. It Was Just an Accident
10. Renoir
9. Die, My Love
8. Orwell: 2+2=5
7. Sentimental Value
6. Resurrection
5. Sirat
4. Sorry, Baby
3. Two Prosecutors
2. The Mastermind
1. Sound of Falling

For the first time since I started going to Cannes in 2013, I saw every film in Competition, all 22 of them. What that means is that when the jury, headed by Juliette Binoche, announces its awards, I won't have the usual FOMO feeling of "Oh shoot, I didn't see the Best Screenplay winner" or whatever. 

However, that doesn't mean I'm any more confident about what will take home the Palme d'Or than I was in previous years. Remember: I have never correctly guessed the winner, and I'm just as uncertain this year. Part of the problem is that the jury is made up of new people every year, and unless you're hanging out with them, you're just speculating on where their head is at. That said, here's my thinking. I could see It Was Just an Accident, Resurrection, The Secret Agent, Sentimental Value or Sound of Falling winning. Forced to narrow down the field further, I'll go with the movies that are perceived as the front-runners: It Was Just an Accident, The Secret Agent and Sentimental Value. (Why are they "perceived" to be the front-runners? Oh, because the people who like to make predictions about this stuff have said they are.)

My gut tells me it's either going to be It Was Just an Accident or Sentimental Value. In one corner, you have Jafar Panahi, one of cinema's giants, who has recently been freed from prison, enjoying a hero's welcome here at the festival when his film premiered. In the other, you have Joachim Trier, whose last Cannes film, The Worst Person in the World, took home Best Actress for Renate Reinsve. Sentimental Value seems to be the most beloved film, but while it's dangerous to make predictions based on the temperament of the jury president, I just feel like Binoche would be more inclined to go with a more challenging, politically incisive film for the Palme. So I'm picking It Was Just an Accident. If Sound of Falling or The Mastermind win, I would be ecstatic. 

Regardless how the awards shape up, readers should be excited about a bunch of great movies coming their way soon. Now, off to sleep for me, and an exit from the bubble into whatever awaits me on the other side.

Sundance 2025: Ranking the Best and Worst of the Festival

There's a temptation among film critics when they don't attend a particular festival to look askance at those who do, especially if those attendees rave about a lot of the movies there. The cynical assumption is that, amidst the prestige and excitement (and privilege) of being at a festival, these critics lose their ability to be discerning. Those feelings are only amplified when glowing reviews come out of Sundance, the theory being that, because of Utah's higher elevation, critics are susceptible to become more forgiving of mediocre movies than they would at sea level.

But a funny thing happened this year in Park City: Just about everyone I saw at the festival was similarly glum about the films they were watching on the ground, grousing that there were no big breakthroughs, no major discoveries, no instant classics. Actually, much of the talk at Sundance wasn't about the movies but, rather, where the festival was headed. And I don't mean philosophically; this was a more literal question, with Sundance moving to Salt Lake City, Boulder or Cincinnati in 2027. The festival's team made it clear that they didn't have any answers about that yet, so don't ask, but nonetheless that uncertainty also contributed to creating a feeling that something was ending, that the glory days were over. Add to that Trump's return to the White House and the fires in Los Angeles, and it was easy to see why many downbeat Park City attendees wrote off this year's edition as a disappointment.

For once, it was actually the people not at the festival who were more positive. Those who stayed home, using the festival's online platform to see certain films, were generally a lot happier with Sundance's 2025 installment. Partly, that was because they only watched movies we on the ground had already determined were good. But I also think not being at Sundance, which didn't feel as packed or lively as in previous years, helped keep one's focus on the films as opposed to the lack of electricity in Park City. 

As I put together my rankings of everything I saw at the festival, it became clear that this actually was a pretty great Sundance, especially in terms of documentaries. My top two films at this year's festival, The Perfect Neighbor and Predators, both of which screened in the U.S. Documentary Competition, feel like films we'll be talking about all year, their thematic connections so self-evident and fascinating that Film Comment ran a panel with their filmmakers (as well as the director of Zodiac Killer Project) to discuss them. Right behind were two features, Sorry, Baby and If I Had Legs I'd Kick You, which took very different approaches to examine an imperiled woman trying to keep her head above water. I count 12 films I would classify as, at least, very good, and that's keeping in mind that there were several more movies I would have liked to have caught but just didn't have the time.

During Sundance, I met a veteran filmmaker who was screening a movie there. "So, what's the vibe of the festival this year?" she asked me. Gloomy, for lots of obvious reasons. But the films compensated if we just let ourselves be open to them.

Below are my rankings, with links leading to individual reviews:

28. Opus
27. By Design
26. Ricky
25. The Ugly Stepsister
24. Rabbit Trap
23. Kiss of the Spider Woman
22. The Legend of Ochi
21. Together
20. The Thing With Feathers
19. The Wedding Banquet
18. Move Ya Body: The Birth of House
17. Folktales
16. Magic Farm
15. Jimpa
14. Omaha
13. Rebuilding
12. Zodiac Killer Project
11. The Alabama Solution
10. Sly Lives! (aka The Burden of Black Genius)
9. 2000 Meters to Andriivka
8. Train Dreams
7. Peter Hujar's Day
6. BLKNWS: Terms & Conditions
5. Twinless
4. Sorry, Baby
3. If I Had Legs I'd Kick You
2. Predators
1. The Perfect Neighbor 

See you all at the next festival. And thanks again to Devika Girish for having me on The Film Comment Podcast to discuss Twinless, By Design and Rabbit Trap.

The Grierson & Leitch Podcast: Our Most-Anticipated 2025 Films and Our Oscar Nomination Predictions

A big first episode to start the new year. We spent two hours previewing the films we're excited to see in 2025, and then we offered our guesses for what's going to be nominated in the six major Oscar categories. Dive in.

The Comedies I'm Curious to See in 2025

Celine Song making a James L. Brooks-style romantic comedy? Adam Sandler returning as Happy Gilmore? Here's my preview of 2025's most intriguing comedies for Cracked.

'Press Play With Madeleine Brand': Previewing the 2025 Movie Year

It's a new year, which means it's time to start thinking about the films worth getting excited about in 2025. I was on Press Play alongside Shawn Edwards to discuss everything from Wicked: For Good to Mission: Impossible – The Final Reckoning to Sentimental Value. Listen below.