Like this year's Cannes, Venice and Toronto had their share of strong movies, but the truth is that the festivals weren't as consistently stellar as in the past. And when that's the case, what helps compensate is hanging out with people you enjoy. In that regard, my two-and-a-half-week trip to Italy and Canada was far from a disappointment. I feel very lucky to encounter so many friendly faces wherever I go, all of us bonded by the shared madness of navigating the stress and exhaustion of a film festival. And when you do see something amazing, these are the people you share that experience with. It's an incredible feeling and a wonderful memory.
There is also another rewarding element about attending festivals. Every once in a while, you bump into someone who lets you know that your work is meaningful to them. I cannot thank enough the many people who came up to me at TIFF to introduce themselves — or reintroduce themselves, since it had been a while since we'd seen each other — and then launch into conversations about movies they'd really loved at the festival, or just to thank me for my writing or the podcast. Every single time it happened, it made my day. I get energized traveling to festivals, but the kind words and unbridled enthusiasm from others also adds fuel to my tank. Those warm, random conversations between films can be such a high.
When you start going to festivals, it can be tempting to see how many movies you can consume, as if the person who logs the most films "wins." People grow out of that tendency pretty quickly, though, realizing that it's often a case of diminishing returns, and one reason is you'd rather have dinner with a friend than check out one last movie that night. You can always watch that movie down the line — time with buddies is far more precious.
I've been aware of all this for a few years now. But after having a delightful Venice and Toronto, watching a ton of noteworthy films, I realize as I'm sitting here at home that I'm thinking a lot about the people, as opposed to the films. We do this work because we love it. But we also do it because we love so many of our fellow travelers we run into while doing that work.
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Below is a ranking of every film I've seen that played at Venice, Telluride and/or Toronto. To be clear, I didn't see all of these during this fall festival window: Many of these movies were watched at Sundance or Cannes. But I find it helpful to make myself list them all out, figuring out which ones rise to the top. And what I've determined is that, even though this year's festivals weren't as terrific as earlier editions, I sure have seen some stunners. There are plenty of films still to catch, but my Top 10 of 2026 is already looking pretty stacked. Links lead to individual reviews.
58. Up Against It
57. Hombre Al Agua
56. A Talent for Murder
55. Being Heumann
54. The Idiot(s)
53. The Life and Deaths of Wilson Shedd
52. The Girl With the Leica
51. Father Joe
50. Gentle Monster
49. Primetime
48. Tenzing
47. Alpha Gang
46. La Bola Negra
45. Look Back
44. Bitter Christmas
43. The Face of Horror
42. I Play Rocky
41. Love of Your Life
40. The Basics of Philosophy
39. Bucking Fastard
38. Babies
37. Misty Green
36. Elsinore
35. The Beloved
34. The Unknown
33. In Waves
32. Coward
31. Oasis: Don't Look Back in Anger
30. Ashes
29. The Assassin(s)
28. Club Kid
27. Hope
26. Furies
25. Queer Edward II
24. Ladies and Gentlemen, Brian Mulroney
23. Musk
22. The Dreamed Adventure
21. The Diary of a Chambermaid
20. Ink
19. The Debut
18. The Only Living Pickpocket in New York
17. Too Much Sugar
16. Rehearsals for a Revolution
15. Clarissa
14. Wild Horse Nine
13. La Gradiva
12. Minotaur
11. A Long Winter
10. Fjord
9. Josephine
8. The Man I Love
7. Everytime
6. Tender Loving Care
5. Woman Unknown
4. My Undesirable Friends: Part II – Exile
3. Possible Love
2. Once Upon a Time in Harlem
1. All of a Sudden
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What else is there to say? Well, I'm looking forward to seeing Your Mother Your Mother Your Mother and NAZA, among other films. Also, I am still recovering from that one film that has a supporting character named Grierson, which is said several times during the movie. (I cannot tell you how rare it is to hear my name in a movie.) And if you'd like to hear me talk about my festival experiences, you're in luck. I was on The Screen Podcast both in Venice and in Toronto. I joined Nicolas Rapold for The Last Thing I Saw in Venice, as well as hung out with Devika Girish over at The Film Comment Podcast.
Thanks for tagging along with my festival adventures. There are so many good movies heading to theaters soon. And hopefully several others none of us have seen yet.
(The above picture was taken one morning at Venice. It was such a beautiful day. In the midst of a festival, sometimes it's good to look up and admire the clouds.)
Always a pleasure to be on Screen International's podcast. I joined host Wendy Mitchell to talk about the movies that most impressed me on the Lido. A hint: It's a documentary and two competition films. Check out the conversation down below.
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.)
